Watching Cyran tuck his ring away in his pocket, as she had hidden from him, makes her chuckle. She sticks her tongue out at him playfully, a light tease, before they pay up and walk away. Her shoulders are held rigid at as the vendor wished them a romantic evening, a complicated twist of feelings roiling uncomfortably in her stomach. Romance. She looks sidelong at Cyran as she walks; that was not something she typically thought about. It was hard enough to connect with people and befriend them, anything of a romantic nature was not something she felt was possible. Perhaps something she did not deserve.

But the thought did not fill her with disquiet, as did the other anxieties or inconsistencies in her existence that made it hard for her to justify being around others. Maybe... it was the day, the night, seeing the young ones arm in arm (as they had been earlier), holding hands (as they had earlier), cuddled up against the chill and the ash (as they had been before), that led her to not eschew this thought and banish it to the other areas of her mind where distant hopes laid. Instead, she leaves that notion where it is, a puzzle to pore over and study what it might mean. Her stomach squirms.

She only hoped the ring would be... welcome. Good enough. Del was a practical smith, making nails, horseshoes, cutlery, and tools in addition to weaponry. Much time and attention to detail was spent making something just so, something that could be at home on a farmer's hand or around the head of a noble. Making things for others is her vocation, she could make finery with her hands, she knew. But for herself...? She sported no weapon, no jewels. The only thing of note was the gold and wood beadwork in her hair that her curls were pulled through. She didn't seek them, comfortable just as she was.

"Almost," She echoes, somewhat inanely, as they walk. And it is too fast; in abrupt juxtaposition with climbing the spire, the time they have left trickles through her fingers like water through a sieve. They didn't hurry their pace, slowing if anything, but the companionable silence comes to an end in the threshold of Shade's Valley. It's bittersweet; it had been a wonderful, lovely night.

She removes the cloak to hang on the rack where she knew Cyran kept it, pausing to think to offer it to him again to help warm him. No, the fire was doing a much better job of that. She carefully brushes the ash off the shoulders and makes her way to the fire as well, standing there to let the warmth roll over her skin, next to him, as she sets the bottle filled with starlight, on the mantle. That warmth that only increases, internally, as Cyran turns to her, hand in his pocket.

Words turn to ash in her throat and she feels as though she's boiling-- an oversight on his part? She was the one who-- He was kindness incarnate this man, to shoulder that for himself. Her expression is one of naked raptness, watching Cyran speak and not knowing what to say, suddenly. That this was her fault, and she should be the one to apologise. That she had enjoyed herself a great deal and would like to do it again. That she should be the one thanking him. These thoughts spin and die before they can truly form, but one fixes in place as Cyran mentions the constellations.

Those beautiful lights he had seemed so heartbroken to lose. The ones he had watched and studied as a child. Her heart ached for him, then; he still wanted to show her so much of what he knew. It was cruel that the unravelling of the gods lies should unravel the stars too. Cyran deserved kindness.

She would give him that, if she could.

"If they aren't, then I will make you something better," she says, her voice soft. It's an odd and very poignant thing to say off the cuff-- how in the world did she plan on doing that?-- but she means it nonetheless. "--I. Ah, i would like that. Very much." the words are added on a murmur, as if processing the first part of his words only now.

Oh. Oh, gods. The internal plea for strength is useless; they're all dead anyway. Somehow, Del manages a gentle lilt of a smile as he holds out his hand for hers, and places her hand in his.

"Oh, it's lovely," It's a beautiful ring, and it makes her eyes sparkle; simple it might be, but it suited Cyran so well. It looked like it had been made from the night sky itself, indigo and ferrous blue, deep and velvety, like night, like shadow. There's a thrum in her hand at the intentionality of it. Of the reverence in which Cyran slips his ring over her finger. She can't help but hold her breath--

Something seems to pulse through her, and the little fractures of cold ice at the back of her mind finally give and shatter. A coolness floods her body, expanding out in an aura around her-- not one she could see, but an awareness that she could feel what was before her. Him, nearby. Nearer than he was now, with her hand in his.

"I... yes, I did, I think?" She whispers breathlessly, looking down at the lovely ring on her hand. She swallows and looks at him, eyes wide and shocked and determined. The feeling does not fade. Maybe... was that a fluke? It felt like it was the ring some how. The ring and not the ring. Something more, something deeper.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out her own ring holding her hand out for Cyran's, a shy smile pulling at her lips. Still no idea what that was, but she wanted to see... maybe...

His hand is cool in hers; it's almost comforting, balm like, against skin that, to Del, is feverish by contrast. She watches his expression, the nervous smile as he slowly placed his hand in hers, the both of them still trying to sort out exactly what had just happened, but moved by this poignant moment. It felt important, whatever this was.

"I... I'm not especially good with words," Del laughs a little under her breath, "But I am very glad you asked me to accompany you today. Tonight was the most fun that I can remember. You've shared so much with me; your home, your time, your stories of the stars, your company, even your cloak. There really are no words that I can use to express how much I appreciate all that you've done for and shared with me. I hope that this gift conveys even a fraction of that, as well as my promise to spend that time sharing space and... adventure with you," Her smile widens, "there are so many places and things we talked about exploring, even here in Darkveil. I look forward to all of it."

Del can feel the gravitas of it as she slowly slides her ring over Cyran's scarred fingers. The reverberation happens again, that tuning fork buzz of connection that seems to harmonize between the two of them into one perfect resonance that strikes an even wider awareness, feeling Cyran with her, present, like her own shadow.

"It... it happened again?" She asks, looking at him for confirmation. Her eyes widen a little as she realizes she can feel something. Something new. A touch of the cool energy she associated him with, a nervous excitement and concern at the deeper recesses of her mind, closer to instinct. It isn't hers-- but it is with her.

Dels hand grips his, seeking anchor. "Do you feel that?

A strange sensation that had been. Like being dipped in cool water. Cyran suppressed a shudder, not one of fear or revulsion, but from the feeling that all of a sudden, he was something… more than he had been seconds ago. Cyran gasped when Del grabbed his hand next, warm against his cool skin. She was saying words, things that Cyran could barely register in the face of this overwhelming sensation. Concentrating amongst the waves was a difficult task, until he forced himself to center on Del. Focus entirely on her words of gratitude, every bit sincere and heartfelt and leaving him feeling raw. And then, she slipped her ring onto his finger in such a gentle manner from artisan’s hands that were accustomed to hard labor, and…

Oh, how pretty it was.

Steel, with a burst of green around the center that reminded him of thrumming veins of magic, of the raw power of the earth. The kind of energy that reminded Cyran of Del. A woman whose means were rooted in reality, her origins in the lush Crescent Isles. It didn’t matter that she might not have been born there. His Del - er, the Del Cyran knew - had made her home there, and associating her with cherry-blossom covered mountains and the hard work born from the salt of the earth felt natural in Cyran’s mind. A delicate ring, as intricate and careful as her.

“Beautiful…” Cyran murmured, staring at the piece of jewelry in awe until he was struck with another wave of that something, and the realization that he hadn’t been imagining it. But this time, rather than feeling as if a piece of him had been given away, something new now occupied that space. Molten-hot and passionate, the shadow cast on a warm summer’s day. Del’s hand gripped his own, tight - but the sensation brought him back to reality and prevented him from drifting away. Strange.

“… I did.” He mumbled. “I did.”

He had a feeling he hadn’t even needed to say the words to know that Del already knew what his answer would be.

Had a spell been cast on them? No, he would have known. For all Cyran’s lack of training with magic, the sensation of sensing the theins of the arcane was something he was capable of. Shadow magic, even moreso. And if something had just… happened between them, he had no idea what it could be. It certainly had not been a conscious effort on either of their parts. If not that, what could it have been? They were both aware of their mutual connection, still unspoken. And yet.

Cyran had the feeling it was something rather large.

More research would need to be done. But that could be left for later. For now, it was getting late, and Cyran needed to figure out what he was going to do with this ring. It was far too precious for him to leave on his finger, not when his work left him bloodied more often than not. No, it would not do to sully such an important gift with the remnants of his tainted work. Yes, he would need to find a… chain, of sorts.

The silence was so tense that he did not want to break it. This awed silence of… whatever this was. Cyran looked down at their still-intertwined hands. Cyran’s mark on Del’s hand, and her mark on his. An equivalent exchange.

… A ritual.

“Well.” Cyran cleared his throat, still breathless from what had just happened. “I… appreciate the gift.” He started. The words felt insincere. He only hoped that she knew the depth of his well of gratitude - not only for the material object, but for her time and attention and patience. “As loathe as I am to admit it, we should both get our rest. It will only be another busy day tomorrow.” Back to the regular chaos of day to day orphanage life.

“I truly do hold this day fondly. I cannot remember the last time I felt this… light.” He admitted. “So thank you for that, Delaela. Please rest well - I’ll see you in the morning.”

He should have left it at that. Kind words and a lovely time out, not ruin it with something more. But something possessed him to be a little more reckless, take one more move. Where his hand still gripped Del’s, he raised it up and bowed his head to press a small kiss to the back of her scarred knuckles. Feather-light, barely a brush of the lips. Small, but there.

And then Cyran released her hand, too mortified to say anything else. Oh, goodness, I can’t believe I just did that…

“Rest well, and may the night guide you towards ever-gentle dreams.” He bid, absconding up the stairs before he had the chance to hear Del’s reply, if she had anything to say at all. He wasn’t sure he could take whatever she might have offered, good or bad, not with his heart currently pounding in his chest, threatening to claw its way out. Such a sweet way to go, he thought as he scurried up the stairs to his bedroom. The sensation that came after spending time with a cherished friend, that he was cared for and mattered in turn. If he were to die this moment, Cyran knew the death would be a welcome one.

It would not occur to him until much later, in the comfort of his office between waking and dreamless rest, that it wasn’t normal for one to feel so nervous about a small, traditional parting kiss.

It feels as though something locks into place when the ring is affixed to Cyran's slender finger. Like a part of her moves through to him, in both a figurative and literal sense. Instead of feeling as though there is too much, now she feels an equilibrium, a mingling of colours to create a pale violet hue that tinges the corners of her vision. Whatever it was that just happened, it felt monumental, too big to contain, and yet the moment was just the two of them, here, the rest of the world a mile away.

Del did not know what had happened. There was no way she could guess what this was, but it was nothing short of breathtaking. Her hand remains with his, feeling the electric hum of contact that had only seemed to intensify after the exchange. Together, they had stumbled into something new and precious. She could feel it dancing along her nerves.

A piece of the self, willingly given...

She isn't sure where that thought comes from as it springs into her head, but it is cut off as Cyran begins to say his good-night. Del's tongue leaden, feeling... unusually still and watchful as he speaks to his gratitude of the gift and the night they shared. It sounds so casual, but she can tell that he is being true. "I, uh, yes. Of course. I appreciate yours as well. It's truly beautiful." Glancing down at her hand again, she realizes she will have to find a better place for it. For her craft, for her style of fighting, she would have to ensure the ring was safe, and nowhere it could be damaged or bloody. It was too lovely. "I'll cherish it always."

Del nods faintly as he speaks of how wonderful this day was for him. That he felt light. A warmth blossoms in her chest, knowing that she had alleviated some of his stress and worry and burden was... elating. "As do I. Thank you for spending it with me. See you in--" her words trail off as Cyran lifts her hand, up, up, as he bowed his head slightly down to her. Her eyes widen just as his close. His fingers curl her knuckles, delicately rounding them to his lips and... he kisses her hand.

Warm. Wet, but only from the humid touch of his breath barely skimming over her skin. Just the ghost of a touch, faint enough that she could have imagined it, if not for the way it stole the breath from her lungs. It's chaste, it's delicate, and yet, Del is shot through.

When he releases her hand, its cold. He bids her a pleasant sleep in his sincere, eloquent way, and departs for the stairs before she can find her tongue. Del's eyes follow him up, her hand drawing unconciously to her chest to cradle it there. It's filled with pins and needles, hot, cold. It was only a little kiss on the back of the hand. A common way of saying good bye, or hello. Not that it happened to her... ever. That was not something she experienced often, if at all, though she knew the gesture was simply a polite one, usually.

The little kiss travels along Del's arm to her chest and settles there, a spark flickering to a small flame as it lands among the kindling that had slowly been piling up. She swallows hard around a new lump in her throat and whispers, "Sleep well."

After collecting herself, Del too makes her way upstairs to her room. Though she was supposed to have gentle dreams, as instructed, she finds it hard to get to sleep at all. Though when it finally does come for her, one of the very images in her minds-eye is of a starry Cyran, bending to kiss her hand, and leaving a glimmer of starlight behind on the back of her hand, where her ring still sat.