Cyran was just content to sit back and listen while the two spoke about weapons and the craft, though there was a tidbit of information that interested him. Zarius rarely mentioned his own personal life or family, and aside from Eameia, Cyran had only heard scant tidbits about Madam Zewala after their trip to the charity ball in Zeinav. But he’d never heard Zarius speak of his father. Cyran couldn’t blame him - he understood that Zarius’s family carried some influence in Darkveil, and that kind of thing wasn’t something you flouted around for your own safety. But even this passing mention was a bit of a surprise.

And, admittedly, a bit of an ironic one given that Zarius utterly refused to use weapons at all.

It was nice to see him with his guard lessened a bit, though. Enough to take interest in Del’s work and share some things about himself. Cyran hoped his father commissioned Del - the money and good word would be wonderful for her smith. “I’m sure at some point I’d love to commission daggers from you as well, Del.” Idly, he wondered if Zarius’s father had a penchant for knives, as well. Cyran was not particularly interested in other blades, but he could talk about knives for hours.

And conversation continued, while Snow babysat the apprentices. Oriole listened to their every word with rapt attention, clearly interested in learning all he could from the catfolk. And the air, for a while, felt lighter than it had all day.

Eventually, the sky darkened as afternoon transitioned to dusk, and Cyran figured it was better to return to Shade’s Valley than overstay his welcome. The pair bid Zarius, Eameia, Snow, and Eirynor goodnight - the weight of Eameia’s gaze caught his attention, and he turned to give her a slow nod. Reassuring. He was pulled away by Zarius, talking about some sort of job he would need Cyran for. As vague as usual, but Cyran trusted that he would know what Zarius had in mind in due time. He shook his head, though there was an amused smile on his face. “I’ve still got a good century left in me, don’t count me out just yet.” Then, quieter, more serious, “Call upon me and I’m there.”

And then the two elves, along with Cyran’s apprentices, made their way back to the ash-filled streets.

Despite the fact that it was barely at the cusp of dusk, Darkveil was quiet. There was almost an ominous feel to the air, as if the fear from earlier had not quite left. Despite that, Cyran felt… well, he couldn’t quite name how he felt right now. There was so much of it all that he couldn’t quite place it. That didn’t stop him from turning to Del and offering a grateful look. “I know this didn’t turn out quite how we’d planned it, but… I’m happy you’ve gotten the chance to meet my companions. And I’m sorry for any… nerves that the visit might have caused, but it means a lot to me. Thank you for coming with me today.”

It didn’t take them long to reach Shade’s Valley and part ways while Cyran made his way to his office, and Del returned to the guest room. He left her with a parting hug and a wish for pleasant sleep, or as well as Del could manage with the nightmares that plagued her.

For a moment - a single, tantalizing moment - Cyran almost asked if she might want to share a bed together like they had before on the Judeia, if only so he could ease her dreams. But he was too much of a coward, and he needed some time to himself to think. So he left her with a parting embrace and returned to his room, shutting the door and closing the blinds behind him.

He didn’t manage to sleep that night. Only in the privacy of his room did he take a look at what Zarius had left him, and what Eameia told him. There was too much for him to think about, and not enough time.

There was never enough time.

But at least he was armed with some sort of knowledge of what was to come now. Cyran turned to stare at the portraits on his desk, thoughtful.

He’d do his best to keep them all safe. All of them.

A polearm or sword would be interesting, certainly. "You mentioned your father was the one who had trained you, I think? I would be honoured to try and make something to his standard. I'm fascinated to know about his collection one day, when there is time." Her eyes turn to Cyran with a bright look, beaming at the idea of him commissioning daggers from her. "I would be more than happy to see what I could make for you, too, Cyran."

Time that would have to be made in the future. It's soon time to depart, and despite feeling a little more at ease, quiestions and concerns remain. It as been a day. She accepts his handshake with a smile, "The pleasure was mine. And likewise, feel free to stop by the smithy any time. Thank you again Eameia!" She gives the young woman a small smile and a nod. The fellblood had been strangely withdrawn since they had returned from fighting the Hell Hounds, but then, it was quite an alarming event. "Please let me know if you would like me to fix that railing for you."

After bidding everyone farewell, Del matches her pace with Cyran as they head back towards Shade's Valley. Her gaze turns to him with a small, wistful smile. "You have no need to apologise. I was with you; I knew I was safe. They, ah. All seemed a touch on edge, too." She chuckles a little ruefully. That was easily explained as it was, but there was still a lot of context, a lot of unanswered questions she could ask.

...Perhaps another time.

"It was a real honour to meet the people who are close to you, especially here. I'm glad you have so many people here who have your back." Del beams, genuinely pleased to have been able to glimpse through this window into Cyran's life. It was oddly exciting to find new things to learn about him. She relished the opportunity.

Returning home was the part she enjoyed the most and the least. The most because she was home, and felt automatically safer within these walls-- least, because as she headed to bed, she knew she would have to do so alone. She almost asks Cyran if he would, maybe, perhaps, be willing to share a bed, as they had aboard the cruise ship but could not bring herself to ask of him something so personal, especially not after the day like the one they'd had. Rhi'as had been badly hurt, after all, and she was sure that whatever conversation Cyran and the two Fellblood siblings had would require some afterthought.

So, when they bid one another goodnight, complete with a warm but altogether-too-brief embrace, she heads to her room to sleep for the night. For much of it, though, sleep does not come easily; she finds herself frowning up at the ceiling. The codenames of Rhi'as and Eleanor, that the others seemed to know. The glares from Eirynor. The whispers in hushed corners. All of this pointed to something. Damned if she knew what, but she felt as though she should be paying attention.

Eventually, though, Del succumbs to slumber, one hand curled around the ring that hung from her neck. And when she sleeps, she dreams of what she doesn't remember.