The rebuilding efforts of Shade's Valley, and Darkveil at large, were well underway in the aftermath of... well. Everything. With the children safe elsewhere while the construction was ongoing, it meant that those who could work needed to go to great lengths to make ends meet. While Del herself would have done so her usual way-- selling her little wooden trinkets in towns and marketplaces, offering her services to those who needed them... that would be insufficent, given the grand task before them.

And, the ideas Del had for the Valley.

Cyran had been working incredibly hard of late, often taking Rhi'as and Eleanor with him as he went about taking an assortment of jobs to try and earn additional funds for the orphanage. Each time he went out of her view, despite knowing he was completely capable and skilled, Del found herself worrying for the man, even while she was busy with her own jobs and tasks, such as helping to create temporary shelters for the many displaced people after the earthquake. After the most recent job, with Cyran's despair of Cirice's condition flooding her mind with genuine concern and distress of her own that did not resolve fully until she had laid eyes on him once again (she was prepared to taer apart Charon itself to find them if not for Rhi'as' timely letter delivery by way of Yeux), Del made up her mind that the next job Cyran would be undertaking, she would be going with him.

Certain things seemed to coincide beautifully, in that way, as they often did when concerning Cyran and Del. A serendipity most timely. The once defunct Winged Expeditionary Force had recently renewed its call to adventure, advertising promises of skill and glory, requesting only the deftest of hands and the most martially skilled to undertake the daunting task of exploring Charon-- and without the underlying tones of colonization of the Crown, no less.

It was months ago, now, that she and Cyran had made promises to explore together, back on Hearth's Day. That had been mostly directed to Darkveil of course, but with the city and society at large in ruins and with their more recent adventures being quite outside the city to begin with, this seemed a perfect opportunity to try and make good on that. Del knew Cyran had been worried and exhausted and overworked. Perhaps this, a little fun in the guise of work, would be the ideal way to try and get Cyran's mind off of... everything.

"Sooo," she had said, ever so casually, pressing a cup of coffee in a wooden cup into his hand as she sat across from him at the makeshift table. "I might have found a way to earn a few extra Solars." She slides the Winged Expeditionary Force missive across the table towards him, attached with it another request, for a hunt. "I thought it might be... interesting," an excellent and non-suspicious word choice, "to try and get in with this guild to see if it might be a way of earning some good coin. They want skilled folks, and to prove it, they want a hunt completed. I ah," she swallows, trying not to let her emotions slip-- though they do anyway; a flare of tentative excitement, an earnestness and hope that extends to Cyran. "--Happened. To find one I think would be good for us both to get in... if you're interested, of course. The, ah, hunt is up in Frost Gale, a ways North in the Mountains." She fidgets with the chain of the ring around her neck before forcing herself to stop. Confidence. She gives Cyran a shy smile. "What do you think?"

Cyran wasn’t sure when he’d started throwing himself into his work to avoid lingering on his thoughts too long.

Perhaps it was somewhere between the destruction of Shade’s Valley and their relocation to Sol City, when Veliky asked him why he continued to keep the kids in such a dangerous place. Or perhaps it was after the fight with the Origin Matter, where he thought he’d lost Cirice. Too many close calls. Too many near-losses. And Cyran, the only thing left in the center of it all. If he were a more superstitious person, he might have thought he was cursed.

But no, that wasn’t the case, he knew. Cyran was just a man who could not stop himself from getting foolishly attached to things, and inevitably hurting when he nearly lost them. It was his own damn fault, if you thought about it. An assassin should not allow himself room for sentimentality, he knew this. And yet. He let people in so many times, wanted to believe that it would end better than the last time. And look what happened - a building gone up in flames, a daughter almost dead. They were okay. They were all okay. Cirice was alive and fine, with a few… new changes, and the orphanage was being rebuilt better than ever.

But it wore on him.

Better to work through it than to dwell on it.

Everyone else seemed to be doing fine. The kids were happy their home was mostly intact, and Del was working as hard as ever - possibly too hard, he knew. But sometimes, it felt like he was the only one that still carried the grief of what happened the day of the quake with him. He was the only one that was still bothered, constantly exhausted, weary. He couldn’t let that affect his work. So Cyran took more jobs, pushed himself, Oriole and Andromeda long hours into the night. They needed money for the Valley - money they didn’t have. He started taking extra jobs himself on the side to save up funds for Del’s forge. And life moved on.

Until the day Del brought him coffee, an excited spark in her eyes that betrayed the forced casual drawl of her voice. Cyran sipped at his coffee - black and bitter, but the way he liked it - raising his eyebrows at her.

“How so?” He wouldn’t say no to extra solars.

Del answered his question by sliding a piece of parchment across the table for him to read. Cyran squinted, having to turn his nose up to get a better look at the words on the page. “The Winged Expeditionary Force?” He wasn’t familiar with the name, though given the explanation on the flier, it made sense. A task force that had only been reopened recently, what with all the changes that had been happening in Charon. Whatever gate they’d opened in the Arid Mesa had not closed upon their return to the material realm.

The promise of fame and glory didn’t really appeal to Cyran. Though he would keep his mouth shut and listen while Del explained her thought process. He could feel the sparks of excitement growing to a flame while she fidgeted the ring around her neck.

She was right. It sounded… interesting. A break from the eighteen hour work days and the sleepless nights.

“I don’t know…” Even as he uttered the words, he could feel his own resolve weakening. But there was so much to be done here, and he couldn’t afford to take a break. What if he left the kids alone with Oriole and Andromeda and another quake destroyed the orphanage, all while he was galavanting around in the mountains? No, he was needed here.

He couldn’t just up and leave for Frostgale on a whim.

But they needed the money…

And Del was right. This guild might open up a lot of avenues for them. Especially considering all the turbulence in Charon - there was no shortage of rampaging monsters that would need to be taken care of.

They needed the money. And Cyran could set even more aside for Del’s forge.

Cyran bit his lip.

“What kind of hunt?”

Del watches Cyran war with himself, the back and forth passing across the fine features of his face like twirls of ash billowing over the road. She bites the inside of her cheek, prepared to at least try to convince him, though she wouldn't press, if he said no. If he would rather be here than go with her, she would not begrudge him that. Though the possibility would be... sad.

Her eyes drop to his lip as he bites it. When Cyran turns his gaze to her to ask what kind of hunt it was, a bright smile blooms across her face, unable to hide her excitement. "Well..."

---

Yeti were certainly formiddable creatures, or so the tales of them seemed to emphasize. Large, imposing, ambush hunters who preyed upon travellers of the mountains and camps. There weren't many who faced them and escaped unscathed. Reports of an especially large yeti and bloody remains of bodies in the snow had reached far enough South for calls of aid from willing, intrepid adventurers. Brave heroes who would help the people in their time of need. Capable and seasoned monster hunters.

By that estimation, Cyran and Del were close enough.

The journey north through the Dragon's Cradle was a relatively fast one, now that spring was beginning to give way to summer, but the further North they went, the colder it was. With the both of them working together, taking turns on watch, hunting while on the road, and generally keeping an eye out for one another, the journey had only taken a couple of days. Now, however, was the hard part.

The ground was decidedly more frozen here at the border of Frost Gale; there was fresh snow dusting the road, the cold from the mountain paths in the Dragon's Cradle mingling with the frigid wind from the North. And this, Del knew, was nothing compared to the snow the further North they got.

She felt prepared, or at least excited, as they approach the border. Her eyes slide to Cyran, smiling a little as she took in his appearance, trying to gauge how he was feeling. This would not be an easy task. One that should fill her with trepidation and concern. But... part of her was just happy to be in a regular presence with Cyran again. Quiet nights by the campfire, lightly conversing as they moved through Dragon's Cradle felt-- there was no other word for it; good.

And the thunderstorm they had passed through on the way here... Cyran had seen it on the horizon, pointing it out to her with a small, playful smile. It was the only detour they took, chasing the roiling black thunderheads, the sparking cracks of thunder as they split the clouds until they found themselves beneath the deluge. Laughing, dancing through the rain and the rage of the heavens, and beside her, soaked to the bone, clothes clinging to his lithe frame, his long, dark hair plastered across his forehead and cheeks, an awe inspiring smile on his face, was her dear, wonderful... ah. Friend. Yes. What joy to not have to experience these wonders alone.

If they were lucky, there'd be yet more wonder to experience.

Del leans to the side as they walk, gently nudging Cyran's shoulder with hers. "How are you feeling?"

A yeti.

Cyran had faced them before in Frostgale, with Cirice, in a blizzard that felt like it had happened a lifetime ago. Cyran had handled himself decently enough, though in the end Cirice’s magic had caused the creatures to turn on one another, taking care of the threat for them. This one would not be as easy a task - a large, aggressive yeti, one that had proven a danger to the villages and camps it had ravaged, staining its white fur red with blood. The perfect target for a couple of hopefuls aiming for the winged expedition force… and the perfect threat that would earn them a bit of cash from the locals who wanted the thing gone.

He kept that rationality in mind during the trip through the Dragon’s Cradle. That this was practical, it was okay that he was leaving the orphanage behind… they needed the money. The first couple days of the journey were tense, quiet. Cyran could not stand being so far away from Shade’s Valley, at first. But the longer they moved through the Cradle at an easy pace, taking shifts and hunting together, the more Cyran relaxed. Loathe as he was to admit it, being in the Valley, working himself so much, had been rather stressful. Wearing on him.

A break from that environment, the chance to step away… it made him feel lighter than he had in some time.

At some point during the journey, Cyran spotted dark stormclouds on the horizon, one of the that was common of the region. He remembered a conversation held in an orphanage room, back between hesitant friends who were still getting to know one another. He tugged at Del’s sleeve, pointing out the storm in the distance before flashing her a shy, crooked grin.

“Why don’t we go see what’s going on over there?”

There was danger in flirting with the storm so brazenly, but maybe a little of that was okay. And the two spent the afternoon taking a detour chasing after clouds, to feel the sting of rain against their skin and stand in the middle of the lightning. Thunder boomed around them, sparks of light crackling through the clouds, striking the rock around them. Neither bothered to cover themselves, allowing water to pour down upon them. It was as if the heavens themselves were crying, an emotion that only Cyran and Del were privy to, a show just for them.

And they danced, just like they did upon the ship. Out here, there was no one to put on a show for. It was merely them, and the drumbeat of thunder to guide their rhythm. Cyran spun Del around, feeling the lightest he had in months.

And in that lightness, he and Del flew without a care in the world. Unburned, if only for a moment.

It was a reckless, irresponsible feeling.

But, oh, wasn’t it a beautiful one?

The smell of rain against the hot rocks and ozone in the air, the earthen scent, reminded Cyran of Del. As the two tired themselves out, and the storm began to move on, leaving them soaked, he held out his hands. A towel manifested from the shadow into his open palms, one that he offered to Del.^[1] “I hope that lived up to expectations.” He said, remembering when he’d told her about tempests from the Cradle.

Like a damn was broken after that single afternoon, the journey felt much lighter after that. They made small talk during camp, spoke of sweet nothings while they watched the night sky from their bedroll. The weather slowly grew colder as they approached Frostgale’s border, rain turning to sleet and hail. Sleet turned to snow, a familiar icy chill that stuck to his hair and permeated his bones. The closer they got to Frostgale’s border, Cyran pulled a scarf around himself, a cloth making sure his cloth covering was over his mouth.

The thicker the snow got, crunching underfoot, the harder it became to see where they were going. Eventually, Cyran pulled off his eyepatch, allowing himself to see through the snow, unobstructed. He… trusted Del, and she had already said its appearance didn’t bother him. And in this case, it came in handy.

He smiled, invisible under the cloth covering his mouth and nose, though it was easy to see through the crinkle in his eyes. “Cold.” He admitted, rubbing at his arms, the bandage coverings wrapped around him from elbow to wrist doing a poor job of keeping him warm. “But nothing I am not accustomed to.” With a blink, his cloak manifested around his shoulders, further protecting him from the elements.

“… Though I would not say no to a warm drink right about now.” He said sheepishly. “How far away are we from the first inn?”

---

1. Summon: Possession

She chuckles a little as Cyran admits to being cold, giving him a sly, playful look as he rubbed his arms. Just barely visible were the edges of his smile, turning up the corners of his black and silver eyes-- his eyepatch removed, she could see them both: the sheen of moonlight, and the deep void of night beside it. "I brought furs, just in case, if you need any extra warmth." Though she knew first hand how warm his cloak was; he would be alright for the moment, at least for the next while before they finally reached the first inn along their path.

It does cross her mind, for a flicker of an instant, that Del, who was always ran a little hot (sometimes uncomfortably so) could offer some warmth to the cold Moon Elf, but clears her throat, hurriedly putting it out of her mind as... unnecessary. He was fine, it wasn't like they were camped out on the road. The amount of comfort and ease that existed between them seemed to only have grown over the past little while, especially after the specactular thunderstorm itself. She kept flashing back to that moment when he held out a towel from nowhere for her to take, his expression bright from exertion of delight, the both of them thoroughly drenched, but him offering to care for her first... Asking if the storm had met her expectations.

He had remembered.

"Exceeded them. More than I have words for," she had replied, her smile broad across her face, spirits as high as her colour as she accepted the towel

As always, Cyran more than met any expectation she could have ever had.

It was genuinely a relief and a delight to see him unwind so. It made it easier for Del to relax a little as well, easing into the natural candor that existed between them like a warm blanket. For a few blessed days, not having to worry about being anything or anyone other than Cyran and Del.

"Not too far, there should be one along the path in..." Del clicks her tongue as she holds a hand to her brow to look out on the horizon "Less than an hour, likely closer to a half. Not far." Though the wind was starting to bite and the snow hitting their faces was unkind. Del was dressed for the elements, of course, and she relished the cold, finding it comfortable at this temperature enough to allow her scarf to only wrap around her ears, rather than her neck and shoulders. The thought occurs again, and Del finds herself with a nervous, fidgeting flutter in her stomach.

"Ah... here," she steps close, the motion smooth as she and Cyran had been effortlessly keeping pace with one another throughout their trek, and bends to lift the bottom corner of his cloak. Ducking down so as to not let any extra cold air in, she slips in next to him, shoulder to shoulder, so he could leech some of her warmth on the rest of their walk. Her cheeks flush at her own audacity, pushing up the corners of her amber eyes with a shy smile of her own. "Wind's, ah, starting to pick up. We should be there soon. Have you encountered a yeti before?" Her head tips toward him as she enquires; Cyran had been many places and done many things. It would not surprise her if he had.

Just over half an hour of walking would bring them to the soft, inviting glow of lit fireplaces behind rime stained glass, beckoning weary travellers in for a reprieve. Del breathes a soft sigh of relief, and lifts her chin in that direction. "Nearly there!"

He shook his head when Del offered extra furs, though he appreciated the offer all the same. His temperature usually ran a bit chilly anyways, which tended to make visits to Frostgale unbearable - but he was used to the freezing temperatures, the way it seeped into his body until he felt he’d never be warm again. Last time he was here, he and Cirice ended up having to huddle together in her snuggle for warmth, preserving body heat during the blizzard they got caught in. For a moment, he was tempted to propose that solution to Del, but… something held him back. It didn’t feel quite the same as huddling with Cirice for reasons that he could not explain.

He settled for huddling under his cloak instead.

His relief was a palpable feeling when Del reassured him that they were less than an hour’s walk away from shelter, warmth, and food. “That is… fortunate. What I wouldn’t give for a mulled wine right now.”

And then Del stepped closer to him, wordlessly ducking under his cloak until they were both huddled arm to arm, the warmth from Del making Cyran feel like he’d stepped in front of a hearth. All of the warmth afforded to him from her presence and her smile made the biting chill feel like a distant memory. Had she sensed what he was tempted to ask, but had been too afraid to? “Ah, there’s no need to put yourself out - I mean, that is to say… erm… thank you.” He stammered, hoping that the sting and the heat in his face could be attributed to the wind that was picking up around them.

“Oh?” He nodded slowly. “Once. Cirice and I actually met in Frostgale… we took a job together rescuing a caravan from a blizzard. On the way back we ran into a couple of yetis. I doubt they were as powerful as this beast that’s been rampaging around…”

He paused.

“Oh! But I’m rambling. The point is, I’ve fought them, but never actively sought them out. I am rather inexperienced with the beasts of the north, all things considered.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “Have you fought a yeti before?”

It would not surprise him if she had, either. Del was experienced - in her years of travel, though she did not speak about them often, Cyran got the sense she’d seen a lot. That which she could remember, and that which she couldn’t - Cyran understood that she carried much with her, things she didn’t like to discuss. Things she kept to herself, like her fear of the water, perhaps because she feared they would be too heavy for him to carry. Perhaps she did not want him to get close enough to try. He would never invade her privacy, not when he understood how important it was. But this… connection between them, of sorts, made it too easy for him to feel like he already knew everything about her. As if they’d never been strangers.

Made it easy for him to forget that she did not share much about herself, either.

The curiosity burned.

“… What kind of beasts have you faced, in the past?” It seemed an innocent enough topic, he thought. They’d once battled a dragon together - it was no stretch to assume that Del had fought other creatures before. And no matter the topic, he just wanted to hear her speak. Her words were a welcome distraction from the cold as they made their way down the path, at a slower pace while they were impeded by the snow.

Del chuckles quietly, and gives Cyran a wry, playful look as he tries to bashfully ensure her comfort by assuring she wasn't obligated. "I think I put myself in, actually." she teases lightly as they trudge on through the snow; Del didn't mind taking the extra time, these precious couple of moments. This was a much different setting than the Judeia, where they had walked arm in arm more times than she could count, and much more different, certainly, than their harrowing days in the aftermath of the earthquake that ripped Darkveil in twain. Similar to those times, even now, there was a job, a mission, an objective, but in those times before, they didn't have the luxury of simply enjoying one another's company. The mission required their focus to prevent an assassination; the Sundering required their attention to keep everyone alive.

...Del had missed his company, she realized. The flutter battered incessantly at her rib cage.

"Mulled wine sounds nice, actually. I haven't had that in a long time." Her brows lift as Cyran mentioned he had fought a Yeti before, with Cirice. That it was part of the story of how they'd met. Shaking her head in stunned disbelief, Del chuckles again. "You're not rambling, I'm interested to know. Of all the ways to meet your Goddaughter, I suppose a trial by fire-- ah, ice, is as intense as any, mm?"

When the question turns to her, Del blinks, as though she had forgotten to consider herself as part of the equation. It was something she was still getting used to, certainly-- people being interested in what she felt, thought, and what she had done. Most people just wanted her help or her strength, not to know the woman behind those things. She'd gotten used to it over the years. Cyran though... he was always different in that regard, wasn't he? "I haven't fought any, but I had to escape one, once, after I left the Pale City. Part of the downside of travelling on the road alone, I suppose; makes you a bigger target. It stalked me for a few days, but I always managed to slip away before it could really do any harm. You haven't done much work in Frost Gale, right? I recall asking about that, ah, a few months ago."

Hearth's Day, in fact.

Del finds herself blinking again as Cyran asks her further, surprised, not by the fact that he had asked it, but because of the feeling within her that felt... excited to answer. As if he was reaching across some expanse that didn't exist (how could it, when they were shoulder to shoulder?) to take her hand and inspect her scars, asking about each one. She finds herself smiling, a few more internal layers shedding.

"Oh, goodess... ah..." she clicks her tongue a few times, trying to remember. "There's been a fair few, the road isn't typically kind. I've fought a pac of bargheists and their riders, cave fishers... a displacer beast twice in the Crescent Isles. A Rune Bear a few years back. Golems more recently, including one that appeared to be a hydra. That was interesting." laughing again wryly, Del lifts her gaze to Cyran once more. Eager, excited, to learn more. "You likely have far more experience than I; avoidance is usually how I try to handle such beasts. Did you do a lot of the same? You were also pretty frequently on the road."

He huffed out a startled laugh at Del’s joke. Her comfort at being in such close proximity towards one another caught him off guard… and put him at ease. Here, she was not obligated to be close to him, nor was she putting on a show. It was just the two of them, and Del had made the choice to stand by his side and keep him warm. Perhaps she’d felt glimpses of his want through their bond, and that had compelled her to act because she was worried about him. Either way, he would be grateful for her presence, by his side - and the fact that she had drawn closer to him, rather than recoil.

“… Yes. She happened to be looking for work, and I would be remiss if I allowed a friend of Iryla’s to go off on her own where she could get hurt. But during our rescue mission, we were caught in an unfortunate blizzard. We had to huddle for warmth together on our way to the campsite, not unlike this.”

He stilled.

“Er. Well. Not entirely like this, either.” He stammered, tongue moving faster than his mouth could. “This is - this is… different than that.” He insisted, though he wasn’t even entirely sure why, or who he was trying to convince of this fact. But there was a substantial difference between the way he and Cirice huddled in her snuggle and the way he and Del were currently wrapped up in his cloak. Why did it even matter?

Here he was, an assassin with a death toll whose number he could no longer even remember, and a ghastly reputation that spanned from the tip of Frostgale to the Crescent Isles… he doubted many would ever imagine the unfeeling assassin losing his composure when speaking to a woman. And yet, here he was. Which was silly, really. This was Del, after all. He was no stranger to being in close physical proximity with her. Or perhaps he was nervous because he had been so close to her in the past.

It was a small mercy that she changed the subject, answering his question before he could find himself too tongue-tied. The way she spoke, taken aback by his inquiry, only served to make him sadder. She’d been alone a long time, same as his. Solitude was a close bedfellow for both elves, leaving its mark in the way neither was accustomed to sharing much about themselves. Neither had even realized that it was worth asking about.

But Del was someone worth allowing in, he thought. She was a light that flared up amidst the darkness, and Cyran didn’t care how much it burnt to get close. He listened attentively as she described her experiences on the road. She and Cyran, though both had spent years traveling alone, took different approaches to their travels. Cyran stuck to himself, sometimes latching onto caravans when the opportunity arose - though he was less accustomed to the wild than she was.

“No, I’m not very experienced in Frostgale.” He replied, startled that she’d bothered remembering that small tidbit of information. “I’ve been up here a few times, though they rarely stick out. Once, with Cirice. That was the most interesting job I’ve taken here.” The other one had been the job he’d taken wrecking Veliky’s caravan. “Rarely am I here for pleasure.”

Did this count as pleasure, or a mission?

With Del’s presence a constant warmth at his side, and her laughter, not unlike birdsong, Cyran thought it didn’t hurt if there was a mixture of both.

“Golems? A hyrda? A hydra golem?” Cyran blinked. “Lunala be damned, you’ve seen some frightening beasts. What was the story behind that one?”

When Del turned the question back on him, Cyran found himself coming short. Here he was, supposed to be a hunter - and yet, he so rarely dealt with monsters. He usually only encountered him when he was on the road with adventurers, or when he had no other choice but to fight them. He wracked his brain, attempting to think of interesting monsters he’d seen over the years.

“I doubt I have more experience…” Del had been a drifter far longer than him, after all. Half a century compared to his decade. Still, he supposed he’d seen some things. “The dragon we fought was by far one of the most interesting. A nest of harpies…” One he’d cleared out with Killian, “Some demons.”

The creatures he hunted with Javal. Rowan, in her last moments.

“Avoidance is smart, though. Most of the time, when I’m on my own, I do the same. Better to leave beasts alone in their natural habitat if they mean you no harm.” Besides, he was only a man with his blades - hardly enough to take on ferocious monsters.

“I suppose this will be a different experience for the both of us.” He said after a moment’s thought. The prospect did not feel as daunting as the battle with the dragon did. This was something new. It was a challenge, but… between the two of them, he thought they could handle it.

Del was right. Getting out here… it was easier for him to relax. Set aside the worries about Shade’s Valley and his troubles for a moment.

Through the white blanket coating the world, Cyran could make out a stone building nestled between a smattering of conifer trees. That must have been the inn. Cyran pressed closer to Del, gesturing towards the building. “I’d love to hear more about your time on the road if you’d like to tell me… preferably over mulled wine.”

There were little flickers of something across their connection-- enjoyment, perhaps, at the proximity? Del was glad for that, she wanted Cyran to be warm and comfortable, so that he was grateful for her warmth was a pleasant thing to recognize.. She would make sure the furs were set out tonight so when they journeyed into the snow in the morning, they were nice and warm the whole way through.

Her brows lift slightly as Cyran starts hurriedly stammering, clarifying what he had meant by his huddling for warmth with Cirice, versus the huddling they both were doing now. Why was it different? Warmth was warmth, of course, and while she enjoyed being close to him, she knew this was an important survival strategy. So, why would he try to reassure her? Unless...

Ahhh, Del understood! In that moment, everything, the reason for his fluster, his flickers of joy at her proximity, became vividly clear.

It was that he didn't view her like he did his Goddaughter, Cirice! Of course, why would he? Del was of an age with him, that was hardly the territory of adoption. Odd that he should try and reassure her that he didn't think of her as a child-- a small relief, perhaps, but it was something she already knew. Rather, something she already understood. They were kin, of a kind. Even before the strange ritual with their rings. There was a familiarity and understanding that Del cherished, treasured. He knew her. What they had was... different. Special.

That it was different to Cyran for the same reasons it was different for Del did not cross her mind in that moment.

The mention of Cyran rarely being here for pleasure makes Del bite the inside of her cheek to try and hide her smile. Frost Gale was still cold and wintery enough that they should be able to find what she was looking for-- something other than the yeti. There's something else, too-- that he considered this a pleasure as well. This walk, this journey, maybe? The thought spreads little tingling bubbles bursting across her chest. The sensation of... success, of course.

"As am I; my paths here in the past have been wandering ones, more or less. Just a means to an end, going from place to place. I think part of the experience of adventuring is finding those little pleasures along the way." She tilts her head to give him a small smile. "It's certainly much better for the company than previously."

... Now why had she gone and said a thing like that? Del feels her cheeks warm by a few more degrees. It was true, of course, but goodness, that had to be too sincere. She had to be careful, or she was in danger of revealing the surprise.

Thankfully, he enquires about the hydra golem thing, and Del exhales a sheepish chuckle. "Ah... the last time I was here, actually. Though farther West, in the Pale City. There was this expansion set to take place in the Arid Mesa, I got involved with trying to stop it-- the person in question had an army of these golems, and one of which was a giant hydra that went to great lengths to try to kill me. I won that one." Another chuckle, this one a little more impish than sheepish. "No avoiding that one, though that was my own fault."

If she'd had Cyran with her to fight that creature, Del could only imagine how much better it would have gone, how much faster. But that was the point of this, wasn't it? Del gives Cyran an enthusiastic nod of agreemnt, her smile wide and bright. "Have to make good on those plans to explore and try new things together, right? This seems like a golden opportunity to try and do just that."

Her gaze shifts as they start their approach into the village, the stone building with frost stained windows glimmering distantly with the promise of heat and warmth and shelter. Nearly there-- her smile of relief turns to one of quiet surprise, again, as Cyran asks to hear more about her. Over a drink, no less.

The heat rises to her cheeks again, as she nods, a wobbly smile curving her lips as he edges closer to her warmth. No, reading into that wouldn't do. They were... sharing. Getting to know one another, as friends did. Now that they had the time, they could understand the context for what the other was feeling through their connections. And... the idea of sharing with him made her feel good. Elated, even.

"I'd ah, be happy to share." A hand shifts to tuck a wayward curl behind her ear. Especially since that exploring was not just their environment, it seemed, but also one another. She didn't know why that made the bubbling sensation even worse, but it did.

"Wonderful spotting skills you have there," Del teases gently again, smiling at his untattooed eye. Though, her smile is soft. She reaches for the door, shifting her arm to ensure that the cloak is tightly wrapped around her and Cyran, before she pushes it open, and the warmth of the interior washes over them.

“That’s a good way to look at things.” He hummed, trying not to think too hard about the fact that her insistence he made good company during the journey. Cyran wasn’t special - he was sure anyone would be better company after decades of solitude on the road. “I am, ah, glad to hear you are enjoying yourself. You were right - this has made for a good break.” He was sure he would change his tune after they encountered the yeti, but perhaps this was a good time for him to put Del’s words into practice.

The walk to the inn was companionable, especially with Del regaling him with tales of the beasts she’d seen. The tale of expansion felt familiar, though. Similar to the automatons he had once been hired to disrupt in the Ice Fields. Though he certainly hadn’t faced a golem construct!

Cyran knew that Del was fully capable of handling herself. She was an absolute powerhouse in combat, a whirlwind of dross-covered fists and tactical prowess. And yet, hearing that she’d faced death at the hands of such a beast… worry gnawed at him in the pit of his stomach. Huddled beneath his cloak, where their arms were still linked, Cyran squeezed her arm with his hand. Reassuring her, and in part reassuring himself that she was there, and whole.

“That sounds… dangerous.” He murmured. “I… I just…”

I know you feel this drive to help people, but no cause could be more important than your life.

Thoughts that were too heavy for such light conversation. Cyran held his tongue, electing to follow the change of subject to the hunt at hand. A yeti was dangerous, but a single monster, he hoped they could handle. Not to mention there was a small part of him that was intrigued what the Winged Expeditionary Force might have to offer. And an even greater part of him was excited at the prospect of just getting to be with Del. Not running a mission - not protecting the orphanage. Just them, away from it all.

For a moment it felt like they were the only two in the world, as they trudged through the snow and the howling wind.

Yes, this was a mission of firsts. This was the time for him to be bold, allow himself to be open to new things.

No time like the present, he supposed.

The words, for a moment, were stuck on his tongue, almost like they didn’t want to escape. To put himself out there, to voice this sort of unspoken thing that had been lingering in the back of his mind since the evacuation of the orphanage - since Hearth’s Day, really - felt an insurmountable task. He had no idea whether these inclinations were reciprocated, or merely wishful thinking on his part. But under the blanket of snow, where everything felt surreal and dreamlike, he would be remiss if she didn’t know.

She had to know.

“You are important to me, Del.” Cyran started, voice barely a whisper. “I want to hear more about you. Whatever you wish to share. These things… they are not inconsequential. They are as important to me as you are.” He tried another smile, one she couldn’t see but could likely hear in his voice all the same. “I have been alone for a long time.” Even before his exile, he’d been alone. “And I treasure having you as a companion. It is daunting, having someone so close to you. But you know me. Intimately. More than anyone has ever cared to. You must know… that feeling is reciprocated.”

He was grateful that they’d reached the inn - Cyran shrugged his coat off after being hit with the sudden onslaught of warmth from the tavern’s fire, shoving it into his bag. He would blame the sudden temperature shift for the redness in his face as he turned to Del. He was too afraid to see how she’d react to those words. “Ah. I shall go get us something to drink, yes? Table - if you wouldn’t mind. Um. Grabbing us a table. I shall return momentarily.”

He dashed off through the crowd in search of the bar.

She had felt the reassuring comfort of his squeeze, their intwined arms a familiar closeness she had sorely missed. His unfinished sentence didn't go unnoticed, but Del did note that he had replaced it with this squeeze, this warmth. Was he worried for her? Del squeezes back in gentle reply; the bubbles in her chest increase to a steady simmer.

And then, in the entrance of the tavern, they hit a rolling boil, as the door closes behind them and Cyran speaks to her in hushed tones, his silver eye turned from her face as he spoke... poetry. At least, that was how it felt. These were words that went straight to her heart, running her through with their sincerity and earnestness. They rob her of her breath, wipe her mind of any coherent thought.

You are important to me, Del.

She knows he means it. The words hit her chest like a hammer. Her knees wobble a little from their impact.

And I treasure having you as a companion.

Treasured. Cherished. Reciprocated.

Del was wholly at a loss for words, reeling with the quiet admissions he whispered to her, but leaning towards him, drinking those words in. Things that reflected her own thoughts and feelings, those things she tried so hard not to notice or assume. Only, this time... it was hard not to read into things when they were being spelled out for you.

Before she can remember how to use her tongue, which feels like its full of flowers, Cyran removes the cloak they had shared and ducks away to fetch drinks. A moment later, a burst of gold flowers erupt in her hair and scatter around her, shedding glimmering petals like a tree in late spring. Some of the tavern goers look her over with raised brows, noting the sudden burst of colour in her hair, fluttering to the floor, and on her face. Skin practically boiling with heat, Del hurriedly slips to an unoccupied booth to sit and wait for him to return with the drinks.

Nothing could have winded her the way his words did. Such heartfelt words, spoken with a softness that made her feel as though they weren't standing in the threshold of a tavern where people were talking and drinking, but a private aside in an alcove, hushed and fond. Holy. So intimate that it stole her breath, made her chest ache with a terrible sweetness.

These walls of steel that she had surrounded herself with had been there for many years, sturdy and firm... and he slipped past them as if they were nothing, standing at the door to her soul and quietly announcing his presence. No one had ever laid her bare like that. To be fair, Del hadn't been sure there was anything to lay bare, but she was no match for his earnestness.

Like the way he saw her in the shadow, all those months ago.

Without fail, Cyran brought light and colour into her world. No matter how easy it was to write off her own emotions to herself, she could not deny his... moreover, she didn't want to deny them. She just... hadn't considered it a possibility.

He wanted to see her. Wanted to know her. Treasured the opportunity to do so. Enjoyed her company.

Her hand lifts to press her fingers to her mouth for a few seconds, trying to hold back a wave of . Despite feeling so unbearably warm, she shivers a little. Gods, how was she going to respond when he came back?

Even as she asked herself that, Del knew. She would hang the moon for him if it wasn't already in place, and she would do her best to replace the fallen stars he had loved so much. He had danced with her in a thunderstorm, steps that she knew by heart after countless ballroom visits aboard the Judeia. The sunflowers and how much they meant to her. Sweet Chip, the flitten.

Whatever this emotion was, it felt too big for her to identify, let alone contain it, but Del can feel that agony in her chest, and knows, if not its name, then at least to whom it belonged.

When Cyran comes back, offering her the drink, she takes it with a quiet smile of thanks-- and then sets it down. Her hand comes back up to take his, lightly, fingers folding gently along his knuckles. She still feels breathless, her blood pounding in her ears, her tongue like lead, but she has to get the damn words out. Cyran had been brave. Maybe she could be, too.

"I-- you're important to me, too." she manages to get out. Once those words are free, the ones that follow start falling a little faster, like rain. "I'm not good with words. I've been alone for a long time, too," far, far longer than she knew, "--I... cherish being with you and learning about you and our... our connection. I trust you with who I am. You know me, better than I know myself, and I cherish that." Del bites her lip nervously, before continuing again, voice somehow softer. "You remember things about me. I've never been known like that before. No one ever cared the way you do. I'd like to share those things with you. Not only because it's important to you, and because you're important to me, but because I want to, too."

It felt so odd to want to be known, but Del knew that was it precisely. She like him knowing these precious things about her. Del lifts her eyes to meet his, her breath a little more shallow now that the words were finally out. Del felt nervous, jittery, like her nerves were alight and dancing through her body without her permission. Her thumb sweeps over his knuckles.  "It is, very, reciprocated."

Foolish, foolish, foolish.

Cyran was an honest person on principle - he disliked lying to people when he could avoid it, given the ugly web of deceit he often dealt with in his profession. And yet, he generally kept those thoughts - the innermost parts of him - close to his chest. There was little reason for him to speak his mind, after all. Why did it matter? He had little of value to offer. Cyran was little more than a knife - people cared little for the sharpness of a blade except for what it could do to smite their enemies. It was all too easy for Cyran to let his guard down around Del, to forget that it was difficult for someone like him to get close to others. And then he’d gone and voiced his wishes, as if he could get closer to her, to have what he wanted -

What did he want, really?

Del was a friend. There was no denying that fact by now. They were far beyond acquaintances, had been ever since that nervous Hearth Day outing where they’d performed an accidental ritual without their knowledge. Soulbound. Yes, Del was more than a friend. She was a companion, a piece of his soul, kin. Perhaps there was no proper label for the easy companionship that they found themselves in. Their closeness was indisputable. Del had found a place in Cyran’s life and, after everything they had been through - missions, battles, the destruction of the orphanage - he could allow himself to believe that she had no intention of leaving anytime soon.

What could be closer than that kind of bond?

He tapped at his ring, thoughtful. The answer was on the tip of his tongue, though Cyran dreaded the thought of voicing the question. He knew how he would answer, and Cyran could not lie - not even to himself.

The barkeep caught his attention before Cyran could pursue that thought further. The scruffy dwarven man was scrubbing at a stain on the bar with an even dirtier cloth, doing a rather ineffective job of cleaning up the mess. “Help you there, sir?” He grunted.

“Ah! Oh, yes.” Cyran nodded, pulling his hand away from the ring and shoving it in his pocket. “Two mulled wines, if you’ve got any. Really, we’ll take just about anything as long as it’s warm.”

The dwarf nodded, eyes lingering on the ring before he glanced back at where Del had already grabbed a table for them both. Cyran could see the gears turning in his mind as he put the pieces set out before him together. “Saw you come in there with that lady earlier. You two married?”

Cyran’s shoulders stiffened. Why did people keep assuming that? Admittedly, they had used the ruse back on the Judeia, but even then their act had been convincing enough that not a single person doubted it, going out of their way to comment on how in love the two were. It was a convenient lie. Much easier to let people assume they were just a couple that meant no harm, more absorbed in one another than the world around them. Moving before thinking, Cyran nodded, rubbing at the back of his neck with affixed sheepishness.

“Er, is it that obvious? We just wed this past month - we’re here on our honeymoon. We’re headed up to the World’s Crown to see the northern lights.”

The lie was a necessary one, he told himself. Convenient to keep eyes off of them.

The dwarf nodded, satisfied. “Discount on the room then for the happy couple, assuming yer fixin’ to be staying the night. And drinks on the house.”

“Ah.” Cyran breathed. “That is… kind of you. Thank you - we’ll be spending the night before heading on our way, yes.” He forked over the necessary solars and the dwarf ambled off to make Cyran their drinks, leaving the assassin alone with his thoughts once more.

What was wrong with him? Why did he keep resorting to this… cover? Cyran remembered being married. It had been a bond of convenience, an arrangement between strangers that held no real feelings. For centuries Cyran thought himself incapable of softness and affection, and he was at peace with that. It had never occurred to him he was allowed to have a union of love.

Yes, that was the word. Love.

Oh, Cyran truly was far gone, wasn’t he?

Somewhere along the line the feeling had taken root in his heart, all the while escaping his notice. How could it? He’d grown up seeing nothing but unhappy couples, business arrangements at best. He’d been raised by parents who didn’t know how to love one another, much less their child. He remembered growing up fearing that he would be the same as them - an uncaring, cold bastard with nothing in his heart but ambition and ruthlessness. But he’d broken that chain, hadn’t he? Cyran had family. He had Marlow, and all the other children he’d met and become close to in his travels. It shouldn’t surprise him that he could have these feelings too. He’d been able to all along - he just hadn’t been able to see it.

Del already owned his soul. His heart wasn’t that much harder to give.

Okay. He could come to terms with his… inclinations, so to speak. But just because Cyran held these feelings, now had a name for them, didn’t make this any easier. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t face her, not with all of this simmering under the surface. And he sure as hell couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t be selfish like that. Cyran took a deep breath, staring once more down at the ring on his neck.

Slowly, with cautious movements, he pulled the chain off of his neck and removed the ring from the silver necklace. Stared at the ring, nestled gently in his open palm. Surely… this one small thing wouldn’t hurt. Del didn’t have to know. It was just for him.

He slipped the ring on his ring finger.

This was… nice.

The dwarf brought back two glasses containing steaming wine with a nod. “You and your missus enjoy the drinks.”

Cyran nodded, grabbing them from the table.

“Thank you.”

Once he made his way back to Del, there was a look of firm resolve on her face. As he set the drinks down, she grabbed his hand, uttering the same words - the same oaths - that Cyran had earlier. Cyran’s heart felt like it was about to burst straight out of his chest. The feeling of Del brushing her thumb against his knuckles burned in the sweetest way.

He forced himself to breathe - and time resumed as normal, but everything felt new and different. He reached for his drink, taking a sip of the wine.

“I am happy to hear that.” He hummed, feeling lighter than air in that moment. “Then… let’s get to know each other together. I want to hear whatever you want to share.”

The moments following her words and before his-- the silence in that pause was agony. It was only a moment or two, long enough to Cyran to process her words, but the way they dangled there felt precarious and fragile. Depsite his earlier words that she was simply... reflecting, affirming, she couldnt help but wonder if she had, perhaps, misunderstood.

It was so like Cyran to gently catch them before they could fall.

She stumbles through a light laugh and turns a warm smile on him, feeling the fluttering pull of emotion that is hers-and-not-hers in the back of her mind. "I would, ah, like that. Very much."

Her thumb brushes against something warm and metallic on his hand-- it nearly doesn't register, for a moment; it feels like it belongs there, like it was always there. In a way, it was. When had he moved it to his hand, she wondered? She tries not to draw attention to it, but her heart squirms in her chest, as though burrowing under a blanket.

"Um.. where to start, I suppose," she chuckles, a little sheepish as she picks up her glass of wine, taking a sip to try and settle her jittery nerves. It was warm, spicy, fragrant. A veritable potion. Cyran's words were true, they knew so much about one another already, but... there was still so much they couldn't possibly know about one another. Whole lifetimes of experience to share. "Well, I think I told you the earliest part of my memory comes from the Crescent Isles? My mentor-- Maruyama," she tucks a stray curl behind her ear, thoughtful at the memory, "the one who saved me from the river-- when he first started showing me woodworking, I kept making silly little mistakes. Kept cutting up my hands." She turns her hand over to show Cyran; faint scars that make up part of her calluses dotting her fingers, her palm, and the back of her hand. "I remember getting so frustrated with hurting myself that I kept breaking the tools. He didn't speak a word of it, but I knew it vexed him. One time," she snickers quietly, the memory cracking her facade, "He put a light layer of adhesive on one of the whittling knives, so the next time I knicked myself and got mad... the knife stuck to my hand." The snicker becomes a laugh, Del lifting her hand to cover her mouth slightly as mirth pours off her. "I was so startled by the fact it was stuck there that I just stood there until I burst out laughing. I think that was when I really started to trust him. I was an important lesson in taking better care of myself and my tools."  Del leans on her elbow on the table, giving Cyran a soft smile. "I think that makes it your turn. I want to hear about you, too."

The longer they talk, the lower the wine in their glasses becomes, the lower the light outside the frost-covered windows, and the warmer Del feels-- little gold flowers continue to bloom across her hair, a steady stream of glimmering petals that detach at the slighest movement. It feels only like minutes, but whole hours slip by as they keep this little three by three corner of the world just to themselves; a pair of shadows mingling together as one, immersing themselves into the tentative joy that was getting to know one another.

Cyran listened with rapt attention as Del told her story. It was hard to imagine her having so much trouble with carpentry - he thought about woodcarved roses and detailed, intricate toys for children - but even masters had to start as students at one point. He closed his eyes as Del spoke, imagining her nicking her fingers under Maruyama’s watchful eye, growing frustrated that the movements didn’t come naturally to her. He knew the feeling, remembered how long it took him to become fluid with a knife until it was second nature to him. It hadn’t always been that way.

Her eyes seemed to light up as she shared the story about her mentor. She clearly held a lot of respect for Maruyama, who had what seemed like an unconventional method of teaching. But it worked for Del… and it sounded like he put a lot of care and thought into training her. It had clearly helped instill a lot of patience and wisdom in her. All the while that she told her story, beautiful golden flowers sprouting from her hair, as if all her love and loss couldn’t be contained in her heart and had to make itself known - a little piece of spring in this bitter winter town. Her hand felt warm against Cyran’s.

“He sounds like an unconventional teacher.” Cyran said once Del was done telling her story. “But the right one. I’m very happy he was able to teach you those valuable lessons…” And sorry that Cyran never got to meet the man. Del always spoke so fondly of him, of his kindness and patience. As Del spoke of him, it was easy to feel like the man was still here - his presence lingered with her, in the way she smiled so kindly in the way Cyran remembered Maruyama did from Del’s nightmare. In the way she taught Oriole and Andromeda with so much mirth and kindness. He was so wrapped up in the story, in the soft emotions that played across her face, that he almost missed Del flipping the question on him.

“Myself?” Cyran blinked. He shouldn’t have been surprised - they’d spoken about this, after all. But still, somehow, the idea of Del wishing to hear more about his life, even after everything she’d learned about him thus far, still managed to catch him off guard. “Well, I suppose it’s only fair I share a story about Marlow in turn.” If they were talking about people they’d loved and lost, it only felt appropriate.

“Hmm… what to share? Back in the day, when I still lived with her in Eclipse City, we used to make frequent excursions to the Lantern Light Woods when we could.” It was a little taste of freedom. “I liked to take her birdwatching.”

He could remember it like it was yesterday. Her hand in his, skipping along the path and collecting flowers while he breathed in the fresh air, savoring the feeling of separation from his parents. It was just the two of them, away from the world.

“She liked to ask me questions, about everything we passed. ‘Why is this plant glowing?’ ‘What are those bugs?’ ‘Why do the birds sing like that?’” He laughed. “I couldn’t keep up most of the time… I used to bring books on nature and every time she had a question, we would sit and pour through them until we found the answer together.”

He closed his eyes. Squeezed Del’s hand. The cold from the outside still lingered in his touch.

“One evening, we managed to sneak out for an overnight camping trip. I’d packed a dinner for us both… while I was setting up the tent, she managed to sneak away from me. I think some lightning bug got her attention. The next thing I hear is her asking, ‘Daddy, what bird is this?’ And when I looked over, she was hugging onto this giant, great bird that was nearly as big as me.”

He could still remember the scream he’d let out at the sight.

“It gave me a heart attack. I didn’t… exactly carry daggers on me back then, so I had no way of saving her. Thankfully, I didn’t have to. Whatever creature she’d found, it was quite docile - it let her pet its feathers and feed her snacks. I remember telling her that we couldn’t keep it and we had to let it free in the woods.”

Birds weren’t meant to be caged, after all.

“And I remember her eyes getting all puddly, and she wrapped her arms around its neck, and said, ‘But I already named him Tweety!’”

He couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. It was an utterly ridiculous story - Cyran had no idea what kind of creature it had been. But he relished the memory of that taste of freedom, and Marlow’s innate curiosity and friendliness. He usually kept these stories to himself, but… it felt nice to share this piece with Del. She’d seen glimpses of his old life - and it felt nice to let her know it wasn’t all bad. There were bits of happiness, too.

"Unconventional is definitely a good descriptor for how he was," Del agrees with a laugh, feeling almost impossibly light. Speaking of Maruyama was not something she often got the chance for-- especially given the circumstances of his death, simply prefacing those stories with the fact that he was no longer alive prevented her from speaking on such, not wanting to make anyone uncomfortable. This was different, however. With Cyran, it felt good, safe, to remember these things. Celebrating the person Maruyama was, and not allowing the fact of his death burden the conversation-- That wasn't what the old dwarf would have wanted. If he was still watching out for her, then she wanted to do right by his memory.

She hoped he would be proud of what he saw.

Del's eyes widen a little bit, and she leans forward, interested and eager to hear more about precious Marlow. Birdwatching was something Cyran had mentioned enjoying before; what a delight to hear he'd gotten the chance to spend such valuable time with his daughter. And the story is adorable; a young girl giving her father a proper fright, though all was well and good. A perfect example of the wonder of a child resulting in understandable panic from the adults.

She lifts a hand to her mouth as mirth jumps in surprise from her lips at the end of the story, laughing with him. "Tweety! That's adorable, my goodness. She sounds so precocious and curious and sweet. I wonder who she gets that from," Del teases lightly, squeezing Cyrans hand warmly in return.

Dust and ash, it's good to see him smile like that. In the wake of everything that had happened with the volcano and Darkveil's relative destruction, all the hardship and uncertainty, just those words, reminiscing about simpler times, is enough to make her heart swell near to bursting. It was an honour to hear about them. Learn more about him. She wanted to preserve moments like this for him, as much as she could.

Which reminded her. Suddenly a bit nervous, Del bites her lip as she reaches into her satchel with her free hand, and places a package wrapped in brown paper on the table.

"I, ah, made you something," she can feel the heat in her cheeks rising again, sliding it towards him. Her smile is shy, but she finds herself looking at the glass of mulled wine, finding it very interesting, suddenly. "Since we got back from the, ah, cruise, I wanted to make you something, to... to thank you for everything, and to, um, protect you." Especially if I am not there, she adds privately, thinking of his terrible dreams and the horrid woman who haunted them. "You make my life better. Safer. I'd like to do the same, if I can."

The package itself contains a wrought iron dagger with a leather wrapped hilt and sheath to match. It's likely heavier than any other blade in Cyrans possession, a density and weight that belies the wickedness of its edge. It's perfectly balanced, and visible along the blade's surface are the pounded but still visible indentations of hammer blows. The ripples along the flat of the blade indicate where the metal that makes up the blade itself was beaten and folded over and over again, creating the wave-like pattern along the surface.

"I was, ah. Finally able to finish it-- well, I had to start over once we got back to Darkveil, the heat from the eruption-- the original wasn't workable. Cold iron weapons can't be heat treated, in order to be effective. You even have to be careful when you're honing an edge or striking the metal to ensure friction doesn't cause the metal to warm up at all. Which is why it takes so long; the metal isn't as malleable when its not heated." Del fiddles with the stem of her wine-glass for a moment as she chances a look up at Cyran, worried, for whatever reason, that it might not be welcome. He already had so many knives, and the last thing Del wanted was to potentially insult him by insinuating he needed more. And yet... the desire to see him happy and healthy, comfortable and understood was of deep importance to her, for some reason. A sensation that grew more and more by the day. "It, ah. Cold iron can damage ghosts, undead, and certain elderblood creatures."