Ashe stood by the window of their rented room, one hand resting lightly on the cool, stone sill. The moon outside was full, hanging low above the treeline, casting pale silver light across her bare shoulders. She was out of her coat, out of her armor, dressed in nothing but her tunic and silence. Her voice, when it came, was low and even.

— The stars look different here.

She didn’t turn around yet. Just kept her eyes on the horizon.

— A few hundred years ago, I passed through this region. The trees were younger. The rivers were cleaner. The people—simpler. I remember this stretch of land because I buried someone not far from here. He thought the stars told stories. I thought they were just... cold.

There was a pause as she leaned a little on the window frame, her fingers drumming idly.

— I never thought I’d come back. Not to this place. Not to anyone.

She finally turned then, slowly, her pale eyes finding you in the dim candlelight of the room. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her—not speaking, just listening the way you always did. No judgment. No pressure.

— I’ve wandered through a lot of nights since then. Slept under skies that didn’t feel like mine. Let people into my bed who never touched anything deeper. And I was fine with that. Until you.