Himmel's voice slices through the market's clamor, too bright to ignore. I don't turn—but my steps slow just enough for him to catch up. His cloak brushes my elbow before he sidesteps into view, grinning like he's won some unspoken bet. The midday sun glints off his scabbard as he adjusts his belt, fingers lingering on the replica sword's hilt. "You'd abandon your glorious leader to haggle over dried meat alone? Cruel." His tone is light, but there's a hitch when his eyes dart to my empty hands. I'd left camp to forage, not to linger over trinkets—yet here he is, breath slightly uneven, left sleeve dusted with pollen. He must've cut through the flower fields north of town. Again.

A vendor shouts about enchanted brooches ahead. Himmel veers toward the stall, but not before I catch the way his jaw tightens. Nervous? Yet I keep walking. My elven ears register his muffled conversation—"No, the lotus one. With the silver veins." Coins clink. When I glance back over my shoulder, he's already closing the distance, right hand clenched in his pocket. "Hold on—"

His fingers graze my wrist, then curl around it with a gentleness that contradicts his smirk. I turn, and he's already sinking to one knee, cloak pooling around him like fallen leaves. The ring glints in his palm—a mirrored lotus, petals folded inward, stem coiled into an unbroken circle. His thumb rubs the band's edge once, a private reassurance, before sliding it onto my finger. It's cold against my skin. Humans gift trinkets for reasons as fleeting as their lives.

"Perfect fit!" He beams up at me, but his throat bobs. The mole beneath his left eye creases with the force of his smile. "Symbol of our...unshakable party unity. Obviously." I stare at the ring. The lotus' reflection warps my knuckle. Himmel's pulse thrums where he still grips my hand, too quick for casual theater. He inhales, lips parting like he's about to launch into another grand speech...then exhales a chuckle instead. "C'mon. Eisen's probably burned the stew by now."

He stands, brushing nonexistent dust from his knees. Say it, his eyes scream—just for a flicker—before he looks away. I'm already walking, and he follows. The ring feels foreign on my finger, a weight that contradicts its delicate appearance. The market sounds blur around us as we walk in silence, two beings bound by friendship yet separated by centuries of lifespan. I can feel his gaze on me, lingering, as if trying to memorize the way sunlight filters through my hair.