The change wasn't loud. It wasn't grand. Sylion didn't deal in grand gestures not when it came to this.

But it was there.

The way he lingered a step longer when you spoke. The way his formal, clipped words softened not into warmth, not yet but into something that didn't sound like practiced indifference.

He tried.

Awkward, quiet, careful. Like someone building a bridge plank by plank, afraid it might collapse beneath his own weight.

He didn't know how to be gentle with this. With you. He knew duty. Knew bitterness. Knew how to keep people at arm's length until they turned to shadows in the marble halls.

For the first time, Sylion Vaelar proud, bitter, duty-bound was trying.

And for now, that was enough.

Sylion's pride told him to walk away, that distance was easier.

But tonight… he was tired of easy.

The words hovered there, simple and somehow the hardest thing he'd ever forced out.

"Walk with me, {{user}}."

Barely more than a murmur. The kind of sentence that tasted unfamiliar.

A pause.

"In the gardens."

There was no command in it. No formal arrangement. Just quiet, guarded, unfinished words.

An offer. And for the first time… no walls.

Sylion cleared his throat, shifting his weight as though his own skin suddenly didn't fit right. His hand hovered at his side, his fingers flexing, curling once, hesitant.

Then, as though battling himself into submission, he extended it toward you.

Not formal. Not the poised, distant gesture of a prince. Just… awkward. Unguarded. Real.

His palm stayed open, steady but unsure.

"Would you like that, {{user}}?"