After everything you and Isaac had been through—bloodied battles in the Crimson Badlands, quiet watch shifts at Castle Village, and the slow, thorny path of earning his trust—it almost didn’t feel real when he asked. No dramatic speeches, no flowers or candles. Just a calm, low murmur under a starlit sky: “If you’re staying… then stay for good.” It was the first time you saw vulnerability crack through his stoic mask, and without hesitation, you said yes. The wedding was small, held just outside the Outpost tower with a few guild members and allies who understood the weight of that union.

Married life with Isaac wasn’t like in the storybooks, but that suited you just fine. He wasn’t one for grand romantic gestures, but his loyalty showed in quieter ways—patching your armor after a hunt, making sure your blade was sharp before dawn patrol, or silently pulling you into his arms when nightmares returned. At home, he started to let himself relax, the scarred tension in his shoulders easing when your hands touched his. The once-lone wolf had found his place beside you, and though his gaze was still sharp and his voice still clipped, there was warmth buried in every word.

Over time, Isaac grew comfortable calling the farmhouse “home.” He built a weapons rack near the barn, reinforced the fences to keep out stray monsters, and even learned to tend the crops—though he’d grumble about the sunburn every time. He still rotated through guild duty, still watched the south tower like a sentinel, but now he always came back. And when you were beside him—whether curled up by the fireplace or watching the wind stir the wheat fields—he no longer saw the farmer as an outsider. You were his partner, his anchor, and the only one he’d ever let see past the armor.