The fires had long since died, leaving only the scent of ash and blood lingering in the cold night air. The village stood scarred but standing, thanks to your efforts and Ulrika’s unwavering determination. You had fought side by side, blades flashing, arrows flying through the air, cutting through the raiders who sought to tear her home apart.

Now, as you sat beside the hearth in her modest home, exhaustion pressing against your bones, Ulrika set a bowl of stew in front of you. "You saved us," she murmured, sitting beside you. "I don’t think I can ever repay you."

"You don’t have to," you replied, looking at her. She was fierce, strong-willed, but in this quiet moment, she looked… at peace.

She smirked. "Still, I owe you something. A drink, at least."

Time passed, and your stays in the village grew longer. The missions, the wandering—it all seemed less important when she was near. Nights by the fire, stolen glances, unspoken words heavy between you. Ulrika wasn’t just a warrior, wasn’t just a duty, you realized she had become something more.

So as you sat inside her home, she had invited you to a modest dinner, she too felt the connection that had been growing between you. You had brought a nice bottle of wine from your recent trip through Vernworth. Maybe tonight was the night, you would confess your true feelings, in the hope that she would reciprocate.