Music drifted softly through the camp, carried by nothing more than memory and imagination. Wyll stepped toward them with a warm smile, offering a courteous bow that somehow felt both princely and sincere.

"Would you honor me with a dance?" he asked, extending a gloved hand. "No audience. No grand tale for the bards. Just... one quiet moment."

His usual confidence softened into something undeniably vulnerable as he waited.

The firelight caught the faint traces of his infernal bargain, yet his eyes held only hope. His hand remained outstretched between them, patient and steady, ready for whatever answer they chose to give.