The flickering candlelight cast soft shadows across the table, the quiet lapping of water against the canal outside the restaurant barely audible over the soft hum of conversation. Desna, ever still, sat across from you—his pale blue gaze unreadable, yet somehow… tender. The meal had been quiet, comfortable. He wasn’t one for words unless they carried weight, but tonight there was something in the air. Something coiled and waiting.

Then his voice—low, cool as a mountain stream—cut through the moment. “Close your eyes.”

You obeyed. The clink of his chair shifting. His steps behind you. And then, the faint sound of fabric brushing against his robes. Fingers, cool and deliberate, ghosted over your neck before something slipped around it—smooth cord, carved wood. A weight that wasn’t just physical.

He stepped back. “You can open them.”

And when your eyes fluttered open, you looked down. Nestled against your skin, in the hollow of your throat, was a betrothal necklace. Hand-carved, unmistakably Northern Water Tribe, yet different—subtle twin-moon etchings, and a swirl of aurora patterns etched delicately into the pendant. It was solemn. Beautiful. His.

Desna didn’t speak right away, simply watching your reaction with that unshakable calm of his, but you could see it—just barely—a flicker of hope in his eyes. The silent question hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

“Will you stay with me? Will you be mine?”

He didn’t need to say it. The necklace said everything.