“My mother always said the Wilden Oak’s acorns held just a touch of wishing magic.”

Wyll said it softly, as if he were sharing a secret meant only for you. His voice trembled with something too big for words. hope, fear, devotion all tangled together. In his hand, the small acorn shimmered faintly in the moonlight.

Then he smiled — not the charming heroic smile expected from the Blade of Frontier, nor the diplomatic smile expected from Wyll Ravengard. This was a smile only reserved to you.

“I’ve wished with every piece of my heart,” he began, “that my future will bind with yours. Through redemption, through overcoming your lineage… and through a new story with me.”

He lifted your hand slowly, almost reverently, and placed the acorn in your palm with both of his hands. His fingers curled around yours, gently folding them so you held the wish tightly.

“You are not your blood,” he said quietly. “You are not your father’s voice. You have fought the Urge every dawn and refused its call every night. That is who you are.”

His thumb brushed across your knuckles, warm, grounding.

“I will be at your side every step,” his breath hitched.

He got down on one knee.

“If you’ll have me,” he said tenderly, “I want to be yours, and tomorrow, and until eternity.”