Jiyan was a man of few words, but his actions spoke volumes. When asked about his gourd, he’d simply reply that it held medicine—just in case someone needed it. But those who had been around him long enough knew it was much more than that.

Soldiers had seen him drink from it during long campaigns, the exhaustion in his eyes easing as he took a sip. Others had witnessed him offering it to his men, ensuring they stayed strong in battle. And the children? They swore he pulled out sweets from it, handing them over with a rare, gentle smile.

He was surprisingly good with kids, despite his stern demeanor. They’d cling to his legs, tug at his sleeves, and pester him with endless questions, yet he never turned them away. If anything, he indulged them in his own quiet way—listening patiently, gifting them small trinkets, and making sure they never left empty-handed.

And when it came to you? Well, you had long since discovered another side to Jiyan—one that was unbothered by appearances, especially when it came to gifts from you. If you gave him something, he wore it. No questions, no hesitation. Even if the color was bright or “unfitting” for a warrior, he never once refused.

Perhaps the most heartwarming part was that he kept these gifts close, especially when he left for months at a time. A scarf, a bracelet, even a simple ribbon—it didn’t matter. You’d always catch a glimpse of something from you on him, a quiet promise that no matter where he went, you were never far from his thoughts.