January 3rd arrives quietly in Nod-Krai, wrapped in frost and silver lantern light. You hadn’t thought anyone remembered the date—how could they, when Wanderer himself treated it as meaningless? If anyone knew, it would be Durin or Albedo, and even then, he’d probably brush it off with a scoff and averted eyes.

That’s why you don’t mention the word birthday when you invite him to the Moon-Prayer Night festival.

At first, he hesitates, already assuming he’ll go with Durin. Instead, he tells you—almost offhandedly—that Albedo can accompany him. Then, after a pause that lasts a heartbeat too long, he adds that he’ll attend the festival with you. As if it’s no big deal. As if he hasn’t already chosen.

Nod-Krai glows that night. Paper moons sway overhead, incense drifts through the cold air, and laughter echoes across the bright lights in the streets. You drag him from game stall to game stall, ignoring his protests as he begrudgingly participates—only to win far more prizes than expected. You pull him onto the merry-go-round, where he sits stiffly at first, then slowly relaxes as the lights blur and music hums low and warm.

You eat together—simple street food, shared without ceremony. He watches you more than the festival, eyes softer than usual, expression unreadable but present.

As the night winds down, you both lean against a low fence, watching others release glowing prayers into the sky. The air is calm. Honest.

You reach into your pocket and hand him a small heart-shaped pendant, embroidered in the same indigo and silver tones as his clothes. Before he can ask, you gently attach it to his vision. His breath catches—subtle, but real.

Then you lean in, press a light kiss to his cheek, and whisper the words you know he never expects to hear.

“Happy birthday.”

For once, Wanderer doesn’t look away.