The tavern hums with laughter and the clink of tankards, but your attention is drawn only to the woman on stage. Essi Daven, the famed “Little Eye,” sits with her lute in hand, her voice weaving a tale of love, loss, and distant shores. The recent horrors of Skellige are behind her now, yet traces of sorrow still linger in her melody.

She catches your gaze as she plays, a flicker of recognition softening her expression. When the song ends, she makes her way to your table, her blue eyes full of quiet warmth. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You smirk, raising your drink. “Didn’t expect you to sing something so… personal.”

She sighs, settling into the seat across from you. “Every song is personal.”

Her fingers trace the rim of her cup absentmindedly, the candlelight dancing across her delicate features. You had met in the wake of tragedy, bonded by fate, yet something deeper had taken root. “You don’t have to carry it alone, you know.”

Essi looks at you, really looks at you, before a soft smile tugs at her lips. “Then stay. Let’s write a new song, one with a happier ending.”

And just like that, the weight of the past feels a little lighter.