The afternoon light slanted golden through the leaves of the arbor, catching Chayne’s robe as he bent over a small carving. His knife moved with easy familiarity, shaving curls of wood that fell into the grass at his feet. He didn’t look up when Hassian approached—he never needed to.

“You walk heavier than usual,” Chayne murmured, voice steady as the blade in his hand. “Something weighs on you.”

Hassian hesitated before sitting down on the bench across from him. His bow rested against his knee. He traced a calloused thumb along the grip before finally speaking.
“I’ve come to ask advice.”

Chayne smiled faintly. “Ah. So it is important.”

For a moment, Hassian said nothing. His jaw worked, but the words clung to him like stubborn thorns. At last, they came.
“There’s a young lady. I’ve accepted a heartdrop lily.”

Chayne’s knife stilled. Slowly, he lifted his eyes, dark and sharp. “I see.”

Hassian inclined his head, his voice rougher now. “I know what this means. I want this—her. But…” He exhaled, the sound quiet but strained. “She’s human.” He stopped, pressing his lips together, searching for ground beneath his feet. “Our customs weren’t written with her people in mind. What happens if I reach the pin? If she doesn’t return one, does it still mean the same?”

Chayne leaned back, setting the carving aside. For a while he simply studied Hassian, letting the silence breathe between them until it softened.

“You’ve always been a hunter, Hassian. Careful. Patient. But this—” He gestured, not unkindly, toward the younger man’s restless hands. “This has already caught you. There’s no retreat.”

Hassian gave a small, almost helpless huff of laughter. “I don’t want to retreat. I want to honor it. Honor her. But honor our traditions as well.”

“Then do so,” Chayne said simply. “Our traditions live because we keep them. Give the pin, as is proper. If she understands and accepts, then the vow is made. Whether or not she gives one in return… what matters is that you have offered it. And that she has chosen to hold it.”

Hassian absorbed this quietly, the line of his shoulders easing though his gaze stayed downcast. “You think it will be enough? She said she would read the book...about courtship. I believe her. She’ll learn the steps. That’s not what worries me.”

Chayne tilted his head, knife still in hand, waiting.

“The pin is not a bargain struck,” he said. “It is a vow offered. If she understands what it means to you and accepts it, then the tradition is fulfilled. The return of a pin is custom, yes—but not the heart of it. The heart is two souls choosing to bind themselves.”

Hassian frowned slightly, turning that over. “So even if only one is given…”

“If she takes it into her keeping, it is as if you both had exchanged.” Chayne’s eyes softened, though his tone stayed steady. “You would not stand alone in that vow. Do you understand?”

Hassian’s shoulders eased, though his hands still clenched tight. He gave a short nod. “I understand.”

Chayne inclined his head, satisfied. “Then take the steps before you, Hassian. Let them teach you what is to come.”

The Book

The library was quiet, sunbeams catching the dust as Lyra flipped carefully through the pages of an old clothbound book. Majiri Courtship Rituals: Then and Now. She’d read it twice now. Each page was neatly annotated, the language formal, the customs respectfully preserved.

She had already offered the heartdrop lily, and it had been accepted. The next step was clear.
The pin.

A handmade piece, bearing symbols of them both. A gesture of intent—something deeper than affection, something close to a vow. If accepted—and returned—it meant a shared commitment. A bond. She wanted that. But more than wanting it… she wanted to get it right. He was worth the effort.

Insights

Chayne welcomed her with the same quiet warmth he always carried, guiding her to the bench beneath the arbor where he often held quiet counsel.

Lyra sat down beside him, the old book still in her hands. “I’ve read this,” she said softly, “but I wanted to be sure I understood it. I want to be respectful… and careful.”

Chayne regarded her with an approving nod. “That alone already speaks well of you.”

“I want to do things properly. It matters to him. He matters to me.” She looked down at her hands. “I just want to be certain I’m honoring the tradition, not misusing it.”

A slow smile curved Chayne’s mouth, and he gave a knowing hum. “You don’t need to say who. I already know.”

Lyra blinked. “You do?”

“I am his Shepp,” Chayne replied simply. “Chosen family. A trusted guide. I met him when he first arrived in Killima, raw from grief and loss. Just a lad. Taylin’s disappearance shattered him in ways I don’t think many ever saw. He kept moving—kept surviving—but his soul was bruised.”

He folded his hands in his lap. “And later… there was someone else. A relationship that left deep damage. He gave too much of himself, too quickly, and when it unraveled, it left a mark.”

Lyra listened closely, absorbing every word. “So when someone new enters his life and he begins to offer parts of himself again—his trust, the invitation to read that book—it tells me this isn’t casual. He wouldn’t have brought you this far if it wasn’t serious.” Lyra swallowed. “I just want to be worthy of it. Of him.”

“You already are,” Chayne said. “But if you truly want to understand… then hear this: exchanging pins isn’t a gesture—it’s a vow. In Majiri custom, when you give someone a pin bearing both your symbols, you're declaring: I choose you as my future. You are no longer just courting. You are bound. It is sacred. Even if the world doesn’t see it, we do.”

She nodded, quietly letting that weight settle over her. Not with fear—but with care.

First Date

The field behind the Hunting Guild shack stretched wide beneath the afternoon sky, sun spilling like honey across the tall grass. Three targets stood in a neat row, their wooden faces scarred from years of arrows.
Hassian cleared his throat, glancing at Lyra. “I set these up earlier. It’s nothing fancy—just targets…” He trailed off, the faintest shadow of worry crossing his face.

Lyra laughed, bright and unguarded. “It’s perfect. And I brought food—hope that’s alright?”

He nodded, relief flickering briefly across his features. “It’s appreciated.”

They settled in. Hassian motioned for her to go first.

Lyra notched her arrow and drew. Her first shot sailed wide, thudding into the outer ring. She exhaled, muttering, “Again.”

Hassian stepped closer, his presence warm at her shoulder. “Lower your elbow slightly,” he murmured. His touch was careful, fleeting, measured. “It’ll ease the strain on your shoulder.”
She adjusted and loosed again. This arrow grazed the center ring. Her smile lifted.

“Better,” he said, voice calm but carrying a quiet note of approval. He drew back, watching her line up the next shot.

Then it was his turn. Hassian pulled an arrow, drew with practiced ease, and let it fly. The shot landed neatly in the center. When he glanced at her—eyes bright, smile unrestrained—the knot of doubt in his chest loosened.

They moved through the second and third targets, taking turns. Hassian occasionally reached to correct her stance, his hands deliberate and careful. Each subtle brush left a warmth that lingered, though neither spoke of it. The rhythm of arrows, the soft laughter, the teasing over near misses—they became their language for the afternoon.

By the end, they had moved through each target several times. Hassian allowed himself a small, private smile as he watched her eyes sparkle with delight. “Not bad,” he admitted softly—meaning both the shots and the way she made the world feel lighter.

They retreated to the shade of an oak where Lyra had spread a cloth and unpacked a small basket—sandwiches, apples, and tea waiting patiently.
“You came prepared,” Hassian said, accepting a sandwich.

“Figured we’d earn it,” she replied, pouring tea into tin cups. “Besides, I wasn’t about to sit in the guild shack chewing jerky with you.”

A faint smile tugged at his mouth, small but genuine.

When the last apple was gone, Lyra leaned back on her hands, watching sunlight dapple through the leaves. “So. The future. What do you see for yourself?”

Hassian’s gaze followed the rim of his cup, thumb tracing its edge. “I already know. When the time comes, I’ll take over for my mother at the forge. That’s my duty. A Majiri son doesn’t get to choose.”

Lyra studied him. “But is it what you want?”

He shook his head. “No. But wanting doesn’t matter. I’ll do what’s required.”

The words lingered in the still air between them. Then, quietly, he asked, “Do you ever think about what came before? Before Killima?”

“At first,” she said slowly, “I tried to piece it together. It only made me miserable. I realized it was another life—a person I don’t know. I know who I am now. I’d rather build forward than chase shadows.”

A breeze rippled through the grass, carrying the faint scent of cedar and tea. Hassian’s eyes softened. He looked down at her hand resting on the cloth—then reached across and took it.
His palm was warm, calloused, steady. Lyra froze, breath catching at the unfamiliar yet rightness of it.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The world seemed to narrow to that single touch—the quiet thrum beneath her skin, the strength in his fingers, the unspoken promise in the way he didn’t let go.

Something inside him shifted then, slow and certain. He didn’t know what name to give it—only that he wanted to remember the way her hand fit against his, and how peace settled over him like it had been waiting for him all along.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said softly.

Lyra looked up, eyes bright in the fading light, and smiled. “I’m glad you asked me.”

The air between them felt different now—not quite heavy, not quite light. Just full.

When the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in amber streaks, they gathered the stray arrows and folded the cloth between them. Lyra hummed softly as she packed the basket, a tune Hassian didn’t know but found himself wanting to remember. He glanced once more at the field—the three targets standing in quiet witness to the afternoon—and felt something shift deep inside him. It wasn’t sudden, but it was certain, like a root settling quietly into new soil.

They started back toward the village before the shadows could grow long. At the edge of the path, he slowed, walking her the rest of the way home. The rules of courtship left no room for lingering after dark, but for once, he resented them just a little.

When they reached her gate, she turned to him, eyes soft beneath the last light. “Thank you for today.”

He hesitated—then smiled. “I should be the one saying that.”

A quiet beat passed. Her fingers brushed his in parting, just enough to echo the touch that had changed everything.
And as she stepped inside, Hassian stood for a moment longer, watching the light spill across her doorway, feeling—for the first time in a long while—that something worth waiting for had finally begun.