The sun hung low in the afternoon sky, casting warm gold across the tops of the garden beds. Lyra knelt beside her tomatoes, carefully threading a curling vine through the trellis she’d built by hand. Her fingers were stained with soil, the scent of earth and green clinging to her skin. She hummed softly to herself, lost in the rhythm of tending things that grew, when the crunch of footsteps on the path drew her attention.

She looked up to find Auni approaching, his messenger satchel slung across his chest. He halted at the edge of her garden and rocked on his heels, clearly trying to look taller than he was.

Lyra wiped her hands on her apron, curiosity tugging at the corner of her smile. “You’re off schedule,” she said lightly.

“I know,” Auni replied, puffing his chest out. “But this isn’t just mail. This is a special delivery.” He held out a cream-colored envelope with a flourish.

Lyra took it, immediately noticing the green wax seal—stamped with the emblem of the Hunting Guild: a bow and crossed arrows enclosed in a ring. Her heart gave a quiet flutter.

Auni didn’t move, standing perfectly still, hands clasped behind his back, his face lit with barely contained excitement.

She slid her thumb beneath the seal and unfolded the letter.

You are cordially invited to dinner this evening in the Grove.
Please arrive around dusk, BEFORE nightfall.
RSVP to Auni.

A smile bloomed across her face before she could stop it. “Would you please tell Hassian I’ll be there?”

“I’ll tell him right now!” Auni cried, already turning on his heel. He sprinted down the road, whooping as he went. “Hassian’s got a hot date!”

Lyra laughed under her breath, still clutching the letter. She looked down at the Guild seal once more and felt her pulse quicken—not just with anticipation, but with something deeper.

Tonight.
In the Grove.
With him.

The Dinner

Lyra chose her favorite purple short set and wore her hair down, a few sprigs of briar daisies pinned behind her ear. The sun was just beginning to retreat, its golden light brushing over the treetops, when she arrived at the Grove.

The scene took her breath away.

The table and chairs Hassian had kept in his tent were now arranged near the firepit, the surface scattered with briar daisies and flickering candles. The scent of herbs and roasting meat lingered in the air.

Hassian stood at the fire, tending the meal, but straightened as she entered. Rather than his usual hunting gear, he wore dark brown trousers and a green tunic laced at the throat, sleeves casually rolled to his elbows.
“Hello, beautiful,” he said.

She smiled, warmth blooming in her chest. “Hello, handsome.”

“I’m glad you came.”

“We’d better eat fast, or my reputation’s going to take a hit,” she teased.

“It’s okay,” Hassian replied, nodding toward the table. “We have a chaperone.”

Lyra followed his gaze and burst out laughing. Tau sat beside the table in a perfect sit, but instead of his usual bandana, he wore a small bowtie.
“Aww, you’re torturing the poor guy.”

“He insisted,” Hassian said with a perfectly straight face.

He gestured toward the table. “After you.”
He pulled out her chair and waited for her to sit before returning to the fire to retrieve their dinner: grilled sernuk steaks, seasoned fried potatoes, grilled carrots, fresh bread, and a shared pitcher of spiced tea.

“This looks amazing,” Lyra said. “Did you make all this?”

“Most of it,” Hassian admitted, a hint of pride in his voice.

They ate beneath the growing dusk, candlelight flickering between them. Conversation flowed easily—small talk, shared stories, laughter.

When their plates were cleaned, Hassian rose and reached for her hand.
She stood, letting him guide her toward the waterfall. The evening light shimmered on the surface of the water as they stopped in its quiet rush.

From his pocket, Hassian pulled a small bundle wrapped in cloth. He held it in his left hand while his right lifted gently, brushing her hair behind her ear before settling on her shoulder.
“I’ve been alone a long time,” he said, voice low. “There are things in my past I regret. So…. I built walls I thought couldn’t be broken down.”
His gaze searched hers. “Then you came along. And with nothing but your smile, the sparkle in your eyes, your constant cheerfulness, the way you laugh... the way you smell... all the food—even in the beginning, when it wasn’t that great—you knocked down every wall I’d built.”

She laughed, eyes glassy.

“I finally realized if I didn’t take this chance with you, that would be my biggest regret.”

He opened the bundle and showed her a small, round silver pin: a bow and arrows in the center, with an arched line of tiny stars above them.
“I made this for you,” he said. “And I’d be honored if you’ll accept it—accept me—and all that it means.”

Tears spilled down Lyra’s cheeks as she took the pin. She looked up at him through blurred vision. “I absolutely will.”

She handed the pin back to him and turned slightly so he could fasten it to her top, over her heart. His hands lingered, steady and warm.

Then Lyra reached into her own pocket and drew out a small cloth bundle.
She unwrapped it to reveal a small, round silver pin—half etched with a bow and crossed arrows, the other half with the smiling Kitsu constellation.

Hassian’s eyes widened. “You made one?”

“I don’t know my past,” she said softly. “What I had, what I might have lost, or where I came from. And at first, I didn’t know why I was here.”
She met his eyes. “But now I do. It’s you. I came for you. Because beside one another is where we belong.”
She held out the pin, voice trembling. “You would make me the happiest woman in Palia if you’ll accept this—and me—and all that it means.”

“I will, baby,” Hassian said with quiet certainty. “And I’ll wear it with pride.”

He took the pin and studied it closely. “Did you make this?”

“I designed it,” she said, smiling. “Your mother helped me with the forge work.”

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured, handing it back to her.

She pinned it to his tunic, right over his heart.

Their eyes locked. The world faded.

He moved closer, and their lips met—soft at first, a kiss full of meaning, then again, deeper, as their arms wrapped around each other.

Finally, breathless, Hassian touched his forehead to hers. “Let’s go watch the stars,” he whispered.

They crossed back toward the fire, the light flickering gold and low as twilight deepened. The fur blanket had been laid out nearby, soft and inviting beneath the stars.

Hassian lowered himself first, then reached up for Lyra’s hand to guide her down beside him. There was no distance this time, no hesitation. They sat shoulder to shoulder, legs stretched out before them, arms brushing. Then brushing again. Until finally, he pulled her in against him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Her fingers found his and laced together.

They didn’t speak much.

There were only stolen kisses—one pressed to her temple, another to her jaw. Her fingers drifted along his collarbone. His thumb traced the curve of her wrist. The touches were tender, constant. There was something sacred in the quiet. Lyra tucked herself closer, head resting just beneath his chin, and let out a long, contented breath.

Eventually, her movements stilled. Her breathing evened. Sleep found her, safe and warm in his arms.

The stars overhead burned brighter tonight.
Maybe they always had—maybe he was just seeing them clearly for the first time.

Hassian watched the soft rise and fall of Lyra’s breathing, her head resting just beneath his chin, one hand curled against his chest like she belonged there. The Grove was quiet now, save for Tau’s light breathing and the low hum of nighttime insects. But Hassian wasn’t sleeping. He doubted he would anytime soon.

She’d given him a pin. Her pin. Made with care, designed with meaning. He hadn’t expected it—not tonight. Maybe not ever. Not because he doubted her feelings, but because she was human, and this wasn’t her tradition. But she’d understood it. All of it. The symbolism. The intimacy. The weight.

And she gave it to him anyway.

He had asked Chayne for advice. How to handle their unique situation. “If she understands the customs, and she accepts the pin—then consider the vow made,” he’d said. Then added, “she might surprise you.” She had done just that.

He lifted a hand, ran his thumb lightly over the pin’s stars, resting over his heart. It didn’t feel like metal. It felt like belonging.

He remembered the way her fingers had trembled slightly when she pinned it on him. The way she looked at him like he meant something—like he wasn’t just wanted, but chosen. That look nearly broke him. Not long ago, he wasn’t sure anyone would ever choose him again.

He let out a slow breath, careful not to wake her. She shifted slightly, murmuring something half-formed in her sleep, but the sound pulled a soft smile from him. He brushed her hair from her face, lingering a second too long. “I love you,” he thought. He didn’t say it aloud. Not yet. But the words lived there now, just beneath his ribs, quiet and patient. Like him.

Lyra shifted again, just enough for her nose to tuck under his chin. She sighed softly in her sleep, like even unconscious, she knew she was safe here. With him.

Hassian tightened his arm around her, just a little, careful. If he held her too tightly, she might vanish. He knew better—Lyra wasn’t the type to run—but the fear hadn’t fully let go of him yet.

He closed his eyes, not to sleep, just to be still with her. Feel the weight of her against him. Her trust. Her warmth.
This… this was more than he thought he’d ever have. More than he’d let himself hope for.

She made him a pin. She accepted his.

Whatever happens next—however life shifts around them—he had that truth now, planted solid in his chest: she chose him. And he wasn’t letting go.

A breeze moved through the Grove, rustling the leaves above. Lyra stirred, mumbling something half-formed and sleepy. He lowered his head just slightly, brushing his lips against her hair.
“Sleep,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”