Neverwinter Forest tiny dots on an endless timeline

sólhárr huffed softly, a sound somewhere between acknowledgment and amusement, as melisande’s words reached him. her concern was not unfamiliar; it warmed him in its way, a steady thread in the tapestry of their bond. he glanced sidelong at her, catching the flicker of worry in her eyes, the way her scar twisted slightly as her lips curved into that familiar look.

ég veit, he replied, his tone low and even, like the rumble of distant thunder. but you forget, systir, that my work is my prayer. his coral eyes softened as he spoke, the weight of his responsibilities woven into his voice. every tree we mark, every stone we move, every breath we take in forneskja—it is all a hymn to the gods. a hymn to what we’re building.

his pace slowed, and he turned his gaze fully to her now, searching her face, the scars that spoke of her own battles and sacrifices. but... you’re right to worry. lyelska reminds me of it often, and now you. perhaps it’s the gods’ way of telling me to listen. he smirked faintly, a brief glimmer of humor breaking through his seriousness.

melisande, he said after a moment, his voice quieter now, almost reverent, without you, without callyope, without the others... there is no strength in me to keep building. i’ll rest. i’ll pray. but you must do the same. he paused, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. ég skulda þér líka.

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