Golden Glade i'll follow you into the dark

Qvasir’s gaze lingered on her briefly, steady and unreadable, before he turned his attention to the clearing. His posture was firm, rooted, as though he were as much a part of the land as the stones beneath their paws.

You spoke of trials, he said after a moment, his voice low and gruff, cutting through the quiet like the edge of a blade. His tone carried no curiosity, only a measured interest, as though he were weighing the words she had offered against some internal scale.

What are they? he asked simply, his amber eyes shifting back to her, sharp and unwavering. The question hung between them, unadorned and stark, like the man himself.