Firefly Glen it can change you

he did not step back.

not when her paw hovered close to his chest. not when her eyes met his with something warm, something hopeful. not even when her storm met the edge of his silence.

her words curled in the space between them like breath in cold air. he listened—truly listened. it was a rare thing he gave, and rarer still to offer it without demand. but she had earned it.

there was no mockery in her kindness. no pity in her voice.

only truth.

a truth that stirred something ancient inside him. something before the weight. before the loss.

he looked down at her hand—so small above his heart. the beat beneath it was slow. steady. like drumfire in a mountain hall. the heart of a man who had lost much…

but still lived.

fleur, he repeated, voice like the low creak of timber in snow. the name fit her. not like a title. like a wish.

his gaze held hers.

i am sólhárr, he said at last. hárkonungr of forneskja.

he let the title settle—not as boast, but as burden. a man of the old ways. a guardian of flame and frost.

his chest rose once beneath her paw, and then—

you may call me what you like.

a pause, eyes narrowing just slightly, the faintest flicker of something close to a smile.

will you walk with me?