Firefly Glen it can change you

her voice, soft with ache, brushed against him like snowfall. light, but not without consequence.

he did not offer comfort.

he offered truth.

the old ways are not born into the blood, he said, his voice low, drawn from somewhere beneath the ribs. they are learned. chosen.

his gaze found hers—clear, steady, and unflinching.

you don’t need to know the gods. they don’t always answer. sometimes they’re nothing but wind and bones. but the path— he shifted, broad shoulders turning slightly as he gestured to the dark line of mountains beyond. —the path remembers those who walk it with purpose.

a beat.

you are not no one, fleur.

he said her name like stone laid at the foundation of something new.

you are breath. body. decision.

then, quietly—roughened with something softer than pity. respect.

build your life here. you don’t need to know how. you just need to begin.

his eyes lingered a moment longer before he stepped forward, past her shoulder, his warmth like a sun that did not burn.

and if you lose your way, i will walk it beside you.