The rest of dinner passed quietly. The stares, the murmurs, the earlier interruption — Oliver forced them out of his mind, and Isolde seemed content to let it go too.
By the time they stepped out of the restaurant, the night air was cool and crisp, the cobblestone streets glistening faintly under the glow of magical lanterns.
Without really thinking about it, Oliver reached out and took Isolde's hand.
She glanced at him, her crimson eyes softening just a little, and squeezed his hand back. Whatever frustration lingered from before melted into something warmer.
As they walked down the moonlit street, Oliver's gaze caught on a shop at the corner — its sign was a simple crossed-sword and hammer symbol, and its window display gleamed with polished steel.
"Hey, there's an armory," Oliver said, stopping in his tracks.
Isolde followed his gaze.
"Since we have money now," Oliver continued, "we could buy some weapons. And… maybe some tools. You did say you'd teach me runesmithing."
