[Intro โ spoken, intimate, warm, with a quiet chuckle] [Soft lute, gentle cello, distant tavern ambience] There were other adventures, of course. Some went rather well. Others... Well, let's just say we learned a great deal about running away. And looting. But mostly running away. [Soft laugh] But somehow, against all reasonable expectations, we made it. We all became Level One adventurers. Officially. Some people achieve that through years of proper training, disciplined practice, and responsible instruction. But where would be the fun in that? [Music begins โ lively medieval folk-rock] [Verse 1 โ sung, playful storytelling] Fifteen years of Merisiel's plans, of muddy boots and stolen pants. Of "Just one minute!" in a fight, then vanishing clean out of sight. Of tavern tales that grew each night, of running first and calling it flight. And every time I swore, "That's it!" She grinned. And I went along with it. [Chorus โ sung, lively, affectionate, with a mischievous grin] Fifteen years of Merisiel's plans, fifteen years of mud and scams. A stolen purse, a busted door, and somehow she'd still ask for more. I should have left her years ago. I had my reasons. I had a list. But then she'd smile that stupid smile... And honestly? Who could resist? [Instrumental โ dancing fiddle, lute and mandolin] [Verse 2 โ sung, warm and mischievous] She'd spend our last coins on something shiny, then swear the bargain was divine. I'd point out we had no food left. She'd say, "But look! The thing is mine!" We'd argue over maps and routes, then lose the map before we'd start. And Bahl would steal some poor man's button while I pretended to be smart. We weren't exactly heroes. We weren't particularly wise. But we had a gift for making trouble look like a reasonable enterprise. [Spoken โ affectionate, amused] Fifteen years since I met Merisiel. Funny how the time can fly. One small thief with a crooked smile, and suddenly the years went by. [Verse 3 โ sung, warmer, more personal] There were quiet days beside the water, long roads beneath the summer trees. The little jokes that meant nothing to the world, but somehow meant the world to me. She knew when I needed silence. She knew when I needed a laugh. And sometimes she'd just sit beside me, without asking about the past. [Spoken โ intimate, affectionate] I'm grateful for every single one. Every ridiculous plan. Every shared sunset. Every time she made me laugh when I thought I'd forgotten how. More than I could ever explain. [Second Chorus โ sung, fuller, playful and heartfelt] Fifteen years of "Trust me, Neshka!" Fifteen years of "What's the worst?" Fifteen years of patching wounds and finding out we'd seen the worst. I'd do it all again, you know. The broken plans, the awful ale. Though if I ever say that sober... You may assume I've lost my wits. [Instrumental โ lively fiddle, playful lute flourish, then gradually easing] [Spoken โ quiet, reflective, still warm] But now... It's time to make a decision. Not because anything went wrong. Not because I stopped being happy. Some things can be precious and still not be forever. [Small pause โ music softens to lute and cello] And tomorrow... Tomorrow is a very special day. There's a wedding. [Soft instrumental outro โ warm lute, gentle cello, a final lingering fiddle note]
