Summer. The season of fire, scorching the sky. Yellow and orange and red, deepening to a rich pink hue at the gradually softening edge. Brave Vesperia has not yet emerged from the inferno, nor has the moon risen, but the light of the dying sun is enough to illuminate the path to the top of the cliff.
They sit, side by side, with no concern for the distance separating them from the ground, and watch the rays fade further. No words are spoken to break the silence of the sunset. Judith merely slips her soft hand into Yuri's rough one, and he glances at her with no small amount of surprise at the gesture of affection, but her eyes are fixed on the horizon.
He does not, or cannot, look away from her. She sits with dignity, her legs crossed as elegantly as if she sat on a throne, head held high as if in a challenge to the sky. A light breeze stirs her hair, and her feathery tufts with it—the same shade as the falling night, with a pale streak like the crescent moon, just beginning its ascent. Yuri wonders whether he should dare to brush away the strand that has fallen into Judith's face, but quickly loses himself in her glistening eyes instead.
Words weigh down Yuri's tongue, but he cannot part his lips to speak them. They are indistinct, imprecise, imperfect. Silent sentences make his mouth run dry and his heart ache. No name for beauty can encompass all that is Judith; no three-word phrase can fully express the sentiment he wants to convey.
"Well?" asks Judith quietly, and her voice is a song in the twilight. "If you've got something to say, then say it." She interlaces their fingers, her violet eyes shining on Yuri with luminous curiosity. He takes a deep breath, glancing up at Brave Vesperia and praying it will lend him its courageous glow.
She knows, then. She's always known. "Judy," says Yuri, gazing over at her, and her name hangs between them, a sigh lingering in the cooling air. Moments like this are supposed to be dramatic, romantic, purposeful, but the dusk in her eyes scatters his thoughts like particles of light in the evening. "There are no words."
Judith says nothing, perhaps as a demonstration of his point, and removes her hand from his, clasping it with its fellow in her lap. His heart drops, and he thinks for a moment he failed her test, and opens his mouth to ask desperately for another chance.
But then she looks at him. The expression in her eyes is mild, gentle, even tender, as though she would be content to simply gaze at him for as long as it takes for him to speak. That, more than the evening star, rekindles his courage, and his head pounds dizzyingly along with his heart. The newfound hope fluttering in his gut makes thoughts harder to come by, but he has all the time in the world.
Darkness blankets the sky as the minutes wear on, more and more stars awakening. Judith's smooth and silky skin takes on a pale sheen in their silver light, as though she were their Krityan embodiment. Her eyes focus on the rising moon, reflected in her pupils, and he suddenly finds his voice.
"You're so beautiful," murmurs Yuri, and she looks over at him again. "All of you, all the time. I've told you before, and I'll tell you again, but no matter how many times I say it—it never comes out the way I want it to. It never means enough." He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and tilting his head up as though to soak in the moonlight. "The way you move. And not just that, the way you talk. Every word you say—I fall a little farther."
It's true. Frenzied battle cries, or passionate whispers late at night. Conversations, soft and serious, or witty banter. It doesn't matter. The sound of Judith's voice alone sets his pulse racing. "And your mind," says Yuri, opening his eyes again to look at the moon. "Brilliant. You're sharp, and you're confident, and you're the most dangerous person I know." He reaches out and caresses her chin, wanting more than anything to kiss her, let his mouth talk without speaking, but—
"Yuri," murmurs Judith, and there's a note of apprehension in her voice, or perhaps warning. Her eyes are faraway by now, the warmth in her gaze having set with the sun as she stares at the sky, but he ignores it, watching her slightly parted lips.
"No one can own you, Judy," he says, and she shifts on the edge of the cliff, startled, as she finally meets his determined eyes. "Not me, not Brave Vesperia, not anyone. And I know you fear commitment, even if you don't know it yourself. But…" Yuri swallows dryly. Speak now, or forever hold his peace. "Marry me, Judy. Please."
Judith's eyes widen, and there is a long and heavy silence as the shadows spread further. Brave Vesperia looks steadily down at them both, and the moon smiles, but Yuri's heart is pounding harder and faster than in any battle he's ever fought.
"What will change if I marry you?" asks Judith eventually, gazing evenly over at Yuri, and he looks up from his shaking hands. "My surname, and our legal status?" She shakes her head, and Yuri's heart stops. "I'll stay by your side for as long as I live, if it will make you as happy as it will make me, but Krityans do not marry."
"Then they're missing out," says Yuri swiftly, resurrected by the hope of her promise. "If there's no marriage, then there are no wedding gifts, no honeymoons, and no anniversaries." His breath catches painfully at the end of the sentence, a note of anxiety commandeering his voice.
Judith smiles thoughtfully, but does not say anything for a long time. When she finally speaks, it is only to say, "I always thought it was the custom to offer a ring when proposing marriage."
Yuri raises his eyebrows and takes it out of his pocket with trembling fingers. It's a band of bright silver, engraved with the phases of the moon. Judith holds out her hand, palm up, requesting to turn it over in her long and slender fingers. "I'll give it to you if you say you'll marry me," says Yuri, closing his fist around it as her eyes slide guardedly up to his. "And then, what little I have will also be yours. Another bonus Krityans don't get."
As Judith withdraws her hand almost disinterestedly, Yuri hesitates, a sudden thought crossing his mind. "All right, I'll ask," he says, making an effort at a grumble, but he is too nervous to be genuinely annoyed. Her unspoken requirements are difficult to find for those who do not know the language of nuance well, but he likes to think he learns quickly.
Judith merely waits for him, giving no hints, as always. She is the crescent moon, rising above all, aloof as she gazes down at the world, but he is Brave Vesperia, and though his light is smaller, he shines just as brightly. "Judy," says Yuri, extending a hand to play with her supple fingers, "will you marry me?"
All at once, Judith gives a radiant smiles, and her eyes narrow and sparkle as she laughs softly. He doesn't think he's ever heard a more exquisite sound than that breathy melody, so like the wind that carries it away—until she clasps his hand in hers and rests her hand on his quick-beating heart and leans her forehead against his and says, "Yes."
Judith has already sworn to remain by his side for as long as the stars above still shine, so Yuri doesn't expect such a strong wave of emotion to sweep him at the word that will bind them together as husband and wife. Jubilant tears sting his eyes suddenly in a way they haven't done in years, whether in joy or sorrow. As they slip down his cheeks one by one, he bows his head self-consciously, but Judith wipes them tenderly away.
Hands still shaking, Yuri remembers the ring, and fits it tenderly onto her finger. Its fit is loose, but her gentle smile does not disappear as she turns it over and over, admiring the light of the moon glancing off its metal likeness.
"I love you, Judy," says Yuri simply, ardently, and peace glimmers down with the infinite stars; the battle is over. He no longer cares how insufficient the phrase is. He will say it as many times as necessary, in as many ways as he can, for it to mean everything it should.
Her only response, and the only one that is needed, is to slide her hand back into his as they together look towards their shared horizon.