Chapter 16: Chapter 15

The soft glow of daylight filtered through the windowpanes, casting a gentle illumination upon the room. Amidst the play of shadows and light, a lone figure sat engrossed in his study. The rays of light danced upon the pages of an open book, its ancient pages adorned with intricate elven script that seemed to hold a mystique of its own. Thorwin's gaze was fixed intently upon the text, his lips moving as he struggled to pronounce the unfamiliar words. The air was filled with a melodic cadence, a blend of foreign syllables and the soothing lilt of his own tongue.

The task before him was daunting, as the elven writings were both ancient and complex, a testament to the depth of their civilization's knowledge. Frustration simmered within him, a growing ember of impatience as he alternated between the arcane scripture of the elves and a book providing translations in common and Thalassian, the elven language. Each line of text seemed to hold secrets waiting to be unveiled, an intricate puzzle that he was determined to decipher.

Thorwin's brow furrowed as he traced the curves and loops of the elven characters with his finger. He could sense the weight of history within each stroke of the pen, a connection to a time long past. Yet, the challenge of comprehending a language so foreign to him was undeniable. His eyes shifted from the elven scripture to the translation, his mind working tirelessly to bridge the gap between the two.

Amid the hushed sanctuary of his diligent study, an abrupt knock reverberated through the chamber's wooden door. The sound shattered his intense concentration, causing Thorwin to lift his gaze from the pages of his elven text. Falstad's distinctive voice, carrying the robust cadence of a dwarf, soon followed, announcing his entrance.

"Ye see, lad, that elf lassie swung by again, haulin' a bunch o' them books ye bury yer nose in," Falstad's voice echoed like the rumble of a mountain, its ruggedness mingling with strength. "Said to hand this over to ya."

Thorwin's expression shifted from surprise to gratitude as he accepted the books from the dwarf's outstretched hand. In the passage of time, Sylvanas's visits became a welcomed rhythm, each one accompanied by gifts of elven books that catered to Thorwin's burgeoning interest in the arcane. The frequency of her presence was an unexpected balm to his weary soul, a reminder that amidst the scrutinizing gazes of the court and the nobility, there were still those who extended a hand in friendship without malice.

Even as he confined himself to the solitude of his chamber, using it as a refuge to channel his feelings of sadness and detachment from this unfamiliar land, he found himself increasingly drawn to the shared moments of dinner with his companions. It was during these times that he would temporarily set aside his isolation, appreciating the presence of those who care for him. In particular, Sylvanas's presence during these meals brought an air of comfort, her conversations like gentle threads weaving a connection between their two worlds.

Yet, it was not only Sylvanas who extended such gestures. Among his companions, he found solace in the company of Lyanna, the tidesage whose concern for his well-being shone through in her attentive interactions. She offered him a listening ear, a safe space to express his thoughts and uncertainties, providing a sense of understanding that transcended language barriers. His studies of elemental magic persisted, maintaining his focus on honing his skills through her teachings, his determination a quiet testament to his resilience.

Lost in the labyrinth of his contemplations, Thorwin had momentarily overlooked the presence of Falstad. The dwarf, comfortably ensconced in a gilded chair nearby, beamed at him with the kind of warmth that only a true friend could exude.

"Thanks, Falstad," Thorwin replied, his voice carrying a gentle gratitude tinged with a hint of meekness. The mention of Sylvanas's presence sparked curiosity within him. "Is she here?" he inquired further, his interest piqued by the notion of her impending visit.

"Aye, she'll be headin' to yer quarters once she's had her fill o' that tussle with her elven pal and Cedric," Falstad's voice resonated in the chamber, its hearty tone carrying the unmistakable timbre of a dwarf. "I've got a bright thought, lad. How 'bout ye join me there and express yer gratitude to her in person? Once that's done, I'll show ye a few moves."

Before Thorwin could open his mouth to respond, he suddenly found himself yanked from his seat by the strong hand of Falstad. Caught off guard, his initial attempt to break free proved futile, the dwarf's determination overpowering his resistance. Caught in this unexpected turn of events, Thorwin felt a mixture of surprise and mild amusement ripple beneath his otherwise contemplative surface.

Guided to an open expanse behind the mansion, Thorwin's eyes widened at the scene that unfolded before him. There, under the vast sky, Both elf and man engaged in a captivating dance of combat. The clash of swords echoed in the air, each strike a testament to the skill and determination of those involved. Lorthemar's graceful yet swift movements were a marvel to witness, his strikes a symphony of fluidity and precision. Cedric, though not as agile, displayed a formidable prowess in his parries and calculated counterattacks. The clash between them was a spectacle of strength versus agility, each opponent pushing the other to their limits.

Thorwin's gaze was transfixed on the duel, his fascination growing with each exchange. He marveled at Lorthemar's ability to find openings in Cedric's defense, exploiting them with swift strikes with his sword. It was a lesson in combat, a visual representation of the different approaches each warrior took to overcome their adversary.

As the battle reached its zenith, Lorthemar's experience shone through. Seizing a momentary gap in Cedric's stance, he executed a sideward slash that left Cedric momentarily off balance. With precise timing, Lorthemar capitalized on the opening, expertly tripping Cedric and bringing him to the ground. The collision with the earth seemed to resonate through the onlookers, their collective breaths held in anticipation.

A chorus of applause erupted from the observers, a mix of admiration and respect for the combatants. Among them stood Sylvanas, Falstad, and Thorwin, their claps mingling with those of the guards. The camaraderie between Lorthemar and Cedric was evident as the former extended his hand to the fallen warrior. Cedric's acceptance of the gesture was met with a smile, words exchanged between them that visibly lifted Cedric's spirits.

Thorwin's attention shifted from the duel to Sylvanas. Her presence seemed to illuminate the space; her gaze directed towards him as though their connection extended beyond the spectacle of the sparring match.

"Thank you, Sylvanas," Thorwin spoke, his words soft but sincere. The gratitude in his voice was a reflection of the appreciation he held for her gestures and companionship.

Sylvanas's lips curved into a gentle smile, her eyes holding an enigmatic warmth. "Did you find it to your liking?" she inquired, her tone carrying a curiosity that spoke of genuine interest.

"I was brought here by Falstad before I could even open the book. He's got a knack for interrupting just when things get interesting," he replied with a hint of playful exasperation, his words carrying a touch of childish annoyance that Falstad's timing seemed to have disrupted his reading plans.

Her nod carried a graceful acceptance of the situation, her gaze lingering on him in a way that felt both familiar and comforting. An unspoken connection seemed to bridge the distance between them, fostering an ease in their interaction. The silence between them held a certain depth, the unspoken words a testament of his appreciation and her goodwill.

Disrupting the quietude, her voice once again reached out to him, each word a testament to her sincerity. "I'm truly pleased you've ventured beyond the confines of your room. If you ever wish, I'll be your guide to the hidden treasures of Quel'Thalas – places of serene beauty and tranquil solitude," she proposed, her tone a soothing melody of assurance.

"Maybe as time unfolds, Sylvanas," Thorwin replied with a gentle smile. He recognized that he wasn't quite prepared to confront the indifference that often accompanied such outings, but her offer had planted a seed of consideration in his mind. Perhaps it was indeed time for him to step out of the sheltered embrace of his room and explore what this realm could offer with Sylvanas.

A soft touch landed on his shoulders, and he turned his gaze to meet Sylvanas's slender hands. Her lips parted, as if about to impart words, yet the moment hung in a delicate balance. Thorwin found himself wondering what had prompted her to restrain her words, but the warmth of her touch and the subtle squeeze on his shoulders conveyed a deeper understanding of his inner turmoil. It was as though without words, she acknowledged his fears and hesitations, offering silent support. Their fleeting moment of connection was abruptly interrupted by the boisterous shout of Falstad, his voice echoing through the expanse.

"Enough o' this mushy talk, you pair. Quit lollygaggin' and grab yer swords and armor, lad. It's yer turn to train," Falstad's words rang out in true dwarven fashion, a blend of gruffness and hearty camaraderie.

Thorwin's eyes widened a fraction, and he offered a hesitant response, his voice carrying an edge of uncertainty. "I'm not sure if I'm ready for combat, Falstad."

With a dismissive snort, Falstad's gaze turned steely, his determination evident. "Ye better get that sword in yer hand, or by the beard of me ancestors, I'll give ye a lesson in the art of persuasion." His threat held a playful undercurrent, despite his stern tone. "One... two... three," he began his count, his fingers lifted in a clear gesture of countdown.

"Alright," Thorwin acquiesced, Sylvanas's hand giving his back a gentle clap of encouragement. Her smile held a touch of intrigue and anticipation, a silent cheerleader in his corner.

Accepting the sword handed to him by one of the guards, his grip tightened around the hilt. He walked a measured distance, positioning himself squarely in front of Falstad.

"Now yer ready, lad," Falstad's hearty laughter filled the air, the dwarf's eyes crinkling with mirth. "Aye, don't ye fret, I'll be easy on ya."

With a half-hearted resolve, Thorwin lunged forward, his wooden sword aimed at Falstad. The dwarf effortlessly deflected the stab, causing Thorwin to step back, his breath catching in a mixture of frustration and determination. He braced himself for Falstad's counterattack, steeling himself to meet the incoming strike head-on. The force of the dwarf's attack was overwhelming, his strength exceeding any of their previous encounters in the halls of the Lordaeron palace. Despite Thorwin's efforts to hold his ground, his momentum faltered with each clash.

In the heat of their melee, Thorwin attempted to strike, only to have his attempt effortlessly parried by Falstad. Then, with a swift and controlled motion, the flat part of Falstad's wooden sword struck Thorwin's side. The impact reverberated through his body, even his leather armor unable to fully buffer the jolt. The pain was sharp and unforgiving, forcing him to kneel on the ground, his grip on the wooden sword weakening.

"Lad, I've got to admit, I'm truly amazed by how much yer senses seem to be nappin'. Even that wee prince could outmatch you at this rate," Falstad's voice echoed with his characteristic dwarven flair. "Ye might wanna drop those fancy notions if a couple o' raised brows from these elves can be the end of yer mettle."

The surge of anger in response to Falstad's words was palpable, a fiery determination that pushed Thorwin to his feet, teeth gritted against both the lingering pain and his frustration. "Again," he growled, the single word bearing the weight of his determination and the anger that threatened to cloud his judgment. But even in the throes of his frustration, Thorwin recalled his grandfather's teachings – the importance of not letting anger distort one's reasoning. He took a deep breath, each inhale an anchor that steadied his nerves and calmed his thoughts.

"Now that's music to me ears," Falstad chuckled, but as their swords raised once more, his demeanor shifted, a touch of gravity finding its place in his features.

This time, Thorwin adopted a new strategy. He maintained a poised, combat-ready stance, almost inviting Falstad to initiate the next strike. The dwarf, always up for a challenge, closed in with measured steps, his swing intended for a downward blow. Yet, Thorwin evaded skillfully, seizing the opportunity to retaliate by aiming blows at Falstad's exposed arms. The dwarf's face contorted with a mixture of surprise and mild discomfort. He pulled back just in time to avoid another hit and prepared to counterattack.

Undeterred, Thorwin pressed on relentlessly, launching a flurry of strikes that kept Falstad on the defensive. But when the dwarf seemed poised for a powerful counter, Thorwin summoned his remaining energy and executed a swift, well-aimed kick to Falstad's formidable shin. The impact forced Falstad to kneel momentarily, and Thorwin seized the opening. He leveled his wooden sword at Falstad's throat, awaiting the concession he knew was inevitable: "I yield!"

Exhausted, Thorwin's chest heaved as he caught his breath, the taste of victory sweet on his lips. With a triumphant exhalation, he sheathed his wooden sword at his belt, the gesture both a sign of his victory and a mark of the end of their friendly duel.

"I knew the Lion in you was just havin' a wee nap," Falstad jested heartily, his laughter ringing out in genuine mirth. The dwarf's eyes held a mixture of pride and joy at Thorwin's unexpected triumph.

Thorwin turned to look at Sylvanas, a satisfied smile bore on her face.

On a certain evening, the atmosphere within the mansion's grand dining hall was one of anticipation as Thorwin and his companions gathered around the expansive table. Their plates now empty, the group settled in to listen to Raelor's discourse, his words resonating with the weight of courtly matters and imminent war.

"Informed to us by the venerable King Terenas himself, a ranger captain was dispatched bearing significant news of a possible alliance forged between the orcish clans and the troll tribes," Raelor began, his tone measured and befitting the gravity of the topic at hand. "Yet, a ray of hope does shine through our darkened skies, for we have captured their emperor, a formidable troll named Zul'jin. He is currently being detained within a secure keep located in the eastern reaches of our main army camp."

Turning his attention to King Anasterian's diplomatic moves, Raelor continued, "In response to the alliance concerns, King Anasterian, in all his wisdom, beseeched that Zul'jin be transferred to Silvermoon City. However, the response was a resolute refusal, a move that might be interpreted as an act of reprisal given that King Anasterian dispatched only a modest fleet to Hillsbrad. The intricacies of such political posturing, my lords and ladies, only add to the complexity of our current state."

Amidst the thoughtful silence that followed, Thorwin's inquiry emerged, his voice reflecting his genuine concern. "And what news of my father and grandfather, Raelor?"

Raelor's response was equally composed and comprehensive, a testament to his command of information. "Lord Commander Lothar, in his eminent wisdom, holds his ground at the heart of the main army camp. His chosen lieutenants, Sir Turalyon, Admiral Proudmoore, Sir Uther, and Sir Khadgar, stand alongside him in the main tent. A symphony of minds orchestrating preparations for the impending conflict. On a separate front, Lord Stormsong commands an impressive fleet anchored in the port city of Stratholme. This formidable armada boasts hundreds of ships and an army of thousands, all ready and resolute to uphold our cause. Letters from your loved ones, my lord, have been sent through the hands of our skilled ranger and shall be personally delivered to your quarters."

"Thank you, Raelor. Are there any more news from the court?"

"In these times of guarded exchange and hidden agendas, the flow of information becomes a precious currency," Raelor continued, his tone carrying the weight of diplomatic intricacies, yet accompanied by a tinge of self-doubt. "Alas, my esteemed lord, the courtiers' discretion restricts much from the ears of a half-elf like myself which they deemed an abomination. However, the latest ripple of news that graced my ears speaks of King Anasterian's resolute actions. He has dispatched envoys to Lordaeron, firmly intent on reinforcing his demands and asserting our kingdom's stance."

Sylvanas's voice held a touch of vulnerability as she shared her insights, her words spoken with a mix of candor and a hint of defensiveness. "Among my kind, there is an ingrained tendency to cast a shadow upon those who have mingled their lineage with humans. The disdain often stretches to their offspring," she revealed, her voice softening as she continued. "However, it would be an injustice to paint all of us with the same brush. There are those among us who possess a broader perspective and are capable of seeing the worth in all beings. So do not look down upon yourself, Raelor."

Thorwin's response held a sincere note, his gratitude evident in the earnestness of his voice. "Please understand, Raelor, that your endeavors to represent my interests within the court have not gone unnoticed nor unappreciated. Your willingness to advocate on my behalf carries a weight that extends beyond the mere confines of words. For that, I offer you my heartfelt gratitude."

Thorwin's insight into the complexities of court life had grown more acute during his time in Silvermoon City, further enriched by Raelor's firsthand accounts. He realized that his own youthful perspective, if presented in such esteemed company, might indeed be dismissed as mere naivety or childlike musings. The court, with its web of intricate politics and artful manipulation, demanded a level of discourse that he was only beginning to grasp. His perception sharpened to the undercurrents of intrigue that flowed beneath seemingly benign conversations. He remembered that the very air in the court seemed tinged with unspoken tension, a careful dance of words and intentions. He marveled at how words could be weapons, wielded with precision to gain advantage or to undermine rivals. The weight of such intricacies was not lost on him, and he recognized the necessity of diplomacy as a potent tool in the arsenal of leadership.

The contrast between the reception of Thorwin and his companions, compared to Raelor, was not lost on him. While their scrutiny was hidden beneath veiled gazes and whispered conversations towards humans, it was different for half-elves, where disgust and hate were spoken without restraint. Thorwin recognized the courage it took for Raelor to navigate such an environment, to continue serving as a bridge between their worlds despite the disdain he encountered. It was a testament to his character and strength, qualities that Thorwin deeply admired.

In the hallway of the mansion, Thorwin found himself mentally preparing to return to the solitude of his quarters, the discussions still swirling within his mind. However, the hush of the surroundings was interrupted by a voice, soft and melodic, yet holding a determination that resonated deeply with him. It was Sylvanas, her words echoing like a whisper in the air. The elf's ability to approach so quietly always caught him off guard, and today was no different.

"Have you decided?"

With a grace that was inherent to her nature, Sylvanas had once again presented him with an offer he had been considering since their first discussion—a proposition to learn from her, to acquire the skills that had made her a formidable warrior among her kind. She had broached this topic before, after he had bested Falstad in their sparring session, and her insistence had only grown since then. Tonight, her inquiry held a weight that Thorwin couldn't ignore.

"Okay," he replied, his voice a mixture of acceptance and intrigue. The thought of learning a different combat style, especially one honed by an elven ranger, held its allure. He recognized that the skills she could impart might prove invaluable in the battles to come, battles that were no longer distant rumors but imminent threats. Yet, his reservations lingered, and he decided to voice them, to ensure that the terms were clear.

"But we can only train here," he stipulated, his gaze meeting hers with a blend of earnestness and caution.

"As you wish," Sylvanas replied, her response accompanied by a smile that illuminated her features, revealing a warmth that hadn't been fully apparent before. The sincerity in her words resonated with him, a promise that held no ulterior motives. Her agreement gave him a sense of relief, a confirmation that his concerns were understood and respected.

As she turned to depart, her steps fading into the background, Thorwin's gaze lingered on the space she had occupied. The traces of her presence remained, a lingering imprint of their conversation. The weight of his decision settled upon him, a mix of excitement and trepidation. The prospect of learning from Sylvanas, of expanding his skills and knowledge, held a promise that he was willing to explore.

Months had passed since Thorwin's arrival in the elven city, each day stretching into a tapestry of learning, and strengthening of bonds. Yet, as the moon cast its silvery glow across his chamber, another chapter was about to unfold. The sound of something heavy striking against his window shattered the tranquility of the night, rousing Thorwin from his slumber. At first, he dismissed it as the howling wind that often swept through the city's streets, but as the rhythm of thuds continued, his instincts ignited a spark of vigilance within him.

A surge of adrenaline urged him to action. He swiftly swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his fingers instinctively curling around the arcane pistol he kept on the bedside table. The room was shrouded in shadows, the pale moonlight offering mere glimpses of the furniture around him. As the persistent knocking against the windowpane grew more insistent, Thorwin's heart pounded in his chest, his senses acutely attuned to the danger that might lie beyond the glass. With the pistol's weight reassuring in his grip, he approached the source of the disturbance—the window. Every step was measured, every muscle tensed, as if ready to respond to any threat that might reveal itself. His fingers drew back the curtain with cautious deliberation, the moonlight now unveiling the identity of the intruder. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized her silhouette, a haunting figure beneath the ethereal moon, tears glimmering like starlight in her eyes.

It was Sylvanas.

In that breathless moment, as the weight of the night seemed to hang heavy in the air, the recognition of Sylvanas's silhouette cut through the obscurity. The boundary of their relationship, once defined by diplomacy and the trappings of a foreign court, dissolved in the face of her presence. The echo of her name lingered in his mind, a testament to the gravity of her unanticipated arrival.

But as the seconds unfurled, Thorwin's concern shifted beyond the confines of previous considerations. The arcane pistol, once clutched with cautious vigilance, found its place back upon the table by the window. Priorities reordered themselves with a swiftness borne from genuine care. Urgency propelled him to the window, his fingers adeptly unlocking the latch as his hand extended outward, an unspoken invitation for her to step into his chamber. Sylvanas, her features illuminated by the moon's soft glow, accepted his offered hand, her fingers delicately intertwining with his own as she crossed the threshold. An atmosphere pregnant with emotions enveloped them, a moment suspended in time as their gazes locked. He discerned a torrent of feelings swirling within her eyes—sadness, pain, anger, and a profound sense of loss that tugged at the very fabric of her being.

In the presence of her turmoil, Thorwin found himself caught between a myriad of words, each inadequate in the face of her evident suffering. He felt a profound desire to offer solace, to extend comfort beyond mere utterances. As he grappled with the enormity of the situation, the air was punctuated by the sound of suppressed cries, escaping from the depths of her being. A resolute understanding dawned within him, transcending the need for explanations or explanations.

Without hesitation, his arms enveloped her, their bodies coming together in a moment of raw vulnerability. Though there was difference in their height, he held her with a tenderness that belied his years. Her presence against him was both fragile and unyielding, a reflection of the complexities that defined her. Gently, his hand found its place at the back of her head, offering an anchor upon which she might lean upon his shoulders. And in that shared embrace, words became superfluous—two souls, each burdened with their own unique sorrows, found solace in the silent understanding that only companionship can provide.

The air seemed to shimmer with a mixture of vulnerability and urgency, Sylvanas's presence imbuing the room with an intangible weight. Her question, soft-spoken yet carrying the weight of unspoken emotions, hung in the air.

"Will you come outside with me tonight?"

In the dim illumination of the room, her breath brushed against his neck, an unfamiliar yet strangely comforting sensation on his skin. It was as if the warmth of her exhalation held the promise of shared solace, an unspoken bond that transcended the complexities of their circumstances. Her voice, laced with unexpressed yearning, resonated with a note of longing that he could not ignore. And at that moment, her query transformed from a mere question into an unspoken understanding, a plea for companionship in the midst of pain.

Thorwin found himself caught in a delicate dance of emotions, each step leading him closer to a realm of intimacy he had yet to traverse. Her tone, laden with an unspoken invitation, resonated deep within him. It was not merely a question; it was a call for support, a cry for someone to share the weight of her burdens. As he met her gaze, he recognized the depth of her need, a need that mirrored his own in ways he had not fully comprehended until now.

His response, a simple yet resolute nod, conveyed his willingness to step beyond the boundaries of his comfort zone. He understood that Sylvanas required his presence not as a fleeting gesture, but as a pillar of support, an anchor amidst the tempest of her emotions. It was a pivotal moment, a juncture where roles shifted and relationships deepened. He recognized the significance of this exchange—the person who had unknowingly provided him with companionship and solace in a foreign land was now turning to him, seeking the same comfort in return.

With that nod, Thorwin accepted the unspoken mantle of support, a role he was determined to fill with unwavering dedication. It was a moment of shared vulnerability, a juncture where his own uncertainties took a backseat to the palpable need emanating from Sylvanas. As he gazed into her eyes, he found a silent agreement taking root—a promise that transcended words, a pledge to be there for her just as she had been there for him.

With a graceful gesture, Sylvanas led him towards the window, her outstretched hand an eloquent invitation to step outside the boundaries of their sheltered space. As their fingers intertwined, an unspoken connection formed, he was ready to set foot outside— For her.

They stood at the precipice of the window, a threshold between the known and the unfamiliar. The moon's ethereal light bathed the streets below, casting an enchanting glow upon the cityscape. Thorwin's pulse quickened in anticipation, a mix of excitement and trepidation coursing through his veins. The city, so different from his homeland, seemed to hold its breath beneath the moon's watchful gaze.

In that moment, Sylvanas's voice reached his ears, a gentle whisper laden with encouragement. "Do not be afraid." Her words were a soothing balm to his apprehensions, an assurance that no harm would come to him. With a shared breath, they leaped, his hand tightly holding hers as they defied gravity's pull.

What followed was a surreal experience, an unexpected dance with the wind itself. Instead of plummeting, they were embraced by the breeze, carried as if by invisible wings. The sensation was unlike anything Thorwin had ever encountered, a harmonious blend of freedom and weightlessness. He watched in awe as Sylvanas navigated the currents with ethereal grace, her movements mirroring the very air she traversed. As they touched down on solid ground, a sense of exhilaration swept through him. The lanterned streets stretched before them, a nocturnal canvas waiting to be explored.

They embarked on a clandestine journey through the veiled corners of the city, their footsteps weaving through narrow alleys and cobblestone streets. Like phantoms, they avoided the occasional passerby, slipping in and out of the shadows with practiced grace. Under Sylvanas's adept guidance, they scaled the imposing walls that encircled Silvermoon City, their ascent unnoticed by the patrols.

The forest awaited them beyond the city's boundaries, a realm of untamed beauty and enigmatic allure. The trees seemed alive, their leaves whispering secrets to the wind. A tranquil lake lay ahead, its surface a mirror reflecting the moon's radiant gaze. The night was alive with the symphony of nature, a chorus of unseen creatures composing melodies that painted the air with magic.

Seated against the sturdy embrace of a tree, Sylvanas and Thorwin gazed out upon the serene expanse before them. Words were rendered unnecessary in this sacred stillness, as the moonlight bathed them in its tender glow. It was Sylvanas who broke the silence, her voice like a gentle breeze carrying a song from ages past.

In a voice that carried the weight of memory, she began to sing. Her song was an ancient elven melody, a hymn that resonated with the essence of their people and their land.

"Anar'alah, Anar'alah belore... Sin'dorei. Shindu fallah na."

The words woven by Sylvanas's mellifluous voice painted a tapestry of emotions, each note a brushstroke of bittersweet sentiment. Thorwin, as if caught in an enchantment, found himself captivated by the raw beauty of her expression. Her voice carried a haunting resonance, as if the very soul of Quel'Thalas whispered through her. It was a melody that tugged at his heartstrings, weaving through the air and brushing against his senses with a grace that defied description. He was not well-versed in the elven tongue, yet the cadence and emotions communicated transcended the barriers of language. In that moment, silence became his solace, a tribute to the artistry that unfolded before his eyes.

When the final note faded, leaving a stillness in its wake, Sylvanas's revelations began to pour forth. "My parents," Sylvanas's voice trembled slightly as she began, her words carried by a mixture of sorrow and reminiscence, "were entrusted with the duty of visiting the court of Lordaeron. My father, Verath, held the esteemed position of the king's chief advisor, while my mother, Lireesa, commanded as the ranger-general of our noble army. Their departure held the promise of their return."

She paused, the moonlight casting shadows across her face, her expression a canvas of pain. "But the news that reached me was not of their homecoming. Instead, it carried the weight of their demise, a cruel fate that had snatched them away from me." Her voice quivered; the anguish of that loss etched into every syllable.

A gleam of understanding passed through Thorwin. He recalled the words from Raelor, the mention of Anasterian's dispatching an ambassador to Lordaeron, though the outcome had not been foreseen. And the weight of his silence bore testimony to the depth of her loss, a loss he could only imagine.

The moonlight painted intricate patterns on the canvas of their surroundings, and as Sylvanas's voice ebbed, a poignant hush enveloped them. Thorwin was seized by a tumult of emotions, empathy and a sense of helplessness intertwining within him. He wanted to extend comfort, to offer solace to the pain etched across her features, yet his words felt inadequate, lost amidst the enormity of her grief.

Their eyes met, an unspoken connection forged in shared understanding and the vulnerability of that moment. Her lips began to move, as if drawn by an unspoken impulse, only to halt midway, a sudden realization settling in her gaze. There was something unspoken between them, a profound feeling that neither fully comprehended, and it lingered like a whisper in the air.

Thorwin, sensing the depth of the moment even if he couldn't fully grasp its nuances, leaned forward slightly. Sylvanas's intentions were clear, yet he lacked the context to interpret the gesture fully. Recalling the comforting touch of his mother's forehead kisses from his younger years, he gently pressed his lips to Sylvanas's forehead, a gesture of support and understanding. As they parted, a warmth lingered on his lips, a warmth that transcended the physical act and spoke to the connection they were forging in that moonlit night.

Her gaze locked onto his, a mixture of surprise and something deeper flickering in her eyes. The vulnerability of the moment seemed to have momentarily stripped away the layers that shielded her emotions. Wordlessly, she shifted her stance, easing herself to lean gently against the tree. Thorwin followed suit, positioning himself in a way that allowed her to find solace in his presence.

In the embrace of the night, they sat in silence, side by side, the rustling leaves above echoing the whisper of their shared thoughts. Sylvanas adjusted herself, tilting her head until it found its resting place on his shoulder. The warmth of her touch seeped through the fabric of his clothing, sending an unexpected shiver down his spine.

Her breath was a soft caress against his neck, a near-soundless murmur that held a weight beyond its volume. He felt the rise and fall of her chest, the rhythm of her heart echoing in the stillness of the night. In a voice that barely exceeded a whisper, she spoke a word he didn't fully understand. "Rana'alah," she murmured, the foreign syllables resonating with a depth he couldn't fathom. It was a word that seemed to hold a world of emotion within its confines, a word that held more meaning than its literal translation could convey.

My light.