This isn't right… I'm not the scarred. I chose this for her, for our family. I chose this to fight back! They don't have the right to do this!

Suddenly, his struggles stop for a fleeting moment as Mylenne reaches his mind once again. "I know, my love." Her words wash over him like cold water against burning skin, but at the same time, realization hits him like a punch in the face, Illidan's heart faltering.

"This was meant for me…"

Illidan

As the Light's Heart is placed in the center, something icky, strange, mostly unnerving rattles Illidan on his very core. Somehow, the only thing he can think of is that they shouldn't be there, witnessing the rebirth of a Naaru, of all godlike beings in the universe.

"What is it, my love?" His wife gently whispers in his mind, a clawed hand brushing at the tip of his wing, reminding him of her presence. "This is the Naaru that led me to you, remember?" She does her best to calm him from the inside out, although sadly he can't help it with doing so.

"How couldn't I?" Even if he couldn't remember the memories his wife shared with him, not even death or the purging of his demon within could make it forget his own. While gleaming golden shards begin to rise and take the form of Xe'ra—the same Prime Naaru he's once seen back at their days on Outland and, apparently, Mylenne's guide to his husk—Illidan can't help but sneer in sheer suspicion. "And can you say you truly trust them?" He whispers back, for a fleeting moment uncertain of wanting to know her genuine answer.

A slightly offended growl prickles within his head, "Only our family has my trust. You know this better than anyone," Illidan doesn't spare a glance to her as Lady Stormrage stands tall, always beautiful, and proud beside him—where she belongs—the sound of her hooves being more than familiar to recognize them from miles away. "Although… their story matches the very same uncle Silgryn shared with us in our youth,"

Illidan sends a soft huff her way, still not convinced. That was a complete lifetime ago, a time when they weren't… what they have become as of then. He knows she's talking about the Tale of the Starsurge; one they both assumed to be a silly story for eager children back in their youth, then lived and witnessed right in the flesh, the soul, the mind, and the eye, in the middle of their very bonding ceremony. Even with that, when nearly ten thousands of years later his belief of their supposed shared destiny faltered, he and their daughter had also seen the Starfall firsthand.

Although that's a memory he's not inclined in the slightest to relieve as much as the former.

But… Does this mean this is the time for the Starfire?

Yet still, his lifemate has a point. Perhaps, just perhaps, the so-called Light, Elune, the cosmos, the Sun, the Moon, and all the blasted Gods are, in the end, the same, and they are just merely listening to the same tale from another culture.

He can't discuss it with Mylenne, however, as the Prime Naaru addresses one of their most loyal servants. "We are blessed to be in your presence once more, Xe'ra," Turalyon's grave voice echoes through the big hall, somehow making his wife's spiky tail flick in an act of reflex, the soft part brushing Illidan's thigh.

Illidan spares a brief glance her way, but Mylenne's eyes appear to be glued on the Prime Naaru. "Turalyon, you have found the chosen one," Xe'ra speaks, their voice echoing with soothing chimes, but not nearly as preferable as his wife's own manners.

The Prophet remains silent—not like Illidan expected for him to jump in, still appearing bound and committed to serve, to revere these beings for sparing the lives of so few, another millennia ago—but what most unnerves him is as Turalyon turns to the side and calls him to step forward.

Illidan's uneasiness looks palpable as of then, long wings fluttering and slightly spreading to the sides, as like a saber stepping on the tip of their paws to look bigger and menacing. Turalyon didn't found me, my family did.

He senses Malevolence—the demon within his wife—wanting to prickle and whisper her usual twisted words in her mind, although half a minute later Mylenne's quick in keeping a leash on the demon, brushing her off. "Don't worry. I'm right behind you, my love," Mylenne reassures him once more, prompting him to take a reluctant step forward, facing the Prime Naaru once and for all.

"Illidan," Xe'ra acknowledges him, the shards that form them circling and floating around, all movements appearing to express they're not a threat in the slightest, "From birth, the light in your eyes held such promise for the future,"

Eleven thousand years later, and they're still dwelling about that. "I sacrificed that birthright long ago," He does his best not to growl and be as polite as he can, even when the Prime Naaru's constant reminder feels far away from his understanding. "You have seen why," Illidan can't help with remarking, not wanting to explain further so to not disturb the one and only being in the hall he cares about the most.

With the lingering memories of witnessing the tortures upon his wife and what he became during and after the War, Illidan can deal with it, but Mylenne, that's another thing entirely; mostly when she'd took the worst brunt of the aftermath, having to tend a fel-wounded and arcane-withered husband as well as mourning the loss of their daughter. Not to mention the thousands of years she'd spent under Maiev's iron claws, breaking and tormenting her to the point of near insanity—which would have come to fruition if not for him, tending and mending what he could from the smaller prison besides hers.

If Xe'ra would have brows, Illidan's positive they'd be frowning as of then. "Do you not wish to reclaim what was lost? To be whole again?" Their question sets him off, doing his best not to step back in surprise and keep his face stoic, showing nothing. I don't understand… I've already done that. What's the meaning of this?

He's not the only one confused, sensing Mylenne's unnerving as well behind him. "What? But… you have always been the whole one among us," She ponders, her thoughts not appearing to be directly voiced to him, but he's able to listen nonetheless.

Illidan regards Xe'ra again, choosing his words very carefully. "My family's safety and the Legion's end is all I will ever seek," He replies tentatively, mind racing as he tries to figure them out.

"My child…" The Prime Naaru nearly sighs, "You've given so much for so little…" Right then, Illidan can't help with sending a hard sneer, lips pursing tight, "Your true potential, your redemption lies before you," As a shimmering wave of faint light travels to him, Illidan takes a step back, definitely uncomfortable as the light encircles him. "Let go of your shattered form and embrace the Light's power,"

He hears Mylenne taking a sharp breath, hesitating to make a move, sensing her mind flaring in alarm. "We've already traded freedom for power before. We are not willing to walk the same path once again," Illidan remarks with a low growl, subtly trying to reach his wife, although not succeeding as the shimmering light forms a wall around him; his wings curling around himself in an act of reflex after one tip touches it.

It's not a wall, but a prison.

This is wrong. This isn't right. His heartbeat rises to uncomfortable levels, feeling danger all around. However, anyone but his wife appears to be feeling the same as he is—noticing through the corner of his spectral sight when Mylenne takes a decisive step forward and is stopped by Turalyon with an arm getting in her way, a low hiss from her part following.

He can't hear what Turalyon says to her, for in the next minute, Xe'ra's voice booms across the hall. "The prophecy must be fulfilled…"

All of a sudden, the wall of light swirls violently, shackling his arms and wings in a bright, golden circle. Illidan gasps and struggles helplessly, trying his best to be set loose as he's lifted in the air and closer to the Prime Naaru. "Illidan!" His wife panics, pushing Turalyon aside and running in attempts to catch him.

"Wait!" Velen speaks for the first time, although Illidan can't tell to whom is the Prophet pleading to.

Xe'ra's voice reverberates across the hall louder than ever before, "Your old life has passed. The Light will forge you a new one," They say in an imposing tone, the chiming sound not so soothing anymore, appearing to be ignoring the ones below him.

Illidan groans in pain, fighting with all his might to be unshackled and free, the bright light burning his already scarred form. "It is not yours to take!" He yells, wriggling and squirming helplessly, sheer anger coursing through him. "It hurts! Mylie, it hurts just as much as…"

Below him, Mylenne succeeds in pushing everyone aside, jumping down the platform and summoning her glaives in no time. "No! You are mistaken!" Despite getting into a fighting stance, his wife's voice sounds like a plea rather than a command to let him go.

For the matter, the Prime Naaru keeps ignoring her. "The light will heal your scars," They insist, Illidan's shackle pulsing and holding him harder; golden light beginning to scorch and creep on the fel markings on his torso and arms, not feeling as healing at all as Xe'ra tries to convince him so.

His eyelids shut close in agony, yet as a sound of metal clashing against metal and a painful groan reaches his ears, Illidan forces his sight open, watching his wife getting hit by a sort of golden wall, pushed backwards and falling on her back. "Don't touch her!" Rage and frustration courses through his veins as he keeps struggling, "We are our scars!" He roars with all his might, the fel within him pulsing, thundering, fighting back against the burning light.

This isn't right… I'm not the scarred. I chose this for her, for our family. I chose this to fight back! They don't have the right to do this!

Suddenly, his struggles stop for a fleeting moment as Mylenne reaches his mind once again. "I know, my love." Her words wash over him like cold water against burning skin, but at the same time, realization hits him like a punch in the face, Illidan's heart faltering.

"This was meant for me…"

The Prime Naaru's chiming change into something more reassuring—as if becoming half-relieved, half-confident after Illidan stops fighting back their attempts to transform him. "The Light is your destiny…" If Xe'ra would have a mouth, he's positive they'd be grinning right then, yet that's not the first of Illidan's concerns.

He ignores the light scorching his skin as well as the Naaru before him, all his attention focused on the woman below—Mylenne's half-succubus form shifting, summoning her demon within, twisting and transforming into a mighty shivarra; void black and fel green painting her menacing figure.

"No… it's dangerous!" Illidan reaches her back, sight shut closed as he clings into their mind link for dear life, getting a sense of sheer uneasiness from Malevolence—oddly enough, as if her demon within also fears for herself. "Mylie—!"

"His destiny is with me!" Mylenne roars, the whole room trembling with the wrath in her voice, tinted with her demonic one, spreading three of her clawed hands to the Naaru above. After a sharp flick of her wrists, a huge beam of the same holy light that shackles Illidan comes straight from the Prime Naaru's main core, going straight to his wife.

Malevolence screams in agony inside Illidan's mind, but Mylenne remains remarkably focused on her task, bringing her other three hands forward as she siphons Xe'ra from their very heart and out. Slowly yet steadily, the bright light trapping him falters within each second passing—first allowing Illidan to release his wings, then his arms, not wasting a single second as he summons his glaives and launches forward out of reflex, even when he feels himself exhausted and burned out.

He pays no mind to the rest of their—apparently—stunned companions below as his glaives clash against one of the Naaru's shards, then sending the most potent eye beam with whatever remains of his fel power when his weapon doesn't seem to be making much damage. Xe'ra's chiming and light begin to falter and Illidan's heart tries to hammer its way out of his chest, aware that the damage inflicted upon them isn't really coming from his own doing.

It doesn't take long for the brightest of lights to engorge the hall and blind them all, an explosion following as Illidan's power runs dry, falling to the ground with a hard thump.

A tense silence falls over the room, although Illidan's first concern is trying to find his wife, trying with all he can to not faint in sheer exhaustion right then. He glances everywhere, but it gets difficult to check on Mylenne with his clouded sight, his head also spinning. Crawling and summoning all his energies, all he can is get on all fours, panting hard before sitting on his knees.

An angry roar from Turalyon is all the fuel Illidan needs to stand once again, "You doomed us all! Betrayers!" He draws his sword and strikes directly at him, but Illidan captures the blade midway in an act of reflex, staring the smaller human down.

"Your faith has blinded you," Illidan growls, uncaring of the fel-tainted blood falling down his wrist, not nearly as painful as what he'd endured mere moments ago—almost a welcoming pain. "I've never been the 'chosen one' as your Naaru thought,"

He wants to spit Turalyon in the face, to spit all of those cursed Light fanatics for their absurd beliefs, but their hard staring match stops instantly as the sound of small hooves resounds from behind them both, prompting their attention to the noise of elegant steps against the metal floor. "And there can be no such one, for only we can save ourselves," Lady Stormrage remarks, the tone of her voice as pure and serene as Moonwell water, yet also strong and unyielding, not expecting anyone's negative before coming out of the shadows.

The sight of her makes his breath catch as his wife reveals herself in the half-succubus form he's become acquainted with in the past decades, yet completely different, not sure if he must be feeling marveled or terrified. However, the familiar warm smile Mylenne sends his way brings him inclined to the former and not the latter; reassured that she is still the dorei he's met and fell for so hard eleven thousand years ago.

Her once bright silver, then fel-tainted eyes, now look at him in sunny golden tones—nearly matching her mother's if not for the faint mist pouring from them—finding it partially similar to a soothing beacon, inevitably bringing Illidan back to happier memories from what feels like another lifetime. Like their long, mindless walks around Eversong Woods, the Sun caressing her then tanned face, lilac instead of lavender; or way years back at Val'sharah, stargazing together on their backyard near a bonfire, his hands caressing her growing belly, sometimes feeling their daughter kicking back.

However, what stuns Illidan the most is when she reveals a pair of glowing succubi wings, spreading from her back, full and proud such as her elegant horns in matching tones. Even her long purple mane shows some slight amber and yellowish strands in between, taking his breath away more than ever—or nearly as how she did on their bonding ceremony.

Like the perfect embodiment of light, the fel within her shimmering so very faintly on her new markings on her chest and arms.

Illidan's sight keeps glued to her beautiful figure, marveled—or enamored, as some may say, for Mylenne has always been like beauty incarnated to his eyes, from the very first moment they met to all the different forms she's taken over the centuries—not bothering to spare a glance at the Prophet and his wife's old friend, Alleria, when they step in, surely to calm down their remaining companion. Apparently, neither does Mylenne, approaching further close and prompting him to place a hand over heart.

"I am fine, my love," She smiles with a nearly unbelievable warmth, adoringly, at his partially worried and still scarred face, Illidan's blindfold feeling like a useless item to wear when the sight of her looks so clear, incredibly colorful before him. Even her fel-tainted heart—for he can yet feel its pulsing energies within her—sings in calming tones, still sensing that piece of his own soul in her essence as the ever so present patch placed millennia ago, but with something more wrapped around.

Something… healing. Can both something dark and destructive as fel and light reside in the same body?

Alleria is the only one who dares to step beside them, clapping her old former lieutenant on the shoulder, a subtly amused look narrowing her face. "Are you well, my friend? Looks like you took a hard blunt back there," There's a slight shift in her tone, appearing impressed at her acquaintance's plans coming to fruition.

Lady Stormrage's eyes dart to her and then back to Illidan, fingers tenderly intertwining with his, still placed over her heart.

"I am complete now,"

A-N: Oof. I've been wanting to start this collection of AUs for a veeeeery long time. Some of them were meant to be used in RPs but I had this sheer need of getting all this out and just publish it for my own sake.

Then again, please consider this is a collection of AUs - that meaning, mostly lots and lots of "what ifs" I've been wanting to publish separately. Some details are considered canon for the series 'verse, but definitely not all of them, so you're free to take this as another collection of short stories in its entirety.