Soooooooo much fun writing this, but oh, the struggle to keep it within 500 was super hard.
Unofficial title: "It's hard to keep track of years when you're 14000".
His neck makes a funny noise as he turns on his side over the makeshift bed. His horns feel heavy, so he keeps his head resting on the pillow, one of his arms idly looking for the warmth of his wife's body.
His eyes crack open when his clawed hand only finds emptiness.
Ignoring the pain in his lower back, he sits up in an instant, only to find that either her traveling clothes or her weapons are there.
Outside the tent, he avoids a pair of nagas as he strides directly to one of his trainees. "Where is my wife?" He growls to Kayn, sneering after seeing him casually ogling at another male recruit, like if he had nothing else to do.
Kayn snaps instantly, an awkward cough following as he straightens his back. "My Lord—! Uhm, Lady Mylenne just teleported to Dalaran," He informs, unable to hold his gaze through the blindfold, "Something about attending a meeting. She demanded us to not disturb you…"
He hears no more of it, huge hooves stomping on bare grass as he walks to the closest portal, activating it without hesitation. A loud chattering greets him after appearing on the other side, startling him for a second.
A thick crowd gathers on one corner of the floating city, too busy in their own affairs to notice him. Over some marbled stairs he spots Tyrande, happily chatting with a human mage with feathered shoulderpads—Khadgar, if he remembers correctly—both sharing some drinks next to, apparently, leaders from other races.
A big hand lands heavily over his shoulder, making him startle once more. "Hey, brother! You're just in time for the countdown!" Malfurion greets him, a wide smile crossing his lips as he walks to the crowd.
"Countdown? What's going on here?" Illidan demands with a frown, only to be muffled with the yelling from the crowd.
"Eight! Seven! Six! Five!"
He's right about to reach his brother when someone pounces at him, soft lips crashing with his in a fierce kiss. It takes only a flick of her tongue to soothe his foul mood, opening his mouth to allow her entrance as his arms encircle her waist.
Eleven thousand years later, and she still has that effect on him...
She breaks the kiss too soon for his liking. "You should be resting, my love," Mylenne frowns, stepping on her tiptoes.
"Care to explain?" He asks, nodding at the loud crowd behind her.
She only shrugs, "It's just a human celebration. Happy new year!"
"There's work to be done, Mylie…" He complains when she steps away from him.
"Bah, Goddess…" She rolls her eyes, feigning annoyance, "Who'd say? My husband got too old to—oh!"
He easily takes her in his arms without hesitation, demonic wings shadowing their figures as they lift in the air.
"I'll show you who's old…" Illidan whispers to her ear, playfully nipping it as they fly away from the city, her contagious laughter following them both.