The festivities in Embaari village roared strong into the night. Karabor was safe and the Dark Star was renewed as a brilliant Naaru, but at a terrible cost. Prophet Velen had to sacrifice himself, Samaara had been tortured and died from her wounds. So many others, both of this world and the other called Azeroth, sacrificed their lives for this victory.

Yrel holed herself up in the back of the cavernous inn, far away from the noise and the rabble. The place was abandoned. Yrel, sitting next to the abandoned harp, plucked a string and watch it vibrate, and then another and another, creating a melancholy musical mess.

"Yrel?" Maraad said as he entered the inn.

Her hands stilled on the harp string. She looked at him, her body locked in a curl over her knees. Shame made her look away.

"I'm sorry, Maraad," she said quietly. "I will rejoin the celebration soon."

He came closer and kneeled next to her, and in the corner of her eye she could see concern etched in his solemn face.

"Tell me what is troubling you, Yrel," he asked in his usual firm, bordering on impatient tone.

She rubbed the rough harp string between her thumb and forefinger, hoping the mild irritation would distract her.

"I take a breath, and I see all that I have lost," she struggled to say as she felt her throat seize, "I know that we have so much more but we have lost so much, so, so, much."

She lost herself and moaned from a deep, aching place within. She covered her mouth and bit into her finger to make herself stop crying, but that only brought on more tears. Warm hands cupped her shoulders, steadying her. When she turned and saw that it was Maraad, not Samaara, she broke down into sobbing. He grasped her arms to hold her up, stared into her eyes to silently lift her up. She laid on his chest and pulled her arms in. He held her firmly, and it brought a sense a comfort she missed so much.

"Samaara, Samaara, Saamara," she whispered like an unending prayer.

Maraad did not rock her or rub her back like Samaara would have. If he did, that might have driven her into hysteria. Maybe he sensed this, and held her firmly as if he were a mountain weathering a wild storm. Eventually, the grief that had grabbed hold and shaken her so fiercely let go and let her sag against him, too exhausted to push herself away completely. She forced herself to lift her head up so she could thank him.

"I—I'm sorry that I r—ruined this night," she hiccupped.

He shook his head and said softly, "You did no such thing. We all must grieve."

She could almost taste the heart ache in his words. Compassion strengthened her to sit up and put her thin arms on his massive shoulders. A smile twitched on his lips, and he let her comfort him. He shed no tears, but she could still feel his own intense grief. It came through his hands that gripped her, in his uneven breathing that struggled to calm itself.

When he broke away from her, he slumped against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. His eyes snapped open at a sudden boom from outside. They both ran to the up the foyer, weapons at the ready, but were greeted with only fire works dancing in the night sky. Seeing the children squeal with joy at the festive colors and sounds, their parents and uncles and aunts being excited with them, lovers and friends and neighbors oohing and aahing…

Yrel couldn't help but smile with them.

She looked up at Maraad, hoping that their happiness infected him too, but he still frowned. Relief in his eyes, but hard stoicism in his face. She touched his shoulder with Light-tipped fingers. He looked down and gave a small smile for her. He looked back towards the crowd and the smile vanished.