Special chapter, celebrating Starsurge turning 1 year! :D
CW for smoking, swearing and slight depressive themes.


Darnassian:

Eldre'Thalas: One of the most important Highborne cities of the Empire, next to Suramar, Vashj'ir and the capital, Elun'dris. Known as the font of knowledge and led by Prince Tortheldrin of the House of Shen'dralar, the city is famous for its Athenaeum as well as training and housing the most popular Lorekeepers around the Empire.

Dorei: Shortened for Kaldorei. May refer to a person (regardless of gender), a youngster and also can be used in plural.

An'da: Father

Quel / Quel'dorei: Children of noble birth, also slang for Highborne.

Arane: A curse or expletive. Figurative translation for "nightmare/s".

Kal-tora(i): Literal: "Birth night". (Trivia: Kaldorei celebrate birthdays every 100 years)

Sar'thera: A pejorative, meant for someone who's considered irritating or exasperating. Slang: Sart(e).

Elune-Adore: "Elune be with you."


Stareye

3 years later

"Seventy-three, seventy-four… oh, here's the mint I was looking for yesterday! Alright, seventy-five, sevent—nope, that's just my lucky token. Hey, no touching!" A hissing sound follows as Keelay's curious hand is batted away, the faintly glowing object returning inside another safer pocket as fast as the blink of an eye, "You're just lucky to be my friend, otherwise I'd be calling you out as a fucking bastard right about now. A full stash of golds for your Cider? From where did these Nightpears come from anyway? Bloody Eldre'Thalas?"

Moongrow's gaze slips off the delicate golden shard he just saved fairly easily. "Well, that's close enough, actually," Nodding in admission, the merchant doesn't seem satisfied, however, leaning on a hip and giving him another once over, "You can't be expecting any less after rushing my workers over from across the fucking Empire in the middle of a fertility season. Fair is fair,"

An elegant brow quirks up in slight amusement. "Those bottles had Margeaux' signature, buddy. Can't go guilt-tripping me there…" An accusatory long index finger points at Moongrow's face, however, it only gets him to snort in dismissal.

"The very same who left her mate and spent a straight full moon working to fill up your bar stashes… again."

"Ha! It's not like—wait, what did you just say? Margeaux is bonded?" The merchant's lips purse in an evident attempt to keep a cackle to himself. "With a man? Like, a real dorei?"

Eventually, it seems Moongrow can't help it, chortling at the flabbergasted look on his face. "That was two Embraces ago, Sil," He says matter-of-factly, wiping some tears of laughter with the hem of his sleeve, "It's sad you missed the party. Not like I can remember any of it, though, but can tell it was a blast,"

Silgryn doesn't startle when one of his many friends comes from behind and slides an arm over his shoulder, although either faces him right away, momentarily lost in his thoughts as he does his best to recall the special date. Where had he been a thousand years ago? Has to be Azsuna, most likely. Wasting my time with that Oracle bitch…

"Poor Keelay was found by Vanthir under the vines the day after… half naked," Oculeth elaborates, a knowing smile plastered all over his face, "Bonding ceremony of the decade, indeed. What happened with those shoes of yours, by the way?" He wonders, leaning a bit on him and crossing his feet in a casual stance.

"Beyond repair. Those were my good old An'da's boots," Moongrow pouts, rubbing a hand over his greenish stubble, "Turns out, Nightwine not only messes with your head. Let me advise you against jumping on a vat fully clothed," The three of them share a good cackle as the merchant takes care of packing up his profits, "Never tried courting a vintner again. Totally not worth it, I tell you,"

Not without having a brief mental picture of his trusted merchant making an embarrassing show of himself, their chit chat drifts to the aftermath of the recently finished season of life and fertility. Work and business had been flowing pretty nice overall and from Moongrow's opinion, so SIlgryn never bothers to begin arranging more contracts for his friend, preferring to save some extra jobs for his buddies whenever the waters calm down once again—or get bored and start pestering him a little bit too much, whatever comes first.

The night is young so far, although Baldy comes to be the first to drift off and wave farewell for the moment, excusing himself with one of his recent investigations he's been involving on with a bunch of Arcanists he—even if Silgryn still doesn't understand quite well to what extent—has shown to be kind of annoyingly fond of. A big project regarding portals… something, something… a sort of network teleportation… something, something. Not like he minds to recall all the particular details when it's most obvious it'll take its good couple of Embraces to make a real breakthrough on whatever Oculeth is in.

Should keep an eye on him regardless. Bah, but who am I lying to? Baldy can take good care of himself and probably better than a lot of us.

Rak'shakar purrs softly when his bald friend rubs her furry cheek in farewell, yet she doesn't trouble with moving from the oak tree she's so languidly resting under—and surely won't under any circumstances unless her owner signals her so—cracking a yellowish eye open briefly in acknowledgment before closing it again. The peaceful image of his beast prompts Silgryn to indulge himself with some more minutes of laziness, bringing up his pipe and relaxing in the company of his good merchant friend.

Keelay chuckles a little at his eccentricities, yet doesn't apparently look up to brushing him off, even following with opening a bottle of Cider he's known to save for himself and share only with close acquaintances. "So, how's the kiddo?" Moongrow leans forward on his merchant stall after exchanging the pipe for a small shot of his drink, elbows on the table, "I take it she must be pretty busy if you're so at ease and vegging out with me, of all your oh so popular friends,"

Indeed. And busy means safe.

"Bah, spare me that show of underestimating yourself with me, buddy. Can't I just enjoy your company and bask in this lovely autumn night we're having?" His half lie slips out with practiced ease, silver eyes gleaming briefly in some amusement. Not like he enjoys lying to his friends, for it's the complete opposite, but damn right Moongrow doesn't have the absolute need of knowing all the plans and possible outcomes crossing Silgryn's mind—it's always safer that way. "She's quite fine, actually. Vanthir hired her as a waitress last year, that's keeping her on her toes more than I'd have thought," Another partial lie, but who's accounting for that?

"Yeah, right. And I'm a fucking quel. Who else set up that job for the kiddo if not you, Sil?" Moongrow's huffing interrupts his constant running mind, a dark violet brow quirking up in slight surprise. Oh, right, he must've seen her bringing up the carts before the party. "You seem so up in the clouds all the time, sometimes I'm afraid how hard the fall will be," Pouring another shot of Cider, he hands the glass along with Silgryn's then empty pipe, a moment of silence falling over them, "I won't ask what's going on, buddy, but I could see from miles away how much tension you seem to be carrying lately. Mylie and your partner also noticed that, mind you…"

Silgryn gulps his drink in a single motion, growing hyper aware of his own reactions. "Aaw, you guys are worried about me? How sweet of you," He jests after swallowing, a sly smirk crossing his lips as he leans on his side, all nonchalant, "It's all good, these seasons always get on my nerves. You know me, I'm not the settling up and bonding type of guy. And then there are all these parties to prepare and host and—"

"Silgryn," A big index finger rising up works in stopping his pointless ramble, making him feel partially grateful for doing so. "I only charge for my goods. As for the rest, you just need to tell me,"

When their eyes meet, it takes a mere blink for Keelay to slip off his known mask of merchant, the innocent yet dutiful look of a sparrow presenting before him. Silgryn can't help but grow wary for a spare moment, not sure how much he can—should—push or even really tell his friend… how much of absolutely everything would fell on him if he does so. It's always a strained fight, for the matter.

It's fairly easy for him to understand how the price of knowledge can cost their heads but to nameless, lowborn dorei like Moongrow… they just don't seem to care about it. Why they just don't turn away and crawl to the humble house in the woods they came from? Why they just don't leave complicated matters to people who genuinely care about them?

Curiosity kills the cat, that's for sure—and he'd seen this as clear as a full Moon with the ever impatient Sulky—but then again, how can these people risk so much for so little?

Oh, Drie. How much haven't you told me? What's the real cost for those of us who were left in the realm of the living?

When his friend leans closer, a certain hesitance runs within him. His walls don't crumble down, however, but Silgryn's sure Keelay would be able to see through him if looking straight into his eyes—his heart beating at the same speed as his racing thoughts. What's the cost? What's the real cost?

"... Is there something you need me for, Wanderer?"

The mention of his title makes something click softly, realization flashing on his gaze for a fleeting moment. Of course, that's why—they haven't seen what he's seen, can't probably imagine what's about to come over them all. Even himself sometimes laughs it off in the middle of his tell tales, fully aware how near impossible some of his stories are to truly believe. And yet, ignorance still keeps being a blessing.

He felt her exhausted stare over the crown of his head, a golden glint matching the flames of the candle lights from their Manor, but didn't interrupt his lecture to stare back. "Power not only relies on beauty, dear brother. It also can be found in knowledge." He found that ironic coming from her mouth, mostly when all she'd been doing for the last hour has been watching her figure in the mirror, fixing every wrinkle that may be giving her sickened state away. "However, you must keep in mind all paths lead to the same road. The price for it is always high..."

Snorting softly, he switched to the next page, once more removing a curl of dark-violet hair getting in the way. He thought again about finally getting a haircut—his hair had been growing as rebel as their An'da, mostly since reaching adulthood—but there always were more important matters to take care about than petty fashion. "Guess it's late to discuss that, Drie. If there's a price to pay for stopping the nightmares, I'll gladly take it."

Her palm rested on the top of the page he was just reading—wrinkled, lilac and unlike the natural lavender of her skin—prompting his attention to her. He couldn't help to wonder about how to explain the splotches and the purple lines of her veins, how to word properly the physical signs the arcane corruption was leaving on her once pristine figure.

He'd found in his travelings to the borders of the Empire the kaldorei hadn't been the only race populating the land as he was told in school; definitely not the first ones the Goddess brought to the world, but most likely the last that will endure until the end of life itself. Also contrasting to them, he'd learned the other races grew up, aged and passed away. They became old.

And his sister looked like some of them. Dorei didn't age, but she looked old.

"Look at me, brother: Whatever good remains of me, it does not rely here, but only on my daughter," The elegance and steady flow of her speech was a blatant proof of how hard she was grasping onto whatever was left of her mental sanity—on the outside, worn and battered, but still struggling on the inside. "Please, you must take Mylenne away from me, spare the withered crops from the good ones. Bring her to Eldre'Thalas and forget about—"

No. Definitely not. "Arane, no, Aedriel, stop that!" His book fell to the ground and made a hard noise, but he didn't care anymore, holding onto her shoulders, shaking her slightly."I won't stop until I find a cure! I will save you!"

A gust of wind goes by and toys with his—still thousands of years later—rebel dark-violet curls, its soft whispers bringing him back to the present and brushing the memory away as if dust, although not the entirety of his thoughts. In the end, he couldn't save his own sister, and that sounds like enough to just give up on everything and get on the run once again; fate, tales, legends, destiny, all be damned.

Silgryn's shoulders slump down, an exhausted sigh leaving his lips as his hand brushes the glowing shard hidden in one of his multiple pockets—an act of reflex that'd been becoming more of a habit as of late, ever since he found it. Too many lives are at stake to even ponder about stopping playing the game, and even so, it's not like he can turn away when the music has already started, isn't it?

Turning to Moongrow, he nods sternly, glancing at the quiet road leading to the outskirts of Suramar City. "The tides are about to be turned. Keep an eye for rooks." Laying a heavy hand on his shoulder, he stares the merchant straight in the eye, "And whistle the Whisperer for any need whatsoever,"


He knows he shouldn't bring Aedriel's soul shard with him at all times, even more so when the damn thing had already been whispering to him in his sleep—or that's what Arluin had assumed and told him so the couple of times he'd found him sweating, thrashing in their bed and mumbling nonsense in the middle of the day—but still seems safer than to hide it elsewhere. Centuries of nightmares and twisted visions from the Azure Dream, enduring both his and his sister's dreams, have helped in a certain way with keeping them in track; an experience he despises as much as in some way appreciates as well. And everyone in Silgryn's close circle wholeheartedly agrees it could be worst if Mylie or the ever so nosy Sulky would have the chance of laying their hands on the shard anyways.

Ah, the things I do for love. I should get an award for the biggest sart in history.

However, regarding proper whispers, Silgryn finds himself quite surprised and partially relieved for the lack of further news as he rides through the streets of Suramar, running his errands without any trouble. No birds missing for the year as well as no new songs coming either from Vashj'ir, Azsuna or Elun'dris, which is suspicious as its best or deeply worrying as its worst, whatever one wants to look at it. For the matter, as much as he wishes to travel to see and hear for himself, he's aware he's bound to stay in his hometown for the time being, even more so with Mylie's kal-tora right around the corner.

Funnily so, or as he'd just summoned his niece's buddies when thinking about her, it's as he oversees the nearly finished construction of the new harbor when a streak of a familiar cobalt catches Silgryn's eye. An open smile crosses his face as he shifts to say hello to Mylie's lover, although then his eye twitches briefly when instead his gaze finds another dorei he didn't expect to see right there, forcing him to keep that smile on his lips, if only to appeal to his good manners.

Sulky waves at him with a soft smile, "Hey, there. I was just on my way to the bar," He slows his near bouncing pace, hands in the pockets of that fancy Spellcaster robe he's grown to wear and show off everywhere—at least he keeps it informal and has the decency of wearing pants instead of those funny kilts—looking shockingly nonchalant. "You coming? Or still working on… whatever it is you do?"

His chivalrous demeanor sets Silgryn off, not at all used to seeing him smiling, very much less so at him. Or worse, not even questioning him in the slightest. Well, well, quite smug for his sulkier manner. "Nah, may have to catch you up later," Silgryn's quick in recovering, however, tempted to test the waters even further as he unlatches a bag from his saddle, "Although… would you be a good lad and bring this to Vanthir in the meantime?"

"Sure!" He even catches the goods mid air, sauntering off without a single complaint, which makes Silgryn's mental jaw drop to the ground, unable to do anything but watch his purple cloak wave as he goes. He doesn't spend too much of his precious time pondering what's got into Sulky, though; he knows he'll figure it out in due time and if needs be, he just barely needs to share a word or two with Luin to find out.

Has he dumped that pretty Priestess he was banging, perhaps? Bah, surely not, the big coward. Although something really looks amiss in here…

The Sun isn't yet to rise before he can't find any more reasons to be wandering around, picking up the—not anymore, though, after that haunting incident some years back—courtesan, Verene, before making their way to the bar as he'd promised a month ago. The woman had been doing fairly nice his last party as she kept up with every drunk dorei who'd stuck in her way, and it's not like anything could go wrong with one more waitress to help up Vanthir, or when Mylie opts out to disappear with her pals and forget about her new duties as she'd grown used to do it. Regardless, Silgryn knows a way or two to convince his bartender friend to accept another woman under his wing.

An idle chatter and the regular sound of what could only be from Mylie's buddies having a rehearsal are what finds them after reaching the bar, Silgryn signaling the petite woman the way to the entrance as he rides slightly far away, dismounting off Rak'shakar close to her usual resting spot. As he takes care of removing her heavy saddle, his eyes catch almost the entirety of his niece's group gathered inside while Verene opens the bar's doors. Sulky is already inside with his pals from the Moon Guard, the ever so merry Slender and the devious—in a good way, or at least in a better way than himself or his lover—Cleavage sharing some heated and shameless looks as so very usual.

Even Mylie's friends from the Temple have appeared to be off shift, Sister Thania—or Little Moon as he's fond of calling the tiny Priestess—with the remarkable patience that characterizes her, tuning her harp with the help of Sister Shalasyr and even the Shadowsong siblings, appearing to finally have some time off work to get together. The view of the elder Shadowsong and then Sentinel looking quite purposefully seated very far away from the Sorcerers around sends Silgryn chuckling internally; a typical attitude that all but screams Maiev just as much as her permanent frown and lack of a genuine smile whenever his niece or her young brother isn't around.

Surprisingly so, everyone seems to be inside having a good time, but one—first catching the near acrid smell of arcane magic coming from the backyard before his silver gaze captures the familiar streak of cobalt, a pair of leather boots engraved with the Moon Guard logo giving the young Officer away. Not without an odd hesitance, Silgryn approaches the boy, trying to figure out a fair reason why he's alone in the open and not just elsewhere. Some wholehearted laughs coming from inside the bar kind of set Silgryn off as well. Maybe he just didn't bother to come inside, but still…

Pretty Boy doesn't face his way when Silgryn reaches his spot, looking too sullen even for his own liking, seemingly entranced with a pretty tiny golden bird bouncing on the bare grass as he sends a sparkly wave of magic their way. "Why that puppy face, boy?" Silgryn can't help but voice out his wondering, leaning against the wall and giving the lad some personal space.

At first, Pretty just shrugs nonchalantly, but it's as Silgryn notices a fleeting frown of his cobalt brows when he realizes the boy might be a tad bit troubled to speak his mind. "Probably because I am being selfish when I'm fully aware I shouldn't be," The boy's golden gaze glances at him through his periphery, yet quite briefly before setting it again on the little animal chirping happily. As another wave of familiar laughter slips away from the window Silgryn's leaning besides, Pretty winces a bit, although does his best to hide it. "I know I'm losing her but… how can I be upset over losing something I never had in the first place?"

Silgryn snorts in dismissal, crossing his arms over his bare chest, "That's not true. You had her, and still do," His scolding comes out rather harsher than he'd like, shaking his head so to not be that rough on the gloomy boy.

The heaviest of sighs rolls off Pretty's mouth before facing him properly, "No, I never did. I knew this from the start as much as I knew I probably never will," A dejected gleam flashes across his appealing golden eyes, rolling his shoulders while calling off his fancy magic in an exhausted manner, "I just… I don't know. I thought knowing that wouldn't bring me to be feeling how I am right now. It appears I was mistaken,"

For a moment it's concerning, for in some way, Silgryn can't bring himself to feeling sorry for the boy. Surely because he had been in his place, had felt how he's feeling too many times over—and how wouldn't he? He's close to twenty-five centuries ahead of the lad. How's the word? Ah, yes: I'm older. "No matter how much you try, sometimes it's impossible to rule over your heart's wishes, boy,"

The young Officer chuckles softly, although the sound comes out close to a wheeze, almost as if he doesn't have the strength to laugh it off. "Oh, well. That's what love does, right?" His golden gaze slips off to the horizon before them, appearing to be lost in thought—yet in some way thankfully so, for even himself doesn't have a fitting answer to that pondering.

A much needed and companionable silence falls over them, basking in the upcoming dawn as Silgryn mindlessly glances across the window, true to his nature of checking up on everybody even when in the middle of something. In one corner of the bar, his eyes lay on Sulky and his niece on a lonely table, the former behind Mylie and brushing her long violet mane with all the easiness in the world, almost appearing oddly therapeutic for the lad—merely judging by the softening of his features—a relaxing smile narrowing both their faces.

She should be paying more attention to her downcast lover instead of the dorei that always so obviously catches her eye whenever he's around; and yet so, who really is he to state whatever Mylie should be doing or not? No, Silgryn knows better than to interfere in love affairs—and even if the opportunity presents itself for doing so, he's positive he wouldn't take it regardless, for he's conscious what's inevitably bound to happen anyways.

The price of knowledge just appears to be shutting the fuck up and let others mill about in their ignorance. Ah, that crazy thing called love… thank Elune I have Arluin.

Although somehow as him and Pretty share a moment together, he can feel the boy kind of reaching his ending point. Something… finite in the air around them. "Do you have any regrets?" It's all Silgryn asks to him, no need to running around the subject the boy so blatantly seems to be trying to figure out.

"No, I won't ever regret loving her. I don't regret anything, for that matter." He says clearly and without hesitation, a gleam of something hardening his gaze for a spare moment before going soft and like the lad Silgryn's grown to know. "We had a big argument the last morning. I just… hoped for a little more time, you know," From the ground, he sends Silgryn a forced smile, "That's what I did wrong, perhaps: I hoped to have someone I knew from the very start I'd never happen,"

The mere comment prompts Silgryn along to reach out to the boy, placing a steady hand on his shoulder, "You're a good boy, Hargo. A damn fine boy, with a heart of gold," The soft smile that narrowed his face earlier in the night shows up once again, this time to the one he actually meant to send, "You shouldn't be thinking you'll be losing her. I honestly don't believe you ever will be," A slight tug brings the boy to meet Silgryn's face properly, the former listening intently, "You've been there for her when no one was, not even me. And it's pretty obvious to see Mylie always loved you, even when she didn't in the way you do,"

It's as Hargo rises from the ground and imitates his stance when something appears to shift in his golden gaze, the previous downcast gleam in his eyes switching to something more… suspicious—or that's what Silgryn could guess as the boy casts a fleeting glance at the window. Following his gaze, Silgryn notices Hargo not particularly staring at his niece's back, but the Sorcerer joining her on her way to the bar.

"You always knew, isn't it, Silgryn?" He can't help but blink twice at the young lad, momentarily taken aback by the sudden question, the boy almost appearing to be speaking to himself, nearly mouthing the words. Almost, meeting Silgryn's eyes a minute later when he doesn't get an answer. "About the two of them,"

Silgryn tries very hard for his face to not show anything, growing just as hesitant as he'd been earlier with Moongrow at the merchant's road. Yet so, even himself is reaching the ending point of keeping some kind of stupid secrecy. "Will my blatant truth hurt you?" He opts out for honesty, getting a mere shaking of the lad's head as a reply, "Then yes, I always knew. To this point, I've even grown to believe they're meant to be together…"

Hargo cocks his head, "How so?"

He can't help with sighing tiredly. How to even start? "I've seen uncountable things in my adventures, boy; mythical creatures rising from the ground, seas being ripped apart before my very eyes. I've seen the night becoming day within the course of a second, lived both dreams and nightmares, walked upon different realms, seen the face of both sanity and madness incarnate," He does his best not to falter and cackle when Hargo's eyes begin widening in awe—or shock, most likely—his face straight and stoic, meaning every word he's saying. "And even with that, being a spectator to the obvious hand of the Goddess bringing those two together… that's a marvel like I have ever seen in my entire life,"

A long moment goes by with the young Officer just staring at him, seemingly unable to find proper words. "… And here I thought most of your tales were pure lies and bluffing," He ends up half snorting, rubbing the back of his head, "But if you knew about her fate from the start, that means…" Suspicion narrows his gaze once again, "You haven't come back to Suramar for your niece," Hargo's accurate assumption cracks up a small smirk on Silgryn's mouth, giving him away, "Why haven't you told her that? If I may ask, that is."

In some way, Silgryn gets more relief to rely all that on the young boy rather than somebody else, not as hesitant as before. Of all dorei his niece is acquainted, he has the feeling only Hargo'then and maybe the eldest of the Starweave sisters would really get what he's been working on all these last years—they're clearly the only two who appear to know their way around the real dangers of the Game. "I'd hoped she would join in my… crusade, for a time. But she's been clearly unwilling to stand for what's rightfully hers. And clock's ticking…"

Hargo faces him fully, leaning against the wall and virtually imitating his stance, "I can practically see the wheels turning on your head, Silgryn. I'm listening," He opens his mouth to blurt out one of his many excuses but an accusatory index finger prevents him from doing so. "And before you start, I'm quite aware of where I stand, believe me. Take this as my last favor for the woman I love, perhaps?"

A wholehearted laugh escapes Silgryn right then, unable to help it, "Now you're getting to my own heart, boy…" He says in a half mocking, half flirting tone, before getting serious once again, silver eyes softening. "You're a very fine lad, Hargo. I'm sure you'll find someone who will love you back just as pure and genuinely as you clearly deserve,"

And that's probably the most truthful thing I've ever said in months…

"Elune-Adore," The boy makes a show of praying to the Goddess before straightening up, not so sullen and gloomy anymore. "So, let me fetch some ales and you can start from the beginning,"

As he watches the boy go, Silgryn takes the spot he'd just left, wondering for a fleeting moment from where he should start… if he should start at all. In all honesty, he's positive someone else besides him and Arluin must know what's about to come over them all, and the Game is just too big to just turn their backs on it as of then. Pondering over it, a new skillful ally such as Hargo actually seems like the best course of action—perhaps, the wisest way.

In truth and if Silgryn must be completely sincere, nobody—least of all, Mylenne and Illidan—is prepared for the rising tides that are about to come over them all. In some way, not even himself is. However, if he's to be the only one making a real stand against the most powerful Sorceress of the Empire, then by all means, he will atone for everything he's done and step firmly and proudly into the very eye of the storm.

Knowledge can't fight beauty, that's for sure. But you can rest assured, Drie, I will keep your daughter safe and sound. Even if I have to pay the ultimate price for it, the Starsurge will come to happen…


3 months later

The nicest thing with making a friend's bar some sort of constant—and remarkably close to permanent within each night passing—location for spending the nights and days isn't really for Vanthir's neat storage of finest wines and fanciest ales Suramar could offer. Sure thing, the bartender's meals and drinks still keep being close to the top of the list, but the nicest thing from 'living' in The Thirsty Magister are the mornings.

The quiet hours that come after the Moon comes to rest are actually what Silgryn treasures the most. More precisely, those moments when the bar quickly empties from unknown newcomers and customers as the day arrives, leaving only his and his niece's known friends and acquaintances as the only occupants. It's a wonder from which he still keeps questioning and pondering about from time to time, how Mylenne and he have managed to gather so many different dorei and created that odd group—or band of misfits, so to say—he dearly likes to think of as a family.

That particular morning had been so far one of the best Silgryn had in weeks, the monotony of it all settling in and easing his constant racing mind, a funny snort inevitably leaving his mouth as he glances around the hall, half of his lilac face hidden behind his set of cards.

To his surprise and as he drops a fine set of Dukes on the table for the players to see, Silgryn finds Sulky quite at ease, only shrugging after losing for a fourth time yet still looking up for another round. "My, my… Not tired yet of losing your gold, lad?" He can't help but wonder, passing the cards to his lover as his turn comes for sorting another deck. "Can't complain, though. This is looking forward to being a lovely morning to earn more juicy coins!"

Close to the stage, he spares a look at the ever merry Slender, rehearsing a silly song with Little Moon and Baldy—the last one probably too eager to participate in whatever could involve an experiment, even if that involves music instruments rather than magics and telemancy.

"A shame your… mistress isn't here to play with us," Arluin smirks slyly, making a small show of mixing and sorting the cards with practiced ease as he gives Sulky a funny look, "It'd have been nice to win some blessed gold for a change. You'll never hear me complain about getting a couple of lucky tokens for the ride,"

"How would you if you're always winning?" The lad snorts, his permanent cobalt frown finally making their regular appearance, tapping his dark fingers on the table in an impatient manner. "And mind you, Sylenna's not my mistress. Keep that nonsense to yourself,"

Silgryn lets out a funny cackle, "Ooooh, beware, everyone! Sulky's about to get sulkier!" He laughs as he saves the gold he earned from the previous game, exaggeratedly shaking his hands in a pretense to be terrified.

The only woman gathering in the table intervenes, "Well, cute Lid here has a reputation to maintain," Cleavage—that name sounds better in his head than a boring Lady Starweave—explains with one of her charming smirks, patting her friend's shoulder rather mockingly, "He's famous to put the rage in Stormrage after all," The Sorceress adds, instantly making everyone in the table but Sulky to nearly explode in a fit of laughter.

Wiping out some tears from laughing too much, Silgryn gets a sudden feeling of something—or someone—amiss. However, he doesn't ponder about it for long, the opportunity of keep molesting the young lad being too good to just let it pass. "Where's your mistress, though? Can't remember the last time I've seen those cute puppy eyes of hers," He admits, sipping on his ale and not bothering to look at his new set of cards just yet.

The lad neither bothers to spare a look at him, however. "Don't know, don't care," He deadpans, fixing his golden eyes on his cards as if he hadn't said anything relevant. "Mmh, I'm feeling lucky for this one. Your bets, ladies and Arluin?" It's after nobody reacts at his silly joke when Sulky glances at his friend, seated beside him, "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"… You broke up with Sylenna, aren't you?" Cleavage says in a scornful tone, navy mane falling down her shoulders as she leans back in her seat, giving her friend a knowing look. As Sulky doesn't seem interested in replying, Arluin's smirk turns into a full grin at the statement, their previous mirth quickly switching into a collective groan, "Damn you, Stormrage! Couldn't you just wait one more month? Just one, one!"

With a tired sigh, Silgryn is forced to search his pockets for more coins, shaking his head in disappointment as he gives some silvers onto his lover's grabby hands. Cleavage reaches for her… cleavage, reluctantly doing the same. "Should have known you knew about this all along before even placing the bets, you devious dorei," Silgryn grumbles, sending an offended glare at Arluin as he keeps grinning in sheer satisfaction, kicking his leg under the table in an attempt to wipe that smug smile for good measure.

The lad just rolls his eyes and huffs in disapproval, yet he doesn't comment further, definitely more interested in keep playing rather than maintaining that line of conversation. Eventually, the group returns their attention to the card game, the musicians at the opposite corner of the hall settling into a chill rhythm, Little Moon's sweet voice doing wonders with easing everyone's particular moods.

Everyone but Mylie, so it seems, her uncle only able to judge by the exasperating look on her face—wearing a nasty frown he'd relate to the young lad currently playing cards with rather than with his niece, lips pursed tightly as if keeping herself from nearly snapping at Pretty Boy standing next to her.

As she appears to be arguing with her lover, it comes to be a repetitive sight for Silgryn rather lately. However, nobody else seems to be paying attention to them or worrying in the slightest except him and Vanthir, furtively glancing from behind his bar, pretending to be focused on cleaning some empty mugs. Unluckily and no matter how much he tries, Silgryn can't really listen what they're arguing about, and yet the view is just enough to notice how worked up Mylie looks like, figuring out—knowing her as much as he does—it's surely about to get worse if Pretty Boy keeps that usual annoyingly passive attitude of his.

Silgryn succeeds in keeping a cool face as it comes to be his turn to play a card, glancing through the corner of his eye at the boy's clumsy ways to soothe her moods. He holds back a disapproving click of his tongue as Mylie's lover places a kiss on her forehead, his magic flicking to life ever so slightly, unconsciously as always.

Oh, boy… When these young lads are ever going to learn to keep their magic to themselves, I wonder?

With much-practiced subtlety, Arluin pats his knee under the table as a signal to make his move, his lover always true to his awareness of where his main priorities lay upon. Both share a brief look, Arluin not bothering to keep his gaze much longer as his turn to play comes, fingers who before were lazily tapping the table then stretching, making an idle count. One… two… three…

The shadow of a female figure looms over the table. "Let me get your mugs," Mylie grumbles at the group, looking to be placing as much distance as she can from Pretty, not really waiting for a reply as she gets on grabbing their empty drinks. "Two more ales for you and Nightwine for Syrana, then. Cider for you, Lid?" She keeps it brief, pretty much eager to get on her way to the bar.

"I'm fine with whatever's closest," Sulky says nonchalantly, picking Silgryn's curiosity when he doesn't even take a furtive glance at his niece as she ties her long hair hastily, his golden eyes utterly fixed on his cards. Forcibly, he'd say, judging by the ever so brief grit of his teeth and slight clench of his jaw, the gesture nearly going unnoticed.

Huh, well, that's odd, Silgryn ponders to himself, idly wondering what could be going through the lad's head to be holding back his opinions in such a way. Before a wanderer, he's a sharp observer, and Silgryn never missed the lingering looks Sulky always gave to his niece—his face nearly an open book, incapable of hiding what's on his mind, very much less so when it regards Mylie.

Quickly going through the facts, there are two possible assumptions that could explain his strange behavior. The first one relates to his then confirmed break up with the Priestess, and it wouldn't be surprising to anyone if the lad were just more frustrated and sulkier than usual. After all, Sulky is way too predictable for Silgryn's eyes, and he knows the lad wouldn't do something like that just out of boredom or because it suddenly doesn't suit his interests.

No, if Silgryn had to point out one of Illidan Stormrage's most notable facts, is that he never takes action on anything without having a very particular reason to do so, and that's something he pretty much relates with. And the most obvious explanation for his sudden break up is because he wants to make a move on his niece… again.

Thinking of which, there's the second—and definitely more problematic—assumption, that being with the lad returning to dreaming with Mylie once more, an uncomfortable sense of worry pooling around Silgryn's gut at the mere thought. Regardless of never ever mentioning the subject, he'd be stupid to not recognize that particular haunting look in his golden eyes flickering briefly from time to time; the same he wore himself centuries back and has seen plastered on his sister's eyes for too many years.

His rather special—because he doesn't have another way to word it—bond and connection with Mylie makes it blatantly obvious Sulky had probably been experiencing his niece's dreams at least once as of late. Or that's what Silgryn can judge by the way how the lad averts his gaze from Mylie's violet mane everyone in the group has grown aware how much it always catches the lad's eye.

Perhaps it may be safe to poke him a bit to speak about it; it's already troubling how much the lad had endured without asking for help.

Sulky's concerning impassiveness doesn't last for long as Mylie returns to their table with refilled mugs for all, grumbling some nonsense under her breath. Right when Arluin plays a neat set of Magisters and Cleavage groans in frustration, the musicians at the stage settle for a more merry rhythm. However, the music isn't loud enough for Silgryn to not miss Sulky's slight growl as Mylie's lover approaches, apparently looking forward to redoubling his efforts into making amends with her, gently pulling her to the dance floor.

"Tell me what you really like, surfas I can take my time. We don't ever have to fight, just take it step-by-step," Slender begins singing, looking more pleased with the sounds he prompts out of his guitar rather than with his chant, nearly appearing to be making up some words as he goes. His companions join with glee, their faces delighted as they all settle into the easy rhythm.

Silgryn just sighs in sheer content, relaxing in his seat and idly sipping his ale, enjoying the view just as much as Arluin, although doing his best with not laughing at the awful show Pretty Boy displays for everyone to see. "Well, at least he's trying, right?" Arluin chuckles, biting his lower lip and leaning an arm over Silgryn's shoulder, "I almost feel sorry for him, though. What's he doing with his arms?"

"Eh, I'm rather sorry for Mylie," He can't help with snickering, dropping his useless cards and sending his coins to join on his lover's pile, "But consider me utterly entertained…"

"You've been scared of love and what it did to you. You don't have to run, I know what you've been through," No one in the bar—even Vanthir, still languidly rubbing and cleaning his mugs with a dirty cotton rag—seems able to keep their amusement to themselves, a mocking chorus of low chuckles and giggles joining the music as Pretty insists with his clumsy dancing. "Just a simple touch and it can set you free. We don't have to rush when you're alone with me,"

It was publicly known for the young Officer to be quite apprehensive when it came to his dancing skills, usually having Mylie and Cleavage teaching him from time to time, with all the patience women like them can muster. And it had been a no small effort if someone asked Silgryn; for no matter how appealing and talented in magic the boy could be, if there's something he never could really master, it's the ability to dance properly.

His ridiculous show doesn't help with his niece's sour moods, her face scrunching as if mortified in no time, her patience and tolerance visibly wavering. Sulky neither appears pleased in the slightest, true to his usual temper as he gulps his strong Cider, doing his best with not staring at the couple—nearly about to make a hole on the table if he keeps fixing his eyes on it that much.

At this point, I can't tell if that's just empathy or those two managing to get really moody at the same time…

Silgryn forces himself to file that interesting thought for later, sending a sly smirk at his niece when she returns to the table for the third time. "Whatever it is, it's not funny," Mylie deadpans, stealing the mug of ale he'd been nursing from his hands, emptying it with two long gulps. Ah, that was just rude…

From his seat, he can glance at Pretty sending a downcast look to Mylie's back before taking his leave, definitely not up for trying a third time. It's not like nobody cares if the boy stays or goes, but more like no one feels up to intervene, no words spoken as Hargo'then grabs his coat and strides out of the bar—having the decency of not slamming the door close as he disappears.

Slender and Little Moon don't bother with stopping either way. "You don't need a lonely night, surfas, I can make it right. You just have to let me try to give you what you want," Probably in attempts to keep a merry mood, the cute little Priestess takes more effort with the tunes she prompts out of her harp, tapping her feet along with the rhythm for good measure.

Mylie then sighs heavily and tiredly, shoulders dropping as she too opts to take her leave for the morning. However, his niece doesn't get that far away before a hand snatches her wrist midway, one of Silgryn's violet brows instantly quirking up in sheer curiosity. "That's what you get when you grab the wrong partner," Sulky begins, impassive, his face showing nothing except that intense golden gaze he always carries when his eyes lay upon her.

Cleavage pretends to be deeply interested in her sharp nails while Arluin takes advantage of their distraction to grab all the money spread on the table for himself, although Silgryn doesn't bother to look away—not an ounce of shame in his features as he leans further back in his seat and just stares. "Oh, and you think you're the right one?" Mylie snorts, holding Sulky's gaze in a rather challenging manner.

They share a hard look for the longest of moments, silver against golden, and if looks could kill, Silgryn's sure they'd both be pleading for their lives by then.

… Or about to shag the other senseless.

"Is that even a real question?" Silgryn can't help with whistling mockingly under his breath, watching in sheer amusement as for how Sulky's mouth curves upwards ever so slowly, a smug smirk showing.

"You've been scared of love and what it did to you. You don't have to run, I know what you've been through. Just a simple touch and it can set you free. We don't have to rush when you're alone with me,"

It takes a mere moment for the lad to drag her to the dance floor once more, not as gently as her previous dancer, not as harshly either. "Dear Elune and the stars above…" Cleavage breathes, making an exaggerated display of fanning herself, adding a shake of her navy-haired head.

"Indeed, milady," Arluin agrees wholeheartedly, whistling shamelessly at the dancers, the three of them leaning back in their seats, definitely intent on watching the show.

In his near five thousand years, Silgryn never would have thought of having the luck to see such an impeccable pair of dorei—like two crucial pieces of a puzzle fitting together before him. No matter how many wonders of the world he'd seen in his uncountable travels, he can count on a single hand the amount of sights that have left him in awe slightly more than the one of those two.

It makes thousands of years on the run and go just… worth it completely.

He can't help with a dear smile showing on his face at the secret language they speak as they dance—their moves sultry and sensual, yet adding up a tint of caring in between and when their eyes meet, as if reminding themselves where they appear to stand with the other from time to time. Merely touching, they provoke the other, giving and taking quite a lot, yet always keep themselves from not provoking too much.

As they settle into a faster rhythm, they're then like two big pompous hippogryphs, a sense of hyper-awareness brushed aside as they twirl and sway around each other, working their way to get the other's unwavering attention. Even when they're flawless and don't mistake any single step, that doesn't seem to ease the heated glares they send to one another, neither backing up from the chance to make an impression.

Silgryn's not sure if to cackle or smack his forehead in frustration, wondering when they are ever going to stop their utterly stupid courtship and take their much-needed leap for everyone's sakes. Knowing Mylie and Sulky's usual demeanors, then probably never, or at least not without a little… intervention.

If it should come from him, Silgryn can't say, not feeling worthy of getting in the middle of what he knows it comes from the hand of fate. He had already intervened too much in the ways of the Goddess and still, as much as surely the third is the charm, he can't really tell if his intrusion would bring the outcome he expects for his most cherished dorei in the world.

Although, if he had to be completely honest with himself, it's not like he's merely unsure—in fact, he's terrified.

But then, as the beat slows a little and Mylie rests her back against Sulky's chest, he whispers something in her ear and she smiles, a fit of giggles boiling up from her chest up to her throat; Silgryn's own widening into a full grin at the sight.

Alright, alright. Perhaps it's not as terrifying as it seems. I should settle with… a tad bit scary.

"Well, that's it. Fifteen golden coins for them to be all over each other," Cleavage rubs her hands together, keeping him from hearing what his niece says back to her dancing partner. It's not like he really needs to listen what Mylie's saying, however, for her flushed face speaks volumes of her current state.

"Bah, that's no real bet, Lady Syrana. Make it thirty at least," Arluin clicks his tongue, sparing a glance at the couple then swaying idly and languidly. "And before her kal-tora,"

Silgryn snorts in amusement, not bothering to look away from Mylie and Illidan, too immersed onto each other to notice all the bar's eyes on them. "Fifty coins and a marriage…" He raises the bet, watching intently as how Illidan places a kiss on Mylie's temple—sweet and tenderly, yet careful. Tentative, nearly as if he's testing the waters. "In less than an Embrace, I dare say," He has to add, only able to make an idle prediction with the current sight.

The musicians appear to be torn between stop playing or just keep going, the atmosphere quite better after managing to ease those two's bitter and sour moods. Eventually, Slender settles for the latter, relaxing in his chair just as much as the dancing couple in each other's arms.

Oh, Drie, if you could see your daughter right now…, Silgryn rests his cheek on a fist as he ponders about the view of them. While it doesn't appear to be a proper time to have a serious talk with Mylie, perhaps, just perhaps, the time may be right to get those two on telling them one of his ancient—and most special—stories: The tale of the Starsurge. It can wait to after her kal-tora, most definitely.

"Why, I thought the marriage part was already implicit," The woman on the table huffs, slightly taking him out of his reverie, looking ready to settle another game for the three of them. "Oh, Silgryn, you're mean. A whole Embrace? That's a damn long time for me to wait to get really drunk, you know…"


A-N: I have no idea how I managed to hold off this chapter for so long - as I'd planned to post it on the 17th - but I just couldn't do it.

And OH MY GOODNESS, I still can't believe it's been a whole year! I want to thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for keeping up with this craziness after all this time - from the lurkers and anons to those amazing readers always leaving me PMs or comments. You all mean the whole world to me and I don't really know what I'd do without your encouragement and support. Surely wouldn't have come this far, that's for sure 3

Cheers to you all, and here's hoping you don't get bored - there's soooooo much Mylidan fluff on the way and mind you, the very best is just around the corner. Stay tuned! :D :D :D