The gates of Stormwind swung wide as the heroes returned victorious, their triumph over the Lich King evident in the jubilant cheers of the gathered crowd. A parade of champions marched through the city's main thoroughfare, a dazzling array of warriors, mages, rogues, and paladins, each adorned in their distinct armor and attire. Humans, night elves, dwarves, and gnomes marched side by side, their weapons gleaming in the sunlight, reflecting the glory of their hard-fought victory. Flower petals rained down from above, scattered by the hands of grateful citizens, turning the streets into a cascade of vibrant colors.
Among the procession was Galvane Hilt, one of the heroes who had personally felled the Lich King. As he walked in step with his comrades, his eyes swept over the sea of cheering faces. His hands itched under the weight of their praise, and despite the warmth of the sun and the adoration of the people, he felt a hollowness gnawing at him. He watched as a few of his companions waved at the crowd—mighty warriors, skilled rogues, and powerful mages, all basking in the glory of their shared victory.
But Galvane's steps slowed. His gaze lingered for a moment on the petals swirling in the air, but the cheers felt distant, muffled. The weight of his thoughts pressed down on him, a somber contrast to the celebration around him. Quietly, carefully, he slipped away from the group, moving to the side streets of Stormwind unnoticed by the celebrating crowd. The parade continued on, unaware that one of their greatest champions had quietly withdrawn.
As he stepped away, his mind was not on the victory, but on the cost. Why do we celebrate if it came at the deaths of thousands of soldiers? he wondered. The thought sat heavy in his chest as his hand unconsciously rubbed his thumb against his index finger, a habit he had picked up in the darkest moments of his quest.
Galvane's thoughts twisted back to the moment when his family had perished—when the plague first ravaged Lordaeron. His heart darkened as he remembered the order that sealed their fate, given by none other than the Prince of Lordaeron himself, the one who would become the Lich King. Galvane had been away when Stratholme was culled, spared by chance or perhaps cursed by it. When he returned to find his family dead, burned with the rest as if their lives had been nothing but waste, a rage unlike anything he had ever known consumed him.
For years, that rage had driven him. He trained relentlessly, pushed himself beyond the limits of his endurance, all for the chance to bury his axe deep into the heart of the Lich King. And now, he had done it. Arthas was dead, the blood of the man who had murdered his family spilled by Galvane's own hands.
But instead of the peace he had once imagined, there was only an emptiness that echoed in the space where his family's memory lived. I never even saw them, he thought, a painful lump forming in his throat. His parents, his brother—they hadn't died in some noble battle. They were swept away, burned among the countless others in the culling of Stratholme. Their bodies piled high with the diseased, thrown into mass pyres without ceremony or honor, their lives reduced to ash in a moment.
Galvane hadn't been there to say goodbye. He had been too late. By the time he returned, Stratholme was nothing but smoke and embers. He never saw their faces, never laid a hand on their remains. All that was left was the bitter knowledge that they had been condemned with the rest, their memories turned to dust along with the city. A quick pyre of nameless bodies. His family—people who had loved him, raised him—disposed of like they had never even mattered.
The realization had shattered something inside him, and that brokenness, that festering wound, had fueled his drive for vengeance. The Lich King had fallen by his hand, but it hadn't brought his family back. It hadn't erased the horror of Stratholme's culling.
I wasn't even there...
He looked down at his hands, rubbing his thumb against his index finger, feeling the rough edges of his skin. I finally killed him, he thought. My family is avenged, and my the world is safe... But as his eyes drifted to the legendary weapon slung across his back, the weight of Shadowmourne felt heavy in a way it hadn't before. So now what?
A pang of uncertainty crept into his thoughts. Maybe I should live my life the way my father wanted, he mused. Become a farmer, settle down, forget the pain. He looked up for a moment, then back down at his feet, his grip tightening on the hilt of the axe slung across his back. His heart ached with the emptiness of his uncertain future.
"Shadowmourne," he muttered, looking at the dark runes carved into its surface. Forging the axe had been a grueling journey, an odyssey through the bitter cold of Northrend, gathering fragments of power from the Lich King's greatest lieutenants. It had been said that the blade was a sister to Frostmourne itself, a weapon destined for greatness—or perhaps, like Frostmourne, destined to corrupt its wielder. He had spent months hunting the souls of Arthas' champions, collecting the shards needed to complete this legendary weapon. Each battle had tested his resolve, each shard carrying a piece of the dark magic that had once served the Scourge.
The Highlord of the Ebon Blade had spoken of righteousness when he placed Shadowmourne in Galvane's hands, but there was always the warning, too—This blade is powerful, but so was Arthas once. Will you be a hero, or will your hatred make you like him? Now, standing here with the weapon that had cost him so much, he wondered if he had truly become anything different than the man he had sought to destroy.
Greatness for what? he thought bitterly. To avenge the dead, only to stand here with nothing but this axe? He traced the etchings on its blade, the weight of the weapon now a reminder of what he had sacrificed—and what he had lost.
He wandered through Stormwind, the echoes of the city's celebration still ringing in the streets. Though the mood of the people was high, the noise and revelry did little to entertain him. Eventually, he found himself in front of a modest establishment. "Druidic Sanctuary," he muttered under his breath as he read the name above the door. He hadn't planned to stop, but something about the quiet, elegant atmosphere drew him in.
Expecting the place to be bustling with patrons, he was surprised to find it nearly empty. The restaurant was far from a rowdy tavern—this was a place meant for calm, intimate dining. The air inside was peaceful, the lighting gentle and inviting. Each corner of the room held vases filled with fragrant flowers, their soft perfume mixing with the warmth of freshly cooked meals. In the center of the ceiling, a grand chandelier emitted a soft, amber glow, casting gentle shadows over the tables, each set with crisp linen and polished silver. A polished wooden counter stood on the left, leading to a door likely connected to the kitchen, while a graceful staircase spiraled up to the private dining rooms on the second floor. It felt worlds away from the loud, celebratory chaos outside.
"Sorry there isn't much of a crowd. Most people are off at the bars, celebrating," a voice said, breaking the stillness. He turned toward the sound and saw her—a night elf, with light purple skin and flowing silver-white hair. She had the delicate, ethereal beauty common to her kind, her amber eyes focused momentarily on the window before turning to him. "This place is usually more for quiet dining, not for those looking for noisy celebrations." Her voice was soft, a little wistful, as if the peace inside mirrored her own preference for tranquility.
He raised his hand with little fanfare, "Just bring me whatever you've got—and some wine." His voice held an indifferent tone, his gaze drifting back toward the window.
She studied him briefly. He was tall, towering even by her people's standards, with a strong build and an unmistakable air of a seasoned warrior. His face, though still youthful by human years, bore the scars of countless battles. There was a weariness to his features, one that made her wonder how someone so young could carry the demeanor of someone who had seen too much too soon. She sighed softly, her thoughts wandering, before shaking herself back to the present.
Her pause had lingered too long, prompting the man to grow slightly impatient. "Are you going to take my order or not?" he asked, his voice edged with annoyance.
"I'm sorry," she responded quickly, her cheeks coloring slightly in embarrassment. "I just... noticed how tall you are. Even taller than most of the males of my kind." She hoped her words would deflect some of the tension.
He gave her a brief smile, shaking his head. "Well, don't let it distract you from doing your job. There are humans like me who are taller than you'd expect, and maybe next time, you should save your fascination for when you're not working." His tone was not outright hostile, but there was an unmistakable sharpness to it.
Unfazed by his curtness, she quickly moved toward the kitchen, casting one last glance over her shoulder before disappearing. As she prepared the meal, she couldn't help but glance at him through the kitchen window from time to time. His gaze remained fixed on something far beyond the restaurant walls, his frown deepening with each passing moment. There was a sadness there, one that needed no words to explain.
As she worked, the aroma of fresh herbs and roasted meats filled the air. The restaurant, though quiet, hummed with warmth and comfort, the perfect antidote to the coldness outside. She took extra care in preparing his food, though she knew from the man's demeanor that he likely wouldn't notice. When she finally placed the dish in front of him, along with the bottle of wine he had requested, he barely acknowledged her.
"Thank you," he muttered, already lifting the fork to his mouth without even glancing at the meal she had prepared. The night elf sighed inwardly but said nothing as she bowed slightly and retreated to the kitchen.
He watched as Nilsha bowed and left, retreating back to the kitchen. He tracked her every step, ensuring she was truly out of sight. Once he was certain, he wasted no time. His hand darted to the bottle of wine, uncorking it with a rough pull before tipping it to his lips. The liquid flowed down in long gulps, the sharp burn of alcohol igniting his throat. He didn't bother finishing his meal, not caring for the fine dish before him. His focus was solely on drowning the thoughts that plagued his mind, no matter the toll it would take on him later.
From a distance, the night elf watched. Her sharp eyes caught the way the human neglected the food she had carefully prepared. Yet, there was no offense taken. Nilsha had seen his kind before—men and women who carried the burdens of war so heavily that even the finest meal could not stir their appetite. She sighed quietly, turning her attention back to her work. "Sometimes, wars affect others deeply, Nilsha," she murmured to herself, as if the thought alone would explain the man's behavior.
As dusk began to settle, the gentle light outside gave way to the quiet hum of the restaurant. The mechanical tick of the clock on the wall signaled the passage of time, the arrow now resting just past six. Nilsha glanced through the kitchen window, expecting to find an empty table. To her surprise, the human still sat there, slouched over, his eyes dull and unfocused. His meal remained untouched, and the empty bottle of wine sat beside him, a stark reminder of his chosen escape.
Nilsha frowned, her concern growing. With no other customers arriving for the evening, it was easy to notice the unusual sight of the lone man lingering well past what seemed reasonable. She sighed and wiped her hands on her apron before making her way to him.
"You have to leave now, please," she said, her voice gentle but firm as she approached.
He barely acknowledged her, offering a half-hearted "Oh" as he slowly fumbled into his pocket. From it, he pulled out a small bag of gold and unceremoniously poured its contents onto the table—twenty pieces, shining under the dim light. "I'll give you twenty pieces of gold if you let me stay a bit longer," he offered, his voice slurred but deliberate as he counted out the coins.
Nilsha hesitated. Her instinct was to refuse, to send him away. But those twenty pieces of gold were tempting—far more than she would typically earn in three days' work. She sighed again, the weight of the decision pressing on her. Reluctantly, she accepted the offer with a nod, though her heart felt uneasy. As she left him alone once more, she couldn't help but glance back, her eyes watching the man from the small window of the kitchen.
It wasn't fascination that drove her to observe him—it was pity. The way his gaze lingered on the floor, the way his lips pressed into a thin line of despair. He was clearly lost, seeking refuge in the wine that had already dulled his senses. "Maybe he's been through too much," she thought. "If he's been fighting in the wars, then perhaps this is his way of trying to forget."
Time passed slowly, like a river wearing down its banks. The clock now ticked past ten, and Nilsha knew the time had come for him to leave. She stood, her resolve firm, and approached the warrior once more. "You have to leave now," she said, this time with more authority. "The night is falling, and the city sleeps. I need to close my business."
The man mumbled something incoherent, his head tilted toward the floor as if the effort to speak was too much. Nilsha repeated her request, only to be met with the same offer—this time, however, he fumbled in his pocket with even more difficulty. "I'll… give you fffffifty pieces of gold iffff… you let me drink here a while longer," he slurred. But before he could finish counting, he dropped his entire bag of gold on the table, far more than what he originally offered.
Nilsha's heart sank. She couldn't let this continue. No amount of money would justify letting a man drink himself into oblivion under her roof. It was clear that he needed more than just another bottle of wine—he needed rest, and perhaps, a moment of peace. She sighed heavily, knowing what had to be done. His condition left her no choice but to help him, despite the risks. A complete stranger, drunk and vulnerable, could endanger her if left to his own devices. Yet, something in her gut told her that he posed no threat. She trusted her instincts, foolish as they might be.
Carefully, she draped his thick, muscular arm over her shoulders, nearly buckling under his weight. "Heavy," she thought, struggling to support him. Lifting a man of his stature clad in armor was no easy feat. "Please, help me out here," she whispered, her voice strained from the effort.
To her surprise, the man complied, groaning softly as he staggered to his feet, his legs unsteady but cooperating. Together, they managed to stumble toward the stairs, each step a battle against his drunken stupor. By the time they reached the room she had set aside for him, Nilsha was drenched in sweat, her arms shaking from the strain. She eased him onto the bed, watching with cautious eyes as he collapsed into the sheets.
Her mind raced. Was this a mistake? Could he truly be trusted? But as she studied him, now sprawled out in the small bed, she realized that if he had meant to harm her, he would have done so long before. His weapon remained downstairs, resting against the wall, untouched. The danger she feared never materialized.
"I don't need these thoughts right now," she muttered to herself, shaking her head. "If I were like most of my kind, I wouldn't have bothered helping him." She smiled bitterly at that. Unlike many of her people, Nilsha believed in the equality of all races. She trusted others, perhaps too much. "A rare jewel," she mused quietly, "but a dangerous trait." Her willingness to help, to offer kindness without question, made her vulnerable. Yet, it was who she was, and there was no changing that.
With a final sigh, she turned away from the sleeping man and headed back downstairs. Her eyes drifted to his weapon, still leaning against the wall. Its serrated edge glinted in the soft light. "Too heavy," she thought after attempting to lift it, deciding to leave it where it was. As the moonlight bathed the quiet restaurant, she locked the doors, closed the windows, and prepared to end her long day, her thoughts still lingeringHe awoke, groaning as a sharp headache immediately seized his temples. Instinctively, his palm pressed against his forehead, as though the weight of his hand could somehow ease the throbbing pain. It was then he realized he was still clad in his armor, the cold, plated metal contrasting starkly with the soft cushion beneath him. Blinking away the haze of sleep, he glanced around, surprised to find himself in a modestly-sized room. The bed he lay upon, though not grand, was large enough to accommodate his imposing frame—something he rarely encountered in most places.
He rose to his feet with a slight sway, shaking his head to clear the remnants of fatigue, before making his way toward the door. His boots thudded softly against the wooden floor as he descended the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. The faint scent of freshly prepared meals greeted him as he reached the bottom.
He found himself in a dining room, the tables now rearranged, likely for the upcoming day. As he scanned the room, the rustling of movement caught his attention.
"You're awake, I see. I trust you'll be more cautious with the drink next time." A soft voice drifted from the kitchen doorway.
Turning, he met the familiar face of the night elf from the night before. She stepped forward, the kitchen door swinging gently shut behind her. In the soft morning light, he could clearly make out her features. Like many of her kind, she possessed an ethereal beauty, though hers carried a unique radiance. Yet, even that beauty couldn't distract him from his own embarrassment. This was not the first time alcohol had led him astray, but to find himself in the home of an elven woman? That was certainly unusual.
"My apologies... I must have overindulged," he muttered, his voice thick with shame. "Alcohol has always been my... weakness."
She smiled. "I do not judge the daily lives of common people, like ourselves, If alcohol is your taste then I do not control what you will intake." Nilsha said.
She smiled, her expression warm but not mocking. "I don't judge the habits of ordinary folk, myself included. If drink is what brings you comfort, then who am I to control your choices?" Nilsha replied.
He chuckled softly, though it was more out of discomfort than amusement. Her eyebrow rose in curiosity. "Did something I say amuse you?"
"No, no, forgive me," he quickly responded. "I just didn't expect to hear a night elf speak of herself as 'ordinary.' You spoke as if there's no distinction between your people and humanity."
Nilsha gave a small nod, her expression unwavering. "Don't be surprised. I'm... different from most of my kin. I believe in equality, that all beings—whether night elf or human—are fundamentally the same. It's a mindset that's not well received where I come from, but it's a belief I hold firmly."
He shifted, looking around the room, his gaze scanning for something. His weapon. It was missing, and the absence of it made him tense. His brow furrowed as he glanced around.
Noticing his unease, Nilsha gestured toward a corner near the counter. "Your weapon is behind the counter. I hid it last night when you so carelessly left it on the dining table. That thing is quite heavy, you know."
Walking over, he spotted his massive, two-handed serrated axe. Without hesitation, he reached down and lifted it with one hand, the ease of the motion betraying the weapon's considerable weight. Nilsha, who had struggled to move it even a few inches, watched with wide eyes, momentarily taken aback.
"Thank you, Nilsha," he said, his tone formal.
She brushed off his formality with a wave of her hand. "Please, enough with that. Just call me Nilsha. Nilsha Moonlit, if you must use my full name, though that's hardly necessary."
He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her request. "As you wish, Nilsha."
With that formality out of the way, his thoughts returned to more practical matters. "Now then, about the damages from my stay here. How much do I owe you? Silver? Gold?" He had already reached into his leather pouch, ready to settle his debts.
Nilsha shook her head, smiling. "There are no damages to speak of. Your stay is free. I simply wanted to help a fellow traveler in his time of need. Besides, you already gave me twenty pieces of gold last night—far more than what I make in three days."
But the warrior wasn't swayed. "No, I insist. If you refuse to accept my coin, I'll find another way to repay you. I won't leave until my debt is settled."
Nilsha sighed, recognizing the stubborn resolve in his voice. "Very well. Since you're so adamant, I'll let you help me. I need to go to the market today—perhaps you can assist me with that?"
"Gladly," he said, some enthusiasm returning to his tone. "And my name is Galvane Hilt, by the way. It's a pleasure to be of service, Nilsha."
She smiled at the sudden shift in his demeanor. He was almost unrecognizable from the grim man who had trudged through her door the previous evening. "Very well, Galvane. I need to buy fish, meat, and vegetables for the week, and I only have five gold to budget it all. That should suffice as payment for your stay."
"Lead the way. I'll follow at a distance and carry whatever you need," Galvane replied, already prepared to serve.
They stepped out into the morning sun, the brightness causing Galvane to squint slightly. He followed behind her as they made their way to the bustling market. The place was teeming with life—night elves, draenei, dwarves, and humans alike crowded the stalls, their voices blending into a cacophony of commerce. Galvane's eyes scanned the crowd, his towering presence easily parting those who accidentally stepped in his path.
Despite the hum of activity, it took a while to navigate through the crowded stalls. After nearly half an hour, Galvane looked over at Nilsha, motioning to ask where they were headed. Before he could speak, Nilsha stopped in front of a stand.
"Oh, hello Matilda!" Nilsha greeted a human woman with black hair, standing a little shorter than herself.
He took a step back, letting the two women speak. He was never one for haggling or shopping, leaving those tasks to others in his life. He'd been the one to carry the heavy loads, and today was no different. Standing apart from the crowd, he observed the market, his presence undeniable as he loomed above the bustling throng. His height alone, towering over nearly everyone else, drew attention—some in awe, others perhaps in discomfort. While most passed by without notice, a few gave him curious glances, his battle-hardened appearance unmistakable.
""Thanks, Matilda, I'll see you later," the night elf said, picking up a few pounds of fish, vegetables, and other supplies for her restaurant.
Suddenly, the human seller narrowed her brow and pointed. "Oh look, it's those two idiots again." She gestured toward a pair of young men leaning against a stall, their smirks revealing their intentions. They had a reputation for harassment, making them unwelcome in the marketplace.
Galvane observed from a distance, a hint of curiosity flickering in his gaze as the duo approached the women. Nilsha, the elf who owned the restaurant, was no stranger to unwanted attention, and her posture stiffened, a clear indication that trouble was brewing.
"Alright, stop harassing us. Just leave us alone," Nilsha warned, irritation creeping into her voice as she met their gazes with defiance.
The larger of the two men stepped forward, a cocky grin spreading across his face. "Aww, come on. We just want to have a bit of fun with you two lovely ladies." He leaned in closer, the stench of alcohol wafting from him.
Galvane couldn't stand idly by. He towered over the hoodlums, his formidable presence impossible to ignore. He placed a hand firmly on the shoulder of the larger man, squeezing just enough to cause discomfort. "You know, when I was young, I used to crush coconuts with my bare hands." His grip tightened, eliciting a wince from the man. "Now, help me out, alright?" As they squirmed beneath his grasp, it became clear they understood the message. He released them and pushed them aside. "Back off and stop bothering them, or else you'll regret it," he warned as he watched them scurry away.
"Thank you for that, warrior. You really are something. All big and scary has worked out in our favor," Matilda said, tilting her head up to meet his gaze, her height clearly not enough to match his imposing stature.
Nilsha nodded in agreement. "Yes, thank you. Because of you, we were able to run them off before things got... uncomfortable," she added, her annoyance palpable.
Matilda turned to her elven friend, handing over the needed items. "Do you know him, Nilsha?" she asked, her curiosity evident.
TNilsha nodded as she passed the items to the towering human. "Yes, I met him at the restaurant. He's here to help me with the shopping because he felt he owed me something after I didn't accept his coins. I told him it wasn't necessary since I helped him out of a drunken stupor." She tried to downplay the situation, but her irritation with the duo lingered.
"Wow, what a nice turn of events," Matilda said, preparing to say her goodbyes. "Alright, I guess I'll be seeing you, Nilsha." With that, she walked away from the stand.
As the pair returned to the restaurant, a comfortable silence enveloped them. Galvane placed the items on the table, taking a moment to appreciate the smell of the fresh produce.
"Well, I guess that would be enough for your payment, don't you think?" Nilsha asked, a smile playing on her lips as she sorted through the items, expecting him to leave after his assistance.
Galvane nodded, but he did not move to leave. He remained still, his gaze fixed on the floor, lost in thought. Nilsha noticed his unusual behavior and felt a small pang of concern. Here was a warrior who had come to a random restaurant, seemingly indifferent to the world around him, throwing away gold and wasting food on wine. He was a veteran, though still young, clearly in the prime of his life.
She pondered whether she could help him. Perhaps she could offer him shelter or something similar. After all, he didn't strike her as a crook who preyed on the innocent. She turned to him, the question forming on her lips. "Hey, human... I mean Galvane. Do you have a place you need to go right now?" When he shook his head, she pressed on, her curiosity piqued. "Well... if you have nowhere else to go, how about staying here for a while? I could use the help. You know, with all these hoodlums around lately, a towering figure like you might come in handy to scare them off." She chuckled lightly, but then added with a smirk, "Just a warning, the pay won't be great since you'll be sleeping in my restaurant."
Galvane raised a brow, intrigued. The prospect of having a stable place to stay, even if it was a restaurant, appealed to him.
He smiled at her offer. "Thank you." Without hesitation, he made his way upstairs, feeling a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. He didn't quite understand why he had accepted her offer, but he knew that at least he wouldn't have to worry about finding a trustworthy tavern.