After dinner, Zoya insisted on a walk through the orchard—lanterns swaying from the branches, blossoms pale as ghosts in the twilight. The air was thick with the hum of the leyline, sweet with ripening fruit.
Lucien took Tyrande and Malfurion down one path, speaking of the deep roots that held the villa steady, while Zoya lingered back. Her sharp eyes slid to her daughter, then to Illidan. With a small, deliberate smile, she pressed a basket into Lytavis's hands.
"Take Illidan with you. Gather what's fallen. Ginger will only ruin it if we leave it overnight."
The little fox appeared from the shadows, tail curling high, amber eyes bright with mischief. She yipped once at Illidan, then darted ahead, nose to the ground.
Illidan rose immediately, inclining his head with a politeness that almost startled Lytavis. She bit back a grin and accepted the basket, Skye fluttering from her shoulder to perch above them. Together they slipped into the orchard's deeper shade.
For a while, the only sounds were the rustle of branches, the thud of fruit in the basket, and Ginger's occasional snuffle as she rooted through the grass. When Illidan bent to pick up an apple, Ginger darted in and tried to snatch it first. He arched a brow at her, holding it aloft, a faint grin tugging at his mouth.
"Is everything in this house determined to test me?"
Lytavis laughed, brushing hair from her face. "Only the ones worth knowing."
The fox nosed his boot as if in agreement, then darted ahead again. Illidan shook his head, but when he handed the fruit into Lytavis's basket, his smile lingered.
"We haven't been in Suramar long," he admitted, his voice quieter than usual. "But your home…" His gaze swept the orchard, the lanterns swaying, Ginger darting through the grass. "…it feels different. Alive in a way the city isn't."
Lytavis's blue eyes softened. "That's because it is."
For once, he didn't argue. Just walked on at her side, the weight of the basket shared between them, Skye circling above, Ginger trotting smugly ahead. And when her hand brushed his, almost by accident, neither pulled away.
Elsewhere among the trees, Lucien led Malfurion and Tyrande down a shaded path where the roots of the orchard pressed up through the soil in great curling ridges. He gestured to them with easy pride.
"These have been here longer than I have," Lucien said. "Older than the villa. My wife swears the leyline itself feeds them."
Malfurion paused, laying a hand against one of the ridges. His green hair caught the lanternlight, his expression intent, listening. "She may be right. The roots hum, faintly. As though they've drunk deep from something beneath."
Lucien chuckled. "You hear things most of us miss. Zoya would like you."
Tyrande walked a step behind, her hands clasped before her, watching the way Malfurion's head tilted, the care with which his fingers traced the bark. She found herself smiling, though she quickly looked down when he glanced her way.
"Your orchard is beautiful," Malfurion said, though his eyes lingered on Tyrande more than on the trees.
Lucien only smiled faintly, pretending not to notice, though the knowing look in his eyes said otherwise.
The two paths curved back together near the villa steps, lanterns casting golden pools across the stone. Illidan and Lytavis returned with a basket heavy with fruit, Ginger proudly carrying a bruised pear in her jaws. Malfurion and Tyrande followed a moment later, Lucien's voice still warm with quiet humor.
For an instant, all four of them paused—the brothers on one side, the girls on the other, lanternlight weaving their shadows together across the courtyard stones. The air held a charged stillness, as if the villa itself were watching. Then Ginger dropped her pear with a triumphant snort, breaking the spell, and the night moved on.
Above them, the lanterns swayed in the orchard boughs, blossoms ghost-pale against the dark—watchful, steady, as though the night itself had joined in their weaving.