Illidan's Private Journal - The Quiet Lessons
(Fragment, penned in Illidan's hand.)
She kissed me.
Not with fire, not with hunger—just a brush of her lips, light as a blessing. In the temple, no less. Among marble and prayers and watchful eyes. And I—who have always fought to be seen—stood there stunned because she did not hesitate. She chose me in front of everyone as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
I have chased power all my life because power cannot be denied. It does not need to ask permission. But her kiss felt like something else entirely: not conquest, but recognition. As if, for once, I was not reaching too high. As if I had already arrived.
Her father invited me into his study tonight. Not as a nuisance, not as an intruder—but as a student. Bring your questions, he said, as though my mind was worth the ink to answer. Do they know what that does to me? To be taken seriously? To be welcomed?
But tonight, she pressed a kiss to my cheek, certain and unashamed. Tonight, her father opened his study to me. Tonight, the fox curled at my feet as though I belonged.
For a heartbeat, I believed it.
Perhaps power is not the only path to being chosen. Perhaps the quiet weight of belonging is stronger still.