They returned to the Ariakan villa under a sky brushed deep indigo, the last traces of enchanted snow already melting from their cloaks. Lanterns glowed along the orchard path, warm and steady, and the house itself seemed to breathe them in—windows lit, doors open, the scent of baking lingering like a promise.
Dinner was unhurried and generous. Elise had outdone herself—roasted vegetables glazed with honey, bread still warm from the oven, spiced meats and bowls of fruit preserved from summer. Conversation flowed easily, laughter soft and frequent, the kind that did not demand attention but filled the spaces between words.
Illidan sat beside Lytavis, close enough that their shoulders brushed. He felt… unmoored, in the best way. The day had already given him more than he knew how to hold.
When the dishes were cleared, Zoya rose and smiled in that particular way Illidan was coming to recognize—fond, anticipatory.
"It's time," she said.
"For what?" Illidan asked, quietly.
"Our Longest Night tradition," Lytavis replied, eyes bright. "We exchange gifts."
Illidan's brow furrowed. "Tonight?"
"Yes," Lucien said mildly. "It's never been about the calendar so much as the gathering."
Illidan hesitated. "I—wasn't aware. I didn't bring—"
"No one minds," Zoya said at once.
"Truly," Lucien added. "Sit."
Elise was first. She pressed a basket into Illidan's hands, woven sturdy and neat. Inside were neatly wrapped parcels of baked goods—sweet rolls, spiced biscuits—and small jars of jam sealed with wax.
"For your apprentice quarters," she said. "You look like someone who forgets to eat when thinking."
Illidan blinked, then inclined his head deeply. "Thank you. I will… make good use of these."
She smiled, then handed him a second basket. "This is for Malfurion. Be sure he gets it."
"I promise," Illidan said, solemn as an oath.
Lucien stood next. He held out a journal—leather-bound, dyed a deep, rich blue, the pages thick and creamy beneath his fingers.
"For your thoughts," Lucien said. "Or your theories. Or whatever you choose to become."
Illidan accepted it carefully, reverently. "I will keep it well."
Zoya followed, offering a quill to match—dark blue, its feather glossy and perfectly balanced.
"Every journal deserves a worthy companion," she said.
Illidan looked between them, something tight and bright in his chest. "I… thank you."
Then Lytavis stepped forward.
She held out a silver cloak clasp, finely wrought, moonlight caught in its curves. When Illidan took it, the faintest breath of jasmine rose between them.
"It's enchanted with my perfume," she said softly. "If you ever need steadying."
His fingers closed around it instinctively. He did not trust his voice.
When it was Lytavis's turn, she moved with easy confidence.
She gave her father a slim, well-worn volume. "I thought you might enjoy this," she said. "The Echo Codices. It's… obscure."
Lucien's eyes lit at once. "Very."
Zoya received a moonstone bottle, cool and smooth, filled with her favorite perfume. Elise was given a dusty rose shawl, light as air and charmed to remain exactly where it was placed.
"For when you're painting," Lytavis said.
Elise's eyes shone.
In return, Lucien and Zoya presented Lytavis with a new bow and quiver, beautifully crafted, balanced to her hand. Elise gave her a small painting—Skye rendered in soft, loving strokes.
Elise surprised them all by unveiling a painting of Lucien, Zoya, and Lytavis from when Lytavis was still a child. She was gifted a hand-carved brush, comb, and mirror, by Lucien and Zoya.
There was laughter. Quiet delight. The gentle pleasure of having been seen.
They drank hot cocoa afterward, gathered close by the hearth, conversation drifting without urgency. Outside, the night deepened. Inside, warmth held.
Illidan sat with Lytavis curled against him, her head resting lightly at his shoulder. He held her just a bit tighter than before.
He felt blessed.
He did not yet have words for the feeling—only the certainty of it, warm and steady as the fire.
And for the first time, the longest night did not feel long at all.