(journal fragment, penned in Illidan's hand. The script is calm, almost meditative, with faint traces of ink blotting at the edges)
Lytavis asked if her father might join us when we go to Lord-Magister Starwhisper's observatory in Tel'anor.
She did not need my answer—I would never have denied her—but I gave it freely. The thought of walking those halls beside her, with Lucien welcomed as an equal, pleases me more than I care to admit.
It is a strange thing, to feel anticipation instead of apprehension. For years, every summons, every invitation, meant judgment—another chance to be measured and found lacking. But this… this feels different. Starwhisper's invitation was not given to a student trailing behind his master. It was offered to us.
She kissed me before I went to my lesson. As always now, it felt natural. Familiar. A rhythm of our mornings, as constant as the tea on their table and Zoya's dry remark about my ink stains. I had not realized routine could feel like peace.
And still, beneath it all, I find myself thinking of the stars—of what it means that Lord-Magister Lynath Starwhisper has asked us to look at them with him.
I have stared at the heavens my entire life, chasing answers, hunting power, trying to grasp what burned beyond reach. Perhaps this time, I will not look upward alone.