(journal fragment, penned in Illidan's hand)
Tonight I saw Lucien Ariakan in his element. I have known him as teacher and father, scholar and quiet strength at his own hearth. But within the walls of Tel'anor, he came alive. He and Starwhisper spoke as equals, their words turning the heavens like stones in a streambed—worn smooth by time and brilliance. I do not think I have ever seen Lytavis glow so brightly as when she listened to them.
I should have felt out of place. By rights, I was an interloper—an apprentice standing in the shadow of men who measure their thoughts in millennia. And yet I did not. Starwhisper looked at me, at us, as though we belonged. As though we had a right to the stars.
Lytavis drew me to the telescope. Through her hands, the constellations became something more than patterns I thought I knew. She looked as if the night itself might move her to tears. I told her the stars were beautiful—yet I found myself looking at her instead. Awkward, unpolished words, unworthy of the moment. But true.
I wonder if she realizes that when she lifts her gaze to the sky, she shines with the same fire.
Power, recognition, destiny—these are the things I once believed would fill me. But nights like this ask nothing of me save to stand at her side. To let her hand guide mine. To let her voice carry me into wonder.
And yet… tonight, beneath the weight of constellations and the murmur of her father's voice, another thought took root.
That I could make this—her—my forever.
That I could ask, not as a student, not as a boy chasing brilliance, but as a man who has finally found something worth keeping.
The stars are vast. Infinite.
But tonight, beneath their light, the world did not feel too wide to hold.
Not while she was beside me.
As if the night itself had opened a door.