(journal entry, penned in a steady, deliberate hand)
This house is not what I expected.
I have spent eleven years in a manor defined by silence—dark corridors, quiet study, and a master whose brilliance filled every room so thoroughly there was hardly space left for anything as frivolous as laughter.
Here, noise lives comfortably beside knowledge—as if both were necessary for the work they do.
The fox—Ginger—begged at Illidan's boot this morning, patient but fully aware she would be fed. The raven, Skye, demanded her share with all the entitlement of a queen. Illidan obliged them both without hesitation, as if it were a ritual long established.
He laughed when Zoya called them family.
I realized, with some surprise, that I had never heard the sound before.
Illidan Stormrage is different here.
Not the prodigy who draws jealous eyes at the Academy.
Not the apprentice enduring a volatile master.
Home softens him.
He kissed Lytavis before going to the study. Twice.
Small gestures, but sure.
Not display—assurance.
I watched the way Lucien looked at them.
Not with suspicion or irritation, but with… pride.
As though their happiness were an achievement he had helped shape.
Zoya speaks freely, heart-first.
Lytavis answers the same way.
It is not a language I know yet, but I find myself wanting to learn.
I was surprised by the ease with which they made room for me—
a new apprentice, yes, but not a novelty. Not a burden.
Simply… welcome, in a way I had forgotten was possible.
Just… welcome.
Darkrune taught me structure, brilliance, discipline.
He gave me every tool I needed to carve a future.
But he never taught me what to do once I had carved a place for myself in it.
Perhaps that is what I will learn here.
Today begins the final stage of my apprenticeship.
Not merely to master the arcane—
but to understand what it means to belong in a place where both mind and heart are wanted in equal measure.
And that, I think, may be the most difficult lesson of all.