The city seemed locked in a stasis of constant prosperity, leaving no hint of the touch of fel and the demons that once walked on the alabaster marble. Beauty and perfection appeared to be the only thing the Shal'dorei would accept within their land. Suramar was a city built by arcane. That power was its blood, its very oxygen. Now residue of the magic danced on the wind, along with the violet petals of enchanted blooms. Under no circumstances was the image it created however an unpleasant one. It inspired serenity.
After parting with Noraiel, Celysiel had found a balcony for herself. How curious that such was her choice, rather than to stay at the gardens of the Grand Promenade, or perhaps even walk by the canals below. It was a conscious choice, for there was no denying that she was not making attempts to run from the phantoms formed by her own memories. If she lived with them, the void did not feel as great. The loss lesser. Happier were the times when she had been on a terrace such as this one, with a flower behind her ear and a night under the stars.
Now as it happened, she had come here with the pyromancer under different circumstances, with a heart mended from hatred in order to aid the one she had condemned, the one she had essentially led to exile, even if not actively. Noraiel had made a good point. What would the consequences be if it was known that Celysiel had helped an exile, that thanks to her Vealynn was awake for once more? Surely not worse than what Telthion, or Champion Blazecrest would face. But even if so, they were welcome. The remnants of the Burning Legion had stolen one elf, they would not have another. This leaf would remain on Celysiel's tree a while longer. And lovers would rest in each other's arms that night to enjoy what the apprentice could have no more.
Slowly did she extend her hand, aiming to catch one of the errant petals carried by her breeze. This one, azure in colour, was touched by the glow of the magic that had helped it grow. It landed on her dark glove and, unlike the flowers adorning her head, did not blacken. Nor would she let it succumb to such fate. Instead of letting shadow bind it, the apprentice released it back on the wind. And just for a bitter moment, the sound of steps behind her made her believe that she would see the one she desired to. But such was not the case.
At first all Nightborne looked to be the same, but spending time with them revealed differences. Not all had white hair. The complexion of others was lighter, or some darker. It was simply a matter of knowing. The one behind her had skin dark like the night and long, lavender hair. Significantly taller and muscular, the woman looked at Celysiel with silver, thin eyes. She was unsmiling too, something they shared.
"Sin'dorei." she said, her tone calm, but not soothing. "Your people have been visiting our city far less since the war came to be."
"It is the nature of war not to allow people to seek pleasures and peace, which is what your city has to offer." the young elf replied gently as the taller one joined her. "A shame."
"The brilliance of our city is but a veil which conceals flaws and scheming born among the nobles and the painful memories of recent destruction." the Nightborne spoke calmly. "I have been in your lands. Sunlight, twilight. There is no difference between us. We simply succeed in hiding our own scars better than you yours."
It was not a lie, that Celysiel knew all too well. She considered the Dead Scar, the land burdened with the miasma of death, or even the ruins of Silvermoon that had never been rebuilt. The fact that warlocks hid beneath the ground, gathering around fel orbs still. That the golden gaze looked down at the verdant.
"Why are you here, Sin'dorei?" the woman asked. "The hour is late for your kind."
"I cannot sleep." Celysiel replied sincerely. "Rest has not been agreeable with me for quite a while."
The Nightborne nodded gently as she placed herself against the railing. Athletic, rather than slim and graceful, she wore little clothes, as was expected from her kin. Runic tatoos shined with pearly light against her dark form. "Is it the war that troubles you?" she asked. "It will not harm you here."
Celysiel closed her eyes, surrendering to the music of the night even if for a moment. A melody composed by the rustling of leaves and the whistle of the wind. Burdened with memories she wished to bury, hide, but they would forever be unabated. "A war." she claimed. "Not this war."
"A war." the Nightborne repeated, looking at the spires of the beautiful city rising below. "Where does yours take you?"
Silence lingered for a moment as the apprentice turned to the west. "There were your ancestral lands." the girl uttered. "Are there many of you who know that the Broken Isles are like should one wish to navigate them?"
If she had realised that an answer to her question had been given, the Shal'dorei did not reveal. Instead she joined Celysiel to turning towards the same direction. "We have lived in the seclusion of our tome for far too long. Our people remember a world as seen, or described on paper based on how it was ten thousand years ago. How it has been shaped after the Sundering too few of us know. There will be no guides here. Only eager learners."
Softly the shorter female nodded. She knew where Azsuna lay, the land calling to her with promise of finding what she had lost. Never before had she stepped into the land that Thaelen had described to be rich with Highborne ruins, but she had seen it twice upon exiting the tunnels of Falanaar. Now she was far too close. To go back on her promise to Noraiel and not return to Silvermoon would be far too easy. But four more days were left. The dawn of the fifth, with the map in her possession, she would return to Suramar and travel beyond the border of water.
In her silence, the Nightborne was observing her. The pair of silver cat-eyes constantly locked on her, as if studying a curious specimen. "You wear dying flowers on your head, while you are surrounded in a city where arcane gives life. Why?" she asked, unable to conceal her curiosity.
Celysiel shook her head. Of the burden of her crown and her mother's dress she was conscious. Of that of her sorrow even more. "A reminder. Everything decays."
The taller woman pressed her lips together, clearly thinking this not to be a good enough reason for one to display such eccentric behaviour. She straightened her back, as if about to leave. "It seems that your war is internal, if it is also external. They say the Sin'dorei rise from the ashes. You do not seem very willing."
To that Celysiel could not comment, for she could not deny that a part of it was accurate. From the ashes she wished to rise. It simply felt that a part of her was left in them every time.
Neither did the woman seem to expect an answer. Instead she shook her head. "We Nightborne had not seen war in ten thousand years. Our lives were peaceful and our magic kept us prospering, but when the Burning Legion came, our weakness showed. The demons were defeated, yet now another shadow has been cast on us. We have to fight again."
"You do not have to fight." The apprentice tirelessly repeated words she would usually aim for Vandarus. "This is not your war."
"In order to buy our privilege of standing in this world for once more, this will have to be our war." the Shal'dorei explained. "We too have to live, we too have to survive. Yet here I stand rather than in battlefields laden with bones of Alliance, or Horde. Do you know why?"
Celysiel shook her head.
"Because there would be no point then. What would we be fighting for? What for? A soldier's duty is to die and for the civilian not to ever know." She said that knowingly and that was when the young one saw it. The Nightborne was a soldier. Yet there she was, far from the war. "And what about you, child of the blood? Will you give everything for your war?"
The apprentice nodded firmly. "Everything." she confirmed.
The Nightborne shook her head. "Then what will you fight for? What will remain to savour when you have lost yourself in this war completely? Pain becomes you, then it shifts into hatred ever-burning and what after? Wil you be all you wished to fight against?"
She never gave Celysiel the chance to answer. Her hand fluidly moved, as if she was gesturing the obvious and giving the younger elf food for thought. Glowing with pale lavender light just like the Nightborne's long mane, a curtain of a willow tree consumed her, leaving the apprentice alone with her thoughts and ghosts of memory.
How could she not give everything when her entire world had been stolen away by a demon and the uttering of three cursened words? Dawn had now become the time of the day she hated the most. Hope had been lost, like the names erased from a book once upon a dream. Aspirations meant nothing, they were simply for fools to weave them and a fool she would not be. Near forests she would not go, fearing all it hid within. The wheel of entropy she dreaded more than before, seeking order and control with mana. And war she loathed, but war she had also accepted she could not run from. Not if she wished to reclaim all that mattered.
On the balcony, the ghost beckoned. It was a balcony like that night so long ago, with cushions begging her to rest. And just perhaps, like that night ago, she could delay her return to Silvermoon and spend the night in Suramar, remember. In these memories she could live a little longer. There would be no flower behind her ear, or an embrace under canopies masked with the illusion of a starlit sky. Just the twilight, dancing petals swaying at the tune of nostalgia and the phantom of a man gone with the wind.
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