Kaelion was immersed in his reading, his eyes scanning the pages with almost exaggerated concentration. His tongue barely moved, silently mouthing a few words, as if trying to absorb every fragment with more than ordinary attention. Suddenly, a soft knock on the door broke his focus. He looked up and quickly called out:
—Coming!
In a swift motion, he closed the book with a subtle gesture—so hurried it almost seemed instinctive. In that brief second, his gaze flicked to the book's cover, his face briefly showing a hint of concern, and he immediately covered the tome with a cloth from the table so that it would no longer be visible. Without further delay, Kaelion stood and went to open the door. There stood Lyara, holding a basket in her hands, her face lit with a warm, confident smile.
—Lyara! —Kaelion greeted, relieved to set aside the tension of the moment.
—Hello, Kaelion —she replied, stepping inside with the basket. —I brought this for you, since I know you're not exactly one to cook anything beyond a campfire meal.
Kaelion watched as she placed the basket on the table. The food she had brought was simple but nourishing: freshly baked bread, ripe fruits, and a few aromatic herbs.
—Truly, thank you, Lyara. You didn't have to go to the trouble —he said, offering a grateful smile.
Lyara looked at him closely, her eyes shining with both concern and affection.
—No one takes care of you like I do, Kaelion. I like knowing you're eating properly. —Her voice was gentle, almost like a caring reprimand.
Kaelion nodded as he sat again, his gaze returning to the basket.
—I already told you, I'm no cook... —he said with a hint of amusement, though a subtle tension still lingered in his posture. —But this… really does look good.
Lyara couldn't help but smile at his response. It was one of the things she liked most about him: his way of downplaying his worries, his habit of facing life with a smile even when not everything was alright.
—I always try to bring the best, Kaelion —she said, sitting near him, her eyes wandering across the table with curiosity. That's when her gaze landed briefly on the covered book. Without saying a word, her eyes returned to Kaelion's, who met her gaze with a slight smile, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
—You know? —Lyara said, changing the subject in a softer tone— I think you forget yourself on this island, caught up in so much duty. Not everything has to be about battle, Kaelion. Sometimes, it's okay... to pause.
Kaelion remained silent for a moment, looking at the basket, then lifted his eyes to hers. In his expression was a flicker of something deeper, something he didn't easily reveal.
—Thank you, Lyara. —his tone was more serious now— You're always looking out for me. I don't know what I'd do without your help.
Lyara smiled gently, but her eyes held a trace of doubt, as if trying to decipher what more lay behind his gaze. She didn't press him about the book, but a part of her knew Kaelion kept secrets—secrets he might one day choose to share. For now, she was content with making sure he ate well and, in her own way, felt at peace. She knew there was much more to Kaelion than he let on.
—Don't worry, Kaelion —she said, touching his arm softly—. I'll always be here.
And although Kaelion would never admit it, those words brought him a strange sense of peace—so rare and so precious in a world so full of shadows. Once Lyara had left, Kaelion gently closed the door, letting the click of the latch break the brief silence lingering in the air. With a soft sigh, he walked back to the table. The partially opened basket released a warm, spiced aroma. Kaelion examined the contents more closely. Yes, there were fresh fruits, some berries, and a couple of turnovers wrapped in clean leaves. But what caught his attention the most was a golden, round loaf of bread, with a crisp crust and tiny dark seeds scattered across its surface. He picked it up carefully, feeling its light weight in his fingers and the warmth it still held. It looked fresh and inviting. A barely perceptible smile formed on Kaelion's face—yet his expression quickly changed. Without realizing it, he was looking at the bread with different eyes. His fingers, once relaxed, tensed around the crust. The scent of wheat and herbs turned harsher in his mind, mingling with the dry smell of dust and the cutting breeze of the Barrens.
It was night, and the dry savannah air barely rustled the leaves of the few scattered trees. He stood at the highest point of his perimeter, unmoving in the shadows, his eyes fixed on the horizon. The moon, high and pale, poured its silver light over the barren land, outlining every rock and bush. From his elevated position, Kaelion spotted a familiar figure moving through the lower terrain, near the lagoon where, days ago, he had tossed the bandage. Aerion walked with a steady stride—or so it seemed at first glance. Everything looked calm, nothing out of place. Yet Kaelion didn't look away; something about the elf's movement struck him as off. That's when he saw it. Aerion's pace subtly slowed until he came to a full stop. He placed a hand over the lower part of his armor, right over his stomach, and only seconds later, doubled over and vomited violently and noisily.
—Damn it… —Kaelion managed to hear from afar, the muted echo bouncing off the rocks.
Aerion remained like that for a moment, breathing heavily. Then, with a frustrated gesture, he rummaged in his pocket and pulled out something Kaelion couldn't make out. Without much thought, the elf threw it into the lagoon with a bitter expression before straightening with visible effort and continuing on his way, now slower and unsteady. Kaelion watched in silence, not moving from his hidden post. The scene blurred into the shadows, but the message was clear. It wasn't a recent wound that was weakening Aerion, but something more basic—and more dangerous—in such a hostile land: hunger. The nausea and visible fatigue of the blood elf suggested he had been eating poorly for days, perhaps rationing what little he had, or consuming something that didn't sit well. An involuntary gesture hardened Kaelion's grip on his bow. He shouldn't care. He shouldn't even be up there at that hour, watching him like a ghost. But the memory of that bandage thrown days ago, and now the image of Aerion emptying his stomach into the night, tangled in his mind, leaving a bitter unease he couldn't shake.
The following night, Aerion was patrolling his perimeter with his usual resolve, though his gaze seemed somewhat distant and his skin, beneath his armor, was subtly pale. He kept up his steady pace, but the sudden growl of his stomach forced him to stop. He inhaled deeply, trying to gather the strength to continue, when a barely perceptible sound broke the silence—a snapped twig. He immediately spun on his heels and reached for the hilt of his sword, but found no enemy. Instead, his eyes fell upon something unexpected: on the ground before him lay a small makeshift bundle. A piece of bread, dried meat, and an apple. Aerion narrowed his eyes, suspicious, scanning the surroundings, trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind the gesture.
—I don't know what you're trying to do, night elf —he muttered aloud, his tone hovering between anger and uncertainty— but I don't want your garbage.
It was no use. By the time he said those words, Kaelion was already far off, hidden in the shadows of a tree, watching him intently. His eyes tracked Aerion's every movement, barely blinking. The blood elf hesitated, his expression tight, fingers drumming anxiously on the hilt of his sword. He seemed ready to ignore the offering, but hunger and exhaustion soon spoke louder than pride. He cast one last glance around, ensuring no one was watching, and took the food. Kaelion, concealed in the foliage, allowed himself a faint smile. He only let out a breath of relief when he saw him walk away, vanishing into the shadows as if he had never been there.
The next night, Kaelion was still patrolling his perimeter as usual, but unease began to settle in as the hours passed without the slightest trace of Aerion. He had gone down to the lagoon, then climbed to the highest point to search for him, and finally returned to the place where he had last seen him. Desperate, he had nearly given up, and with a sigh, resumed his watch. That was when he heard a voice behind him—so soft it almost sounded like a whisper on the wind.
—Don't worry, I'm here —said Aerion.
Kaelion quickly turned around, surprised by the sudden appearance of the blood elf.
Aerion, sword in hand, pointed it directly at Kaelion's back.
—What's with you? —he said, his voice laced with a defiant curiosity.
Kaelion didn't flinch. With calm composure, he replied:
—I'm just following my principles.
Aerion let out a mocking laugh, but his expression soon turned serious—almost offended.
—I'm devoted to my deity. I believe in fair fights —he said, stepping closer—. And I can see you're quite weakened. If we're expected to fight in a few hours, it would only be fair for my enemy to at least be able to stand. Otherwise… well, it wouldn't be any fun, would it?
Aerion laughed again, but this time, his tone grew sharper.
—What a son of a… —he said between chuckles—. Seriously, you'd have to be incredibly devoted to your goddess, night elf. Do they train you for charity? Or are you trying to make me let my guard down? Use me to betray my faction... Am I getting close? Just because you made me laugh, I'll let you live. But I hope we don't cross paths again. I don't need to be fed by someone from the Alliance—especially not a night elf.
With clear disdain, he spat on Kaelion's leather boots. The night elf didn't react, but a dangerous calm shimmered in his eyes. He looked up to the stars for a moment, as if calculating his next move. Then, in the blink of an eye, he lunged at Aerion with a swift maneuver only a trained night elf could perform: he slid his legs between Aerion's, blocking his stance, and with a quick spin, he moved behind him, using his opponent's imbalance to send him crashing to the ground with surprising ease. Aerion ended up flat on his back, stunned, staring at the stars as he struggled to rise. However, his armor and sword—heavy and now unyielding due to his weakness—left him fighting his own fatigue. Kaelion placed a foot on his chest, preventing him from getting up. He leaned down slightly and spoke with a disturbing calm.
—I told you once… if I had wanted to kill you, I would've done it already. I wouldn't have even bothered. The lion could've taken care of it just fine. You might say I avoided an unnecessary confrontation with the Horde, but… one more, one less—does it really matter? With or without that excuse, you'd attack us anyway. Honestly, you're pathetic. I've done more for you than your own commanders, who clearly don't give a damn. Judging by the way you stand guard, you're still far from matching my military strategy. My training is so thorough I don't need to hunt canaries just to make them sing. That alone proves your Horde still relies on basic tactics—or maybe you simply don't know how things work. Just don't you ever dare disrespect me again. Are we clear?
With one last defiant look, Kaelion removed his foot from Aerion's chest and turned away, walking off without looking back. A few meters away, Aerion, still lying on the ground and struggling to catch his breath, called out a question—his voice filled with confusion and fascination:
—How do you do it? It's not my imagination, right? You vanish every time I try to find you. Are you some kind of sorcerer or something?
Kaelion, without stopping, answered with a subtle smile in his voice:
—If I were you, I'd keep my mouth shut. You're making it clear you have no idea what kind of enemy you're facing… You're an easy target.
And so, Aerion watched him disappear into the shadows, unable to shake the growing unease inside him. He remained there, staring up at the sky, catching his breath, still trying to process the encounter with the night elf.
—Yeah… must be magic —he muttered to himself, doubt and confusion etched across his face.
Meanwhile, Kaelion faded into the darkness of the night, leaving Aerion with more questions than answers.
It was another beautiful morning in Teldrassil. The sun had begun to filter through the leaves of the towering trees, and a gentle breeze stirred the branches. Kaelion, in silence, was sweeping the small courtyard of his home, still savoring a few moments of peace after days of relentless patrols. Tranquility surrounded him, but something deep inside told him that this calm wouldn't last. Suddenly, a soft knocking interrupted his task. Kaelion set down the rake and approached the door. Upon opening it, he was met by a night elf messenger—his face solemn and posture impeccable. Without a word, the messenger extended a scroll sealed with urgency.
—What is it? —Kaelion asked, taking the scroll from the messenger's hand.
The night elf didn't respond, but his gaze said everything. Kaelion quickly broke the seal and unrolled the parchment in his hand. The message was brief, yet clear:
"Sergeant Kaelion, I regret to inform you of the death of your comrade Aeris Valandor on the battlefield. He was struck during a surprise attack by Horde forces in a skirmish near Ashenvale. His sacrifice was valiant. The full report will follow shortly."
Kaelion stood silent, eyes fixed on the words before him. His mind tried to process the loss, though something inside had already sensed it. Aeris had been one of his closest companions, and the news struck him hard. But there was little time to grieve. With a restrained sigh, he continued reading:
"You are requested to return to the battlefield immediately. The situation remains critical, and your leadership is needed. Reinforcements will not arrive in time. Your presence is required."
Kaelion folded the scroll with resolve, his face hardened by the situation. There was no room for sorrow—only for action. The messenger waited without saying a word, fully aware that Kaelion needed a moment to gather himself. With a gesture, Kaelion indicated he could go.
—Thank you for the message —Kaelion said, his voice devoid of emotion.
The messenger nodded and walked away in silence, disappearing into the shadows of the trees. Kaelion watched him go, then turned his gaze toward the horizon. He knew what had to be done, and Teldrassil no longer felt as welcoming as before. War was calling him once more. With determination, Kaelion stepped back into his home to prepare for what was to come. He knew his duty was far from over, and Aeris's death was just another reminder of what was at stake. And then, another memory surfaced:
It was a quiet morning in the Barrens. The golden light of dawn bathed the dunes as Kaelion carried out one of his routine tasks around the camp. The dry heat of the region was already beginning to make itself known, but he was used to it. As he swept the yard of his dwelling, the only interruptions were the wind and the occasional sounds of animals nearby. Suddenly, a war informant approached silently, breaking the calm of the morning.
—Kaelion —said the informant in a grave voice, indicating the matter was anything but ordinary.
Kaelion looked up, watching the soldier who was swiftly approaching, his steps light over the dusty ground.
—What is it? —Kaelion asked, sensing something important was about to unfold.
The young soldier hesitated for a moment, eyes lowered before finally looking up at him.
—Commander Valinor has requested that you be informed at once, Kaelion. We've received reports from the front. Several casualties in the latest assault... both night elves and humans... —the soldier paused, clearly uneasy about what he was about to say—. Soldier Thalon Dalanar was killed in action.
Kaelion stood still for a moment. The mention of Thalon's name struck him like a blow to the gut. He had been one of his closest comrades, always fighting with valor on the battlefield. Knowing he had fallen made him feel vulnerable—especially in a world where they were all so close, held together only by the thin thread of war.
—And Aeris? —he asked without thinking, his voice a bit higher, sharper than he would've liked.
The informant hesitated again but eventually nodded.
—Aeris Valandor is alive, though wounded. He was transferred to Stonetalon Mountains for recovery. According to the report, he's stable for now.
Kaelion let out a breath of relief, though he quickly masked it with a stern expression, unwilling to show how much that news had brought him a moment of respite.
—What happened to Thalon? How did it happen? —asked Kaelion, searching for answers, trying to understand why his comrade had to fall.
The informant continued, his gaze unwavering.
—Thalon was on a defensive mission in the eastern Barrens. The defense group was overwhelmed by a larger Horde attack. According to the report, they fought valiantly, but they couldn't hold. Thalon was one of the first to fall.
Kaelion nodded in silence. The report was clear, but no less painful because of it. Thalon had fallen in the line of duty, fighting to protect what remained of their home, yet the void left by his absence was undeniable.
—Thank you —Kaelion said at last, his voice low and steady—. Tell the commander I received the message. And that I will hold my ground.
The soldier quickly nodded and took his leave, leaving Kaelion alone with his thoughts. He stood for a moment, gazing toward the horizon, unsure of what to do next. He knew war offered no respite, but the weight of loss always found a way to strike him. Meanwhile, the desert dunes remained bathed in the rising sunlight, indifferent to the sacrifices made in the name of the fight. Kaelion, however, knew that duty called, and he couldn't allow himself to forget those who had fallen. The warm breeze of the Barrens swept through the ranks of the outpost. After days of combat and the news that had arrived, the night elven forces were now regrouping, assessing their losses and reorganizing their strategies. Kaelion, ever vigilant, stood near the campfire, watching the horizon, though his thoughts were elsewhere. The voices of the night elf soldiers echoed around him, filtering through the ever-present murmur of war. In a quiet corner, a group of elves gathered to share what had happened on the eastern front of the Barrens. Among them were some of the survivors returning after the nightmare among the ruins. Kaelion, drawing no attention to himself, approached silently. His ears, sharpened by years of practice, picked up the conversation with precision. It was, inevitably, a somber exchange.
—I had spoken with soldier Valandor —said one of the elves, his tone somber as he turned his blade in his hand, as if the memory of the battle still lingered in his body—. He told me he was with soldier Dalanar, trapped in the ruins… and there was literally no way out.
The other elves leaned in slightly, not wanting to miss a word.
—What happened? —one of them asked, eager to know more.
—They were cornered, no options —the first continued—. An orc approached them, but seeing they were vulnerable… he didn't attack right away. He was waiting.
Kaelion, listening in silence, felt the story take an unexpected turn. A slight frown creased his brow as a shadow settled over him, imagining the desperate situation his comrades had faced.
—And then what? —another elf asked, his voice low, as though the memory brought the horror back with it.
—Then… another orc came closer —the first elf said, looking at the ground, as if trying to relive each moment—. He yelled at the first one in their tongue to finish them off. The orc hesitated, just stood there, staring at Valandor and Dalanar. But then the other orc, impatient, stepped forward and drove his blade into Dalanar's heart.
A heavy silence fell over the group as Kaelion absorbed the words. Thalon's death, so close and so brutal, struck deep in his chest. The tale only deepened the unease that had plagued him since hearing the news.
—What happened after that? —another elf asked, unable to contain his curiosity.
—The human archers… —the first replied, still in a grave tone—. They shot and hit the orc who had killed Dalanar. The other one, the one who hesitated, fled quickly. That was their only chance to rescue Valandor.
Kaelion looked down, his thoughts scattered. That story was more than just an account
—it disturbed him deeply. War was cruel, but why would an orc hesitate to kill when he had the upper hand? What had gone through that orc's mind? What had stopped him from finishing the job when he had every opportunity?
—Why do you think that orc hesitated to kill him? —another elf asked quietly, trying to make sense of what didn't.
Silence deepened among them, eyes fixed on the first elf, waiting for an answer.
—Maybe he wasn't convinced about the war… —he finally said, shrugging—. But… knowing how savage orcs are, I'm sure he'd be punished for that. Hopefully no one from his side saw him hesitate. If they did… the punishment might've been even worse.
A strange sensation ran through Kaelion's body. Doubt. Uncertainty. That story unsettled him. An orc who didn't attack. An enemy who didn't follow the brutal instincts they were known for? It was unusual, something you didn't often see. Maybe, for the first time, not everything in that war was as clear as it seemed. And if even orcs could harbor inner conflict, what did that mean for the future?
—It's strange… —Kaelion murmured to himself, his eyes fixed on the horizon, but not truly seeing it.
The other elves didn't know what to say, unable to fully grasp the weight of his words. But Kaelion was elsewhere now, lost in thought. An orc who hesitated. A fallen comrade. And an enemy that was no longer so easily read. The shadows of war stretched far beyond what anyone could imagine. And as the others talked among themselves, he remained there, in silence, contemplating the ruins of stories that could no longer be told.