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Shandris stood at the center of the council room within the grand halls of Proudmoore Keep in Boralus. The chamber, adorned with banners of Kul Tiras and shimmering nautical motifs, felt both imposing and austere, a place where decisions of great consequence had been made countless times. Sunlight filtered through the tall arched windows, casting golden hues over a round table carved from ancient oak. Around it, gathered representatives of both the Alliance and the Horde—an uneasy coalition forged in the fires of necessity.
At the head of the table, Lady Jaina Proudmoore stood, her piercing blue eyes scanning the assembly with a mixture of resolve and weariness. Beside her was Thrall, former Warchief of the Horde, radiating a calm strength, his weathered features betraying the weight of a thousand battles fought. Aggra, ever steadfast at his side, exchanged quiet words with her mate, her expression one of thoughtful determination. Danath Trollbane, his armor bearing the scars of countless wars, leaned over the table, his voice carrying the authority of a seasoned commander as he outlined strategies.
Shandris listened intently, her keen ears catching every word of the conversation as they debated the logistics of a coordinated strike force destined for Khaz Algar. Xal’atath, the sentient and malevolent entity bound to a blade of ancient origin, had resurfaced, threatening to plunge Azeroth into chaos once more. The urgency in the room was palpable, the stakes too dire for hesitation or misstep.
Yet, despite her focus on the dialogue, Shandris found her thoughts straying. It had been a mere handful of months since she had been appointed leader of the Kaldorei, a weighty decision made by her adoptive parents. The memory of that moment was fresh in her mind—their solemn expressions as they entrusted her with the future of their people, the unspoken acknowledgment of her strength and wisdom tempered by centuries of experience.
Now, as she stood amidst Azeroth’s most prominent leaders, she couldn’t help but feel the enormity of the responsibility pressing down on her shoulders. The Kaldorei were still reeling from the devastating loss of Teldrassil, the World Tree that had been both their home and their sanctuary. Its fiery destruction had left a gaping wound in their hearts, a trauma that no amount of time could fully heal. Every fiber of Shandris’ being longed to be among them, to guide them through this dark chapter and provide the strength they so desperately needed.
But she also knew that the threat posed by Xal’atath could not be ignored. Azeroth’s survival hung in the balance, and the Night Elves, like all the peoples of the world, were part of the larger tapestry of life that Xal’atath sought to unravel. As much as she yearned to focus solely on her people’s recovery, she understood that defending Azeroth was an obligation she could not shirk.
As she stood amidst the gathered leaders, her sharp, silver eyes swept over the room, taking in the gravity etched into each face. The murmurs of debate and discussion filled the air like the low hum of an impending storm. Yet, her attention was drawn, almost magnetically, to the figure standing beside her—a figure whose presence was as enigmatic as the shadows that seemed to linger around him.
Magister Umbric, co-leader of the Void Elves, stood with a posture that was both composed and contemplative, his violet-hued skin catching the light filtering through the high windows of Proudmoore Keep. The faint glimmer of void energy shimmered intermittently across his robes, long and flowing in deep shades of purple accented by silvery sigils that pulsed faintly, as if alive. His short, dark hair was meticulously combed back, revealing a face that bore the sharp angular features common to all Thalassian elves. His pale eyes, touched by the unsettling gleam of the Void’s influence, betrayed a mind constantly in motion, calculating, analyzing, and ever watchful.
Compared to her own towering stature, he was notably shorter, as were most other elves when measured against the imposing presence of the Kaldorei. Despite this, Umbric exuded an air of quiet authority, a reminder that strength was not always measured in size or force but in knowledge and resolve.
For Shandris, his presence was a complex mixture of familiarity and peculiarity. The two had worked together closely during the Fourth War, their efforts often overlapping during the covert infiltration of Zandalar. Those missions had demanded an uneasy partnership—Shandris, the embodiment of ancient traditions and natural grace, paired with him, whose every action seemed steeped in the unsettling energy of the Void. It had been a practical alliance, forged in the fires of necessity rather than trust or mutual understanding.
Back then, the Void Elves were still new to the Alliance, their allegiance tentative and often questioned. Shandris herself, though seasoned by millennia of war and diplomacy, had struggled to reconcile her deep respect for the High Elves with the disquieting aura of their void-infused kin. The High Elves she had known—stoic, refined, and proud—were a far cry from the strange, fractured energy that seemed to radiate from the Void Elves. And yet, during those missions in Zandalar, Umbric and his people had proven themselves time and again. Their mastery of the Void’s secrets had turned the tide on more than one occasion, and she could not deny their value, even if their methods unsettled her.
Now, as they stood side by side in the council room, memories of those past missions flickered in her mind. She recalled the quiet tension that had often hung between them—her instincts urging caution in his presence, even as his actions showed nothing but loyalty to their shared cause. She remembered how, during one particularly perilous operation deep within Zandalar’s jungles, Umbric had calmly waded into a ritual circle teeming with Zandalari sorcerers, manipulating the Void to unravel their wards while she had provided cover. His confidence in the face of such overwhelming darkness had been both impressive and unnerving.
Her gaze lingered on him now, noting the subtle changes since those days. His movements were precise and deliberate, his voice low and steady as he occasionally interjected into the broader discussion, offering insights steeped in Void knowledge. There was an intensity to him, a quiet conviction that seemed to defy the chaotic nature of the power he wielded. And yet, there was also something restrained, as if he constantly battled to maintain control over the abyssal forces within him.
She found herself wondering—not for the first time—what it must be like to live with such power, to draw strength from something so inherently destructive and alien. It was a stark contrast to the natural harmony that defined her connection to Elune and the balance of the Kaldorei way of life. Could someone truly wield the Void without being consumed by it? And if so, what did that say about Umbric and his people?
As if feeling the weight of her gaze, he turned his head slightly, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that sent an unexpected ripple through her. For a brief moment, the rest of the room—the council table with its fractious debates and the monumental decisions being hammered out—faded into the background. It was as if the very air between them became heavier, charged with a peculiar energy that neither could ignore.
“Lady Feathermoon.” he murmured, his voice low enough not to disrupt the ongoing discussion but still carrying the silken edge of someone who knew exactly how to command attention. “Is something on your mind, or do you simply find my presence that fascinating?”
Shandris blinked, momentarily caught off guard. There was a teasing lilt in his tone, a subtle challenge that made her acutely aware of the tension lingering between them. “I was simply wondering if all Void Elves radiate this much arrogance.” she replied softly, her voice steady but laced with a hint of dry humor. Her silver eyes narrowed just slightly, though the faintest curve of her lips betrayed her amusement.
Umbric’s expression remained composed, but there was a spark of amusement in his otherworldly gaze. “Ah, but arrogance is often mistaken for confidence. Surely you, of all people, can appreciate that distinction.” He tilted his head, the faintest smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Or have I struck a nerve, General?”
Her fingers tightened minutely against the back of the chair she leaned on, though outwardly she remained the picture of calm. “You’ve struck nothing, Magister.” she replied, her voice as smooth and cool as a forest breeze. “But perhaps you should be more concerned with the matter at hand rather than indulging in verbal sparring.”
“And here I thought a warrior of your caliber could multitask.” he countered, leaning just slightly closer, his words carrying the faintest edge of a dare. “But rest assured, Lady Feathermoon, I’m perfectly capable of keeping my attention on both this meeting and... more intriguing subjects.”
Shandris felt a flicker of irritation at his audacity, but it was accompanied by an undeniable undercurrent of intrigue. His words were calculated, deliberate, and yet there was something genuine beneath the layers of teasing. She found herself searching his face for clues—was he merely playing a game, or did his words carry a deeper meaning?
Her tone softened, just enough to suggest she was willing to play along, for now. “Intriguing subjects, you say? I do hope you’re not suggesting anything that might compromise the Alliance’s strategic efforts.”
His grin widened, ever so slightly. “Compromise? Never. But one must admit, even in times of crisis, certain distractions can be... enlightening.”
The space between them seemed to shrink, the world around them slipping further into irrelevance. Shandris straightened, meeting his gaze with a firmness that belied the strange pull she felt. “Distractions, Magister, are a luxury we cannot afford.”
“True.” he admitted, his tone dipping lower, almost conspiratorial. “But they do remind us that we’re alive. That there’s more to existence than the endless war and strife. Don’t you agree?”
For a moment, Shandris didn’t reply. She studied him, her sharp eyes searching for the man beneath the layers of Void energy and sardonic wit. Was he truly toying with her, or was there something deeper behind his words? His confidence was undeniable, but it wasn’t the brash overconfidence of a fool. It was tempered by experience and a strange, quiet strength that made him a mystery she wasn’t sure she wanted to solve—but couldn’t entirely resist.
Her voice softened, just enough to reveal a flicker of curiosity. “I suppose even the Void has its moments of clarity, then.”
His eyes lit up briefly, a flash of something unspoken, and for a moment, the teasing edge faded. “Sometimes, the Void is the clearest lens through which to see the world.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, her curiosity piqued. “And what is it you claim to see, Magister? A world bathed in shadows, devoid of hope?”
His lips curved into a faint smirk, the teasing glimmer returning. “Not devoid of hope. Shadows, yes. But shadows don’t exist without light, do they? Even the Void acknowledges that. It’s a balance, not an absence.” He leaned subtly closer, his voice dropping as though sharing a secret meant only for her ears. “Though I suspect you’ve already realized that. You wouldn’t have worked alongside me if you truly believed otherwise.”
Shandris arched an elegant brow, her posture shifting to face him more directly. “I worked alongside you because circumstances demanded it. Trust is a different matter entirely.”
“Ah, yes.” he replied, the faintest trace of amusement playing on his features. “The infamous Kaldorei penchant for suspicion. I can’t fault you for it, though. It makes for an excellent defense mechanism. But tell me, General, is your distrust of me rooted in the Void itself, or in me as its wielder?”
The question caught her off guard, its pointed nature slipping beneath her carefully maintained exterior. She hesitated, and in the brief silence, Umbric’s smirk softened into something closer to genuine curiosity.
“Perhaps a little of both.” she admitted at last, her voice measured but honest. “The Void is… unpredictable. Dangerous. And you’ve chosen to immerse yourself in it. That alone warrants caution.”
“Caution is wise.” he acknowledged, his tone gentle yet deliberate. “But danger is everywhere, Lady Feathermoon. The Void is no more treacherous than the unbridled zeal of the Light, or even the untamed fury of nature itself. It’s a tool, like any other—its strength lies in how it’s wielded.”
“And you wield it without fear?” she challenged, tilting her head slightly. “Or do you hide that fear behind a veil of confidence and clever words?”
His chuckle was soft, almost self-deprecating. “Fear, General, is not something you hide from the Void. It thrives on it, twists it into power. To wield it, you must face your fears head-on, strip them of their control. It’s a lesson I suspect even the fiercest Sentinels would find valuable.”
Shandris studied him, her silver gaze probing, searching for cracks in his composure. But he held her gaze steadily, his pale eyes unwavering, as though daring her to see beyond the surface.
“And yet,” she said slowly, “you’re as much a mystery now as you were when we first worked together in Zandalar. Do you always keep people guessing, or is that reserved for those you deem… challenging?”
The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a glimmer of something playful sparking in his expression. “Only for those who make it worth the effort. And you, Lady Feathermoon, are undoubtedly worth it.”
Her brow arched again, though this time, there was a hint of a smile that played at the edges of her lips. “Careful, Magister. Flattery might work on others, but I’m not so easily swayed.”
“Not flattery.” he said, his voice taking on a softer, more sincere tone. “Observation. You’re sharp, commanding, and unyielding. Qualities I respect deeply—even if they do make you infuriatingly difficult to read.”
Shandris didn’t reply immediately. The room around them faded into the periphery as the exchange between them grew charged, the weight of the broader council meeting a distant hum against the undercurrent of tension that only they seemed to feel. She could sense the sincerity behind his words, veiled as they were in his usual wit, and it unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Umbric.” she said finally, her voice quiet but firm.
“Perhaps.” he admitted with a shrug, his pale eyes never leaving hers. “But the most rewarding endeavors often are.”
There was no mistaking the double meaning in his words, and for a heartbeat, Shandris felt her composure teeter on the edge of something unfamiliar. The flicker of a smirk tugged at his lips, a teasing glimmer that might have infuriated her if it weren’t so strangely disarming. She straightened, her hands clasped loosely behind her back, and tilted her chin in a way that reminded him she was not someone to be trifled with.
“And what reward do you think this game will bring you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. Her voice was measured, but her curiosity slipped through the cracks, unbidden.
Umbric’s lips quirked into a faint smile, one that carried both amusement and something deeper—admiration, perhaps? “That depends, on whether you’ll allow yourself to see the game for what it truly is. Not every shadow hides a threat. Sometimes, they conceal something worth uncovering.”
Her brow arched, a flicker of both intrigue and skepticism crossing her expression. “Spoken like someone who spends far too much time cloaked in them.”
“True enough.” he conceded, his tone light but his gaze unwavering. “But shadows offer a unique perspective. They soften edges, reveal subtle contrasts. They allow one to see beauty in what others overlook.”
She gave a faint scoff, though it lacked true derision. “Are you waxing poetic about the Void now, Magister? Or trying to distract me with wordplay?”
“Neither.” he replied smoothly, his voice dropping slightly, as if he meant for the next words to be heard only by her. “I’m merely pointing out that you, General, are no stranger to shadows yourself.”
Shandris’ expression hardened slightly, though not in anger. His words struck a nerve, brushing against truths she rarely spoke of. Her years of service, of loss, of carrying the weight of her people’s grief—it had all shaped her into who she was. And yet, his tone wasn’t accusatory. If anything, it carried a strange reverence, as if he saw something in her that she had long forgotten to see in herself.
He studied her for a moment longer, then spoke again, his voice softer now, almost contemplative. “You know, for all your wariness of me and my kind, you and I aren’t so different.”
“I think we’re more different than you’d like to believe.”
“Are we?” he asked, his tone thoughtful. “Look at us. Both warriors in our own right, carrying the burdens of our people, navigating a world that doesn’t always understand or accept us. Even in appearance…” His voice trailed off, his eyes traveling briefly over her features before returning to hers. “Your skin, the shade of twilight. Your hair, like the deep blue of the night sky. Tell me, Lady Feathermoon, if you stood among my people, would you truly appear so different?”
Shandris felt her breath catch slightly, an unexpected warmth rising in her chest at his words. He spoke not with mockery or the cloying sweetness of flattery, but with a quiet admiration that felt entirely genuine. The way his gaze lingered on her wasn’t invasive or calculating; it was as if he were observing a rare piece of art, marveling at its details with reverence.
“You choose your words carefully.” she said finally, her voice quieter now, touched with a hint of something she couldn’t quite define. “Your fawning, no matter how well crafted, won’t win my trust.”
“Perhaps not.” Umbric admitted, a faint smile playing on his lips. “But again, it’s not flattery, Shandris. It’s honesty. And if I’ve learned anything from my time with the Void, it’s that truth often hides in unexpected places.”
Her name on his lips startled her, the casual familiarity of it striking a chord she hadn’t anticipated. She glanced away briefly, her eyes flickering to the council table where the meeting continued unabated. Yet her thoughts remained tethered to the man beside her, his words echoing in her mind.
“You walk a fine line, Magister.” she said, her voice steady, though the faintest quiver in her heart betrayed her. She wouldn’t allow him to see it—at least, she hoped he couldn’t. “One that often leads to missteps.”
“I’ve had practice.” he replied smoothly, his eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and something more intimate. His smirk, usually a shield of wit, softened into a sincere expression that made her stomach tighten unexpectedly. “And if I’m not mistaken, so have you. The line you walk, Shandris, is no less treacherous.”
Her name again. The way he said it, without title or pretense, carried a quiet boldness that left her momentarily at a loss for words. She turned to him fully now, her eyes narrowing slightly, though not in hostility. “I prefer to walk the line without losing sight of the greater good.”
“Ah, the greater good.” he mused, his voice dropping to a low, almost intimate murmur. “An admirable ideal, to be sure. But ideals, General, can be blinding. They often overlook the finer details, the cracks in the foundation. The Void teaches us to see those cracks—and to decide whether to mend them or let them grow.”
“And you think your Void-forged insight gives you the right to determine which is which?” she countered, her tone cool but laced with a spark of challenge.
“It gives me perspective.” he replied evenly, though his eyes glimmered with something more. “As does yours. You see the world through the lens of a leader burdened by loss, by duty. You weigh every decision against the legacy of your people. It’s admirable, but it’s also... limiting.”
“Limiting?” Shandris repeated, her voice sharp, though it wasn’t anger that fueled her retort. There was a tension in her chest, an inexplicable heat that came with the clash of their words. “You speak of limits as though you’re free of them. The Void is nothing but limitations—constraints disguised as freedom.”
“And yet,” he said, stepping slightly closer, the movement subtle but deliberate, “those limitations have led to some of the most profound discoveries I’ve ever known. Power, understanding... clarity. But I’m not here to proselytize. I’m here to offer something more practical.”
“Practical.” she echoed, her tone laced with skepticism. “You mean another one of your enigmatic bargains?”
He smiled, a hint of mischief creeping into his expression. “Not a bargain. A partnership.” His voice dropped lower, rich and weighted. “You’ve proven time and again that you’re a leader willing to make difficult choices, to forge unlikely alliances. The Kaldorei are stronger under your guidance, but they are still rebuilding. Extending your partnership with me—and my people—might not be such a bad idea.”
Shandris narrowed her eyes, studying him intently. “You think the Kaldorei need the Void Elves’ help?”
“I think the Kaldorei deserve every advantage they can get.” he replied smoothly. “And you, General, deserve allies who see the world from perspectives you’ve yet to explore.”
There was an earnestness in his tone that gave her pause, but beneath it, she sensed another layer. His gaze lingered on her longer than necessary, the weight of his attention unsettling in a way that wasn’t entirely unwelcome.
“Or perhaps,” she said slowly “you’re doing this for reasons that have nothing to do with the Kaldorei.”
His smile deepened, a flicker of amusement mingling with something more serious. “I’d be lying if I said my motivations were purely political.” His eyes roamed her features, not in a way that felt invasive, but as though he were committing every detail to memory. “Your strength, your grace... even your appearance. You’re not so different from us, Lady Feathermoon. Twilight skin, hair like the evening sky. You worship the moon, but you walk in it’s shadow. It’s... compelling.”
Her breath caught, though she masked it with a sharp retort. “Careful, Magister. You’re beginning to sound less like a diplomat and more like a poet.”
“Perhaps the two aren’t so different.” he replied, his tone lighter now but no less pointed. “Both are about finding beauty in complexity, about forging connections where others see only division.”
Shandris felt a warmth rise in her chest, a mixture of frustration and something far more dangerous. His words were clever, calculated, and yet they carried a sincerity that made it difficult to dismiss them outright. She wanted to refute him, to accuse him of manipulation, but the look in his eyes—steady, unwavering—made her question her own instincts.
“Your words may be charming,” she said finally, her voice firm but tinged with something softer, “but charm alone won’t win alliances.”
“True.” he admitted, inclining his head slightly. “But it’s a start. And if charm gets me closer to understanding you, then I’ll gladly take the risk.”
The tension between them hung thick in the air, a thread pulled taut but unbroken. Shandris met his gaze, her silver eyes searching for the motives he kept hidden behind that infuriating smirk. Whatever game he was playing, it was one she was reluctant to participate in—and yet, she couldn’t seem to walk away from it either.
“You may find the risk greater than you realize.”
Umbric’s smile softened, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’ve always believed the greatest rewards are worth the greatest risks, Lady Feathermoon.”
The meeting drew to its natural end, the fervent discussions and heated exchanges giving way to quiet resolutions and shared nods of understanding. One by one, the leaders began to file out of Proudmoore Keep, their footsteps echoing faintly against the floor. Outside, the sun hung low in the sky, painting the streets of Boralus in hues of amber and crimson as the day waned.
“You have a way of avoiding a direct answer.” Umbric said, his voice carrying just enough warmth to blur the line between teasing and earnestness.
“And you have a way of cloaking your intentions in riddles.” Shandris countered, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Perhaps that’s why you and the Void get along so well.”
His soft chuckle lingered in the air as he stepped back slightly, his pale gaze fixed on her. “I prefer to think of it as offering perspective. After all, it’s not every day I get to trade words with someone as formidable as you.”
Before she could craft a reply, he raised a hand, summoning a Void portal with a graceful motion. The dark, swirling energy sprang to life before him, its edges shimmering faintly with an eerie light. He turned to her, his expression shifting from playful to serious, though that familiar glimmer of intrigue still danced in his eyes.
“Consider what I’ve said.” he murmured, his voice dropping to a tone that felt almost intimate against the backdrop of the bustling street beyond. “Partnerships can be forged in the unlikeliest of places, and I believe ours could yield... remarkable results.”
Shandris stood silent, her gaze steady as she watched him step toward the portal. His words lingered in her mind, their meaning deeper than the surface proposition he’d offered. There was something about him—his confidence, his sharp wit, the way he seemed to see her not just as a leader but as an individual—that left her unsettled in ways she couldn’t quite define.
Umbric paused just before entering the portal, glancing back at her one last time. “Until next time, General.” he said, his voice carrying a note of certainty, as though he fully expected there to be a next time. And with that, he disappeared into the swirling void, leaving only the faintest trace of its energy behind.
For a long moment, she stood alone in the cobbled streets of Boralus, the cool evening breeze tugging at her azure hair. Her long brows furrowed, her thoughts circling back to the Magister. It wasn’t trust—at least, not entirely. Nor was it suspicion. It was something else, something she couldn’t quite name but that lingered in the pit of her stomach like the echo of a song she couldn’t forget.
“What is it about him?” she murmured to herself, her voice barely audible over the distant murmur of the city.
“Interesting question.” came a sudden voice from behind her, tinged with mirth and curiosity. “I was wondering the same thing during the meeting. The two of you seemed rather... close.”
Shandris turned sharply, her expression shifting from contemplative to guarded. Standing a short distance away, First Arcanist Thalyssra approached, her elegant robes shimmering faintly in the fading light. A knowing smirk played on her lips, her violet eyes sparkling with amusement as she crossed her arms and regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and mischief.
“Thalyssra.” Shandris said, her tone neutral but carrying the faintest edge of weariness. She wasn’t exactly on the best terms with the First Arcanist, their interactions often marked by the lingering tension between the Kaldorei and the Shal’dorei.
“Relax, Shandris.” Thalyssra said lightly, the smirk widening as she drew closer. “I’m not here to start a fight. I’m simply... observing.”
“Observing what, exactly?” Shandris asked, her voice clipped as she straightened her posture, folding her arms across her chest.
“Oh, just the intriguing dynamic between you and our dear Void Magister.” Thalyssra replied, tilting her head slightly. “The way you two exchanged words—it was almost as if the rest of us weren’t even there. Fascinating, really.”
Shandris sighed, her composure faltering just enough to reveal her frustration. “If you have something to say, say it plainly.”
The First Arcanist chuckled softly, her tone more playful than accusatory. “All I’m saying is that I’ve seen alliances formed under less... charged circumstances. Perhaps you should consider his proposition more carefully. Who knows? It might lead to something... unexpected.”
Shandris’ eyes narrowed, though she refused to rise to the bait. “My decisions are based on what’s best for my people, not on idle speculation or—” she hesitated for a fraction of a second, “—baseless insinuations.”
“Of course.” Thalyssra said, her smirk softening into a more neutral expression. “But if I might offer some unsolicited advice—sometimes, the most valuable alliances are the ones that challenge us the most.”
Shandris’s jaw tightened, though she kept her expression neutral. “Is that what you’re here to offer? Advice? Or are you simply here to needle me?”
“Needle you?” Thalyssra’s tone was feigned innocence, but the glint in her lavender eyes betrayed her. “Perish the thought. I simply couldn’t help but notice a certain... energy between you and Umbric. And while I’m not one to meddle, I do find it fascinating how these dynamics tend to unfold.”
“Dynamics between leaders are a necessary component of diplomacy. If you think there’s anything more to it than that, you’re mistaken.”
“Am I?” Thalyssra asked, a touch too innocently. She glanced down at her hand, and with a practiced elegance, she adjusted the gleaming wedding ring on her finger, letting it catch the afternoon light. Her tone turned almost wistful, though the teasing undercurrent remained. “I’ve found that mingling with other elves can lead to rather... interesting outcomes. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Shandris’ gaze flicked briefly to the ring, her expression remaining unreadable though her lips pressed into a faint line. “I suppose that depends on what you define as ‘interesting.’”
Thalyssra chuckled softly, her tone light but laced with subtle amusement. “Oh, I think you know what I mean. It wasn’t so long ago that I had to navigate similar complexities. Different cultures, different histories, even different outlooks—but all of it came together to form something stronger.”
The meaning behind her words wasn’t lost on Shandris, though she refused to let it unbalance her. “I’m glad your choices worked out for you, Thalyssra. But not every situation is the same.”
“True.” the First Arcanist conceded, her smirk returning faintly. “But I’d wager you’re not as indifferent as you’d like me to believe. Umbric is... intriguing, wouldn’t you say? His intellect, his composure, even his stubbornness—it’s not so dissimilar to your own.”
Shandris’ gaze hardened slightly, her irritation simmering beneath the surface. “If you’re finished with your observations, I have more pressing matters to attend to.”
Thalyssra inclined her head, her expression shifting to one of mild amusement. “Of course, General. But do consider what I’ve said. Sometimes the alliances we resist the most are the ones we end up valuing the most. Trust me on that.”
As she turned to leave, Shandris remained rooted in place, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The cryptic words lingered, irritatingly so, like a stone in her boot she couldn’t quite shake loose. She didn’t need—or want—advice about navigating relationships, least of all from Thalyssra, whose life had taken such a dramatically different course.
And yet, as the First Arcanist’s footsteps receded into the bustling streets of Boralus, Shandris couldn’t help but feel the weight of her words. Mingling with other elves. Her eyes flicked to the horizon where Umbric’s Void Portal had disappeared. The irritation lingered, but beneath it, a flicker of something far more complicated stirred.
As she turned and made her way back toward the keep, she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that the First Arcanist might have been onto something. And that realization unsettled her more than anything else.