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Starsurge

Summary:

(IN REWRITING PROCESS - DECEMBER '23: 10/28 CHAPTERS REUPLOADED)

Mylenne Stareye's life in Suramar is far from perfect; at first, from being the only daughter of a kaldorei aristocrat and pretended Highborne who only wishes for more power, forcing her to initiate a training to become a Priestess of Elune as a way to give his household a more respectable name in the Highborne society.
But everything on her life starts falling apart when her father intends for her to take her childhood friend, Jarod Shadowsong, as her lifemate.
That is until a sorcerer crosses her path and turns her world upside down; an initiate from the well respected Moon Guard order: Illidan Stormrage.

Timeline based previous to the War of the Ancients, with fanart included!

Notes:

Warning: This saga is in rewriting process as of August 2023, as I'm fixing some plot holes, typos and old narrative flow that kinda expired. For any doubts, check out the summary.
I'm also slowly replacing all old art but currently my priority is to set up character portraits, art scenes will be uploaded later.

Chapter 1: Detection

Notes:

August 2023: Edited and reuploaded. Art pending.

Chapter Text

Darnassian:

Dorei: Shortened for Kaldorei. May refer to a person (regardless of gender and age) and also can be used in plural.
An’da: Father.
Ande’thoras’ethil: (Old Darnassian) A farewell, meaning “May your troubles be diminished”.
Elune-adore: Used as a greeting and a farewell, “Elune be with you”.


Stareye

A pair of pale and nimble lavender hands rest over a white railing, long nails barely scratching the marble surface. Her silver eyes glance to the night sky, elegant violet eyebrows quirking in awe as she marvels at the sight of that very particular moment—that time of the night where the Moon comes to rest, her silvery-white rays diminishing, slowly fading as she seems to take the stars with her, announcing the coming of dawn.

The kaldorei closes her eyes, filling her lungs with the cold—and utterly refreshing—air that the Moon leaves behind in her farewell. A genuine smile crosses her lilac lips when a slow, teasing breeze rises and toys with a few strands of her hair before taking its leave, like a little child waving goodbye before following her mother’s steps.

Here, fully relaxed on one of the highest balconies inside the Temple of Elune, Mylenne Stareye knows for that to be the Moon’s particular way to bid farewell, at least for the night. When she lifts her gaze to the marble white roof of the sanctuary, she can see the precise moment when the moonlight slowly retracts and diminishes from the walls—the Temple returning to their natural silvery appearance instead of the distinguished glowing that always surrounds the place at night.

In her eyes, it’s like the Mother Moon’s silky caress over the surface, an ever so delicate touch that also serves as a reminder that she will soon return. And yet, even the Goddess needs to rest.

And so does Mylenne, if the sudden heaviness of her eyes and shoulders are any indication. With a final intake of much-needed fresh air, the girl turns away from the balcony, lifting the hems of her dress to take the stairs down to the entrance of the building. Sheer relief shows on her face before even stepping a foot out of the Temple, her heart lifting at the thought of not needing to return to the place for a couple of nights.

Mother Moon may forgive her for her boldness, but she can’t help with her insides filling with utter bliss the second she places a foot outside the Temple of Elune—her shroud of Sister abandoned and forgotten on the white, immaculate chambers.

After leaving her silver cloak inside the sanctuary, the woman climbs down the stairs eagerly and takes a seat a few meters away, taking some time by undoing the strands of violet hair which make her thick, long braid—reveling in the feeling of letting her mane free and wild once again, the night wind playing with it and brushing her shoulder before resting upon her back, down close to the back of her hips.  

While Mylenne waits for her most faithful companion to appear, she rests her cheek over the palm of her hand, pointed ears drifting upwards, listening to the soothing wind that often comes with the sunrise. The rising of dawn is one of her favorite moments in Mylenne’s schedule; a silent hour when the streets  grow empty of people, the Suramar City’s merchants away from their stalls and stores.

However—at her people’s usual resting hour—the land seems to look more alive than ever, a smile clinging to her lips at the happy chirps from the birds, announcing the start of the day. Silver eyes roam at the ever so subtle shift from the trees on the forest before her, watching as for how its leaves attempt to rise, seemingly excited for the sun’s rays to shine on them.

A bright chirp echoes close to her feet and Mylenne looks down, her smile widening as she glances at a couple of dark-feathered birds next to her, apparently looking for some sticks to keep working on their nests.

One of the birds turns their head at her, chirping happily to her general direction. “Hello, little one,” The woman greets them with her softest tone, a white set of canines showing behind her lilac lips as she grins at the little animal.

The bird’s companion raises their head at the sound of her voice, joining in the happy singing and shifting in their spots, seemingly looking for something. “I’m afraid I don’t have any sticks or branches for you,” Mylenne confesses, violet head leaning to the side and lips turning into a pout. She then glances at her surroundings, yet unfortunately, there isn’t a nice tree around that may have what the little animals are probably looking for.

It’s then when the breeze returns—slightly warmer along with the first rays of sunlight—apparently deciding to play with her hair once more, tangling and waving some strands of her mane to rest over one of her shoulders. The pale orange light from the sun peeking from behind the forest trees reflects onto her figure; her hair gleaming and shifting into various shades of bright violet and fuchsia, seemingly capturing the interest of her current little companions.

Mylenne turns her attention again to the birds below, following their sharp eyes, eliciting a quirk of a long violet eyebrow. “So, my hair might do, then?” As the pair chirps louder in reply, she can’t help but chuckle in amusement, grabbing some thick strands between her fingers.

The small animals sing at her in their own way to express their anticipation, yet she first stays sure there are no unwanted eyes close to her location, glancing to both sides and behind her shoulder for good measure. Only when the soft whispers from the morning wind are the only answer, the woman then lifts her free hand, rubbing a thumb against her index and middle finger, watching how her extremities start glowing faintly in soft shades of purple.

Arcane magic drifts through her fingers as she draws a small arc close to her other hand, chopping off some tips of her thick strands more easily than with a scissor. As the small curls fall to the floor, the birds nearly throw themselves at them, chirping in joy and appreciation as they capture all the strands they can onto their beaks. Their little dark feathers shudder when some tiny drops of magic reach them, yet Mylenne finds some relief as—judging by their movements—they seem to like the sensation of it, just as she currently does.

For the woman actually finds some relief in using her inner magic, even when it tends to come out too clumsily and only has the chance to make use of it away from prying eyes. Although she can’t certainly describe with exact words how she really feels when she lets her magic out, if someone may ask, she’d say that the feeling relates to something similar to being able to breathe after spending too much time underwater.

And yet, that’s probably the most accurate way to explain it. After all—and adding to her An’da ’s contempt towards all things magical, and the constant warnings from family and friends—she’s not supposed to be able to cast magic in any way, for in truth, it’s dangerous to her health. But still, the arcane runs through her veins, regardless of it all.

… And whether she’d like it or not as well.

The birds open their wings and lift close to the fading mist her fingers leave in the air, seemingly enjoying the warm sensation on their hide—as if the morning dew brushing against them—before flying in circles above her head, chirping happily in appreciation and taking their leave to the forest. When they aren’t more than a couple of small, dark dots in the distance, Mylenne rests her chin on her free hand; eyes fluttering close, silently basking in the feeling of her glowing fingertips tickling her covered thigh, her muscles relaxing with the small release of her too restrained energy.

She’s not sure how much time she spends there, but her eyes snap open in sudden alert when she hears soft steps approaching her location—eliciting her to close her hand into a fist, the soft glowing of her fingertips hidden from view and fading. Regardless, Mylenne never turns her head to glance at the newcomers, for the brushing of leather sandals against the porcelain stairs tell her everything she needs to know.

“We’re running out of time, Priestess Tyrande!” A high pitched voice from one of her fellow Sisters reach Mylenne’s pointy ears, “We’re coming close to the Festival and our preparations aren’t nearly done. What are we going to do?” Sylenna’s voice cries out, sounding genuinely worried.

“I don’t even have a partner to attend to!” Another initiate and acquaintance, Thania, laments this time, making a couple of Sisters chuckle at her silly concerns. Mylenne relaxes at the sound of their laughter, her shoulders easing and starting to shake as she silently joins in their mirth, lilac lips contorting into a smile with the particularly contagious snickering coming from the former Sister, Sylenna.

Mylenne turns her head to watch her fellow Sisters walking down the stairs, her attention idly focusing on the pair of initiates surrounding the only Priestess around. But then, while one of her ears twitches at the sound of another couple of steps coming from the street, Mylenne can’t certainly turn her gaze away from Tyrande Whisperwind—watching in awe as for how she goes around with such evident confidence, so graceful and elegant.

A pang of guilt and frustration tugs at her chest, her heart feeling heavy and lips no longer smiling; for when all the initiates seem to look up to Priestess Tyrande—sometimes for just her approval, sometimes for inspiration—Mylenne knows, deep in her heart, that she may never find her true vocation on the Temple of Elune.

Maybe what she feels towards the Priestess is more like resentment and slight envy rather than flat admiration, even more so when considering that she has apparently found her path in life while Mylenne had not.

Mother Moon may forgive her for her shameful thoughts, but she can’t certainly deny what she really feels—at the very least, she wouldn’t lie to herself.

When a couple of male voices join in the mirth, Mylenne nearly jumps in surprise, finally taking her eyes away from the beautiful dorei already at the bottom of the stairs, still surrounded by the Sisters. A man with bright green mane enters her line of sight, approaching to greet Tyrande with a dear smile on his lips.

“I believe that, with the amount of work that you Sisters need to do, looking for a partner to attend the Festival should be the last of your worries,” The man speaks softly, smile never faltering—although Mylenne certainly notices how his attention appears to be only focused on the Priestess before him.

Thania drops her eyes to the floor in evident embarrassment at the man’s words, but a dark hand easily comes to rest on one of her bare shoulders. 

“I’m afraid the Priestess’s friend is right, Thania, and we do have much work to do before focusing on bringing a partner with us,” Sylenna attempts to comfort her, smiling softly as Thania glances shyly in her direction. “But don’t worry about that, my friend! I’ll be glad to spend the rest of the night with you after we get free from our obligations.”

Thania’s eyes brighten at the Sister’s kind words, a small blush creeping on her cheeks as she rests a hand over Sylenna’s dark one, a shy smile clinging to her lips. All eyes fix on the pair and a bigger smile comes from Tyrande, her silver eyes narrowing in approval and appreciation.

Unfortunately, the moment only lasts briefly as a soft snort comes from the street, behind Mylenne. "You shouldn’t worry about such trivial matters, Sister. It was never mandatory for the Sisterhood to bring a partner to the Moon Festival.”

Mylenne cranes her neck at the owner of that deep voice, rebel strands from her long violet mane brushing her face with the movement and the constant morning breeze coming from the forest. Silver eyes meet a pair of golden ones, her breath hitching after capturing the sight of the male standing a couple of meters ahead.

Despite the man directing his words at Thania, she realizes that his bright golden eyes are actually focused on her , her cheeks inevitably darkening with his unwavering stare. In an act of reflex—and, maybe, an excuse to hide her blush—she uses her left hand to brush her hair away from her face, noticing how his gaze shifts away from her features ever so slightly.

Her eyes widen and she holds back a small gasp, becoming aware that the man isn’t really staring at her , but his interest rather rests in the still fading purple mist coming from her fingertips. Mylenne’s heart goes racing at the thought of being—somehow—caught, quickly rising from her spot and severely aware of her blush deepening.

The booming voice from the other man nearly makes her freeze. “Now, that’s rather rude, brother…” The green haired dorei protests as he turns his eyes away from Priestess Tyrande, glancing at the rest of the Sisters before finally acknowledging Mylenne, yet only for a mere moment.

The noise of massive paws resounds behind Mylenne’s shoulders and, despite her still racing heart, she can’t help but sigh deeply in some relief as a striped frostsaber makes her appearance. However, said relief never really lasts for long when the beast slows her pace, coming to stop close to the male kaldorei she’s very consciously trying to avoid looking at.

Their eyes meet once more, yet this time he seems to notice her discomfort—or perhaps he just doesn’t give much thought about it—uncrossing his muscled arms and turning his attention at the other man. He then takes a couple of steps away from the beast as if wary of her, approaching the group. “I wasn’t trying to be rude but just honest, brother ,” the man says, deep baritone voice remarking his last word, lips barely holding back a sneer.

His remark captures Mylenne’s interest, violet eyebrows joining into a deep frown as, slowly but steadily, she finally grasps the real meaning of his words. Rapid blinks follow her sudden realization, now thoroughly taking a look at the only two men in the group; fully taking in the sight of the second one’s cobalt mane, half of it tied up in a high ponytail, close to the crown of his head and between his long, elegant ears.

Mylenne’s eyes travel to his broad, covered shoulders, resting on the necklace dangling in the middle of his bare chest—the symbol of a crescent silver moon making all the pieces of the puzzle fit in her mind.

Golden eyes—a rare color among her people—and dark cobalt hair, silver and purple-red robes from what could only belong to an initiate of the Moon Guard order. Dear Goddess , of course …, she smacks herself internally, nearly slack-mouthed.

She’s staring at the twin brother of Priestess Tyrande’s friend.

Stormrage… Illidan Stormrage .

“And what about you, Sister Mylenne?” The soft voice from Priestess Tyrande takes her out of her reverie, being the first to finally acknowledge her presence. Mylenne turns on her shoulders and blinks thrice in sudden confusion, making the Priestess tilt her head at her, dark green eyebrows narrowing into a frown. “You seem to be a little distracted tonight. Is all well?”

Mylenne’s lips part to answer her superior, yet her eyes betray her as they dare steal another glance at that particular man she first wanted to avoid looking at. “Y-yes, Priestess, I am fine,” She replies, nearly biting her tongue for her abrupt clumsiness. The frostsaber takes some steps closer to her owner—as if she notices her discomfort over so many eyes focused on her. “Just a little tired, that is all.” She opts for deflection, idly scratching the back of her head before turning to her mount.

“Have you thought about bringing a partner to the Festival as well?” Sylenna wonders, looking interested as Mylenne uses her slightly trembling hands to hold onto the beast's fur by the back of her neck, climbing atop the frostsaber with much-practiced ease.

“Wh-what?” Another mumble escapes her, so she takes the advantage of focusing her attention on Rak’shareh, scratching her thick white fur atop her massive head—at the very least, trying to do something with herself instead of staring again at that particular man with that definitely amused smirk on his lips. “I… I admit the thought hadn't crossed my mind,” Mylenne confesses, unable to do hold back the dark blush creeping to her cheeks.

“Oh? You won’t be attending with Jarod this year?” It’s Thania who asks that time, approaching closer to her line of sight, thin eyebrows quirked in evident interest.

Mylenne just shrugs, rather more focused on avoiding Illidan Stormrage’s gaze—feeling it fixed on her face, deepening her blush—and bites her lower lip in a silly attempt to soothe her racing heart, just a little bit. “I haven’t asked him, he’s been busy over the past month,” She admits, “To be honest, I’m more preoccupied about An’da not giving him much trouble rather of asking him to attend the Festival with me, of all things…”

“And you’re right about that, Sister. We will pray for his and the Black Rook’s wellbeing,” Sylenna asserts, kind and true to her nature, nodding in her general direction with a gentle smile.

The only Sister who doesn’t really seem to be satisfied with her excuses is Tyrande, stepping away from her friend’s reach— Malfurion , if Mylenne recalls correctly—and walking right next to her frostsaber, idly scratching the fur on her neck. “Is that why you’ve been so distracted these nights, Sister Mylenne?” She wonders, worry and concern narrowing her delicate face. “I do not intend to meddle in your personal life, although… is there something we can do for you?”

She can’t help but imitate Tyrande’s deep frown at the questioning. And why is she so concerned about me all of a sudden? And Priestess Tyrande, of all women in the Temple? She ponders as she looks to her lavender hands, deep into Rak’shareh’s bright fur, losing in her thoughts once more.

Sure, she’d been particularly tired over the past week and would admit that if someone asked. Desdel Stareye’s insistence and further pushing on her priestess training had been wearing her out as of late, leaving Mylenne within each passing night even more sure that this initiation wasn’t really the way she’d been planning for her life. Regardless, that’s not really her current concern.

It’s more than, barely three weeks ago—and as some sort of twisted celebration for the first year of her initiation into the Sisterhood of Elune—her An’da had declared he was looking forward to her childhood friend, Jarod Shadowsong, to becoming her betrothed and lifemate. She had actually received his blessing and encouragement for that to happen.

Everything went somewhat grim after that event, leaving Mylenne with the only relief that neither she nor Jarod were particularly happy with her An’da ’s blessing.

When a big hand that could only belong to a man brushes her knee, she can’t help but startle, abruptly being taken out of her reverie. Her frostsaber shifts sharply, looking quite rattled at her owner’s sudden distressed state. “I am sorry for scaring you, Sister, but you look… paler,” The Stormrage twin’s baritone voice matches Tyrande’s worrying one, yet he takes his hand away before upsetting Mylenne’s beast even further.

“Illidan is right,” Tyrande points out—unconsciously mentioning her friend’s name and confirming Mylenne’s assumptions—nodding at him in seeming appreciation. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like someone to join you on your way home?”

The Priestess’ comment makes Rak’shareh shift again, growling low, now definitely distressed with the idea of carrying another elf upon her back—and any other dorei that’s not her owner. Mylenne closes her legs and grips harder to the beast’s fur to maintain her balance on her back, although she looks just as upset as her beast with the idea.

“No!” She winces when her voice comes louder and more high-pitched than she’d intended to, quickly shaking her head as well as making Tyrande and Illidan frown even deeper. “Please, do not bother. I assure you, I will be fine… but it’s better for me to go now…”

She takes notice of the cobalt-haired man silently mouthing ‘Will?’ below her, yet he’s left without any chance to make a remark when his brother intervenes—placing himself behind the Priestess and joining in their apparent concern. “Are you sure, Sister? Because my brother seems to be willing to join you, and I must say he can be quite the stubborn one…” Malfurion adds, attempting for a joke to lighten the humor.

Unfortunately, his intentions seem to irritate his brother furthermore, glancing at Malfurion with a deeper crease on his forehead, lips parting to probably bark something at him. But Mylenne is quick to make up an excuse. “It’s alright, but I would rather ride alone. Besides, Rak’shareh is not fond of carrying someone else than me.” She states, patting her beast’s striped fur to soothe her a little bit.

The Priestess sighs deeply with her comment, clearly not agreeing with her but certainly left without anything to retort back—especially with a saber’s bond with their owner comes into the argument. “If that is your wish…” Tyrande closes her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply before glancing at Mylenne one last time, then lifting her hand and drawing the symbol of Elune to place her blessing. “ Elune-adore , Sister. Be safe.”

Ande’thoras’ethil , Sister,” Malfurion adds his wish in the Old Darnassian language, also giving her the Mother Moon’s blessing out of pure courtesy.

Her fellow Sisters imitate their actions, but the remaining man in the street just stands there—so very still, arms limp to his sides, gaze locked and intent on her, appearing as if Mylenne and her frostsaber were the only beings that required his attention.

As if he’s trying unrelentlessly to figure her out, somehow.

She sends a curt nod in his general direction, turning away from the group and with Rak’shareh quick in their pace. Yet even when she turns the street and the Temple of Elune quickly disappears from sight, she can’t stop feeling Illidan’s near burning stare on her back, her knee keeping its slight trembling on her way home—that exact spot in which, not much more than mere minutes ago, a dark hand had brushed over it.