This will be my tiny corner to share lore and love of my World of Warcraft oc,
Dunya Moonburn.
I'm not too familiar with how Tumblr works but this is my second blog here and one active account on twitter. You may find me with the name ''Millawanda'' on some platforms.
Here is my girl, Dunya Moonburn, my OC from World of Warcraft universe.
She is an young adult half elf and a mage (pyromancer specifically) that experienced the scourge attack at very young age and survived thanks to her father who is a farstrider. ( yes, thanks to his profession that's how he meets her mother, a human but that's for another time to share.)
She borns in Lorderon since her mother was a guard herself and lived there with her until the age 4. But growing as a half elf is not easy in human world. The mother knows that and experiences it the first hand so she makes a little suprise for the father and reveals to him that their -encounter- had left a surprise behind. So that's how she meets her father and he does accepts her, brings her to the Silvermoon to live a better life.
They do visit the mother but each year those visits became less frequent. Once the scourge arrives, they lose all the contact with the mother entirely, not sure about her fate for the longest time or at all.
After the scourge bringing Silvermoon down, her father sends her to Dalaran so she can stay safe and study her mage ways. He hopes she can recover but she grows to rather a closed person- although she already was before the attack because she is a half elf. Yknow how both humans and elves back then didn't like their presence too much. At least books and magic were there for her.
She starts her raiding journey at TBC times after her graduation from Dalaran. And that is the time that she regains her yellow eyes. Those are not from holy magic at all. That's all thanks to a certain deserted prince and his magic bird.
So the young mage finds herself in the raid of Tempest Keep. She is ready to prove her worth for her people. She is not just a half- she is a blood elf. Proud. Strong. Just like them. What's better way to prove it than facing the traitor prince ?
But there is one thing she takes lightly of- the magic addiction her breathen suffers. As much as she loves magic and loves being a nerd about it, she does it for the love of the game. Half elves don't suffer the magic addiction at least like how full elves do (i think). That's known to their kind ( i think).
She faces Kael'thas but things easily go sour for her.
She cannot understand the true levels of suffering of the Sin'dorei. How dare such young fool is here to judge her 'prince?' She has to pay but the prince won't have the blood on his hands.
Al'ar.
She is a book smart girl. Idealist- perhaps a fool for it too. So at the brick of death, her brain works.
What does happen if you try to steal mana from a mana creature?
'' that's not what i- ''
'' what's going on?! i can't let go! ''
'' let...go! it burns...! ''
Dunya with her father in the Dalaran hospital after remaining in coma for a while after the incident.
So what happens to her at the end is that she ends up fusing with Al'ar- accidentally. She was stunned by Kael'thas and wasn't strong enough to tank the charge of Al'ar. In theory she had an option;
Stealing the mana from a mana creature. Or mana tapping. Basically using spellsteal with her racial ability the same time out of panic. Then she couldn't let go as the power was too much to control. In panic the unexpected happen. She just ended up stealing the whole being of Al'ar. Trapping the phoenix within her body.
Her eyes shine the colors of Al'ar at first then they fade to simple color of yellow and permanently. She has to relearn how to use her mana again because such power puts her off balance.
Recovery is hard but she is not alone. Her father is with her as usual but her unusual case attracts the attention of a certain leader of the Sunreavers.
Random fun fact;
Dunya's Dragon's breath ability takes the form of a Phoenix instead of a dragon after she merges with Al'ar. it's one of the side effects she is having.
Wrathion most likely noticed it in his whelping era but he (jokingly) gets offended once he is a drake and being offical with her.
'' Don't breath a dragon's fire with a bird mouth, sweetheart ''
Uhh well technically not the next part of my OC writing for Andiel but! I need to post some expressions.
These were actually the first drawings I did of him - exploring the face from various angles was really helpful when it came to figuring out his proportions. I'd say that until this point I couldn't for the life of me draw the same face twice, so the observation practice I got in here has helped me with a lot of my art moving forward.
There's also this, an extremely low effort and extremely silly comic based on some danishes I baked, featuring @lightsfeather's Rosabel.
And then this, which is my first Rosa expression; I think her proportions look a lot better in the full piece I did of her, but I quite like the hair and body here.
In retrospect I don't know if I would have been able to draw characters if it weren't for my sudden fixation on Andiel; I've avoided drawing portraits for quite a while now, but in recent months I find myself drawn to them more and more frequently. I'm excited to see where all this practice brings me.
I love how artists just grasp this idea that she's a gremlin and draw her like a punished 6th century medieval child who hasn't seen food in a whole week and now gives you those puppy eyes so she can satisfy her dastardly greed. Beautiful.
Andiel will be going through 10 stages of character development with her and will come out stronger in the end from it. Trust. <3
i'd like to use this post to explain her personality and such.
Dunya is a bookworm half elf that a huge nerd about magic (especially fire) and studying. She finds comfort in the books since she grew up while shying away from socializing with people. She often faces uncomfortable questions and racism towards her half race mostly so she learns to wear a cold mask to hide all the discomfort and close herself towards unnecessary interactions. Even if it causes her to have a low emotional and social intelligance.
Girlie cannot tell what a joke is. It doesn't take cause her to be angry but jokes just fly over her head.
LIKES:
Magic (duh)
Reading
Experimenting with fire magic
Learning new recipes for cooking and baking
Cats
Camping with father (not much but she values the time she can have when father finds free time)
DISLIKES:
Social events
Being unprepared for raids
Noise
Racism
Bullying
Losing control of herself (after the Al'ar incident)
Thank you for being an amazing friend and creative mind I've found joy and comfort in. I hope you have a jolly good day today and you remain the wonderful, well spoken and inspirational person that you are and that there will always be motivation for creativity! A small gift from me that I hope you will like and enjoy reading as much as I did writing! Love you! 💗
The sky above Dornogal was ink-black, a soft sprawl of velvet scattered with glimmering stars. Night had settled over the ancient city like a shroud—gentle, steady, and alive. Lamps swung from intricately carved stone arches, casting pools of gold light on cobbled streets worn smooth by centuries of footfalls. The air buzzed with mingled voices, the cadence of a hundred languages folding into one—gruff barks of the Earthen, sharp laughter from goblins, the low hum of draenei chants, and the occasional distant roar of a beast being calmed or tamed just beyond the outer edge of the warding stones.
In the dim, electric thrum of twilight, life went on. Horde banners hung beside Alliance sigils with a kind of exhausted truce. Earthen merchants haggled with blood elves, Forsaken scribes debated with Stormwind historians, and an orcish drummer kept slow rhythm in one of the quieter corners, tapping gently against a hide-wrapped drum as passersby slowed to listen.
High above it all, on a narrow balcony of the Stonelight Rest Inn, Elena Harrowstrider stood alone, one hand resting lightly on the stone rail, her posture still as the floor beneath her boots. The wind tugged at her long black hair, sweeping it behind her like a banner, but she barely noticed. Her eyes traced the winding avenues of the city below, the glowing taverns, the distant glow of magical sigils pulsing faintly in the ruins beyond, the moving lanterns of distant guards. All of it shimmered with the aura of something ancient, something unknowable, and yet alive.
She did not feel ready to leave it.
The thought pressed against her chest, unwelcome and stubborn. Khaz Algar had never been meant to linger like this. From the very beginning, it had been framed as a mission. Clean edges. Clear goals. Watch over Anduin Wrynn. Keep him safe while he found his footing again. Offer counsel when needed. Step in only if absolutely necessary.
Simple.
She had done far more complicated things without hesitation.
And yet this place had reached into her in ways she had not anticipated. The dangers. The beauty. The strange resonance in the air. The way the land itself seemed to listen. Somewhere along the way, duty had tangled with something far more personal, threading itself through her thoughts until she could no longer tell where obligation ended and feeling began.
Anduin.
The name alone was enough to draw a quiet, frustrated breath from her lungs. Light above, she thought, jaw tightening. Even allowing herself to think it sent a slow, unwelcome warmth spreading through her chest, curling beneath her ribs where she could not quite push it away.
It had been years since they had last seen one another. Children then, both of them shaped by a world that had already known too much war. She had expected distance. Awkwardness. The dull politeness of two people who shared memories but no longer shared lives.
Instead, when they had finally stood face to face again, the years had seemed to fold in on themselves. Something familiar had sparked between them, immediate and uncomfortably alive. Not the same, no. They had both changed too much for that. But close enough to be dangerous.
And that, more than anything else, terrified her.
Elena closed her eyes and drew in a slow breath, the cool night air filling her lungs. The wind rose again, lifting her hair and brushing it across her face. She lifted a hand and pushed it back absently, fingers lingering at her temple for just a moment longer than necessary.
She hated how it lingered.
His voice, low and earnest, replayed in her thoughts at the most inopportune times. The way he smiled when he thought no one was watching, softer then, unguarded. The memory of his hand finding hers in the dark, fingers closing around her own with instinctive certainty when everything had been collapsing around them.
As if it were the most natural thing in the world.
As if he needed her.
Not as a soldier. Not as a shield. But as something closer, something far more dangerous.
And worse than all of it was how easily she had let him.
She opened her eyes again.
The light of Dornogal glinted in the dark hollows of her gaze, but something colder had settled there now—harder, sharper. Her fingers tensed against the railing, the stone biting cool into her palm.
Fool, she thought, the word bitter as ironroot bark on her tongue. Happy endings were for other people. The ones not born beneath banners and gold-stitched crests. Not molded by court whispers and sharpened into weapons by necessity.
Her hands curled tighter on the railing.
Get a grip, she snapped inwardly, the silent curse like a slap of cold water. You’re being ridiculous. Foolish. Dangerous.
She knew better. She always knew better.
She—
“Elena.”
The sound of her name pulled the breath straight from her lungs.
Her spine stiffened, breath catching as she turned—slow, deliberate, every muscle suddenly strung tight with tension.
And there he was.
Anduin Wrynn stood in the arched doorway of the balcony, half-shadowed by the warm lantern glow behind him. The light caught in the strands of his blonde hair, messy and uncombed on a face too handsome for the world he carried on his shoulders. His beard was grown now—untamed, a little ragged around the edges—but it suited him, made him look older, rougher. The soft lines of boyhood were long gone, replaced with something weathered and real. His armor bore the marks of wear—scratches, dents, and a smear of something he hadn’t bothered to wipe clean—but it gleamed dully in the light, honest in its tarnish.
And on his back, Shalamayne rested like a silent sentinel. Not blazing. Not flaring with holy light. Just there—a memory of battles past, a burden he carried without needing to show it off.
“You left without a word.”
Her eyes flicked away, just for a moment, before finding his again. “I figured you'd survive another round without me.” she said lightly, too casually. “Besides, I was fairly certain Faerin was going to challenge Jaina to a drinking contest. I wanted to leave before that ended with someone launching frostbolts into the chandelier.”
He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers. “We were about to order another round. Thought you might want one more before—” he hesitated, voice catching slightly, “—before everything changes again.”
Elena turned her face away, chin lifting as she looked back out over the edge of the city. Her arms crossed over her chest, a shield in posture if not in plate.
“I had enough for the night.” she said. Calm. Controlled. A little too smooth.
But Anduin watched her for a long moment, and silence stretched between them. He didn’t press. Didn’t prod. Just stood there with that maddening, quiet patience of his, like he could wait forever if she needed him to.
She hated that about him.
No, not hated.
Envied.
“Didn’t mean to intrude.” he said gently, voice low as the wind. “Just… wondered where you’d gone. You looked like something was on your mind.”
She let out a faint scoff, not turning. “You’re not my keeper, Wrynn.”
A pause.
“No.” he said softly, “I’m not.”
She winced inwardly. Too sharp. Too defensive. She hadn’t meant it like that. Not exactly.
The tension in her shoulders refused to melt, but she glanced at him sidelong. His eyes—still that piercing blue, though now tinged with something older behind them—held no judgment. Just concern. And a quiet, aching recognition.
“You know,” he said, a faint smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, “you’re allowed to talk to me when something’s wrong. Even if it’s just to insult me again. That seems to help.”
She huffed a breath through her nose. “I’m trying to be civil.”
“I’d be more worried if you were.”
A reluctant smirk twitched at her lips. Damn him, she thought. Damn him and that stupid, knowing smile.
The breeze picked up again, cool against her cheek. Her hair slipped across her brow, and she tucked it back with a sigh.
“You should go back.” she said finally, voice quieter now, eyes fixed once more on the city lights below. “Faerin might miss you.”
Anduin chuckled, low and warm. “Faerin’s fine. She’ll have tried to order three more rounds by now and be halfway into a very heartfelt song about Earthen engineering.”
“Charming.” she muttered.
He shrugged. “She means well.”
She gave him a sidelong look again, sharper this time. “You make a fine pair.”
He blinked, thrown slightly. “Me and Faerin?”
“Yes.” she said coolly. “Especially in Hallowfall. When you held hands.”
His brow arched. “Held hands?”
“Mhm.” she said, almost sing-song, a bit too pleased with herself. “During that ritual—lighting that floating lamp. Very tender moment.”
“That was part of the ceremony.” he said flatly. “We had to hold hands. To focus the Light.”
“Mhm.” she repeated, gaze tilting upward. “Of course you did. Had to light the lamp. With feeling.”
Anduin laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with a small shake of his head. “I don’t remember it being that dramatic.”
“Well,” she said, crossing her arms again and shifting her weight onto one hip, “you were glowing. And she did look rather flushed. I think there was a tear.”
“Light, you’re ridiculous.”
“You say that like it’s news.”
He covered his mouth, trying and failing to stifle a proper laugh now. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m delightful.” she corrected, lifting her chin with mock pride. “When I’m not being emotionally irresponsible.”
“Are you now?”
Her smile faltered, just slightly. The light behind it flickered, but the sharp edge of her wit remained, honed from years of using humor like a shield. “Well,” she said, voice a little quieter, “it’s a work in progress.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The wind moved through the balcony again, carrying with it the distant sounds of Dornogal below. And then Anduin exhaled softly, gaze drifting past her, somewhere far beyond the present.
“Do you remember,” he said slowly, “how you used to get lost in Stormwind Keep?”
Elena blinked, surprised by the shift. “I didn’t get lost. I was hiding, avoiding Lady Katrana.”
He grimaced immediately. “Fair.”
“I swear she could smell fear.” Elena went on, eyes narrowing slightly at the memory. “Every time she swept into a hall, I’d duck behind a tapestry or disappear into one of those absurdly long corridors. You always knew which ones led nowhere.”
“I spent half my childhood memorizing escape routes.” he said lightly. “Mostly from tutors. Occasionally from her.”
“You saved me once.” Elena added, voice softer now. “Dragged me into that little alcove near the old library. Told me it was a secret passage.”
“It wasn’t.” he admitted. “It was just a storage nook.”
“Still worked.”
Their eyes met then, something warm and nostalgic passing between them. Stormwind. Stone halls echoing with footsteps. Stolen moments of quiet before responsibility settled fully onto his shoulders. Before the world sharpened its teeth.
“Funny,” Elena murmured, “how it always feels like that. Running from shadows. Even now.”
Anduin studied her, thoughtful. “Some shadows change. Some just learn new names.”
She gave him a sidelong look. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
“I am.”
The silence stretched again—uncomfortable this time.
He studied her profile, and then quietly asked, “Do you ever miss those days?”
Elena let out a breath that wasn’t quite a sigh. “Sometimes. When I forget everything that came after.”
She turned her head, brown eyes meeting his. The breeze lifted the ends of her hair again and sent the faint scent of pine and earth between them.
“You know,” she said suddenly, voice lighter, almost teasing again—almost—“you really do need to find yourself a queen soon.”
He blinked, genuinely caught off guard. “What?”
“To marry.” Elena continued before he could recover, her tone deliberately light, deliberately careless. “Settle down. Produce a few golden-haired heirs. Make sure the Wrynn line remains suitably noble, tragic, and brooding for generations to come.”
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug that was just a little too stiff. Just a little too forced.
“I—” Anduin let out a short laugh, more reflex than amusement. His hand lifted as if to gesture, then dropped again. Something subtle shifted behind his eyes, a flicker of surprise giving way to something heavier. “That’s… not really something I’ve given much thought to.”
“Well, you should.” Elena said immediately, too quickly, as if the silence threatened to swallow her whole if she didn’t fill it. Her arms folded across her chest again, a familiar barricade snapping into place. “You’re not getting any younger.”
He studied her for a moment, head tilting slightly. “Neither are you.”
She didn’t take the bait. Didn’t smile. Didn’t fire back.
The air changed.
For the first time since he’d stepped onto the balcony, the easy rhythm between them faltered. The banter thinned, leaving something denser in its wake. This was not the charged playfulness they danced around so often. Not the near-flirtation wrapped in sarcasm and shared history.
This tension was quieter. Heavier.
“I don’t recall you being so invested in protocol.” Anduin said carefully.
Elena’s jaw tightened, the muscle jumping beneath her skin. “You’re a king.” she replied, voice level but edged with steel. “That’s what kings do.”
“I don’t want to marry for duty.”
The words landed softly, but they struck deep.
“Then you’d better not wait too long.” she said, and now there was no hiding the brittleness in her voice. It cracked just enough to be felt, not enough to be obvious. “Before someone chooses for you.”
Silence stretched between them, taut and uncomfortable. The wind moved around them, tugging at cloaks and hair, carrying the distant murmur of Dornogal’s streets, but neither of them seemed to hear it.
Elena broke first.
Still staring out over the city, refusing to look at him, she said, “Faerin seems like a solid choice.”
Anduin stiffened almost imperceptibly.
“She’s steady. Capable.” Elena continued, her tone carefully neutral, carefully distant. “Respected. You should try getting to know her better.”
She paused, then added, quieter, “Without… distractions.”
Anduin let out a slow breath through his nose, the sound heavy with something like resignation. “Elena.”
She didn’t turn.
“That’s not—” He stopped, scrubbed a hand across his jaw, then tried again. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
“I’m not deciding.” she said quickly. “I’m suggesting.”
“By pushing me toward someone else?”
She finally glanced at him then, just briefly. “By reminding you of reality.”
He sighed, long and weary, shaking his head. “Faerin is a friend. A good one. That’s all.”
“Of course she is.”
There it was again. That faint edge. That unspoken thing she refused to name.
Anduin took a step closer.
Then another.
Not abrupt. Not aggressive. Just enough to close the space she’d so carefully kept between them. Close enough that she could feel the warmth of him at her side, hear the subtle shift of his armor as he moved.
“Elena.” he said softly, and this time her name sounded different. Less questioning. More certain. “You’re doing that thing again.”
Her shoulders tensed, but she didn’t move away.
“Doing what?”
“Standing right in front of me,” he said quietly, “and pretending you’re already gone.”
She swallowed.
The city lights reflected faintly in her eyes as she stared ahead, breath shallow now, her carefully built composure fraying at the edges. He was too close. Close enough that if she turned her head even slightly, she’d meet his gaze fully.
“You’re imagining things.” she murmured.
“I’m not.” he replied, just as softly. “And you know it.”
The space between them felt charged now, humming with everything they refused to say. Old memories. Unspoken longing. The dangerous pull of familiarity and possibility.
He didn’t touch her.
He didn’t have to.
She felt him there all the same, solid and real and unresolved, and it took every scrap of discipline she had not to lean into that warmth.
“I don’t need you to plan my future.” he said, voice low now, no trace of laughter left in it. “And I don’t want to pretend this is about Faerin.”
Her fingers curled at her sides. “Then what is it about?”
Anduin’s gaze held hers, steady and unflinching. “You already know.”
The words hit like an arrow, quiet but precise, threading through every wall she’d built since he’d stepped onto the balcony. She tried to hold the silence that followed—tried to meet his eyes like it didn’t rattle her, like the ground beneath her feet hadn’t just shifted—but her composure cracked, just enough for him to see it.
So she did what she always did when things got too close.
She turned.
“I think we’re done here.” she said curtly, voice clipped, each word carefully wrapped in steel. “You should get back. Faerin’s probably wondering where you—”
“Elena—”
“I said we’re done.”
And she stepped past him—swift and decisive, already halfway to the archway before—
He caught her arm.
Not roughly. Not hard. Just enough to stop her. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, firm and warm through the fabric of her leather, anchoring her in place.
She froze.
“Elena.” he said, and this time her name was quieter, rasped almost, like it hurt him to say it and not say more. “Don’t walk away.”
She didn’t turn, not yet. Her breath caught in her throat, chest rising and falling too fast. The wind curled around them like a whisper, tugging at their clothes, brushing loose strands of her hair into his hand.
He stepped closer behind her, slowly, his grip never tightening.
“You always do this.” he murmured, his breath brushing the shell of her ear. “Push it down. Laugh it off. Pretend it’s nothing. But it’s not nothing.”
She clenched her jaw. “Let go of me.”
“I will,” he said, voice just above a whisper. “If you really want me to. If you can look at me and tell me you feel nothing.”
Her throat worked, the motion small but frantic, as if she were trying to force air past something lodged deep in her chest. Nothing came. No retort. No clever barb. No escape.
“Elena.”
Her name landed softer this time. Not a command. Not a challenge. Just… her.
Slowly—so slowly it felt like tearing herself loose from something solid—she turned.
And he was right there.
Too close.
The space between them had collapsed into something intimate and dangerous, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him bleeding through the night chill. The lantern light caught in the pale gold of his hair, traced the tired lines at the corners of his eyes, softened the rough edge of his beard. He looked unbearably real. Not a king. Not a symbol. Just a man standing far too close to the woman he was trying not to love.
The closeness knocked the breath from her lungs in a sharp, silent gasp.
His hand, which had been firm around her arm only moments before, loosened. Fingers slid down, uncurled, until they rested against hers. Not holding. Not restraining.
Just there.
An invitation. A question he didn’t dare put into words.
His eyes searched her face, flicking briefly to her mouth and back again, not hungry, not demanding—just open. Bare. Waiting to be told yes or no or something in between.
And Light help her, she hated how badly she wanted to close the gap.
How easy it would be to lean in. To let her forehead brush his. To feel his breath fully against her lips instead of just close enough to ache. To let him be the one thing she didn’t keep at arm’s length. The one thing she didn’t ration, or calculate, or bury under duty and fear.
But if she did—if she let him—
What then?
The thought splintered inside her, sharp and panicked.
“You don’t get to do this.” she said finally, her voice low, unsteady, threaded with something far more fragile than anger. “You don’t get to show up with those eyes and that voice and—this—and act like it doesn’t tear things open.”
Her free hand lifted helplessly between them, fingers flexing as if grasping for the right words and finding none.
“You don’t get to stand this close,” she went on, breath hitching, “and look at me like I’m something you can reach for. Like I’m safe to want.”
His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping beneath his skin. “Elena…”
“No.” she pressed, almost pleading now despite herself. “You don’t know what it costs me to stand here and not move. To not—”
Her voice broke.
He shifted closer without thinking, drawn by the sound the way one is drawn to a wound that needs tending. His hand lifted, hovering near her waist, not touching yet, giving her every chance to pull away.
“Please.” he said.
The word was barely audible.
It shattered something in her.
She laughed once, breathless and hollow. “Don’t.” she whispered. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re asking.” she said. “Like I’m the only thing in the world you want right now.”
His hand finally settled against her side, tentative and warm through the fabric. Not claiming. Not possessive. Just… grounding.
“Because I am.” he said quietly. “Asking.”
Her pulse thundered. Every place he touched felt too loud. Too aware.
“I’ve spent my entire life being careful.” she said, the confession slipping out before she could stop it. “Choosing duty. Distance. The thing that hurts less in the long run.”
“And is this hurting less?” he asked gently.
She swallowed, eyes burning. “No.”
“Then look at me.” he murmured.
She did.
His other hand came up slowly, reverently, fingers brushing her jaw, tilting her face just enough that she couldn’t look away. The touch was feather-light, but it burned like a brand, intimate in its restraint.
“I’m not asking for promises.” he continued. “Not futures. Not crowns or plans or anything that traps you.”
His gaze dipped—just for a fraction of a second—to her lips.
The awareness of it hit her like a spark down bare skin. Not hungry. Not careless. Just honest. And then his eyes lifted again, steady and restrained despite the tension vibrating between them like a live wire pulled too tight.
“I’m asking for honesty.” he said softly. “Right now. Just between us.”
The night felt suddenly too small to hold the weight of those words.
Her eyes burned, heat gathering behind them, and when she spoke her voice barely carried past the space between their bodies. “And if I give you that?”
His answer came without hesitation. No bravado. No armor. Just truth, laid bare.
“Then I’ll stay.” he said. “Exactly where I am. Until you tell me otherwise.”
Something inside her gave way.
Her eyes fluttered shut for a heartbeat, lashes brushing her cheeks as she dragged in a breath that didn’t quite steady her. The city noise faded. The wind softened. Everything narrowed to him. To the warmth of his presence. To the dangerous ease with which he dismantled her defenses simply by being earnest.
Light, this was reckless.
This was foolish.
This was everything she had sworn she would never allow herself again.
And yet—
Her hands rose before she could stop them.
Fingers curled into the front of his armor, gripping the worn metal and leather with desperate certainty, as if she needed the solidity of him to keep from tipping forward entirely. The contact sent a jolt through both of them. She felt it in the way his breath caught, in the way his shoulders tightened beneath her hands.
He didn’t move away.
Didn’t rush her.
His hands lifted slowly, reverently, hovering at her sides before settling there, warm and steady, thumbs brushing lightly as if to remind her she was still in control. That she could stop this at any moment.
“Elena.” he murmured, her name a promise and a warning all at once. “You don’t have to—”
“I know.” she whispered, opening her eyes to meet his. “That’s what makes this worse.”
His forehead rested gently against hers, breath mingling with hers, close enough that she could feel the shape of every word he didn’t say.
“I’ve carried you with me longer than I should admit.” he said quietly. “Through things I didn’t survive cleanly. You were always there. Even when you weren’t.”
Her grip tightened, knuckles whitening. “You make it sound like I’m something precious.”
“You are.” he said simply. “To me.”
The honesty of it shattered the last fragile thread holding her back.
She lifted her chin, just slightly. A silent question. An invitation she had never allowed herself to give before.
His breath lingered just above her lips, warm and trembling with restraint. So close she could feel the faint hitch in it, the unsteady rhythm betraying what he felt—what they both felt. His eyes searched hers one final time, not for permission, but for certainty.
She didn’t flinch.
She didn’t pull away.
She leaned in, almost imperceptibly, and that was all it took.
The kiss crashed between them like a storm finally breaking, long overdue and unforgiving in its hunger. There was nothing gentle in it—no shy hesitation, no cautious dance. It was need, raw and wild. It was the dam breaking after years of silence. It was breathless.
Her hands fisted in the front of his armor, tugging him closer with a force that surprised even her. The hard line of him collided with her body, and she gasped into his mouth at the shock of contact—heat against heat, desperation against desperation. Anduin groaned, low and guttural, the sound swallowed by her lips as his mouth slanted over hers again.
His hand slid up the curve of her spine, fingers tangling in her hair at the base of her skull, pulling her in so tightly she could feel every inch of him. His other hand gripped her waist, thumb brushing the dip between her ribs as if he could memorize her shape through sheer touch. The contact lit her nerves like fire.
Her lips parted beneath his, and he took that as invitation.
He kissed her deeper now, slower but no less intense, tongue stroking into her mouth with maddening precision. She met him without hesitation—hungry, open, breathless. Their tongues brushed and tangled, hot and slick and intimate, coaxing little noises from her throat that she couldn’t have stopped if she tried. He tasted like salt and dusk and something undeniably Anduin—familiar, anchoring, and maddening all at once.
His beard scraped her skin in the most delicious way, the coarse bristle prickling at her jaw and chin, and she sighed into his mouth, one hand leaving his chest to slide up the line of his neck, her thumb brushing the sharp angle of his jaw. She wanted to feel all of him—wanted to know him with her hands, her mouth, her whole body.
Her back hit the edge of the balcony wall and she barely noticed, too caught in the crush of him, in the press of his thigh between hers, in the slow, firm grind of his hips that made her breath stutter. His fingers tightened on her waist, pulling her flush against him, and lord, she could feel what she did to him.
The kiss deepened again, slower now, more deliberate. A slow burn. His tongue moved against hers with teasing rhythm, licking into her mouth like a secret, like a promise.
They kissed like it hurt not to.
Like the silence between them was finally being devoured, one breath at a time.
And when they finally parted, it wasn’t clean. It was slow—lips dragging, breath shared, foreheads resting together, the ghost of one last kiss hovering between them. Her eyes fluttered open just as his did, and for a moment, they just stared—panting, flushed, unraveled.
She whispered first, her voice rough and ragged, a smile just barely curling her lips. “That… wasn’t very diplomatic of you.”
He laughed under his breath, still close enough that his mouth brushed hers as he spoke. “You started it.”
“I warned you.”
“You did.” he murmured, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “But I stopped caring somewhere around the third year I couldn’t forget you.”
She closed her eyes, the words landing hard, right in the softest part of her. Her fingers traced the curve of his armor absently. “And what now?”
Anduin leaned in, pressing one last, featherlight kiss to the corner of her mouth. Tender. Sure. “Now we stop pretending this doesn’t mean something.”
Elena opened her eyes again and exhaled, steadying herself against the gravity of that. And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like running.
So the incident happens. (Still around TBC era) She accidentally fuses herself with Al'ar and wakes up in the Dalaran after suffering in coma for few days.
She feels overwhelmed with the magic, dazed, not even sure how she feels when her mind is buzzing nonstop for the time being. But unknown to her, her condition has been discussed with others- especially by the Council.
A whole magical pet bird being inside her is a case worth studying throughly but the problem is by who? And how far they're willing to go to study this phenomenon?
Luckily for her she was a Dalaran student and a good one under Archmage Aethas Sunreaver. She being an elf (even if half) saves her being an experiment for human side of it. Also she is spared from Magister Rommath's rough approach thanks to Aethas.
Aethas has more humane approach to study her, not only that but also offers her a friendship and time to recover from the incident. She relearns how to function properly, how to use her mana again while her body adjusts the change.
She no longer feels the hunger of magic anymore. As a half elf she already felt it less in comparison but now Al'ar is being one with her, she doesn't suffer from it. But can she control Al'ar yet? not yet. Too soon. Al'ar is not too pleased with its condution either but at least it is not a loud company in her mind.
She has been reminded for being a half breed most of her interactions in one way or another so she learned to hide the uncomfort behind a cold mask. But that also caused her to miss on close relationships, closing herself for intimacy. And a sudden approach from her old favourite teacher slowly creeps into her heart.
Mutually...? No. Never. Aethas doesn't seek anything romantic but if she finds comfort with him that works for him. After all, she is an asset to work with. Perhaps she knows it's wrong for her to feel anything but she seeks some bond other than with her father at this point of her life. And Aethas is a sweet talker. it's hard to resist that.
