The months after the battle for Quel'Thalas were marked by grief, anger, and an unrelenting drive for vengeance. Sylvanas had led her people to victory, but the cost had been far too great. The loss of her brother, Lirath, weighed heavily on her, a wound that refused to heal.
Lirath's death had been a senseless tragedy, a young life snuffed out before it had truly begun. Sylvanas had sworn that she would find whoever was responsible for training him to fight, believing that if not for them, Lirath would have remained safe in Silvermoon, far from the horrors of battle.
It was a stormy night when she finally discovered the truth. The rain pelted the windows of Windrunner Spire as she confronted her sister, Vereesa. The younger elf stood with her head bowed, her shoulders trembling under the weight of Sylvanas's fury.
"You trained him?" Sylvanas's voice was a low, dangerous whisper, filled with barely contained rage. "You trained Lirath to fight?"
Vereesa looked up, tears glistening in her eyes. "He wanted to learn, Sylvanas. He begged me—he said he wanted to help, to be useful."
Sylvanas's fists clenched at her sides. "He was a musician, Vereesa! Not a soldier! He should never have been near a battlefield!"
"I didn't think… I didn't think it would come to this," Vereesa said, her voice breaking. "I just wanted to give him a chance to defend himself."
Sylvanas turned away, unable to look at her sister any longer. "If you hadn't taught him, he'd still be alive," she said, her voice hollow. "You killed him, Vereesa."
The words cut deeper than any blade, and Vereesa flinched as if struck. "Sylvanas, please…"
But Sylvanas was already walking away, her heart hardened by grief and anger. "I don't want to hear it," she said coldly. "You're no sister of mine."
From that day on, Sylvanas refused to speak to Vereesa. The bond between them, once so strong, was shattered beyond repair. Lirath was buried alongside their parents in the family plot in Eversong Woods, and Sylvanas stood alone at his grave, her heart filled with a bitterness that threatened to consume her.
Time passed, the seasons changing, but the pain remained. Sylvanas threw herself into her duties as Ranger-General, leading her people with the same fierce determination that had driven her through the battle for Quel'Thalas. But no matter how many victories she achieved, nothing could fill the void left by Lirath's death.
Zanin remained by her side through it all, a steadfast presence amidst the turmoil of her life. He had seen her at her weakest, had stood by her when others would have walked away. Over the years, their bond deepened, the unspoken understanding between them growing stronger with each passing day.
It wasn't just the shared battles or the long nights spent planning for the future that brought them closer. It was the moments in between, the rare times when they allowed themselves to be vulnerable with each other. The way Zanin would listen without judgment when Sylvanas spoke of her fears, her regrets. The way she would let him in, bit by bit, until he became more than just a trusted ally—he became her confidant, her anchor.
One evening, as they stood together on a balcony overlooking the serene beauty of Eversong Woods, Sylvanas allowed herself to reflect on the years that had passed. The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden light over the trees, and for the first time in a long while, she felt a sense of peace.
"Lirath would have loved this," she said softly, breaking the comfortable silence between them.
Zanin nodded, his gaze steady as he looked at her. "He would have. He had a way of finding beauty in everything."
Sylvanas sighed, her heart heavy with the weight of all she had lost. "I wish… I wish I could have saved him."
"You did everything you could," Zanin said, his voice gentle. "And he knew how much you loved him."
She turned to him then, really looking at him, and for the first time, she allowed herself to see what had been growing between them for so long. The quiet moments of understanding, the way he had stood by her through the worst of it all. He had become more than just a comrade-in-arms. He had become a part of her life in a way that she hadn't fully realized until now.
"Zanin…" she began, but the words caught in her throat. She wasn't sure what she wanted to say, or even if she could put it into words. But Zanin seemed to understand.
He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently take hers. "I'm here, Sylvanas," he said simply. "I'll always be here."
She squeezed his hand, finding comfort in the simple gesture. For the first time in years, she felt a glimmer of hope, a possibility that maybe, just maybe, she could find a way forward. That she could heal, even if the scars would always remain.
As the last light of day faded into the twilight, Sylvanas and Zanin stood together, hand in hand, looking out over the woods that had seen so much of their pain, but also so much of their strength. They had both lost so much, but they had also found something in each other—a bond that could weather any storm, a love that had grown quietly over the years, strong and enduring.
And for the first time in a long time, Sylvanas allowed herself to believe that maybe, one day, there could be something more.