Leylin left the tavern without a word.
The noise, the laughter, the certainty in those voices, it all felt distant, unreal, like he had stumbled into a world that no longer quite belonged to him. Outside, the evening air was cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant forests. He did not linger. There was nothing more for him here.
Stepping into the shadows between two buildings, Leylin allowed the magic to flow once more. Bones lightened. Muscles reshaped. Cloak and form dissolved into feathers and wind.
A hawk took to the sky. The land unfolded beneath him as he flew eastward, then north, following paths he had once traveled on foot, paths that now felt like memories borrowed from another life. Rivers gleamed like silver veins. Fields spread wide and orderly, untouched by war, while others bore scars too deep to hide.
Before long, a familiar stretch of land came into view. Malden's orchard.
Leylin slowed his descent, circling once, twice, before landing on the branch of an old apple tree at the orchard's edge. The place was alive with quiet industry. Workers moved between rows, pruning branches, hauling baskets, speaking in low voices. The trees were healthy, their leaves full, their fruit abundant.
Old Man Lawrence kept his word, Leylin thought softly.
The orchard had survived. No scorch marks marred the soil. No signs of battle lingered. It was as if the war had deliberately stepped around this place, leaving it untouched by blood and fire.
Watching from above, Leylin felt something tighten in his chest, relief, tinged with a faint ache. For several minutes, he visited his parent's graves. He simply stayed there.
Then he remembered standing among these trees before, dirt on his hands, the sun warm on his back. A simpler time. A time when the future was uncertain, yes, but not heavy.
Eventually, he took flight again. Northward now. The closer he drew to Quel'Thalas, the more the land changed.
Burned-out villages appeared beneath him, roofs collapsed, walls blackened, streets choked with weeds and silence. Some towns still stood, battered but intact, their defenses having held long enough to avoid total ruin. Yet even there, no smoke rose from chimneys. No people walked the roads.
The war had passed through like a storm, and in its wake, it had left emptiness. Leylin flew lower, his sharp eyes scanning for movement.
Nothing.
Not until Windrunner Village came into view.
There—life.
People moved between buildings, their routines steady and purposeful. Among the slender figures of high elves, Leylin spotted humans, familiar faces, older now, stronger. The ones he had once helped, once saved. They were no longer outsiders. They worked, laughed, lived among the elves as if they had always belonged.
A quiet warmth settled in Leylin's chest.
At least… This turned out well.
He lingered in the air for a moment, committing the sight to memory, then continued onward.
The Windrunner estate lay ahead. His pace slowed. With every wingbeat, doubt crept in.
Two years. He had vanished for two years without a word, without explanation. Just a letter saying he left because he had something to do. Only absence. He had faced demon lords, dreadlords, shattered tombs, and broken space itself but none of that felt as terrifying as what awaited him here.
What would he say? What could he say?
Leylin landed silently near the outskirts of the estate and let the transformation fade. Standing once more in human form, he adjusted his cloak and stared at the familiar structure ahead.
It looked the same. Too much the same. He approached slowly, steps measured, heart unsteady. Peering through a window, he saw empty rooms. No servants. No movement. The house felt… hollow.
Not abandoned. Just quiet. Leylin stood there longer than he realized, uncertainty rooting him in place. Questions churned endlessly in his mind.
Did she wait? Did she move on? Did I forfeit the right to return the moment I disappeared?
Memories surfaced unbidden. Vereesa standing beneath autumn trees, sunlight in her hair. Her sharp wit, her quiet strength. The way she looked at him not as a curiosity, not as a human anomaly but as someone worth trusting.
Worth choosing. His chest tightened painfully. Without realizing it, Leylin turned away from the estate and began walking.
The path carried him past the village, down a familiar trail that sloped gently toward the sea. By the time he noticed where he was going, the scent of salt filled the air, and the sound of waves greeted him softly.
The coast.
He stopped at the edge of the cliffs, staring out at the endless ocean stretching beyond the horizon. The sky was painted in muted colors as evening approached, clouds drifting lazily as if time itself had slowed.
Leylin clenched his fists.
"I came back," he murmured, the words almost lost to the wind. "But I don't know if I deserve to."
For the first time since awakening on that distant island, since realizing the world had moved on without him, Leylin felt truly unanchored.
Power had carried him across worlds and eras. Knowledge had preserved his purpose. But here, standing before the place that mattered most, none of that seemed to matter.
Only the weight of absence. Only the fear that some distances, once crossed, could never truly be undone.
The sea breathed in and out before Leylin, waves breaking endlessly against stone as if repeating a story that had no beginning and no end.
He stood at the cliff's edge, unmoving, the wind tugging at his cloak and hair, carrying the taste of salt and distant storms. Each crash of the waves echoed the turmoil in his chest, restless, heavy, unresolved.
Then—movement. Leylin's gaze shifted.
Down below, closer to the shoreline, a lone figure sat upon a smooth, weather-worn rock. The silhouette was slender, graceful, unmistakably elven. Long pale hair stirred gently in the sea breeze, catching the fading light like threads of silver.
Something in his chest tightened painfully. He watched without realizing he had stopped breathing.
The way she sat. The stillness in her posture. The quiet sorrow that seemed to cling to her back as she gazed out toward the horizon. It was familiar—too familiar.
No… Leylin thought, his heart pounding. It can't be.
His mind raced, searching for reasons to deny what his eyes suggested. What if this wasn't his world? What if the broken space had cast him into another timeline—another version of reality where things had unfolded differently? What if this Vereesa was not his Vereesa?
He took a step forward… then stopped. Fear rooted him in place.
Approach her, and everything might shatter. Walk away, and he would at least preserve the fragile illusion that she was still out there, somewhere, untouched by his absence. Minutes stretched unbearably long.
Leylin remained where he was, torn between longing and terror. Every instinct screamed for him to run to her, to call her name, to cross the distance between them, but another voice whispered cruelly that he had no right.
Two years. Two years of silence. Two years of unanswered questions. What words could bridge that gap?
His chest ached as he finally exhaled, shoulders sagging beneath an invisible weight.
"…I'm sorry," he murmured, though no one stood before him to hear it. With a heavy sigh, Leylin turned away.
He lifted his gaze to the sky, pale and vast above him, as if seeking an answer written among the clouds. His feet carried him forward, slow and uncertain, each step away from the shore feeling heavier than the last.
Behind him—
Vereesa Windrunner had noticed.
At first, it was nothing more than a sensation. A prickle at the edge of awareness. She had felt it before, countless times over the past two years, a presence she imagined, a familiarity she longed for, only for it to fade into disappointment.
Yet this time… it did not fade.
Her heart began to race as she subtly shifted, glancing sideways. At the cliff above, partially obscured by rock and distance, stood a cloaked figure.
Watching.
Something about the way he stood—still, conflicted, as if wrestling with the world itself—sent a sharp pang through her chest.
No… that's impossible, she told herself.
And yet…
When the figure slowly turned away, lifting his head toward the sky, Vereesa's breath caught in her throat. That hesitation. That quiet loneliness carved into his silhouette. Her vision blurred.
Even cloaked. Even distant. Even after two long years—
She knew. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks as her heart thundered in her chest.
"Leylin…" she whispered, voice trembling.
Then, louder, desperate, raw and unrestrained.
"Leylin!"
The shout cut through the air like a blade.
Leylin froze.
The sound of his name—her voice—struck him with such force that for a moment he thought his heart had stopped. Slowly, almost afraid of what he might see, he turned.
She was running.
Vereesa sprinted toward him, boots slipping on stone, hair streaming behind her, tears streaking her face unchecked. The distance between them vanished in seconds.
Before Leylin could speak, before he could apologize, before he could even fully comprehend what was happening.
She collided with him. Arms wrapped tightly around his waist, gripping him as if letting go would cause him to vanish once more. Vereesa buried her face against his chest, sobbing openly, her shoulders trembling.
"You're here…" she cried. "You're really here…"
Leylin stood stunned for half a heartbeat—then his arms moved on their own. He held her tightly. Desperately.
As if afraid that if he loosened his grip even slightly, she would fade like a dream at dawn.
"I'm here," he whispered hoarsely, his voice breaking. "I'm here, Vereesa. I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"
She shook her head against him, fists clenched in his cloak.
"Don't," she said between sobs. "Don't apologize. Just… don't disappear again."
Leylin closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers, breathing in the familiar scent he thought he had lost forever.
"I won't," he vowed softly. "Never again."
The sea roared behind them, waves crashing endlessly against the shore, but for the first time since he had returned to this world, Leylin felt anchored.
No timelines. No wars. No shattered space. Just two souls, reunited at last, standing where the tide had waited for him to come home.