Next to the Waterfall
The grass by the Mage Tower was empty.
Elaxin stopped short, scanning the familiar spot with a quiet, rising unease. No blanket. No kettle. No gentle hum drifting on the breeze.
Nothing.
He waited.
Minutes passed. The arcane hum of the tower began to feel too loud. The stone beneath him felt oddly cold. He told himself she might simply be late. Or elsewhere. Or… maybe she was just gone.
The thought settled heavily in his chest before he could stop it.
He was disappointed.
No… worse than that; he was sad.
With a quiet exhale, Elaxin turned away and made his way up the spiral of the Mage Tower, boots echoing softly as he climbed toward the portal room. If she wasn’t here… then perhaps this was simply how it ended. A pleasant interruption. A brief softness. A moment of happiness.
As he stepped toward the portal to Founders’ Point he paused, and his ears twitched. He looked over his shoulder.
Suddenly, Kymëra burst through the Pandaren portal in a flurry of colour and motion, arms overflowing with bundles, crates, scrolls, and fabric rolls stacked so precariously she could barely see over them. One elbow hooked around a kettle. A satchel dangled dangerously from her wrist.
And perched proudly atop the pile sat Fyrn.
The tea dragon chirped triumphantly, clutching a single teacup like a sacred offering.
“Elaxin—!” Kymëra squeaked as the stack shifted.
He was at her side in an instant, catching a slipping bundle and steadying the rest with practiced ease. “Careful,” he said, relief flooding his voice before he could stop it. “Are you trying to defy gravity?”
She laughed, breathless. “Maybe.”
He took more than half the load without argument, then paused, glancing at the remaining chaos. “…Are you moving in?”
Her smile softened, eyes bright. “Yes.”
He stilled. “In Stormwind?”
“Founders’ Point. First Anchor Island.” She tilted her head, almost shy again. “Plot twenty-three.”
Something warm spread through him as he gestured toward the portal with his head. “Then allow me.”
They stepped through together.
The air changed immediately, the familiarity of Stormwind giving way to a sea salt breeze, lush greenery, and distant water murmuring. He followed her closely down the winding path, then around the corner, and across the small wooden bridge.
And there it was.
A cottage tucked neatly against the rise, purple roof catching the light, windows glowing warmly. A waterfall spilled nearby, mist drifting lazily across the stones.
Elaxin huffed a soft laugh. “Of course it’s next to a waterfall.”
Kymera grinned. “Of course it is.”
Fyrn chirred approvingly.
They stood there for a moment, taking it in. Then she looked at him, something hopeful and uncertain flickering in her gaze.
“I was worried I wouldn’t see you today,” she admitted.
He met her eyes, steady and honest. “I was worried you weren’t going to come back.”
The admission hung between them, quiet, shared, and unmistakable.
And as the water rushed beside them and the little house waited patiently ahead, Elaxin realized something simple and profound:
She hadn’t wandered into Stormwind by accident. She had been drawn there and somehow, perhaps, just for him.
