He stood near the edge of the Moonwell, his silhouette sharp against the silver glow of the sacred waters. Insignious. We had not spoken since the fires of the Fourth War had cooled, and the sight of him here, in the heart of the Night Elves' fragile recovery, felt like a glitch in the tapestry of the world. He wore the weathered leather of a traveler who had seen too many horizons, his eyes reflecting a weariness that mirrored my own.
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As the first light of morning touched the horizon, Insignious turned to leave, disappearing into the shadows of the forest as quickly as he had appeared. There were no promises of future meetings, no grand declarations. Only the lingering scent of damp earth and the knowledge that, for one night, the ghosts of the past had been laid to rest under the watchful gaze of Elune. He stood near the edge of the Moonwell,
"Some roots go deeper than fire can reach," I replied, stepping into the light of the Moonwell. He wore the weathered leather of a traveler
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