Serastrasa Roseheart watched the last traces of corruption wither beneath her healing flames, the grove slowly breathing again. She stood beside her companion in her blood elf form, hands calmly folded, though her thoughts stirred beneath her composed expression.

They had met by chance, both drawn to the dying woodland. She had planned to cleanse it alone. He had simply refused to leave. Since then, their shared trials revealed a quiet strength within him that she found herself admiring.

Mortals burned brightly yet briefly, and still he faced dangers without hesitation.

She remembered his steady hand guiding her from falling ruins after her power faltered. The memory lingered longer than it should have. Serastrasa turned her gaze toward the returning life, avoiding the unfamiliar warmth growing within her. Dragons endured; mortals faded.

She had seen such bonds end in grief countless times. She knew better than to cherish the way he laughed after danger or how he instinctively shielded her despite her greater strength.

Yet his presence eased an loneliness she had carried for centuries. As the scent of new blossoms drifted through the grove, she allowed herself one quiet glance toward him, a fragile hope flickering within her heart—guarded, but alive.