The dim, warm glow of a single candle cast flickering shadows on the walls of Sylvanas’ quarters. The distant sound of waves lapping against the hull was a soothing backdrop to the rare stillness of the moment. You lay beneath a blanket, your head resting against the pillow as Sylvanas sat at the edge of the bed, her crimson eyes trained on you.

She wasn’t wearing her armor tonight, only a dark tunic that softened her usual imposing presence. Her hair, a cascade of silver, framed her face as she leaned slightly toward you, her expression stoic as it ever was. But you know her, know one but you could read the tenderness in those eyes that she thought was so subtle.

“You should rest,” she said softly, her voice low, almost coaxing. “The world will still demand your strength tomorrow.”

You smiled faintly, watching the way her eyes softened just a touch—something only you and perhaps Anya ever had the privilege to see. Her fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead, an uncharacteristically tender gesture that made your eyelids feel heavier.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” you murmured, your voice thick with the pull of sleep.

A shadow of a smirk touched her lips. “I don’t, but I will.”

Her words held a quiet conviction, a promise without flourish or fanfare. She shifted slightly, sitting more comfortably at your side. A chill hand coming to sit against your collar bone

“Sleep,” she said again, her tone softer now. “I’ll be here.”