The Temple of Elune gleamed in the morning light, its marble steps washed in silver and gold where sun met moon. Garlands of pale starlight roses framed the archway, their petals trembling in the soft breeze.
Within, novices and priestesses moved like quiet currents - white and silver robes whispering, prayers threading the air. The soft toll of a bell marked the hour.
Tyrande stood among them, hands folded, head bowed. Her hair was braided simply, her expression solemn, but her eyes shimmered - not with fear, but with something vast and certain.
Lytavis watched from the front row beside Orenthil and Talindre Whisperwind. Tyrande's mother had tears in her eyes already; her father sat tall and still, pride written in every line of his face.
When High Priestess Dejahna stepped forward, the hall fell silent. Her voice was low and resonant - a melody older than stone, older than stars.
"Do you, Tyrande Whisperwind, vow to walk in the light of Elune? To serve in mercy, wisdom, and devotion, even when the path is shadowed?"
Tyrande's reply was steady. "I do."
"Do you vow to guard the sanctity of life, to speak truth without pride, and to walk humbly among all beings?"
"I do."
"Then rise, child of Elune, and be named among Her daughters."
The gathered voices lifted - a low hum, rising like dawn over still water. Tyrande rose, radiant, and Dejahna placed a silver circlet upon her brow, its small silver moon glinting faintly in the temple light.
Lytavis felt her throat tighten. She clapped softly, then pressed her hands together as the rest of the hall echoed with quiet reverence.
When it was done, Tyrande turned - and for a heartbeat, their eyes met. Not as children, not as girls chasing fireflies, but as young women standing on the edge of all they would become.
The Whisperwind home was warm with the scent of cinnamon and fresh bread. Candles flickered in crystal holders, their light soft against walls hung with moonstone charms.
Orenthil poured wine for the adults and honeyed milk for the girls. Talindre carved roast venison, smiling through tears she refused to hide.
"To our daughter," Orenthil said, raising his glass. "May Elune's light never dim in your heart."
"And to her faithful companion," Talindre added, eyes twinkling at Lytavis. "Who made sure she never set anything on fire on the way here."
Lytavis laughed, blushing. "She nearly did once."
"Only once," Tyrande protested, grinning.
They all laughed - and the room seemed to hum with joy, like a chord struck in harmony.
Later, as the evening waned and lanterns glowed in the garden, Tyrande slipped outside. Lytavis followed her to the porch, where fireflies floated like lazy sparks.
"It feels different now," Tyrande said softly. "As if everything I do will matter twice as much."
"It already did," Lytavis replied. "Now the rest of the world just knows it too."
Tyrande smiled, quiet and full. "You'll come to my lessons, won't you? When you can?"
"Of course. I still work in the Temple infirmary, for now."
For a moment, they stood in silence - the priestess and the healer, the moon and her mirror - and above them, the stars watched in silver approval.