Author: Stargrace

Stargrace’s sandals made little paff paff noises on the sun warmed flagstones as she skipped ahead, arms swinging loosely at her sides.

“So,” she chirped, “do we all finally agree that this is not a trap?”

“It looks like a trap,” Yamini muttered, gripping her shield a little tighter as she eyed the half sunken ruin ahead. Vines curled like claws over ancient spires, and the faint hum of arcane energy pulsed from beneath the moss-covered stones. “Everything about this says ‘trap.’”

“I hope it is,” said Vaelira, leaping from a ledge and landing beside them with a practiced flourish. Her fel-green eyes burned with anticipation. “I could use a little mayhem. Last week was so boring.”

“You were almost arrested in Silvermoon for joyriding a hawkstrider through the Sunspire.” Louves the vulpera priest was not looking up, her snout buried in a thick, rune etched tome. “That’s not boring. That’s criminal mischief.”

“I returned it! Eventually.”

“You crashed it into a garden.”

Stargrace giggled and began hopping from rock to rock along a broken path that led deeper into the ruins of Sunveil Hollow. “Come on, you four-legged grumps. This place hasn’t seen visitors since the Cataclysm, and the spirits are lonely.”

“Who told you that?” Yamini asked, visibly alarmed.

“The wind,” Auremai answered sweetly, and skipped ahead.

Vaelira followed, humming under her breath and cracking her knuckles in anticipation. “This is going to be great.”

“Stars above,” Yamini muttered, shifting her shield again. “Why do I always come along?”

“Because we love you,” Louves said, snapping her book shut and trotting to keep up. “And because you’re the only one who can cast Blessing of Protection when Vaelira sets something on fire again.”

“I don’t always set things on fire.”

“You once set soup on fire.”

“It was too flammable! That wasn’t my fault.”

They reached the heart of the ruins, where a circular dais sat half-submerged in a shallow pool, surrounded by six weathered statues. Stargrace twirled once in the center and tapped a tile with her toe. “Puzzle time!”

“I love puzzles,” Louves said, eyes shining.

“I hate puzzles,” Vaelira groaned.

“Yamini?” Stargrace turned expectantly.

“I hate this,” Yamini muttered, already resigned to another long afternoon of chaotic nonsense.

The statues shifted with a grating sound, each turning slowly to face the dais.

“Don’t move,” Louves whispered.

“Don’t breathe,” Vaelira replied.

Stargrace immediately jumped.

The statues stopped.

“…Okay, do move,” Vaelira amended, drawing her glaives. “That was way cooler.”

Over the next two hours, the four friends worked together, bickering, laughing, occasionally dodging blasts of ancient magic to solve the puzzle. Louves deciphered inscriptions. Yamini anxiously monitored their health bars. Vaelira fought a ghost serpent that Stargrace may or may not have released on purpose. And Stargrace?

She danced on the tiles, light as wind, grinning the entire time.

When the dais finally rose, revealing a dusty old chest filled with relics and enchanted trinkets, the four gathered around, breathing hard but victorious.

“See?” Stargrace said brightly. “No trap.”

Yamini looked at the scorch mark on her tabard. “Define ‘no trap.’”

“I had fun,” Vaelira said.

“I documented three previously unknown inscriptions and a teleportation rune,” Louves added with pride.

“I just want to go home and nap,” Yamini sighed.

They stood there for a moment, looking at each other. An odd collection of warrior, wanderer, scholar, and spark, and then Stargrace said, “So! Who’s up for exploring the Witherbark caves next?”

“No,” said Yamini.

“Yes,” said Vaelira.

“…Maybe,” said Louves.

And together, they laughed.

“I was not born in peace. I was forged in flight.”

Lurevia was born aboard the Genedar, the Draenei’s great dimensional vessel, decades before it crash-landed in Outland. Her parents, devout archivists, perished during a Legion ambush while the Draenei were fleeing yet another shattered refuge. Too young to remember their faces, she was raised among the Anchorites, the priesthood of the Light—more by duty than affection.

She grew not in comfort, but in discipline. The Light was not a cradle to her—it was law, structure, and the only constant in a universe consumed by betrayal.

During the Army of the Light’s crusade, she volunteered for the Lightforging process without hesitation. She passed the trials with fury in her heart and left behind any illusions of mercy.

Now, Lurevia resides in Stormwind’s Cathedral District, but rarely sleeps there. She is often abroad—riding west to Westfall, or north to the Plaguelands—wherever the Light’s judgment is needed and leniency has failed.

To most, she is a glowing shield.
To others, a blade too sharp to hold.