How long she kneels there in the dark, she doesn't know, her heart aching in her chest, grief crushing her beneath its stone-like weight, the pendant of silver-clasped horn cold against her skin.

She is kneeling still when torchlight floods the tunnel, and the sound of iron boots thunder towards her.

Slowly, so very slowly, Sarai lifts her head.

Amaya throws her arms around her shoulders, hugging her tight.

Here is her sister, loyal and kind and Amaya will never meet Sarai's husband, who has given his life to see her home. And Sarai bursts into fresh tears.

Her baby will never meet their father.

The agony of it leaves her speechless and numb the entire slow journey to the surface.

It's dawn, the light creeping over the horizon to illuminate the world in its gentle glow.

It's the first dawn she's seen in at least three years that has not had Aaravos at her side, his voice a low murmur in her ear.

It's the first dawn without him, without her husband who was so, so brilliant, a star in living form.

She shakes with silent sobs as Amaya guides her forward, her legs trembling.

"'Ahabik, Sarai. Always, zahrati, no matter what may happen."

The words linger in her mind, sweet and warm and try as she might, she cannot stop the tears from coming, pouring out from her soul, a river of deep, heart-wrenching grief.

She is given medical leave to recover from the ordeal, and she and Amaya leave not a week after she's returned, to the little house amidst green hills, the home where they were born and raised, far away from the war that had begun so long ago.

Amaya is with her, slender fingers speaking comfort and kindness with her blunt cheer, and it helps. But there will always be a part of her that died when her husband had, trailing into the star-studded dark after him.

"Where do elves go when they die?"

"Back to the stars," Aaravos had said as they lay on the balcony, watching the night sky. "Each star you see in the night, is a soul, thousands and thousands of lives glittering in the dark. One day, they will return to this world, to walk their ancient home once more."

It's here, in her family's ancestral home, where she begins to show, her stomach curving in unmistakable pregnancy. She is four months along if Aaravos's reckoning had been correct.

Amaya finds out as she enters the room when Sarai is changing, pulling a long tunic over her head, leaving her nightgown on the edge of the bed, beginning her preparations for the day.

Waking in the morning alone is new to her, and she's slowly piecing her broken heart together, shard by fractured shard.

Her sister sleeps across the room from her, unwilling to leave her alone. Sarai doesn't mind. They've shared the same room for nearly twenty years anyway.

You are pregnant? Amaya asks, hands almost a blur as she speaks.

Yes, Sarai answers, and the wretched tears come again, and she sits down on the bed, Amaya sitting beside her.

Sarai leans against Amaya's comforting shoulder, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief that her sister offers.

Can I ask when? Amaya says.

Sarai hiccups, trying to find the words to describe the when, how in the span of what was only a few months for Amaya, was years for Sarai.

When I went into the caves, she says at last, her fingers trembling as she curls them into the words she needs. I found a mirror.

Okay, Amaya says, how do those two things go together?

I need to tell you a story, and I need you to know, Sarai says, that I am not crazy. I need you to believe me.

You don't seem too crazy to me, Amaya says wryly.

Sarai huffs, Amaya, please!

Amaya studies her. I believe you, Sarai.

Her words are firm, solid movements, sincerity in every twist of her fingers.

Sarai continues, praying that her sister will understand, that she will not think less of her.

I got lost in the caves, I was wandering around in the dark, and I thought I had found a way out but it was a dead end. And in that dead end was a mirror. It was a magic mirror, a relic of the elves, she says, and watches with a sinking heart as Amaya frowns.

Please believe me, Sarai begs. Please.

Amaya nods. A magic mirror, okay. Like from a storybook? Like the ones Mama used to read to us?

Yes, Sarai says. All stories must come from somewhere. Why not from reality?

Okay. You found a mirror?

Yes. Sarai says.

And, it...took you somewhere? Amaya asks.

Yes. It trapped me. Sarai says. And I wasn't the only one trapped there.

Amaya settles a hand on Sarai's knee as if to reassure herself that Sarai is here.

He was...beautiful, unlike any elf or being I have ever seen, Sarai says, and she remembers with crystalline clarity how Aaravos had looked as he had lifted her to her feet, staring down at her, radiant and lovely. And kind, and I loved him.

She pauses, fighting the desire to curl into a ball and wail her grief into her pillow.

Time was strange there, Sarai says. As if slowed...he said that he figured that the difference was not quite year to year. It was months for you, but...years for me.

How long? Amaya asks and there is a grief in her eyes, still present despite Sarai's return.

At least three, I think, Sarai tells her, I wanted to come back so badly, Amaya. The...tower was built to be inescapable.

But you got back? Amaya says, confused.

My husband is-was a genius, Sarai says shakily, and again she sees him fall, pale hair darkening with his own blood as he lay dying.

Husband?

Yes, Sarai says, sniffling. Only a year before we found a way to possibly get back. We knew the risks and he said that he would not have our child be raised in a tower, unable to escape.

We found a spell and he could cast it. It was our only option, because I couldn't cast magic to save my life.

And gods above, she remembers how Aaravos looked when he spell-cast, glowing with the very light of the stars themselves, alien and magnificent.

He was a dark mage?

No, Sarai says, and her fingers snap the word but tremble as she continues, for she knows well Amaya's dislike of elves. He was an elf.

Amaya's gaze darkens and her mouth twists in a frown. He did not hurt you in any way? No coercion? No tricks?

No, Sarai says, and gods, her hands are shaking so badly, she can hardly shape the words. He loved me, and I loved him. She swallows hard, I still do.

Something in Amaya's gaze softens as she sees Sarai's words.

I have little love for elves, it is true, Amaya says slowly, but I am not blind to your heart, Sarai. I...can see the love that you carry in your heart, how much it hurts you to speak of...your husband. Only a real and true love would hurt you so with its loss.

Sarai closes her eyes against the tears and continues. He cast the spell, insisting that I cross over first. I made it to the other side and...he was so close, Amaya, so close to me...I could almost touch him. And then there was an explosion.

He chose to shield me instead of himself, Sarai has to stop, seeing again that vivid image of her husband, still and unmoving. Then the portal closed and you found me.

Amaya makes a soft hum, considering.

Sarai twists her pendant between her fingers, tracing the ridged edges of the horn, watching her sister quietly.

I believe you. Amaya says after what seems to be an eternity. I believe you.

Thank you, Sarai signs over and over, thank you.

What will you do now? Amaya asks.

I cannot be a soldier, not when I will be a mother. Sarai says. I'll be sending a letter of resignation to the army soon.

Amaya nods. I will not tell a soul of what you have told me.

Thank you, Amaya, Sarai says. If anyone asks why...you can tell them that I've decided to take time to re-evaluate my life since being stuck in the caves for so long.

It is a sound excuse, Amaya says, and her next words are hesitant, Would you tell me of those years away, when you are ready?

Of course, Sarai says, Of course.

Sarai gives birth to a boy, who bears none of the marks of his father, save his slightly pointed ears and the diamonds beneath his eyes that had glowed so brightly upon his birth but which have since faded, vanishing like morning mist beneath the sun's rays.

She cradles the first and only son of Archmage Aaravos, and prays that his father's soul finds its way to a peaceful rest.

"Startouch elves may dream-walk if they so choose," Aaravos had told her once. "So if you may escape, but I cannot, I may still speak with you."

"We'll both get out of here," Sarai had said fiercely, stubborn as ever. And then she had failed, had watched her child's father fall, his last act to shield her and their son from the blast.

And he had died there, locked away in a tower that no one would ever find. A bright, starlit grave for a man just as beautiful as the night sky, and unfathomable as the depths of the ocean.

Sarai weeps silently over her son, the infant fast asleep, oblivious to his mother's grief.

She has had no dreams these past months, only empty darkness.

Callum is six when he asks Sarai about his birth father.

Sarai almost bursts into tears, remembering that last brilliant flare of starlight, that shield that had protected her and Callum from the blast. And Aaravos, lying still and unmoving, face turned as if to look at her, beautiful eyes half-closed as the last of his long life bled out, a shimmering pool of crimson staining white hair dark.

Then the portal had closed, and she'd been alone, save for the child in her womb.

"Your father," she says, voice choked, kneeling down beside Callum, in the garden where he's been drawing pictures in the dirt. Ever the artist, her son is.

"Your father was," Sarai tries again, for Aaravos had been many things, clever, cunning, powerful, dangerous, kind, gentle, "he was a good man. And although he never got to meet you, I know he would have loved you."

"What was his favorite color?" Callum asks.

Sarai laughs, of course Callum wanted to know the simple things. "Blue, Callum. He loved blue."

"Did he like jelly tarts?"

"I don't know," Sarai admits. "We didn't have the supplies where we were living at the time."

"Hmmm, could he draw like I can?" Callum asks.

Sarai nods.

"He could," she says. There is a chest in her bedroom that has her journal, which bears a few of Aaravos's drawings, along with her marriage pendant and her bracelets.

"Would you like to see something special, my little star?" she asks.

"What is it?" Callum asks, green eyes glimmering with curiosity.

"It's a secret," Sarai says, "Come, let me show you."

Sarai can hear Thunder behind them, feel Viren shifting nervously in the saddle behind her.

She curses her luck, the dragon King would have an easy time running them down but still she pushes her horse to gallop those few remaining feet to safety just beneath the rocks where they would be shielded from the lightening blasts.

Almost there-

The explosion hurtles her from the horse, the beast's dreadful death scream cutting off in seconds.

Something in her chest cracks as she impacts the ground, her cry of pain lost in the blood that chokes her.

Gods, it hurts and instinctively, she knows that she will not survive this.

She thinks of Callum, of Ezran, who will grow up without their mother. Her precious children.

She thinks of Harrow, her gentle King. Of Aaravos, her brilliant Star.

Oh my loves, she thinks, and breathes out, I'll see you on the other side.