A Peacock Husband of Five Princesses by day, a Noble Assassin by Night-Chapter 235

Just as the space between them thinned to a single breath, a quiet, careful voice drifted in from behind, gentle as a leaf falling onto still water.

"That… did you forget about me?"

The moment was shattered. Fenraya startled as if struck by lightning.

Her fingers slipped from Aerondor's hand, and in the next blink she had already leapt backward, light on her feet like a startled deer. She vanished between the trees in a few quick bounds, moving faster than words could follow. Only the fading red at the tips of her pointed ears gave away how deeply that moment had touched her.

Aerondor stood there in silence, the warmth still lingering in his palm, and slowly turned his head.

"Aeltharion," he said, his face stiff in a very specific kind of suffering. "So you were here."

The young elf standing behind him rubbed the back of his head, his expression awkward and faintly wounded. "I've been here the whole time… you just didn't notice." He hesitated, then added softly, "Did I get in the way?"

Aerondor closed his eyes for a brief second.

Of course, it would be you.

In the long flow of future memory, this quiet boy beside him would one day become the man who carried the broken crown of Sasa Allanor after fire and death had passed through it. After princes fell and traitors burned, after Silvermoon became a city of red banners instead of gold, it would be this "low-presence" elf who stood at the head of the blood elves, ruling in silence while history thundered all around him.

But right now, he was still only a youth. Both eyes are clear. No black eyepatch. No burden of regency pressed into his spine yet.

"Brother," Aeltharion asked with an open, honest grin, "when are you and Sister Fenraya going to be official? I've been waiting for years already."

Aerondor stared at him.

"If you hadn't spoken just now," he said flatly, "you would already know the answer."

Aeltharion froze. Then slowly, realization dawned. His ears turned red.

"Oh."

The brothers had not always been this easy with each other.

When Aerondor had still lived inside his fog, Aeltharion had guarded him fiercely, standing at his side with the stubborn loyalty of a younger brother who refused to see weakness as shame. After their parents died and Aerondor truly woke, that bond did not break. It simply grew stronger, cleaner, free of pity and full of trust.

Under Aerondor's lead, Aeltharion joined Orivanya's training instead of groping alone through the methods left behind by their father. The difference was clear. A hand to correct posture was worth a hundred lonely guesses.

His strength grew steadily, even if it could not match the frightening speed of Aerondor's rise or the deep foundation Fenraya had built over centuries.

But Aeltharion had one flaw that even his hard work could not hide.

He was too easy to forget.

Even Orivanya Windrunner, whose eyes missed nothing on a battlefield, would sometimes look around and ask where he had gone. Fenraya once joked, not unkindly, that he had the perfect talent to become a thief instead of a ranger.

And truly, the way he could appear and disappear without stirring the air was proof of that.

Still, Aeltharion never wavered from his path.

"It's better to master one road than to step poorly into many," he once said with quiet certainty. "I won't touch other paths until I reach the hero stage."

That calm would cost him chances. But it would also save him from recklessness. And Aerondor, knowing what the future would demand of this steady soul, never tried to change that choice.

History itself had already chosen him.

Training in Moonspire Village was not limited to the three of them alone. Sylvandria trained when her duties allowed, standing at the midpoint between Fenraya's wildfire and Elanora's youthful haste.

Elanora herself had only just crossed into the middle ranks, her steps still uneven, her strength still chasing experience. Lilas was even younger, still at the stage where the bow felt more like a burden than a weapon, and remained under constant watch.

And Sylvandria… though her strength matched Fenraya's closely, her road bent differently.

As the future Ranger General, she learned not only how to kill, but how to command. Not only how to draw a bow, but how to move people. Often, she practiced beside Elanora instead of joining the front ranks, learning to see the battlefield from behind rather than from the edge.

From Orivanya's teachings, Aerondor learned how the world measured power.

There were five great ladders. Apprentice. Then elementary. Then intermediate. Then advanced. Beyond those waited the hero. And above that, the distant summit called epic.

In the whole of Sasa Allanor, only one living soul stood at that peak.

Anasterian Sunstrider.

Yet age and years of politics had dulled even that towering strength. Among epics, he was said to be the weakest. The Silvermoon Council beneath him was formed of hero-level archmages. Seven or eight rings of power each, enough to bend storms and glass battlefields into molten sheets.

And the young prince studying far away in Willowmere, Vel'anthir Sunstrider, was already said to have reached the seventh ring before even crossing a thousand years of life. A rare genius among a race already rich in talent.

When Orivanya spoke of it with pride, Aerondor only smiled faintly.

Sasa Allanor had been sealed away too long.

It judged the outside world through the narrow lens of the Amani trolls still lurking in the forest. It did not see the storm building beyond the sea. It did not know how high other races had already climbed.

In his memories were three names that anchored time like iron nails.

Terenas. Genn. Llane.

Kings in their prime.

Which meant only one thing.

The Dark Portal was not far.

Medivh still slept. The guardian still dreamed. But when he woke, the orcs would march, and the world would burn.

That night, when Orivanya returned to Moonspire Village under torchlight, Aerondor stood waiting near the path. She looked at him for a long moment before speaking.

"I don't know why you care so much about the human kingdoms," she said quietly. "But today, news reached Silvermoon. The king of the south, in Stormwind, has welcomed a son. The child's name is Varian Wrynn."

Aerondor's breath stopped.

In his chest, the future shifted.

Varian is born.

Which means the orcs will come within ten years.

Time, which once felt distant, suddenly pressed against his spine like a drawn blade.

And it was already ticking.

If you want, I can continue directly into Chapter 5 where Aerondor formally chooses the Farstrider road and his first step outside Sasa Allanor begins.

Here is Chapter 5 rewritten in the same flowing, intimate, scene-driven style as before. The relationships, cultural reflection, and looming fate are preserved, but reshaped with quiet emotion, long breath-like paragraphs, and simple, grounded speech.

Now that the shape of time had finally sharpened into something clear and undeniable, Aerondor no longer allowed himself even the comfort of hesitation. Ten years. That number hovered at the edge of every thought like a silent bell waiting to be struck. His steps grew faster. His plans tightened. Even so, when he sat at the long wooden table that evening with the Windrunners, his body was present but his mind wandered far beyond the reach of the candlelight. Fenraya noticed at once. Her eyes followed him again and again, filled with the kind of worry that could not be hidden behind a smile.

Elanora noticed it too.

The youngest sister pushed her food around with a small pout, her gaze sharp as it flicked between her eldest sister and the quiet outsider seated nearby. Ever since Aerondor had awakened from his long haze, Fenraya's attention had slowly shifted. The time once spent beside Elanora in play and chatter was now often given to long walks and silent talks with him instead. Even a child could feel the change. Even a child could feel left behind.

Lilas felt it as well. The youngest boy of the house leaned forward slightly in his seat, eyes darting between the two like an eager little fox who had discovered a secret trail. The air around the table was thick with unspoken things, soft glances, and small pauses that said more than words ever could.

Then Lilas spoke.

"Sister," he asked with bright, careless curiosity, "when will you and Brother Aerondor get married?"

The room froze.

Elanora's chopsticks stopped in mid-air. Her eyes widened, then narrowed, and she turned an openly hostile stare toward Aerondor like a small beast guarding stolen treasure. Aeltharion sat quietly against the wall, his eyes lifting just enough to show an expression that clearly said, I knew it. Sylvandria reacted at once, reaching over to pinch Lilas's cheek in warning, though her fingers soon softened and rubbed in faint amusement.

And at the center of it all, the two whom the words had struck most deeply both lowered their heads at the same time.