Some nights the salt from battlegrounds sits heavier than usual. Tonight is one of those nights.
I’m sitting on a worn wooden bench in Fairbreeze Village, tucked under one of the glowing lampposts that line the quiet path near the Eversong border. The night air is cool and smells like nightbloom and distant sea salt. It’s peaceful out here. No one yelling in the middle of a fight, no void rift trying to swallow me whole. Just the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional distant sound of a hawkstrider.
It got me thinking about the place I used to call home.
The Gladiator Enclave.
It wasn’t anything fancy. Just a lively little district in the Valley of Honor in Orgrimmar, right near the arena pits where the real ranked climbers gathered. I had a modest single-room apartment there for years. Small balcony overlooking the training grounds, enough space for my poor shadowfiend to stop judging me in silence, and the constant thump of boots on sand from people running drills at all hours. It felt like I’d earned it. Like I belonged.
That’s where I met Craze.
He was already a legend among the ranked healers when I first started queuing with him. Older Blood Elf, sharp tongue, even sharper instincts. He took me under his wing in 2v2s and 3v3s, and suddenly I wasn’t just surviving matches… I was learning how to actually win them.
He’d drag me into the training yard at all hours and drill me on the little things that separate decent healers from good ones. “Know the enemy comp, Sahsha — shift your spells the second you see it.” Or “Don’t trinket the first stun, you absolute disaster. He taught me how to use the pillars for line of sight before they could lock me down, when to hold my big cooldowns and when to burn them early.
And Light help anyone trying to focus in the Enclave while Craze was home. The man played his music loud. Bass rattling the windows, drums echoing down the hallway, the kind of volume that made the training dummies vibrate. Half the gladiators complained. The other half secretly loved it. I just laughed and kept healing through it.
Those were good days. I felt sharp. I felt useful.
Then Battle For Azeroth ended, I took my break, and when I finally came back… the Enclave had reassigned my unit. No warning. No “sorry, healer.” Just gone. Like I was never there.
I keep telling myself the new housing plots in Razorwind Shores are just around the corner. A fresh start. My own walls. Maybe even a balcony again.
But right now it still stings.
I miss the Enclave. I miss the loud music. I miss Craze yelling at me across the arena floor that I trinketed too early again.
Mostly I just miss feeling like I had a place that was mine.
Tomorrow I’ll queue again and pretend none of it bothers me.
But tonight… tonight I’m allowed to miss it a little.
Anyway. The lamppost is starting to flicker and the night is getting colder. Time to pack up and head back to Abeke’s for another lumpy night’s rest on that god-awful couch.
~Sahsha
(Missing the Enclave More Than She’ll Admit)