Editing Draelor Nah`utal (section)

=== Yoav Isaija — One Face in a Crowd of Billions ===
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| colspan="2" width="100%" style="background-color: #4a0e0e; color: #f0d8d8;" |Draelor's first sight of the Galactic Empire's might, [[Year 5]]
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Draelor's father brought a stranger into their home on the eve of his eighteenth birthday — a man from one of the Nah`utal's ourvir clans, further south than any Draelor had known. [[Yoav Isaija]] of [[Clan Immell]] was well past his prime by any conventional measure: silver-grey hair combed loosely back, a beard the same shade left to grow scruffy beneath sharp cheekbones. It was his eyes that stayed with Draelor longest — grey, and grown greyer still, eyes that Draelor would later describe as having "seemed to burn holes right through my face." The three of them talked long into the night, Decessus watching his son's face as much as he listened to Yoav's answers.

Decessus explained what he already suspected his son had guessed — that Yoav Isaija was among the most well-traveled Kiffar he had ever known, a man who'd once burned with the same restlessness Draelor now carried. The southern clans had always looked outward more easily than their northern kin, and Yoav had answers for questions the Nah`utal historians had long since exhausted. By the night's end, an offer sat on the table: a furlough, three years, under Yoav's guidance, to see the galaxy Draelor had only ever heard described secondhand. Draelor took it before the sun rose.

Three years passed before he set foot in Basa Oihanak Gortoleku again — arriving just as the [[Feast of Hastere]] began, the clan's yearly tribute to the goddess of hunt and harvest. It could not have been better timed. The [[Sheyf]]'s son had returned, and the feast that year burned brighter for it, filled deep into the night with Draelor's own stories — towering cityscapes, endless plains, forests without end, rivers that circled an entire world. [[Alderaan]], in his telling, sounded like something out of legend.

He'd seen it for himself only months before, the last stop on Yoav's long tour once Kiffex itself had nothing left to teach him. Yoav had chosen Alderaan deliberately — a mirror held up to everything Draelor knew. Both worlds wore their beauty like a birthright; both were built on lines of ancestry that ran centuries deep, houses and clans alike. But where the Kiffar answered every dispute with steel and blood, the Alderaanians answered with words, treaties, patience. Standing among Yoav's well-bred Alderaanian friends, Draelor found himself turning the comparison over for weeks afterward, unable to set it down.

For a year he tried to let that comparison rest. He returned to the rhythms of the Southland — clan duties, old traditions, the quiet expectation that he would one day be Sheyf. But his mind kept drifting past the horizon he'd already crossed once, and by the following fall he knew the year had only postponed the inevitable. He told his parents. Decessus and Aethia had feared this moment since the day he was born beneath Kochik's blessing, and they did not pretend otherwise — but they had also always known a permanent life on Kiffex was not yet his to live. Prayers went up to Kochik and [[Iotcha]] in his name. Within a fortnight, Draelor was gone from [[Deadend]], a transport carrying him toward the [[Coruscant]] system.

The three-day passage felt almost familiar — the same length as the run to Alderaan, the same rhythm of stars blurring past a viewport.  Yoav had described Imperial warships to him once, on that earlier voyage: the Victory-class Star Destroyer, and above it in scale, the Imperial I-class — the largest warship Yoav claimed to have ever laid eyes on himself, though even he'd only seen one from a passing freighter's viewport. Draelor had never seen one at all.

Nothing Yoav said had prepared him for the reality. The transport dropped out of hyperspace into the shadow of an Imperial I-class Star Destroyer, flanked by a screen of smaller Imperial and [[Victory-class Star Destroyer|Victory]]-class warships and vessels Draelor couldn't begin to name. Their own transport, and every other civilian ship threading past that armada, looked suddenly, absurdly small — inconsequential against the raw power orbiting the perceived center of the galaxy. Hours later, the ship touched down in [[CoCo Town]]'s industrial sprawl. Draelor walked down the ramp and out into the crowd, and for the first time in his life, no one around him knew his name, his clan, or the weight either was meant to carry. He was, simply, one face among billions.