The Girl Who Escaped Hell. - Katzenjammers (2024)

Chapter 1: Regret.

Chapter Text

Nobody mourned Sylvanas’ death.

Not even those who’d followed her to the very end; already in two minds about their Dark Lady, many simply watched her demise in wearied silence.

There was no cause for celebration either. Just another death to the ever growing pile of lives lost. Another soul for the gaping maw of Ny'alotha.

Jaina watched Sylvanas die and did not know what to feel. Part of her wondered if she should be relieved. This was the woman who’d long since overstayed her welcome, who should have been put in a box in the ground years ago, who tried to use her own brother as a sleeper agent against her and her family. The same woman who had burned anyone and everything that stood in her way be it man woman or child- innocent or guilty.

So why did it leave such a bitter taste in her mouth?

Sylvanas had always been a formidable woman, her larger than life presence that had inflicted both awe amongst her people and fear in the hearts of everyone else. Her bow, her armor, Tides even her voice had been so iconic; a symbol of vengeance itself. That perpetually glowing red gaze, once a sinister glare that had turned its murderous intent on the Proudmoore family and all they stood for, then become the last torch, the flickering flame against the infinite dark.

But now that torch was extinguished and despite the fact that Sylvanas had been a creature of shadow, the world did feel just a tiny bit darker with her gone.

She hadn’t deserved to die like this, Jaina surmised. So helpless, so undignified. That was probably part of the reason that had her feeling so torn. There had been no blaze of glory, no final cry of defiance at the end. Sylvanas Windrunner, former Ranger General of Quel’Thalas, The Dark Lady, Banshee Queen and former Warchief of the Horde ended not with a bang but a whimper… and the perverse crunch of flesh and bone as her broken body was flung onto the slabs of rock below. Nobody rushed to help her, they knew her to be beyond saving; nobody cried in alarm, but watched in resignation, for it answered a question everyone deep down already knew.

They had lost.

Jaina could feel it, a collective sinking of morale amongst Alliance and Horde, Troll and Tauren, Human and Draenei and every sentient race who still took up arms in the final stand. They formed ranks, a wall of mismatched armor and hot breath smoking against the frigid bite of the air- all simply watching, defeated. Sylvanas had confirmed it, if she could not survive- who could?

Not Jaina, that was for sure.

She was getting old.

With every rise in the morning- or whatever counted as morning on this dismal shadowy realm that was but a muted and bitter copy of the Azeroth she knew- her bones ached just a little more. The fine lines at the corner of her eyes a little deeper, the strands of hair in her blonde streak steadily turning grey.

She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d truly smiled, felt ambition, hope, excitement... even anger. She vaguely remembered experiencing such emotions, reminiscent of a time where she thought she still had a say in the outcome of the world.

Now she was just old, old and selfish and so very afraid.

Selfish in that she’d been pleased to have Sylvanas be the one who stepped up to the duty. The one who shouldered the burden nobody else could bear. She had lead the assault, always so powerful, always so proud. The unholy energy that kept her running, forever moving, forever fighting- Jaina with her limbs that ached in the perpetual chill of this cursed realm could not hope to keep up.

And she didn’t want to.

Afraid for the fact that cruel fate had it so that Sylvanas was dead and the world now looked to her. Faces etched with fear and exhaustion turned their collective gaze upon her and found themselves wanting. She wasn’t the young prodigy who stole the collective heart of the Alliance anymore, neither was she the stalwart Lord Admiral at the prow of a ship, channeling waves with a sure and steady sweep of her hand. She was but a woman, far past her prime and aching to rest.

“The Dark Lady has fallen, fall back to the inner sanctum!” Jaina lifted her head to see Lor’Themar limping past the surviving soldiers. Blood trickled from his chin, his face marred almost unrecognizable with scars and she realized with horror he was missing the top part of his right ear, the wound bleeding profusely, yet he had made no effort to patch it up. His remaining eye made contact with hers and Jaina’s blood ran cold at the infinitesimal shake of his head.

No hope. It was over.

“Lady Proudmoore,” a figure appeared at her side and she jolted at the proximity. “What are your orders for the Alliance?”

She turned to glance in their direction and realized with a start that it wasn’t the Worgen commander she’d been expecting. A young Pandaren stood, clad in leather that looked to be stained in blood and tides knows what else. The sword at his hip however, was still polished to shine and the thick tuft of fur on his head had been immaculately braided, as was his beard. Why did he still try? Jaina wondered, and she realized with a grimace that she must look a mess, still drenched in the foul blood of whatever unspeakable horror she’d been battling. She’d lost count on what she’d slain these days.

“I’m sorry, you have me at a disadvantage,” Jaina croaked and the Pandaren smiled softly in response.

“Fang-Xia Lastsong, my Lady.” He bowed deeply. “I was appointed in command after the untimely demise of Captain Rhett Bristol. I am remiss to inform you that he did not make it back.”

Jaina nodded, almost absently, for how could she mourn a death when there was a new one every day. She tried to picture Rhett and found that she barely could; an old Worgen, as all of them were nowadays, a greying muzzle and a permanent grizzled snarl on his face. Beyond that… well... he was but another captain who’d served under her and died. How many had there been now? How many steps down the chain of command had they gone until they’d reached Fang-Xia… how long until there would be no more commanders left?

Captain Lastsong indeed.

“Thank you captain, follow the same orders given unto the Horde, we shall regroup at the inner sanctum and plan out our next move.”

The Pandaren bowed. “For the Alliance. For Azeroth.” He rumbled in a surprisingly passionate voice.

Jaina nodded back, “For the Alliance. For Azeroth.” She parroted, though unlike him, there was no bite to her words. She noticed for the first time under the grime-stained leather chestplate that she could see his ribs.

A skinny Pandaren- was there truly a sight that spelled out defeat more than that? Jaina clenched her jaw and looked down.

She could feel it, like a hoar of frost creeping along her skin, sinking into her pores and setting within the marrow of her aching bones. The chill of despair. Her boots stumbled in the wet earth, slowly at first then at a faster pace, away from the troops steadily retreating. With their eyes trained on the ground in front of them and shoulders hunched as they marched, nobody noticed her slipping away into the dark. Her pace broke into a run, eyes glowing as her magic cut through the perpetual fog, two sinister beams that lit the perilous pathway to the rocks below. The jagged edges of the cliffside she half clambered, half slipped down, caught the skin of her palms and fingers but Jaina barely noticed. Her attentions were fixed on the prize: the broken and beaten corpse of Sylvanas Windrunner sprawled out on the ledge below.

Heavy boots landed next to the fallen elf with a muted thud. Jaina stared down at her, eyes fervently taking in the unnatural twist of her elbow, the deep slash of blackened wounds across her torso, cutting through both her armor and flesh as though it were butter. The eyes no longer glowing but unseeing orbs that stared vacantly at the swirling vortex in the sky, her mouth still tisted in horror as though she had died pleading. The mage curled her lip back in disgust, fighting back the urge to be sick.

All at once rage and despair filled her and she stifled a hysterical cackle.

“All that confidence,” Jaina spat cruelly. “All that marching around as though you knew better than everyone. The way you mocked and belittled us thinking that you were our savior… well look where that got you! You were just as f*cking helpless as the rest of us.” Jaina felt her anger rise as Sylvanas continued to stare sightlessly at the sky, with that horrible, frightened expression on her face. “You lied to us!” Jaina snarled. “You had us all believing you knew something we didn’t, gave us some false hope that we could be saved, yet here you are… a lifeless, useless, pathetic… corpse!” The human howled the last word, throwing a heavy boot into said corpse’s side and felt the crunch of bone under her swift kick. She winced, not expecting it to feel so… real. Her anger faded as quickly as it came and she collapsed next to Sylvanas, breath coming out laboured and stuttering. “You weren’t supposed to die like this,” she whispered. “What do we do now with you gone? What hope do we have? I don’t even know you, not truly... but I hate you so much.” She gave a half-laugh, half-sob. “I hate that you made me think we even stood a chance.”

She was so tired. It wasn’t safe to stay here, they’d be back- the twisted creatures of the void with stinging tentacles that burned at your flesh and whispers that distorted your mind, festering in your brain until you turned on your own comrades, slashing mindlessly just to make the wicked voices stop.

But she was so tired. Maybe she could close her eyes, next to this unholy corpse and become one herself. Perhaps though some blind miracle, she’d get lucky and her soul would be saved, but as she looked up into the swirling vortex above she knew it was but a false hope.

“Okay fine, you win.” Jaina breathed, lying next to the broken body of the former Warchief and staring up at the sky and its gaping maw. “You win.”

“Well… I can’t say I expected this to happen. This certainly complicates things.” Jaina heard a deep voice growl behind her and she scrambled upright, a flare of magic in her right palm as she waited for whatever twisted Void-borne abomination to come flying at her. She may have given up but she wasn’t about to go quietly into the night, she’d die fighting- not whimpering like their supposed saviour had succumbed to.

Red eyes flared to life and Jaina felt her stomach twist.

“You.” She snapped, “I suppose it’s only fitting that you would be the one to end me. I am at least glad it wasn’t some common horror but an entity of significance.” Jaina barked out a harsh, humorless laugh.

N’Zoth laughed as well, an unsettling deep sound that rumbled through the slab of rock she stood on and up through her feet and legs. Dark tendrils slid past her legs but made no effort to touch her. “I am flattered but I must disappoint you, I will not be granting you the death you so wish for.”

Jaina bared her teeth, “And why not? To toy with me some more, to gloat? To have me suffer? You won’t get your entertainment. There is no more hope left within me, everyone I ever loved is dead- everything I ever cared for naught but ashes. You can’t hurt me anymore, so just do it.”

“For all your intellect, you misunderstand me mortal. You think this is what I want?”

Jaina threw her head back in disbelief and openly cackled. “This is exactly what you wanted! The world without hope, the Void reigning supreme.”

N’Zoth laughed more and Jaina felt anger seethe within her, white hot and burning through her veins- the most emotion she’d felt in years.

“Foolish mortal. This is not what I wanted! What I want,” the voice held a tinge of frustration, “is MY empire back.”

Jaina’s anger abated in surprise as the strangely emotional outburst and narrowed her gaze, squinting to try and make out the strange mass of shapes in the gloom.

More eyes opened in the dark and the mage froze at the realization of just how huge this entity was, he was all around her, towering far above and far below the ledge in which she cowered on.

“The Black Empire stood for countless millennia, a perfect kingdom. A kingdom of balance. A kingdom of life and death, chaos and order… hope and despair, for one can not truly exist without the other.” More tendrils wrapped around the broken form beside her. “This one understood, I had so much faith in her but alas she failed, just like they always do.” The deep voice groaned, “I just never seem to be able to get the balance right.”

“Speak plainly Old God,” Jaina spat quickly losing her patience. Maybe if she blasted one of his countless eyes with every ounce of her fading strength he might grant her a quicker death. Arcane sparked at her fingertips.

“My masters created me for one purpose, to bring about their desires, to spread chaos and suffering across the universe, corrupting everything in its path until all that’s left is torment and disarray. Mindless swarms of entities that feed from the tortured souls of those left from before.”

“Sounds like your kind of paradise,” Jaina dryly remarked despite the pit of dread in her gut.

N’Zoth let out a deep growl and again the floor rumbled beneath her feet.

“It would be hell.”

Jaina paused, tilting her head at the Old God’s unlikely admission. Yes it… was hell.

“You don’t like the idea of such a future?” She eventually asked and N’Zoth made a noise that sounded almost approving which left her reeling even more than when he’d initially approached her.

“My masters are formidable beings, they did, after all, have the power to create something as significant as I. But they lack foresight- for if they did, they would never have created the likes of me.” The Old God sounded almost… smug and left Jaina all the more confused. “They gave me something a great many of my kind lacked; the ability to think for myself.” The booming voice echoed in her mind and Jaina violently flinched as she felt the alien touch of something very inhuman searching through her memories, flicking through them like a child would a picture book, poking and prodding with little care of the discomfort it caused. “And think I did,” N’Zoth continued, all the while still carelessly sifting through her mind. “As I watched you mortals crawl from the dirt and live your tiny fleeting lives I came to a conclusion: that my masters were wrong. For how can chaos exist without order, how can suffering exist without hope? For if one has never known bliss, how could they truly understand pain? Their plans would take away the significance of all meaning.”

Jaina watched as a mass of shadowy tendrils hoisted the body of Sylvanas Windrunner into the air, pulling it closer to a blazing eye not unlike a scholar, dissecting the secrets of a text under a magnifying glass. “This one saw me for what I was, saw my true potential and ability to reason but she made the mistake in thinking she could use me. A mistake she paid dearly for.”

“So you were the one to kill her?” Jaina accused, a feral glint in her eye. “If you're so against the greater plans of your divine lords then why destroy the one thing that might have stopped them? Seems a bit foolish does it not?”

“Foolish!” The voice darkened, the words coming out distorted as though the Old God was fighting back a skull splitting roar. “I am anything but foolish. I did not kill her, nor did I do anything to prevent her demise. However, I will admit I was wrong, she was not the right champion.”

“Oh and do tell me,” Jaina’s voice dripped in sarcasm. “Who is the lucky person who will get to take up such an honorable title.”

“Not you, old mage.”

Jaina’s only answer was to grin in return. “Now that we can agree on. Still, I am curious- who have you set your eye or in your case, many eyes on? Lor’themar? Muradin? That tide-forsaken skinny Pandaren that still had some pathetic misplaced hope in face? Can’t say there’s much of a choice left.” Jaina nearly spat at the ground in disgust.

There was silence, then a deep groan that sounded not unlike an old man settling down for the long night. It sounded defeated, pained- an anthem of suffering.

“I don’t know.” The rumbling voice eventually spoke and Jaina sneered in glee.

“Well, well, look at you. You’re just as pathetic as the rest of them, clinging onto a blind hope that you can be saved. At least you might still find a place in this hell- we will be but the mindless playthings of you and your cursed brethren.”

“That is not a scenario I can accept and definitely not one you can accept either. The universe in which my masters have planned spells out disaster for both you and I, which is why the offer I’m about to give you- I know you will be powerless to resist.” N’Zoth shifted and Jaina could barely make out the monumental bulk of something horrible in the perpetual shadow. “I do not know who my champion is but it will be you who will find out. I have looked into the empty corridors of time, forever twisting and turning, holding its answers beyond my reach… but you little mortal- you can walk them. Walk them for me.”

“What do you mean?” Jaina felt her fingernails clench into her palms as she faced him defiantly. “Perhaps in your regret you have gone senile, Old God. Why not just kill me and do it yourself?”

A shadowy tendril slipped around her left leg and Jaina yelped and spat back curses, almost tasting the cruel amusem*nt from N’Zoth in the air.

“Now you’re onto something, mortal. Regret.” N’Zoth laughed, “Regret is not something I can feel or understand, yet from the essense of the broken memories I have pieced together from the remaining souls of the Bronze Dragonflight, it seems like regret is something vital in order to traverse the planes of time. Regret is the emotion that fuels the ability to travel to the past, and you, little mortal, I can sense an unimaginable amount within you.”

Jaina slowly pieced the words together, reciting them silently on her lips as her eyes widened. “You.” She began before pausing and swallowing heavily, letting the word hang in the air. She tried again. “You want me to travel back in time on your behalf?”

Jaina half expected that deep mocking laugh, some cruel taunt at just how wrong she’d gotten it, but the silence spoke volumes.

“Wait,” Jaina’s began to pace, “you need me to travel back in time, find you your champion and what? Set them up like a pig to slaughter for when the inevitable comes around?” She felt sick.

N’Zoth’s voice sounded heavy, even heavier than it had before and it had already grated on her ears like a funeral dirge. “Yes.”

Jaina looked down, old doubts and fears already cloying her mind like the choking vines of a weed. “I can’t.”

The voice gave a low growl and small rocks crumbled off the ledge Jaina was standing on from the vibration. “You have to. You must realize this by now, the alternative- the fate- that currently awaits you cannot happen, anything else is better.”

A million questions flew through Jaina’s mind. Was this just a trick? Was he taunting her with some false hope, the chance to redo everything? Or was this the chance that despite her fading hope she had prayed for every night.

“How will I even know where to start?” Her voice came out trembling and small. “How could I possibly know who would even be up to such a task? Who in their right mind would listen to some old woman prattling on about their fate and destiny? They would call me mad, cast me out before I could even get a word of advice in! I knew someone,” her voice went soft, haunted by memory, “someone who tried this before and we all but laughed in his face.”

“Mortal, mad you might be but stupid you are not. You will find a way.”

Jaina felt her heart beat fast then she’d ever remembered. Her skin prickled, the blood roared in her ears as adrenalin, and hope surged through her. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she felt alive.

“Then let's do this.” Her eyes narrowed and her chin lifted.

The words barely had time to leave her lips before a streak of golden light burst from dark, it swirled around her, whipping at her skin and stinging her cheeks.

Sand, she realized faintly. It was sand. The air felt dry and temperate, like she was basking in the muted warmth of a desert evening when the light had only recently faded. Her eyes closed, her toes curled, it felt so nice, so blissfully welcome after years spent in the damp and the cold.

“Now think mortal, think of a time you felt regret and hold onto that.”

Oh there were so many, images of her father, Theramore, Pained, Kinndy, Uther…

“Focus! Think of just one memory.” A voice roared, the deep bass of it threatening to implode her skull.

Regret... a single point of regret. Countless scenarios flickered through her mind like a movie, almost a blur in how many whipped past, before slowly more images made themselves clear from the chaos, points in time that slowed down until they started to make sense.

...Come with me champion, we are going to clean up Dalaran…

...You and your insubordinate kind are no longer welcome here…

...You are nothing more than rabid dogs, and you will be put down!...

...Father, why wouldn’t you listen…

...We all have blood on our hands…

...I’m sorry Arthas....

Something wrenched within her and her mouth opened into a raw scream, howling winds and stinging sands sliced at her skin and she struggled as the memory overtook her, the regret so deep it clawed at her chest like infected talons.

Make it stop, please make it stop. She begged though she had no vocal chords in which to beg, struggled though she had no muscles in which to thrash. For a horrible moment she was transported back to the realm of torment, felt the foul breath of Gorak Tol at the back of her neck- the stench of decay and fear. Then the crimson forest collapsed in front of her, folding and crumbling away until her feet teetered on the edge of a cliff, a sheer face that dropped away to white frothing waves that churned below.

Love the one who cannot be loved. Fight the battle that cannot be won. N’Zoth’s voice echoed around her skull and suddenly she was falling, tumbling head over heels until her body plunged into the icy depths below. The shock of cold water kicked the air from her lungs, sending out a flurry of bubbles. Spots flickered at the edge of her vision, the world around her began to darken as her body fought pathetically against the chill of the depths.

For a moment all was silent and her eyes drooped as they began to close, succumbing to the lull of the waves. It was so quiet down here, so peaceful. The icy chill of the water gripped at her limbs and coiled within her soul.

Regret still burned within her chest but this time she felt it flare, sending a streak of fiery heat within the empty cavern of her chest. She felt it writhe and lurch, as though tugging her forward, upward. Eyes snapped open, and more bubbles escaped as she tilted her face to the sky and let out an outward gasp of surprise.

The sun. She could see it, weak and shimmering through the surface of the water.

Oh. She’d almost forgotten what it had looked like.

Tears escaped her eyes, mingling with the water of the ocean and she kicked once, then twice as her body started to swim for the surface. In what felt like an eternity her head broke through the waves and when it did, warmth flooded through her and her world became white.

So much light, so bright. It stung her eyes, it pounded at her brain but it felt amazing. Jaina gasped and sat upright, her eyes glancing around wildly as soft blankets fell from her body as it shifted.

It was a tent, the morning sun was flickering through the thin hessian fabric, filtering between the small rips and tears and scattering her surroundings in golden dappled light. Dust motes swirled and shimmered in the air, disturbed by her shuddering breaths. She could hear voices outside, the heavy tramp of armored boots in the baked soil outside, people laughing, the crackle of fire and the hollow clink of pots and cutlery. Even the caw of ravens overhead was strange, she hadn’t heard the sound of wildlife in forever. She drank in the sights and sounds with an expression akin to awe. Something tickled her bare shoulder and she looked down, noticing rich golden hair draped over a tanned shoulder in loose, messy waves. Her eyes widened, fingers clutching at strands as she desperately tried to get a better look. She held her arms out, flexed her fingers. Her skin, smooth and sun-kissed with fine blonde hairs catching the light. Trembling fingers touched her face, noticing how warm and soft it was.

Oh. OH.

Hot tears began to roll down her face. It worked. It had really worked.

By the Tidemother...

More tears fell as her shoulders began to shake. A keening whimper broke from her throat, raw and etched with pain, those same arms she’d been inspecting became blurry in her vision as she wrapped them around her torso. The whimper turned into a howl, and she began to rock back and forth- desperately trying to blink away the tears to get a better view of the sun filtering through.

Bare toes curled in the warm blankets, lungs heaved gulpfuls of clean air, so blissfully untainted from the stench of void or death. Hands gripped at sheets, feeling the sinfully soft fabric twist between her fingers.

“Jaina?” A male voice questioned, laced with worry. The rattle of platemail, a pained grunt and the rustle of fabric being pulled back as an armored figure struggled to lean through the entrance way of the tent. “Jaina, by the Light, are you alright? What happened?”

Oh, oh please, oh please.

Arthas pushed back the tent flap and struggled to crawl in, hindered greatly by his heavy pauldrons, though it did little to deter him from his attempt to reach in her direction with a gloved hand. Jaina flinched back like a wounded animal and he dropped it, a hurt yet deeply concerned expression on his face.

“Jaina, please, tell me what is wrong!” He glanced around as if deciding whether to call for help.

Oh Arthas. Young, alive, blue eyes laced with gold that widened in alarm as he searched her body for any sign of physical harm. It was all too much at once.

Jaina faintly realized she was having a panic attack. Fingers twisted in her hair, she continued to rock, her breathing coming out raspy and disjointed.

“Jaina my love, please, you’re hurting yourself” He begged and through the fog of panic, a bite of anger cut through.

“I am not your love!” She screamed and the world around her seemed to shatter to a standstill.

Jaina felt her breathing subside and she glanced around her, realizing in alarm that Arthas had frozen, hand still outstretched and a look of pain etched across his features. The sounds outside had gone silent, no more movements of men trudging in the dirt, no more shriek of birds outside as they were disturbed from their nests. Jaina felt dread seize in her chest.

Had it really been a trick after all?

“First time?” A voice chuckled behind her and Jaina gasped and twisted around, legs clumsily kicking at the sheets in which they’d become tangled.

A slender male Quel’dorei, draped in lavish silk robes laced with gold, sat cross-legged on the other side of her tent. His tapering ears nearly touched the fabric of the tent roof as he glanced at his surroundings with glowing eyes. “Hmm...quaint.” He finally said before settling his gaze back on Jaina. “Well, you certainly have my attention human. The stunt you’ve pulled was felt across every timeline future and present. Whipped my flight into quite the frenzy, you should be glad it was I that got to you first- a few seemed downright intent on ending your existence for meddling with the flow on such a monumental level.”

Jaina searched his featured before her eyes narrowed. “I know you,” she growled.

“I wouldn’t be surprised, considering what you’ve just done.” The elf smirked and Jaina felt her blood boil.

“You,” she seethed, a spark of arcane flaring behind her eyes. “You were at the trial, you-”

The elf held up a finger and hushed her. “Ah be careful what you accuse me of. We are but two time travelers, it is very unlikely that we have met in the...right order,” he scratched at his wispy blonde beard before smirking. “A trial, eh? I’ll be sure to be on the lookout for one in the future. How exciting.”

Jaina fought back the instinct to lunge at him.

Kairozdormu regarded her in silence for a while through narrow slits of light before he shook his head in exasperation. “Okay, go on, tell me. How did you do it?”

Jaina clenched her jaw. “Can’t you just search my future and find out for yourself?”

“Oh believe me mage, I’ve tried. Whatever force sent you back has kept itself painstakingly well hidden.” He frowned unhappily.

“How did you know to find me then?” Jaina questioned and Kairoz smirked.

“That’s classified.” The elf rubbed his temple before repeating his question. “So tell me who or what sent you here.”

Jaina held his gaze. “That’s classified.”

The bronze dragon gently snorted. “I did not need to search your timeline to suspect you would say that.”

“Perhaps I sent myself,” Jaina responded coldly and Kairoz laughed.

“I refuse to believe that. No offense to you, human, but even a dragon could not achieve such a feat and live to tell the tale. There are very few beings with the power to achieve what you did, whoever- whatever helped you,” Kairozdormu narrowed his lips into a thin line before continuing, “lets hope they are here for the right reasons.” The elf bowed his head, rising to his knees gracefully and offering an indulgent smirk. “I’ll be keeping a close eye on you, Jaina, for my purpose is to police these timelines and I can't have the likes of you meddling with them, lest we unravel the very fabric of reality.” He winked and with a wave of his hand a swirl of golden sand materialized into a locket. “Here, that should help with the headache.”

Jaina tilted her head in surprise before suddenly hissing as a sharp pain was felt behind her eyes.

“Ouch... what?” She winced, wiping at something tickling her nose and was alarmed to find that her fingers came away wet with blood.

The dragon frowned solemnly, “It really does seem like I came here in the nick of time. To put it bluntly, you don’t belong here Jaina. The headache, the bleeding- they’re all symptoms of your body rejecting the reality it’s in. Put it this way, think of time as an entity- the discomforts you are experiencing are its immune system, the more damage you do to the natural flow of time, the more it will fight back. Killing you is a surefire way of preventing the collapse of reality itself should you choose to alter it incorrectly- so you must move carefully, subtly.” Kairoz pressed the locket into her palm, the metal felt smooth and warm against her skin. “The necklace will prevent you from ageing, so that you are not swept along with the currents of time and become too embedded within this one. It will keep you safe from harm, yet it carries a charm, one that will warn you should you be acting… reckless. That means no drastic altering of outcomes, no telling people of your predicament unless it’s absolutely necessary. Do you understand?”

Jaina ducked her head and allowed the delicate chain of the locket to loop over her head. It settled, a pleasant weight against her chest before she tucked it under Kirin Tor robes that were far too big for her. Tides how did she once bear to wear these? They were hideous at best and impractical at their worst. Instantly the headache faded away and she let out a sigh of relief, before glancing at Kairozdormu, suspicious, hating that she felt grateful to him after all he had done in her past and his future.

“Why are you helping me?” She eventually asked in a terse voice and the dragon laughed.

“Let’s just say I have something to prove to my fellow flight and what can I say, I have a good...feeling about you. Whatever your reason for travelling here is, whoever seems to be helping you in your plight... let’s hope you prove me right.”

Jaina narrowed her eyes and nodded grimly. With a swirl of golden sands the dragon faded away and the world jarringly thrown back into motion with the future Lich King backing away like a kicked puppy. Jaina closed her eyes, waiting for a few beats of her hammering heart before she schooled her features into a stoic smile- one she’d perfected over decades- and grabbed at the arm of her long-dead lover to prevent him from further backing out the tent.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I had a… terrible nightmare.”

Arthas softened, and took her hand, thumb stroking over the back of her wrist, seeming unaware of the hair raising along her forearm as she all but shied away from the touch as every cell of her body howled in protest.

“I heard you screaming, I was so scared… I... I thought you were hurt.” He murmured, sliding his hand up her arm, past her elbow, over her exposed shoulder where the loose robe was displaced, before cupping her face. Jaina swallowed back the bile in her throat, offering him what she hoped was a brave smile. It had been so long since someone had touched her in a way that was meant to be comforting that her nerves sparked as though interpreting it as pain. It didn’t help that she was staring into the blue eyes of someone who had been the perpetual ghost of her nightmares for years to come. “Are you alright Jaina?” His voice was so soft and, with all the courage of someone who had once single handedly faced down an entire army of Horde elite champions, she sighed and laid her hand gently over the backs of his fingers.

“Yes,” she nodded faintly, eyes cast downwards before nodding again with more conviction, raising her gaze to meet his. “Yes, I think I will be.”

Chapter 2: Playing by the Script

Chapter Text

The air was baking hot and bone dry. The dust kicked up from the thunder of hooves against the dirt road stung at Jaina’s eyes but that was the least of her concerns.

Her stomach was in knots, fear festered within her, threatening to drive her sanity over the edge. Her charger, as if sensing how tense she was through the reins, uneasily tossed its large head. The horses were tired, foam at their mouths and sweat drying on their necks as they slowed to a brisk trot.

It wouldn’t be long now, the road curved up and over a hill and then they’d be reaching their destination. A destination Jaina knew all too well, one that plagued her mind over and over with its cobbled streets and its claustrophobic, tightly packed buildings.

Stratholme.

Tides, she was going to be sick. She leaned over the wither of her charger, the familiar scent of horse sweat and leather doing little to calm her.

Arthas barely glanced at her, riding out ahead with a grim expression on his face. He looked like quite the picture; blonde hair flying, armor shimmering under the relentless glare of the afternoon sun. Armor that in less than an hour would be stained with the blood of innocents. His horse, a noble steed of pure white - like something out of a fairy tale - would soon have its flanks painted crimson as the young prince rode out in search of vengeance. It was all too familiar. Jaina felt like she was on the outside, looking in, watching in horror as her memories were replayed to her like a stuck record, but this time in horrific clarity. Before she’d mistook that grim expression for one of determination but now she could see it plain as day. Arthas was already aware of the actions he was about to take.

Jaina briefly considered icing the path in front of them, having his horse skid off the side of the road- invoking chaos and confusion amongst the riders. Wondered if she could take on both Arthas, his men, and Uther at once. Oh, Uther - she could barely look at Arthas’s mentor without breaking down all over again, it was an awful experience, riding alongside ghosts.

But did they have to be? If she were to put a stop to the young prince’s actions. Could she even do it?

In her original body? Easily. But this one? Maybe not so much. This body was young, painfully so. She was but a fledgling adult with barely enough mana to her name to even consider using some of the more complex and energy-heavy spells she’d mastered over the years. Her old body was a product of decades of combat training and study; years upon years spent honing her mana reserves and skill to mould it into a weapon. This body was weak, soft - the body of a young naive girl who’d whiled her days cooped up in the comforts of Dalaran library.

Plus there was the small fact that changing such a course in history could have drastic results to both this timeline and her own- she’d be no use to N’Zoth dead. But how could she possibly stand idly when such an event were to take place? Last time she’d walked away, this time she knew she couldn’t- either she’d put an end to it or force herself to stand and watch.

The time to make a decision was running out.

She felt the familiar weight of her staff at her back, smiling wistfully at how she’d barely recognized it - not for the startlingly different appearance but for the lack of crackling energy one felt in its very presence. No longer imbued with the power of a titan.

Tides, she was horrifically underprepared and all the while Stratholme was getting closer.

“Arthas, perhaps we should stop for a break before we approach the city gate. It won’t do the citizens any favors in lifting morale if they see their own prince and his men in such a sorry state, weary from travel.” She took in the reactions of Arthas’s men. They were people she had once thought to be friends but could now see that they eyed her with the kind of disinterest many noblemen of Lordaron had for women. They saw her as someone who nagged, meddled, held them back. She resisted the urge to outright snarl when one not so subtly rolled his eyes.

“No.” Came the expected reply. “The sooner we get there, the better. We may still have time if the shipment has not yet arrived.”

Jaina stared at the pommel of her saddle, knowing it already to be too late. The inferno in her head raged as each argument snapped at each other like wolves. What to do?

Oh, there was no use in lying to herself. She knew exactly what to do. She knew it when he dismounted his horse, heavy chain boots hitting the dry packed earth. Knew it as he took in the reports of the city, knew it as his subjects rushed to greet him. Young children, eyes eager and alight - awed by the larger-than-life presence of the paladin as his armor caught the golden rays of the sun. Gasped at the decorated sword that was strapped to Uther’s hip as he stood smartly to attention and asked to pat the horses that steamed with sweat and blew gentle breaths through flared nostrils. She knew it as Arthas turned away from the man pointing to the opened crates of grain and gave a small shake of the head in Uther’s direction. She knew that head shake all too well, the one where two leaders both in unison realize the direness of a situation yet did not have the heart to let those who followed them know.

Oh, she knew what to do.

She almost mouthed along to the words as Arthas turned to his men, and her. A haunted yet dark look in his eyes.

“We’re too late, the entire city must be purged.”

It was almost like watching a play where she’d memorized the script, watched as Uther barked out his protests, watched as Arthas grew angrier and more hate-fueled by the second. Watched as Uther shook his head, a look of disappointment and betrayal in his eyes.

Why did you run away old man? Jaina glared in his direction. You were supposed to be his mentor, or perhaps you saw the darkness in him before everyone else did - perhaps you, like me, already knew that it was too late.

She took as step back and Arthas’s eyes - now gold, as the power of the Light, all knowing and all commanding began to flow through him - flickered in her direction.

“Jaina?” He asked, and she noticed for the first time the tinge of fear in his voice.

No. This time she wouldn’t let him be alone.

“I’m sorry Arthas,” her voice was as calm and gentle as she could manage, even as the arcane thrummed in her veins and her eyes turned an icy blue. “I can’t let you do this.”

Thwack

Vereesa eyed the target and felt her ear twitch in frustration. Again, a little to the left, what was wrong with her?

A singular, sinuous movement had her reach behind her, pluck another arrow from her quiver and notch it in less than a second.

Thwack

Off centre.

Thwack

Too much to the right.

Thwack

Thwack

Thwack

“f*ck!” Vereesa’s fingers clutched at empty air when she reached behind her and she lowered her bow in defeat. Something didn’t feel right, she wasn’t usually this terrible with her aim.

“Oh dear, I’ve seen first year academy trainees shoot better than that.”

Vereesa rolled her eyes and continued to glare at the target, not giving them the satisfaction of even flicking an ear in the direction of the voice.

“Oh, of course you’re here.” Preying on my mishaps like a resentful vulture.

“Merely passing by, thought you might be some hapless rookie trying to get some hours in, but alas, it is but my baby sister, disgracing the Windrunner name with such a lacklustre performance.”

Vereesa’s ears pinned back as an angry and embarrassed flush spread across her cheeks.

“It’s the bow.” She ground out, “It feels off.”

“There’s a saying amongst the humans of Lordaeron, something about a workman and his tools…”

“Yes, I’m aware,” Vereesa snapped, “but its-”

“I know the bow is off” Sylvanas touched her arm as though to calm her before taking it from her and tilting the flexible wood so that it was level with her gaze. She closed one eye and squinted, nose delicately scrunching up as she concentrated. “What I was scolding you about was your inability to count your shots. You should never be surprised to reach behind and find your quiver empty.” Sylvanas handed the weapon back and shrugged. “The wood is cracked- have you not yet implored someone to cast a preserving enchantment?”

“I haven’t gotten around to it.” Vereesa huffed, glaring at Sylvanas. “Not all of us can afford the time nor energy to focus on such matters.”

“You have a mage for a husband,” Sylvanas scoffed before flicking her hair back with a disdainful sniff. “Besides, it was your idea to go ahead and have children.”

“Children who haven’t seen neither hair nor hide from you in months. They’re always asking as well, where is Auntie ‘Vanas? I’m all but through with making excuses for you anymore.”

Sylvanas waved away Vereesa’s accusations. “You know full well I am less than competent with children. Too loud… and so demanding, I still get twinges in my ears from the last time I had to deal with your troublesome spawn and their teething phase.”

Vereesa let out a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose and Sylvanas noticed with a slight tinge of amusem*nt that she was counting down under her breath. “All I’m asking is for you to maybe show your face once in a while. They’re still young enough to think the world of you and Light knows that won’t last long, they are already old enough to start asking questions and soon those questions will become accusations and well…” Vereesa trailed off into a defeated sigh before squaring her shoulders as if preparing herself. “Which is why I’m asking, nay, begging you to come to Alleria’s memorial tomorrow. We’re having it at the spire- so it’s not like you’d even have to go far, quite literally out the door.” The youngest Windrunner let out a nervous laugh at Sylvanas’s stony silence before continuing. “Giramar had an idea to light candles - maybe I can purchase some of those floating lanterns from that travelling trader and we can set them off as well. We can make it a pleasant experience rather than one of sorrow, a time that we as Windrunners can spend as a family. Arator will be there too-” Vereesa tailed off when she realized her older sister’s focus wasn’t on her but a spot behind her head. Sylvanas looked past her, a sly quirk to her lips as she gave a sullty wink to something in the distance. She spun around to catch a glimpse of one of the farstriders exiting the range, a furious blush on her face - the tips of her ears beet red. Furious, Vereesa whirled back around, “Oh my Gods, you’re not even listening to me!” She hissed.

“Oh, I was listening,” Sylvanas replied airily, turning her attention back to her sister, “Just baffled as to why you would hold a memorial for someone who isn’t dead.” Her voice was light but Vereesa could sense the bite underneath her casual demeanor.

“Sylvanas-”

“No really, why bother? Hold one for Minn’da, hold one for Ann’da if you must, not that the petulant swine deserved it, but don’t hold a service for the dead for someone who is not.”

“Sylvanas, it’s just a memorial, all I’m asking is-”

“No.” Sylvanas let her voice becoming sharp and stern, “I will not attend your paltry attempt at clinging to the past as though the name Windrunner means something anymore.”

“Clinging to the past?” Vereesa laughed harshly, “I’m doing this for closure- for you. I have a family, I’ve moved on. It’s you who seems unable to let go, unable to wake up to the fact that all we have left is each other. Between the training, the drinking, and the f*cking do you ever stop to realise how isolated you’ve become?”

“Isolated?” Sylvanas shot her a grin that showed far too much fang for it to be friendly. “I’m surrounded by family, my rangers, the only people who truly understand me and the only family I’ll ever need.”

Vereesa looked away, cheeks flushed in both anger and hurt. “If that’s what you wish.” She turned away abruptly, marching in the direction of the target to retrieve her arrows.

“Vereesa,” Sylvanas began.

“Go Sylvanas,” she called over her shoulder, hating how thick her voice was as she fought back tears. “Go back to your family.”

“Vereesa-”

“When Winter’s Veil comes around and your squad returns to their blood relatives for the winter you let me know just how surrounded you are.”

“Little Moon.”

Vereesa spun around at the all too familiar nickname, blue eyes brimming with tears and an unhappy quirk to her lips. “What!”

“I’m sorry.”

The younger elf seemed to deflate all at once, ears drooping in misery as hot tears began to spill down her cheeks. “Yeah…” she sniffed, “Me too.” She paused, warring within herself not knowing whether to turn back to Sylvanas or continue to the target. “It’s not as if I wish her to be dead you know, Lady Moon. I-” Vereesa wiped at her eyes. “I just want to move on and I think you should too.”

“Come here,” Sylvanas replied, her voice calm and decisive.

“I don’t want to have to accept it, but she’s never coming back and I… I-”

“I said, come here .” Sylvanas stretched out her arms and before she could blink, Vereesa was in them, sobbing against her chest. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, lips brushing against silver hair. “You know I miss her too.”

“You never allow yourself to grieve.” Vereesa whimpered, “I miss you as well, you know, this isn’t you- this sleeping around, the constant nights out, or the fact that you call the forest your home more than you do the spire. I want my Lady Moon back.”

“I’m right here,” Sylvanas soothed, resting her chin on the top of her sister’s head and closing her eyes.

“But you’re not. How long do I get you before you disappear back out on patrol? How long until you fade amongst the trees and I’m yet again waiting for you to come home? Wishing, waiting, worrying.”

“I have to go on patrol.” Sylvanas reminded her gently. “There are rumours, possibly just speculation, but people have been fleeing- humans specifically- they claim that the undead are on the march.” The Ranger-General laughed gently. “Farfetched, I know, but I have ordered my troops to be vigilant, extended patrols around the border as well. I’m sure my concerns are misplaced and this will all blow over, but always better to be safe than sorry.”

Vereesa burrowed her head further into Sylvanas’s neck and sighed mournfully. “Will you at least consider coming tomorrow? If not for anything else than to let everyone give you a proper send off.”

Sylvanas tightened her hold and nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

Normally her defiant words might have sparked laughter amongst Arthas’s regiment but as serious as the situation was, there was silence in the air, the tension thick as syrup.

“Jaina,” His voice was soft, condescending too, as though she was some helpless dame who did not understand the gravity of the act he was about to undertake. Maybe she had been, Stratholme had been her first brutal induction into the reality of violence - the first step in birthing the monstrous warbringer who threatened to drown an entire city on a rage induced whim - who not only had survived war but thrived on it. A leader, a veteran in a profession where many died young - something to be feared. And fear her Arthas did, even now as she was. The way his gaze shifted for a second to her hands where she knew her veins glowed with arcane spoke to her more than the commanding tone her threw her way as he rose to his full height. “Jaina, you know this is the only way.”

“Is it?” Jaina felt warm, the sun burning on the back of her neck. “Murdering hundreds of innocents?”

“To save thousands more!” Arthas again glanced at her hands. He looked pained, torn, though it did not stop the twitch of his arms as he hefted the Light imbued hammer in his palms. She could tell he didn’t want to fight her as much as she didn’t want to fight him, but knew that pushed enough, he wouldn’t hesitate to subdue her. “Jaina, please. I don’t want to have to hurt you. Walk away if you have to, but please don’t force me to fight you in order to carry out my duty.”

Oh, that was new. He’d been so hurt before by her walking away, what had changed? Or was his mind so set on the task ahead that he’d rather her leave him than give up the cause. She’d been playing to a script up until now and the reality that she was starting to dig her fingers into the very fabric of time weighed heavily upon her shoulders.

Tides, the sun was so hot on her neck, she really needed to… wait. The realization that she still had a cloak on hit her like a ton of bricks. The burning sensation wasn’t from the sun…

The necklace smarted where the metal touched her skin and Jaina bit back a hiss. It was warning her not to meddle, not to dig any deeper.

Oh but she could, all it would take was a couple of well placed frost bolts to put him on his knees, she could encase the two of his soldiers at the front before they even had a chance to defend him. Then with carefully planned ice walls she could play them into battling on her terms. She could fight them, she could win.

The pendant flared brighter.

“What do you propose we do then!” Arthas seethed through gritted teeth. He was trembling now, clearly disturbed by the very thought of acting on his threat.

Jaina swallowed against the stinging pain. “We quarantine the place, nobody is allowed in or out- we catch up with Uther and his men while there is still time and set up a perimeter.”

“You saw how fast the plague acts!” Arthas bit back. “It could be mere minutes before the first undead rise and there will be mass panic. A city that large, there’s no hope in holding people back with the few numbers we have now. It would take half the army of Lordaeron to hold the citizens back and even then it will just be slaughter within the city walls.”

“Then call for half the army of Lordaeron!” Jaina cried, “Call for the entirety of it! For what is the point in protecting this nation from such a menace if there’s nobody left to protect!”

“Jaina, what you are asking of me is impossible!”

“No it’s not. Not if I can help.” Jaina let her voice become gentler, soothing. For this was it, wasn’t it? The chance to finally do something about fate. She really could help this time. She gathered her thoughts before taking a deep breath to ground herself, speaking slowly so that Arthas could understand. “I can set up a barrier, one that doesn’t let anyone but us in or out. With the right food and rest I can keep it up for a couple of days, enough time for reinforcements to arrive. That way it gives those who are not infected a fighting chance, if they just lay low for long enough we could end up saving countless lives. We can effectively quarantine the area without having to slaughter innocent people.”

“You think you can do that?” Arthas’s voice sounded incredulous. “Stratholme is a huge city-”

“I know I can do it.” Jaina interrupted, her voice hard. “Arthas…” The pain from the necklace was becoming unbearable. “Please.”

The prince deliberated for a moment, eyes etched with doubt. He glanced once at his men who offered no words of encouragement before his face hardened into one of grim determination. All at once the pain from the necklace stopped, causing Jaina to let out a harsh gasp of air from between her teeth.

“Okay.”

She stared at him, eyes wide and body poised as if to fight or flee. “Okay?” She breathed, hardly believing his words.

“Yes, okay. Let’s try it your way.”

The relief Jaina felt was unimaginable. The rush of air from out of her lungs, the way her body sagged. He’d...he’d listened to her. She struggled to fight back tears. He’d believed in her. Something warm bloomed in her chest and she offered him a tentative smile. Oh she’d thought him lost, her dear prince, yet here he was, ready to be saved. Saved by her.

“Really?” She couldn’t help the elated smile tug at her lips and Arthas couldn’t resist his own lips turning up in response, as though he found hers infectious.

“Yeah, really.” He stepped forward and she allowed her hands to be clasped gently in his. “So what do you need?”

“Oh!” Jaina laughed, “I… sorry I just,” she coughed and cleared her throat. Tides she needed to pull herself together. “I need food, lots of it. Water, preferably natural- from a stream or river if you can and as many mana potions you and your men can get your hands on.”

Arthas nodded seriously. “Right, got it. Do we-” he gestured as if questioning on where to stand and she couldn’t help but giggle like a schoolgirl at his boyish idiocy as he and his men shuffled awkwardly behind her like she was about to explode.

“Go, get the food!” Jaina yelled behind her as she began to cast. Sure, her body might not have the vast reserves of mana she was used to having access to, but there had been plenty of times she’d been forced to improvise when running on empty. Her knowledge was still there- in all its glaring clarity -as she expertly weaved the protective lattice into a dome and then, pouring in a vast percentage of her power, she pushed the dome outwards so that it expanded over the city. A deep sound like rumbling thunder shuddered around them as the arcane began to form slowly but surely, casting the city in a sinister purple light. The odd arc of energy flickered overhead like lightning and even those not attuned to magic could feel the fine hairs at the back of their necks raise from the static in the air.

“Amazing.” Arthas breathed and Jaina felt a thrill shudder through her body- she’d forgotten how much she’d enjoyed showing off. The dome set, effectively sealing the city from the outside world. Jaina gasped as this body, unused to this level of magic, spasmed with pain.

“Jaina?” Arthas yelled, catching her as she stumbled, holding her tightly against his chest.

“Set up camp,” she gasped, slowly tracing runes so that she could continue to channel but without conscious effort. Using a tiny spark of magic she had to spare, she set an arcane timer, alerting both Arthas and herself of the rough amount of time she’d be able to keep this up for. The prince was already barking orders at his men who were fumbling through their packs and scampering forward, offering freshly filled flasks of water as well as their own rations of crackers and cheese. It was strangely… sweet. Arthas continued cradling Jaina as she slumped against him, already feeling the needle-like magic sapping away at her energies like a mosquito drawing blood.

“Jaina, I… I have a mana potion myself. I know I don’t usually need one, but something made me pack it.” Arthas chuckled lightly to himself before kissing her hair, “Perhaps the Light was already guiding me - who knows. Would you like me to fetch it?”

“Please.” Jaina smiled up at him, into those earnest eyes that were now blue and so full of hope.

He kissed her forehead, “I’ll be right back.” He whispered, before scampering away with a clatter of armored plate and over-eager footsteps. Jaina smiled fondly in his direction before laying back on the blanket one of his men had provided. Words could not describe the elation she felt in her chest. While the steady drain of mana felt uncomfortable, she couldn’t help but revel in this moment as she stared up at the pink clouds that lazily drifted overhead. For this was the moment where everything changed, the moment that Jaina Proudmoore was not a legacy of failure but someone who could save them all.

The light faded, and while she idly wondered why Arthas was taking so long, she felt nothing pass through her shields. Strathholme was safe, and those who were still innocent, unaffected by the grain, would be saved. Perhaps then with the army of Lordaeron at their backs, people would then start to see the severity of the situation. With careful planning, and the occasional subtle interjection from her, this whole nightmare could be over before it even started.

Even as Arthas returned, kneeling down with an unreadable expression on his face Jaina continued to smile blissfully. Wrapped up in the long lost sensation of hope and excitement for the future, Jaina didn’t even care at how bitter the mana potion was as she eagerly gulped it down, laughing as Arthas pushed her to drink more with concern in his eyes. She felt like a teenager again, laying under the stars on a warm summer evening with the steady presence of her paladin beside her. A soft hand stroking her hair.

Perhaps it was too soon, perhaps she was just relieved that for once something had gone right that had her thinking these naive thoughts but she couldn’t help but gaze at him in wonder.

Would N’Zoth object to having a soldier of the Light as his champion? The thought made her stifle a laugh before it turned into a yawn.

“Rest now Jaina,” Arthas whispered, and she smiled dopily, feeling her eyes begin to droop.

“I can’t rest…” she mumbled sleepily, “The spell…”

Arthas shushed her. “It’s okay Jaina- you’ve done so well, you’ve been so brave. It’s time for me to take over. Just sleep.”

“No… sleep.” Jaina found her words starting to slur and panic sliced through her, jagged and cold. She quickly realized she was struggling more and more to stay awake and it hit her like a runaway cart. No, it couldn’t have, he wouldn’t have…

Oh but he had.

“Arthas w..what ha..have you d-done?” Her tongue felt heavy, her lips numb. Her limbs felt awkward, stiff. She tried to struggle, tried to scream or thrash or call upon her magic, but her body wouldn’t respond. Her mind already going hazy as the edges of her vision blurred.

“I’m sorry Jaina. You know it has to be done, it’s the only way.” Lips pressed against her cheek, careful to avoid her own.

She gave a final, pathetic keen of despair before the world tilted sideways and everything faded to black.

The affair had been muted but nice, a gentle gathering of like minded souls who all dearly missed the one in which they were honoring. Sylvanas held onto Vereesa as she placed a candle, and enjoyed the captive audience of her two nephews as she recounted Vereesa’s youthful days as a ranger before she’d met Rhonin. Surprisingly Arator seemed keen to join them, sitting far so as not to be part of the group but close enough that he was well within earshot as Sylvanas dramatically recounted her tale.

“Anyway, after tirelessly following the trail our scout mapped out, we come across what sounds like a hawkstrider being viciously mauled by a forest prowler. Turns out it was your dear mother and your aunt making their way less than gracefully across a river, all the while being pursued by a band of rampaging trolls. Of course, along with my squad, I aided rather swiftly- felling the brutes and putting them back in the dirt from whence they came. Yet the best part was yet to come, for after that I had the utter privilege of watching my sisters lose what little shred of dignity they had left as they desperately tried to collect various arrows, arm guards and even a misplaced boot that started to float off down the rapids. I don’t know how they managed it but they both seemed to have managed to shrug off every item they wore by the time they’d crossed the river.” The twins were openly snickering while Vereesa flushed a deep crimson, shooting a look of betrayal in Sylvanas’s direction.

“Be careful what stories you tell ‘Vanas, lest I mention the time you managed to trap yourself in the well over at Fairbreeze.”

Sylvanas’s expression darkened, “We shall not go there.”

“Oh please!” Galadin whined. “Tell us minn’da, tell us what happened!”

“How did you get trapped in a well Auntie?” Giramar pleaded but Sylvanas shook her head.

“Maybe tomorrow.” She chided and was met with a series of exasperated whines and even a disappointed yet amused huff from Arator himself.

Vereesa ushered the disheartened boys to bed, and left Arator and Rhonin to their own devices, still poking at the smoldering fire that was beginning to die down. She couldn’t help but feel somewhat touched that Sylvanas had made the effort of getting a maid in from the village to clear the dust from her room and change the sheets. Neither dared make the trip to Alleria’s room though both in tandem looked longingly at the spiraling stairway that lead up to the darkened doorway above. The youngest Windrunner wondered how Sylvanas could stand it, living amongst all these memories. Then she remembered, with some bitterness, that Sylvanas barely stayed here herself.

“There is going to be a tomorrow?” Vereesa raised her brow, not liking how Sylvanas refused to hold her gaze.

“Yes, yes.” Sylvanas waved away Vereesa’s concerns. “I’ll have someone come and prepare us a breakfast - a spread on the patio, like we used to. How does that sound?”

Vereesa knew Sylvanas was lying but she was frankly too tired to care. She sank into the sinfully soft sheets of her sister’s bed, realizing that they too looked to be freshly made up as well- the corners of the covers still tucked under the mattress. Light, had Sylvanas even been sleeping in her own bed during her time on leave or had the last few weeks been spent hopping from one enthralled Farstrider trainee’s bed to the next. She scowled in distaste, trying hard to not think about the latter.

“You need somebody Sylv…” Vereesa drawled sleepily as she snuggled down into the pillows, feeling the comforting dip of the bed as Sylvanas crawled in beside her.

“Hmm?”

“Somebody to love, to cherish. And I mean that more than a one night dalliance. You have a big heart, you just never let anyone in.”

Sylvanas yawned and leant back, arms tucked behind her head as she stretched languidly out. “I don’t have time for that.”

“You make time.” Vereesa shot in response before sighing and turning away from her sister, trying to find a comfortable spot in this dark and lonely tower forever haunted by ghosts.

Sylvanas sighed, still staring at the ceiling. “Tell you what, I’ll cut you a deal.”

“Yea?” Vereesa questioned, twisting her neck back toward the sound of her voice; the soft glow of Sylvanas’s eyes the only thing she could see in the darkened room.

“When this threat, whatever it may be, is over. I’ll find somebody. I promise.”

“Good.” Vereesa was barely coherent at this point. “You deserve it, you know.”

Sylvanas, feeling a sudden swell of love for her little sister, kissed her temple and rolled over, opting to follow Vereesa’s cue and snatch some precious hours of sleep herself. For when she next awoke Sylvanas would be gone; dressed smartly in her ranger’s leathers and on the next dragonhawk to the border.

Maybe I’ll retire, she thought sleepily before snorting gently to herself. No, that was impossible, she’d never retire, but maybe she could cut back her duties. Lor’themar was becoming more and more adept and she could almost trust him enough to take over, under her guidance of course. She tried to picture her life with someone, unable to put a name or face to this imaginary woman. Would she be a ranger? Sylvanas found she didn’t particularly care.

Smart, she wanted her to be smart… and kind. Definitely kind. Honest. Someone who could more than take care of themselves. An independent soul who wouldn’t mind her disappearing for weeks on end to go hunting and in turn she would be sure to bring them something special back from the forest.

Oh, who was she kidding, she’d be a lonely ranger forever, just her and the trees. Maybe Vereesa was right with that one remark she’d made about her and her bow a decade ago.

Perhaps I’ll become an old spinster, one who lives in a cabin in the woods with several lynxes and an odd assortment of animal skulls and pelts that make my sparing visitors uncomfortable when they visit. I know Vereesa hates snakes, I’ll be sure to pickle one in a jar and have it on display in the guest room for when she stays.

Sylvanas grinned to herself in the dark. She could live with that.

Let her get through this, whatever this was, and then… just maybe, she’d attempt to take some time to herself.

The dome, that had been a new addition for the better part of the evening, sparked plenty of concern amongst the city folk of Stratholme, especially when many of the more inquisitive of nature tested its limits and found they could not get out. There had been instructions to lay low, to return to their homes and lock their doors. To eat food rations sparingly and for the love of all Light, to not touch the bread. The first corpses had started to rise, but the boy didn’t know that- his mother had done a good job of shielding his eyes and turning him the other way. They’d been inside for a while now, doors locked, shutters fastened and, cooped up in his cramped old room, the boy had begun to get restless. He could hear the muted voices of his parents arguing below, the gentle sobs of his mother. He turned to the parchment he'd been scribbling on but found no comfort in the pictures he'd previously drawn.

A sharp crack in the sky threw him from his bored stupor and had him prying back the blinds of his windows. The dome overhead was starting to shatter.

A gasp of excitement left his lips and with the ease of a child who’d clearly disobeyed his parents many a time, he carefully unlatched the shutter and slid out onto the tiles of the sloping roof below. Delicate wisps of arcane floated down, shimmering like snowflakes- the occasional one sparking like a shooting star across the sky. Eventually after dropping from one beam to another, he hit the ground, little bare feet pattering along the smooth cobbled streets with an eager pale face tilted toward the sky. His hands were outstretched, awe in his eyes as he held his palms up to catch the shimmering sparks, the feel of them cool and pleasant against his skin.

Another spark of light caught his eye and he realized that it had not come from the sky but from the edge of a sword as a hulking figure strode out from the shadows, stepping into the pale and flickering streetlight. Heavy gold pauldrons and a crest on the left side of the plated chest; a paladin! The boy could hardly believe it. He had always wanted to be one when he grew up; a man of honor, chosen by the Light itself. The soldier must have been there to save him- to save them all.

He turned toward the paladin happily, relief etched across his face, but then his smile faded slightly. He found himself not liking the way those gold eyes glowed, making the face look sinister and inhuman. He did not feel comforted at how the edge of the sword that had caught his eyes now dripped with blood upon closer inspection. He realised for the first time that the air smelled metallic and there were screams in the streets behind him.

“Sir?” He asked, hiding the trembling in his voice and remembering to be polite- just how his mother taught him. “Are you here to help us?”

Chapter 3: War is Hell

Chapter Text

It was a wet and windy day in Kul Tiras. While that wasn’t in itself unusual, this was the type of rain that just made everything soaked through, a consistent sheet of stinging droplets that lashed against window panes and had even the most hardened citizen bow his head as he fastened down the rigging to his boat, resigning himself to a day of laying low.

Nobody, save for a very sorry few who scurried between dripping awnings in the market below, was outside today and that suited Jaina just fine.

She was sitting on the storm wall, an impressive feat of masonry that had successfully protected Boralus from deadly winds, waves, pirates and sea monsters alike. She nestled in one of the empty barracks, tucked in a corner to protect herself from the whip of the wind, unseen and unmoving. Between slender, pale fingers that trembled from the cold, she slowly whittled away at a bone tooth pendant, finely shaping it down to a sharp point and channeling her chaotic thoughts into focusing on the simple task and the calming, repetitive motion of the carving knife.

Months had passed now. News was slow to reach here, and she almost laughed at how out of touch the people of Kul Tiras were. The fall of Lordaeron became mere gossip, people expressing empty condolences, so blissfully unaware of the situation beyond their shores. Jaina whittled harder at the pendant, eyes flicking to the rain-slicked walkway as she made sure she was still alone. Satisfied, she put her tools down and slowly reached inside her shirt, fingers clasping around the golden pendant that had sat lifeless against her chest ever since that fateful day in Stratholme.

She closed her eyes, fighting back a frustrated sob.

Arthas had almost killed her. Weeks she’d laid comatose, treading the line between life and death only to wake up here, in Boralus, the safety of her room hauntingly familiar as she rolled over in thick warm sheets and looked upon the concerned faces of her parents.

They told her Uther had found her after the fact, that he’d seen to it she was safely delivered home. Jaina couldn’t care less; Uther hadn’t been there when Stratholme fell, Uther hadn’t been there when she’d been drugged against her will.

Seeing her mother again was hard enough, seeing her father nearly broke her. She could barely look at him and when he’d reached for her, she only found herself shrinking away. This was the man who’d caused her so much grief, so much guilt. The man who’d tried to murder her then closest friend, who’d been so happy to cast her aside and undo everything she’d worked for. A small, practical part chided that she shouldn’t condemn him for a crime he had not yet committed, but when she looked into his worried eyes as he’d leant over her bed and stroked the sweat-soaked hair away from her face, all she could see was the cruel murderous rage of his final moments.

While she was here in body, she knew she could never truly go back. A part of her would always be stuck at the end of the world, an old woman, alone with her regret. These people, who wore the faces of her mother and father, they weren’t hers anymore. None of this was hers to indulge in, and she’d have to keep reminding herself of that lest it would break her.

They had been arguing below in hushed voices that increasingly crescendoed before dropping back to whispers. It seemed, yet again, it was her mother fighting to temper the storm that was her father, a man who felt very determined to sail his ships across the expanse of the ocean, baying for Arthas’s blood. Jaina, in her weakened state had begged him not to go, for having Kul Tiran forces over in Lordaeron would only spell disaster. This nation had only survived thus far through its isolation and Jaina was in no mood to be changing that aspect. Of course he wasn’t listening, and she wondered idly if he ever truly had- or if she would always be but a vulnerable little girl to him, one that needed protecting, someone who was in no state to think for herself.

It had taken Jaina decades to come to terms with his death, and even longer than that to scrub the blood from her hands. The guilt would always remain of course, but that wound had long since healed and all that remained was an angry scar that smarted from time to time. The truth was painful but she had long since accepted it; her father was a very flawed man.

She did not deny that he had loved her in this timeline, and she him- but she also knew that no matter how things turned out, there would always be a part of her that would resent him. Resent him for his blind thirst for vengeance, his inability to stop for a moment and just listen. She hated him for it because, well… it was what she hated about herself too.

The apple never really did fall far from the tree.

Claustrophobia and the inability to sit trapped in a stuffy room while her parents argued over her head had driven her out here, into the icy rain and the shrieking winds as she carved at that bone, over and over- lulling herself with the mindless task. She could still hear his muted words to Katherine from behind the door as she lay in what they thought was a fitful slumber.

“What happened in Lordaeron, Katharine, I think it’s broken her- you should have seen her eyes…” Daelyn paused as if he were collecting himself, “It was like all she could see was ghosts. I tried to sing to her, but if anything the song that once comforted her seemed to only aggravate her more. She…” his voice sounded hurt, “she begged me to stop.”

“She’s not a little child anymore, Daelin,” the calm, reasoning tone of her mother responded. “And what she told you before, she’s right. Whatever is going down in Lordaeron, it’s Kul Tiras’s best interest to remain here.”

Then that line had sparked a further heated debate which had been the final push that had her scrambling outside.

She cradled the pendant in her palm; it was simple enough, a flat, golden disc that was pleasantly weighted and felt warm against her skin. The were no runes, nothing engraved in the ancient tongue of Draconic, just the disappointing reflection of her own haunted expression. She let the chain slip through her fingers, the necklace settling once again against her upper chest.

“You don’t deserve that, you know,” a soft voice, pitched like that of a child’s, and Jaina quickly spun around only to quickly realize that it was anything but.

The gnome smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she went to sit next to Jaina in her little corner of shelter. The human huffed out a tired laugh, taking the encounter in her stride. “I didn’t deserve this either,” Jaina gestured to herself, conveying more than just her physical situation, “but it wasn’t like I was given much of a choice.”

“Yet you were, and you selfishly took it, only to wither away here while your people suffer.”

Jaina’s face flitted through several emotions and none of them good. “They will suffer no matter what I do. All I managed was to prolong the inevitable, to have those people live in fear, all for naught, to be corralled safety in their homes awaiting to be slaughtered one by one. What’s the point in fighting if you cannot win.”

“Yet you’re still fighting.” The gnome stated rather than asked.

This time Jaina looked up, glaring into those bright and eager green eyes and fighting back a petulant scowl. “Am I?”

“You begged your father to not interfere, pleaded that he did not lead his ship across the ocean to enact revenge. You still expressed the desire to protect Kul Tiras, even if you thought it a lost cause.”

Jaina let out a snort. “Then it’s just habit, I suppose.”

The gnome was silent for a moment, shifting her small body around so that she could peer out, squinting against the rain as she looked down on the market below.

“Care to explain to an old dragon what makes you love this place so?”

Jaina sighed as if the explanation was obvious. “It’s my home.”

“Not everyone loves where they came from, explain why you love yours.”

Jaina’s foot slipped on the wet tiles and she quickly brought it back underneath her as she further curled in on herself to keep warm. “The weather isn’t much to be desired by those who visit... but I like it, its what’s shaped the people of Kul Tiras to be who they are.”

“And what’s that?”

“Stoic, adaptive, able to see the patch of blue sky even on the greyest day.”

“So everything you are not?”

A flush of indignance bloomed across her cheeks before it faded away to resignation and hurt. The dragon was right, she wasn’t like any of her people who, despite the torrential rain, still checked their neighbors moorings to ensure their boats- their livelihoods - did not float off due to poorly managed rigging. People who still marched on patrol even as damp leather rubbed under heavy plate mail and their boots squelched with every step.

“You fell at the first hurdle, you lie in the dirt, angry and resentful at how unfair everything is while the rest of them simply keep going. Those people there, in the streets below, they still march, protecting your family, protecting you.” The gnome leaned closer. “So who’s going to protect them?”

Jaina looked away, ashamed. “I used to think it was me, but all I did was make things worse. They fought in my name, only to have me stand aside when they needed me most.”

“Kairozdormu is a tricky individual, one to act very desperately in what he believes is right, but he’s no fool. He seemed very certain about you, but then...” the gnome clicked her tongue and absently fiddled at the thin fabric of her robes. Jaina idly wondered if she was even bothered by the chill. “Perhaps he was wrong.”

“Kairoz is wrong about a lot of things.” Jaina muttered, “You will find that out sooner that you would like.”

“Hm.” The dragon stood, brushing herself off, though her gnomish form meant that her head still came level with the tall human who was still sitting, slumped despondently against the wall. “Kul Tiras is an impressive kingdom, and you are right, her people are as you described... but Kul Tiras does not have sole claim to such traits. Right now, a kingdom is falling, one you know well, and her people are just as stoic, just as brave and just as desperate to protect what they love about their home too.”

“Quel’Thalas will fall.” Jaina replied, not caring to entertain the dragon.

“It did and it will... but it doesn’t have to..”

“Yes, one powerless woman against an entire army of undead.” Jaina scoffed. “Here I was thinking you to be the reasonable one in your time-meddling flight but you’re starting to make less sense than the previous one I encountered”

“And you are not powerless, so stop acting like a victim.” The menacing tone sounded strange in the usual cheery pitch of her voice.

“Leave me alone, interfering serpent.” Jaina finally lost her composure, sending a spark of arcane next to the gnomes feet. The dragon laughed, a cruel, condescending sound. Jaina’s lips curled back from her teeth.

“Then give me the pendant.”

“No.”

“You wish to deny a dragon?”

“Yes.”

“So be it,” the light patter of footsteps as they retreated caught Jaina’s interest, for a short moment she wondered if the gnome was really going to leave her be.

Of course, like all things in her cursed existence, it never went as she wished. A violent swirl of golden sand and Chromie grew exponentially in both size and bulk. Jaina leapt to her feet.

“Hand it over.” The voice was low now, and laced with the undertones of a deep, reverberating growl as the dragon opened it’s maw, flashing sharp fangs.

Then everything happened very quickly.

Boots slipping, backpedaling along the wall. Jaina found one hand clutched to her chest, holding the necklace in place while the other began to wildly fling out frost bolts, the shards of ice snapping into formation and bouncing harmlessly against thick dragonhide. Forced back from her shelter, the frantic mage nearly toppled over from the exposure to the storm.

“That pendant does not belong in your hands.” The rough scrape of claws, the frustrated flap of enormous wings. No longer the giggling gnome Chromie but Chronormu, Ambassador of the Bronze Dragonflight. The sizeable bulk of a dragon crawling it’s way toward her, tail lashing in a bid to balance itself on the top of the wall.

“It was a gift, it’s mine. ” Jaina screamed, her words snatched away by the wind.

“Then fight for it!”

A streak of lightning flashed in the distance. Jaina’s eyes began to glow. The dragon roared in agony as the very stones beneath her claws became white hot and molten. Rivets of water fell off leathery wings as Chronormu began to flap, struggling to steady herself due to the howling winds and the struggle of taking off from a standstill.

“You will not send me back!” Hot tears ran down Jaina’s cheeks but she angrily wiped them away, already scrambling behind another wall as the dragons gaping throat began to glow with the fire that ignited deep within her chest. The flames licked over her hiding spot, the heat unbearable. Jaina spat curses and, from the very moisture in the air, fabricated a sizable wall of ice to shield her from harm. The flames continued to rage, causing the conjured barricade to groan as it rapidly melted from within, but Jaina was already running, hands weaving the next spell. For a while they danced like this, the dragon obliterating the walls into a torrent of glacial meltwater only for Jaina to erect another one, slowly inching along the wall until the human knew she would soon run out of space and they’d reach the outskirts of the town where thousands of buildings nestled below. She’d have to wrap this up quick so as not to have any citizens come to harm from the fallout of their battle.

Chronormu did not miss the worried glance Jaina threw behind her as she allowed another few paces backward.

“Even now, you still insist on protecting,” the dragon snarled and took a moment to land back on the wall, before kicking back off with another unsteady flap of her wings- clearly maintaining a stable hover in this weather was proving difficult. “I can see it in your eyes, once you run out of space, you have nowhere to go, not without hurting them... and that frightens you.”

“f*ck you,” Jaina seethed and wondered if anyone was even witness to this, the Lord Admiral’s daughter, a young human mage, battling against a dragon. A dragon that was nearly as large as a ship and breathed deadly golden flames.

They had reached the end of the wall, beyond lay the unknowing population- a countless stretch of soldier’s barracks and civilian cottages. Jaina glanced once at them, throwing up another wall and several prismatic images of herself, each hurtling spells from all directions. The dragon was not deterred. It might have been the lack of mana, or the visual of teeth as long and sharp as broadswords snapping less than a meter away from her face but it had the human stumbling to her knees, holding her hands up in the very primal instinct of protecting her face.

Chromie calmed and settled back on the wall, wings furling gracefully and shaking slightly, sending a sparkle of droplets flicking off bronze scales. She was beautiful. A forked tongue flickered between sharp white teeth as the dragon managed a resemblance of a smirk.

“Give up human.”

“Why on earth would I give up,” A voice taunted, before Jaina’s face broke into a feral grin and lifted it to regard the dragon through triumphant eyes. “When I have the upper hand.” The prismatic image in front of Chronormu misted away and the dragon gave a very undignified snarl as claws thrashed at the spot where she’d been, the heavy slabs of stone cracking under the pressure.

A myriad of ice shards from behind broke against scales and tore at the patches of vulnerable hide around the dragon's nostrils and eyes, causing her to growl and paw at her face and snout, not unlike a hound being vexed by flies.

“Ah, deceitful little mage!” The bronze dragon roared, but this time there was no bite to her snarls but a tone that sounded somewhat… impressed. Jaina allowed her spells to pull back, revealing her true form further back along the wall where she’d simultaneously blocked herself within the icewall all the while sending an image of herself to continue running and casting. And it had worked; for Chronormu, in all her deadly reptilian might, had failed to even notice as she’d soared overhead.

Human and dragon faced one another for a while, both bleeding and breathing heavily. Jaina’s own panting was quickly drowned out by the rumble in the dragons chest as she began to laugh, head thrown back into a roar of mirth before sands swirled around her enormous form and once again, the tiny form of the gnome strode toward her confidently.

“So there is hope for you still, after all.”

Jaina said nothing, continuing to struggle in catching her breath. Her hand automatically touching the pendant against her chest, as though still half expecting Chromie to snatch it.

The gnome laughed, green eyes twinkling. “Relax, mage. I never wanted to take if from you, merely wanted to see whether you would still fight when threatened.”

“I can’t… stop.” Jaina’s jaw trembled as she bowed her head in exhaustion. “I will always be fighting, it never goes away.”

The dragon smiled sympathetically. “No, you can’t. But that’s okay, being able to fight is a privilege.”

Still shaking with adrenaline, Jaina let out a harsh, frustrated laugh that ended in a sob. “Is it?”

“Better than those who cannot fight, yet still continue to suffer. At least you have a say over your outcome in this world, a choice your fate and of those around you.”

“Then what do I do?”

“You fight, for them, for those who aren’t lucky enough to make that decision. You bear their burdens for nothing other than the simple fact that you can.” The dragon looked up, green eyes scanning the horizon. “I must go, I have already spent too long here- I fear if I linger but a second more it could have very negative consequences on the both of us, but I believe my work here is done.”

“So self assured,” Jaina chuckled harshly. “What makes you think I’ll even listen to a word you say?”

“I don’t, but perhaps this gift might help...nudge you along the way. Just a little bit of light reading from the future that might interest you.”

In a similar fashion to Kairozdormu, Chromie conjured her gift into Jaina’s hands with a wave of her hand and a swirling of golden sands. The book was hard backed and heavy, the pages expertly bound and of impeccable quality but the overall design of it was not intricate or flashy; this was a book designed solely to be read and not displayed in any home or hallway. A book that looked to be of someone's private collection and most definitely not for her eyes.

Jaina opened her mouth to say goodbye, but already the dragon was gone and with it she realized with some embarrassment that she could now hear the roar of the surf and the cry of gulls overhead where she hadn’t before. Oh that meddlesome snake, she’d stopped time in order to fight, her people had never been in any danger. She scoffed, glaring at the spot in which the bronze dragon had disappeared before turning her attention back to the book.. She slowly flipped it over in her palms, eyes scanning the intricate Thalassian script as her brain kicked into gear to begin translating.

Oh. Well this could change everything.

Jaina’s eyes closed and she took a deep, unsteady breath before they snapped open and determination ignited within her, rushing through her veins with renewed vigor making her feel young again, young and powerful. She lifted her hand and began to slowly weave a teleportation spell, her mana was low so she took her time, fighting against the unstable warp of reality as she tore it open. She barely wasted a thought in shrugging off wet clothes, flicking a charm at her door lock and dampening the room from any sound that would occur outside. She absolutely could not be distrubed, for she was about to do what Jaina Proudmoore did best.

She was going to study.

A spark of magic and fresh robes were around her shoulders, her hair neatly braided and her staff floating behind her as she marched over to her desk, snatching a carefully placed quill from its inkwell. Long fingers brushed over a stack of parchment, deftly plucking a sheet off the top and smoothing it down on the desk as she began to write, a bluish tinge spreading across the surface as she conjured the arcane ink to flow. The book floated next to her, the golden engraving of the title catching the magelight as Jaina settled down and prepared herself for the night.

Ban’dinoriel: The Failure and the Fall of a Kingdom.

By Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, Former Ranger General of Silvermoon.

Jaina took a deep breath, pen poised in one hand as she flicked to the first page, and began to read.

“Ranger General?” A voice, laced with fatigue questioned. Ragged panting, the wheeze of infection in every rise and fall of their chest. Boots scraped against stone as the ranger snapped sharply to attention, a gloved hand, splattered in gore and undefined filth, balled into a fist as they thumped it across their chest in a salute. “What are your orders?”

Sylvanas barely acknowledged them save for the subtle flick of an ear in their direction, her gaze never leaving the raging chaos below. The fields, once swathes of bright yellow flowers now just blood soaked dirt and ash, what little vegetation that remained blackened and crushed below the endless tramp of boots from both ally and foe. The stench in the air was hideous. Tenaciously it clung to their hair, cloaks and leathers- the sickly odour of decay. Sylvanas rarely noticed it anymore save for when the wind would change direction, carrying the thick cloying smoke of burning bodies that would catch in the back of her throat like a spirit trying to possess her body, making her gag and her eyes smart.

“Ranger General,” The voice repeated, fighting back a cough as lips wet with blood pulled back over teeth in a half snarl as the ranger grimaced in pain. “Your orders?”

Sylvanas half turned to them before lightning quick reflexes plucked an arrow from her quiver and released it into the empty eye socket of a shambling corpse. The creature fell back with a rattling screech but not before it dug its sharp, skeletal fingers into the face of the Farstrider below. The elf howled in agony, blinded and scrabbling at her face as her knees hit the dirt. Decades of training, endless marches and chants, polished boots and carefully oiled leathers, sparring until her muscles burned and the sun sank far beyond the horizon. The kinship, the camaraderie, the sense of belonging and pride, what it meant to be a Farstrider. None of it mattered, not now when she whimpered in the dirt and begged for her life to end, to be free of this abhorrent nightmare. Sylvanas released another arrow, reluctantly granting the ranger her wish- hating the flicker of relief as the wordless pleading cut out.

Only for her to fight back a sob of anguish as the body stirred again, face still a mess of bloodied scratches, one arm bent unnaturally as it pulled its torso up from the dirt, raising its head to look up at her through sightless eyes. The choking tendrils of fear settled within her bones as she reached for another arrow. She notched it, heart stuttering a disjointed rhythm against her ribs. Only nine left, nine more and she’d have to tear away from the battlefield to gather more supplies and countless more would die and rise again in the precious seconds she’d not had eyes on the target.

“Get back!” The ranger beside her shouted and she barely had time to step aside as the whistle of an arrow whipped past her, close enough that the air from the projectile stung her cheek. The freshly risen elf had now turned her arrows on her commander. Sylvanas fought back the urge to vomit, knowing she’d never forget the horrific sight of that featureless face still tracking her every movement even though it had no physical means of vision.

“Lady Windrunner!” Another shout, desperate this time, seem to cut her through her despair. Ranger Captain Velonara pushed an unsteady hand against her side and Sylvanas realized only now how hard she was struggling to keep upright, leaning heavily on her bow, the protocol of standing to attention long forgotten as blood began to seep through her fingers. “There’s too many, we can’t hold this and you know it- there’s no defeating them if we all die here!” Her voice broke off into a series of coughs but blue eyes never left hers as she pleaded with her expression.

She closed her eyes, bile in the back of her throat as she turned to one of her most trusted companions and fixed upon her terrified expression with a grim and glowing gaze. She nodded slightly, then with more conviction, her stomach clenching in the most horrible of ways as she opened her mouth to give orders she thought she’d never have to utter.

“Fall back,” she croaked before she cleared her voice to sound stronger. “Fall back! To the second gate! Those of you that still have arrows in your quiver, keep firing- aid us in covering our backs as we pull back the line!”

Ranger Velonara bowed to her, relief radiating off her in waves before straightening with inhuman strength, despite her broken body, to march along the threadbare line of rangers who were still among their ranks. “You heard the orders of our General!” She snapped, panic making her words sting harsher than she meant. “Fall back, cover our flanks if you’re able, make your way to the second gate!”

Sylvanas released another arrow as a particularly vicious ghoul tore its way past the shattered barricades, broken teeth snapping for a taste of live flesh. It dropped instantly, ghastly black ichor oozing languidly from the puncture wound in its skull.

Eight, eight more arrows.

“Ranger General!” She heard the distant shouts of Velonara when she realized she hadn’t moved from her post to join her.

“I still have ammunition!” She yelled back, voice cracking in distress. “Lead the way, I’ll cover us from behind!”

“Sylvanas, that’s suicide!”

Anger flared through her and she pulled her teeth back in a truly feral snarl.

“That’s Ranger General to you, Captain, and that’s an order! Go!”

She released another arrow, severing the achilles tendon of a lumbering abomination, fighting back a horrified hiss as it continued to haul its bloated body along the dirt, bulging eyes still fixated on its prize. At least she’d slowed it down enough to not have it go rampaging through her retreating units and she watched as more arrows plunged into its hide, ending its miserable existence once and for all. At least, until he arrived to dredge it back from the oblivion in which it belonged.

Seven more arrows.

Eyes scanned the horizon, widening at the overwhelming mass of undead that peaked over the horizon, far in the distance- a man astride a skeletal horse, a ragged beast that champed and pawed at the foul earth in a bitter mockery of its living self. Still he hung back, still he threw his troops at her, her troops, a never ending wave of death and destruction just waiting like some sickly vulture for the perfect moment to strike.

A coward.

Unable to swallow from the dryness in her throat, Sylvanas spat at the ground in his direction before following the last of her troops in retreat.

Seven more arrows. Better make them count.

“Jaina,” Katherine’s voice pleaded as she hurried after her daughter’s long and determined strides. “Jaina, what are you doing?”

“What’s it look like mother?” The mage snapped back in response. She found herself trying her damn hardest not to look her in the face for she knew if she did, she’d break down crying. Pathetic as it was, her body cried out of comfort, begged to be held, but she knew if she gave into it, she’d never be able to leave. And leave she must, for none of this was permanent, her fate was still there, waiting in the dark future like a guillotine hovering above her head, ready to strike at any moment.

“It looks-” Katherine paused and swallowed, her voice going soft. “Please don’t tell me you’re going back.”

Jaina grunted in confirmation and continued to fasten the leather bracers around her right arm. The protection was crude, barely passable as armour and a far cry from her old magically imbued gauntlet and protective robes, but it was dark, functional and hopefully would allow her to slip by unnoticed, or at least buy her time before they sniffed out the source of intrusion to her. An intrusion that would be felt like a ripple from a stone cast into smooth lake amongst all who were even remotely sensitive to magic, which was just about the entirety of the Quel’Dorei population. She was effectively about to brute force her way past some of the most formidable wards in historical memory.

Ban’dinoriel. An ancient protective force so powerful that it was deemed unbreakable. And unbreakable it was, for Ban’dinoriel had never been broken but dismantled. And now, thanks to the author of this terrifyingly detailed and reflective field account, she had a precise locations, names and a whole lot of failed elven military tactics. So much so that she could practically picture the layout of the battlefield in her mind down to every dip and elevation in the field and where exactly Sylvanas had positioned her troops.

Sylvanas.

Tides, Jaina wanted to hate her but right now she could have kissed the former Ranger General for how useful this highly detailed report was. Meticulously drawn out diagrams, brutally honest declarations of where she had failed in positioning and leadership and a rather critical account of Silvermoon politics and security. It was a strange twist in her gut reading what was clearly a very private piece of writing, not meant for her eyes...but it had been meant for someone and not just Windrunner herself. It did not read like a journal, for there was not a single word of sentiment or opinion. These words were descriptive, yet clinical, despite the fact that they were highlighting what must have been a very traumatic event. The way the book had been bound, the text put into print, this was something to be archived, to be read for years to come. This had been a detailed account of Quel’Thalas’s downfall, written as a warning so that it would never happen again. Jaina didn’t doubt that this account had been gifted by Sylvanas to Lor’themar, or whoever continued to manage Silvermoon’s military on her behalf.

Even after everything, she’d taken precautions to protect what was left of her home.

Jaina swallowed painfully and continued to work at tightening her straps until she felt some satisfaction at how the armor sat on her shoulder, protecting her dominant casting arm. Her mother still hovered but Jaina barely listened, her mind already sifting through her next steps.

Bypassing the wards. It was going to be tough, it was going to be painful and Jaina had several concerns as to what should happen if she were to fail. The death could be quick and she’d be burned up into arcane dust before she even had the chance to think… or it could be a horrifically slow and agonizing demise where she’d translocate in, insides turned outwards and the very structure of her molecules twisted beyond repair. It didn’t help that her distance away from Silvermoon itself didn’t even allow her to chip away at its walls, to test its frequency and how it responded to her probing.

Good thing she already knew the perfect portal room that was all too conveniently situated on the point where two ley lines intersected. It had been, after all, no mere coincidence as to why that room had been constructed, while it had not manifested itself in her immediate parentage, she’d clearly gotten her arcane prowess from somewhere. Someone, down the long line of Proudmoore ancestry, had instructed this room to built and for that she couldn’t thank them enough.

“Jaina.” Her mother grabbed at her arm and she flinched as though she were burned before taking a moment to collect herself and risking a glance in her mother’s direction.

Tides, she looked so young. The lines around her eyes were still there, they had manifested themselves overnight when news of Derek’s death had reached Kul Tiran shores, but the brightness of her irises, the healthy wave of her hair, the fullness of cheeks that were not stretched gauntly over bones. Her mother was so beautiful that Jaina had to choke back tears and visibly dig nails into her palms to prevent herself from bawling and collapsing into her arms.

“Your father won’t let you leave, not without him.”

Jaina winced. “That’s not his decision to make.”

Katherine smiled sadly and brushed some wayward strands of hair from Jaina’s face. “I know…” she continued to gently tuck them behind her daughter’s ear before letting out a gentle sigh. “Since when did you start wearing your hair like that?” Her voice warbled on the edge of a sob and Jaina found herself having to stare resolutely at the ground so as not to let the true agony show in her eyes.

“For a while now, mother.”

“It suits you.”

“Thank you.” It was all Jaina could say really. The last chance to truly say goodbye all she could do was utter some empty words of gratitude. “I’ll be back soon,” she murmured lamely, hating how she could barely muster up the ability to even sound convincing anymore.

“You better be, or you’ll find an entire fleet of Kul Tiran vessels headed your way.” Katherine had meant it as a joke, Jaina knew that, but the words still hurt to hear. Hurt because, to her, it could never be a joke again.

Throwing up her hood, Jaina was already mentally mapping out the incantations in her head, going over and over them in her mind, wondering if what she was about to do was suicide. The very notion of teleporting into Silvermoon was risky at best and that didn’t even account for what actions she would take after. She was so absorbed as she strode into the would be portal room that she barely felt the press of something cold into the palm of her hand.

“Before you go, take this. He’ll never expect it…coming from a mage.”

Jaina looked down to what Katherine handed her and her lips parted in surprise. Her mother’s pistol, the wood beautifully sanded and the brass polished to shine. For a brief moment, phantom pain blossomed at the side of her chest and she felt the urge to rub at a scar that no longer existed. Her mother was right, nobody ever expected the bullet.

“It has four shots, though most people will go down with just one.” Katherine laughed softly at her pathetic joke and gently curled Jaina’s fingers over it. “If anything, take it for my peace of mind, take it to make me feel useful.”

Jaina this time could not hold back in gently throwing her arms around her mother's shoulders, though she took great care in holding her breath. The simple scent of home that came with her mother’s perfume would be too much, and that wasn’t a risk she was willing to take.

“Goodbye mama.” Jaina allowed a tear to slip down her face, but no more, no more or she’d never stop.

Sylvanas felt it, as did everyone, and with it came an unimaginable feeling of betrayal, blind panic, the lurch in her stomach and a sense of impending doom.

Her rangers, the sparing few that remained, all stumbled to a standstill, ears wilting and crying out in panic and alarm.

“ Ban’dinoriel,” Velonara wheezed, stumbling to a standstill beside Sylvanas. “You feel it too? It's… it’s...”

“A betrayal,” Sylvanas felt her very soul exhale from her lungs, felt the urge to be sick, not that she had anything left in her stomach to expel. Then her voice became dark and scathing, “It’s a betrayal from within.”

“Everything…” Velonara gasped, eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she turned slowly to her general. “All of this… for nothing.”

The words hung between them and Sylvanas felt her shoulders sag, felt her jaw tremble as a stream of emotions ran through her, her lips parted but no sound came out for she didn’t know what to say.

“We…” Sylvanas swallowed heavily. f*ck. f*ck this, f*ck all of this.

All the days they’d held at the second gate, all the hours they’d starved, all the nights they’d sat through as the heads of their own comrades, their own family, had been hurled at them as ammunition. The relentless stench, the infection, the moment she’d hoisted Anya onto her shoulders when she was already far too tired and weak to carry her, only to find that she’d died in her arms before they’d reached the medical tent.

For nothing. All for nothing.

Sylvanas looked down at her hand, still tightly grasped around her bow, her nails filthy and caked in blood, looked at how Velonara favored her right leg to the point that she was practically useless, looked at how Cyndia resolutely continued to pour oil over the bodies of those that had died in the night, flicking a match and turning away her tear streaked face as the air temperature soared with a surge of flame. Burning them was the kindest thing to do, the only way to prevent them from being raised again as mockeries of themselves, mindless weapons turned against their loved ones.

No, Sylvanas tightened her grip, her jaw setting and her eyes narrowing to furious slits of light. It couldn’t be for nothing, it had to be for something, it had to be…

“No, this was not in vain,” she informed Velonara, her voice sounding stronger than it had in a couple of days. “We will not die meaningless deaths, I have to…” her expression softened, “I need to... “

“Sylvanas!” For a moment it was as though the clouds lifted and a beam of light shone through, that voice, that beautiful voice.

Belore, her saving grace, an angel on a black horse. Sylvanas, despite how her body screamed in protest, stumbled to her aching feet.

“Vereesa!” She gasped, her gait unsteady as she practically collapsed against the wither of her steed, the beast snorting and shifting in response to the stench that invaded its sensitive nostrils. “Vereesa, oh Light I…”

“Sylvanas,” Vereesa sobbed, half scrambling, half being yanked down off her charger as she collapsed into her sister’s arms. “Oh, Sylvanas you…” Vereesa’s face crumpled as she took in the appearance of the Ranger General in front of her, filthy, starved, reeking of death and a weariness in her eyes she’d never seen before.

“You’re here, you’re...thank you, thank you, ” Sylvanas whimpered and Vereesa caught her, not caring for the dried blood being smeared all over her clean leathers.

“Yes, I’m here.” Vereesa tried to get her words in between unsteady breaths. “I was on my way...then I felt it… the wards…oh Sylvanas, look at you, you’re... I...”

“I know,” Sylvanas whimpered, her face pressed into her sister’s neck, “I know. ”

Vereesa took in a lungful of tainted air and instantly regretted it, fighting her gag reflex as her ears pinned back in horrified disgust. Sylvanas winced in sympathy, used to it, she’d forgotten just how awful it truly was. “I’m here to fight Lady Moon, you and I, we shall face him together- we won’t let the bastard forget us.” Vereesa’s voice was so accepting, so ready to face her fate that it broke Sylvanas’s heart all over again.

“No. I’m glad you’re here, I’m so glad but… I have a better plan.” Sylvanas replied, her gaunt face leveling with her sisters as she placed a surprisingly steady hand on her shoulder. “You need to return to Silvermoon, I need you there to issue a retreat, the gate has fallen- nothing will stop him now- but you, you can save them, we can save them. I just need to buy you time…”

“No!” Vereesa’s voice came out harsh. “No Sylvanas, we do this together. I won’t let you face him alone.”

Sylvanas shook her head, eyes glassy with tears, “No, no Little Moon, you must go.”

“I won’t leave you!”

“You have to.” Sylvanas raised her voice as Vereesa vehemently shook her head, refusing to look into her sister’s eyes as she protested and pushed her arms away as Sylvanas tried to guide her back to her horse.

“No I…”

“You will,” Sylvanas pressed, “please.”

Vereesa pushed back harder this time and Sylvanas, weak as she was, stumbled to keep upright. “You won’t make me leave you!”

“You have to and that is an order, Vereesa! Do you understand me?” Sylvanas felt her throat crack from screaming before she pulled back on her emotions and roughly grabbed the reins of the horse. “Your sons Vereesa, Light your sons... and Arator. Please , you have to go.”

Vereesa began to sob harder, still shaking her head even as she allowed Sylvanas to give her a leg up back into the saddle.

“I love you,” she whimpered pathetically and Sylvanas closed her eyes, before leading the horse around, gathering up the slack and feeding it into her sister’s motionless hands. The beast tossed its head, blowing out unsteady snorts as it began to prance, sensing the urgency of the situation.

“You will ride out as fast as you can, you will stop at every settlement between here and Silvermoon and you issue the retreat. I want nobody coming to the front to aid us, for it will be futile. I need you all to leave. He wants the Sunwell, oh Belore, he wants to corrupt the Sunwell.” Sylvanas uttered the words as though they physically caused her pain. “But get everyone out and we have a fighting chance of survival, please Vereesa, don’t make this all be for nothing.”

Her little sister looked so broken but relief flooded through Sylvanas as she nodded, despite the tears and snot streaming down her face. In any lighter circ*mstance, Sylvanas might have teased her, but at that moment she could only tenderly reach for her hand.

“I love you too, Little Moon, I always will- never forget that.” Vereesa sniffed and reached back but just as their fingers were about to brush, Vereesa’s horse, spooked by the sudden commotion as the momentary lull in battle ended and the fighting started up again, bolted, kicking up damp earth and grass. Sylvanas let her hand drop, allowing herself the indulgence of watching her sister ride away, galloping toward her survival. If only she had been allowed one more hug, just one more touch, but Sylvanas had to content herself with knowing her Little Moon would be safe, be content that she still had a reason to stand and fight.

She turned back to the solemn expression of Velonara, her gaze faintly glowing in the dim dawn light and allowed a sad smile. “It wasn’t in vain, it never was.”

Velonara didn’t even flinch, but bravely dipped her head, accepting Sylvanas’s words without protest. “So what are you orders, General?”

“We give them hell, until our last breath. Band’or shorel’aran. ”

“ Bando’or shorel’aran.”

Jaina hit the ground, doubling over and groaning as spasms of white hot pain licked down her spine and razed across every nerve. Her eyes felt as though they had boiled right out of their sockets as she rolled over on the ground, desperately trying to regulate her breathing.

Her body still seemed intact, even if her senses were fried, and as far as she was aware she was in the right realm and not trapped in any discordant reality or, tides help her, the Void itself. Breathing heavily she allowed herself just a moment for the pain to pass, resting her burning cheek against the cool marble floor before rolling over with a pained groan and scrambling to an ungainly standstill. She couldn’t stop, she had to keep moving, it most certainly wasn’t safe here.

Jaina regretted not having ever visited Silvermoon before, though she wasn’t really to blame, for a vast span of her lifetime the city had either been isolated or hostile to her. She only had some tenuous writing to go off of and her limited use of arcane to locate the ‘traitor’ who Sylvanas had referred to on more than one occasion. A man who currently would be outputting a lot of power to conceal a very powerful artifact under the guise of it looking as though he were channing last of his energy into constructing emergency wards, wards that would instantly fail the moment Arthas stepped upon the immaculate tiled streets of the city.

Dark’Khan Drathir.

Jaina flexed her right hand, already struggling to temper the all too familiar feeling of hatred and bloodlust that bubbled in her veins. Quick thinking had her duck behind a pillar as the hurried tramp of armored guards marched down a darkened hallway, glad that there was enough shadow to conceal her, not that the guard seemed particularly interested in patrolling the area as they moved with frantic determination to get out. All the mage-lights had clearly been shut off, save for a few dim ones that highlighted the edges of the floorspace. Clearly Silvermoon’s arcane network had an emergency system of some sort, something that Jaina’s sub-par human vision was struggling to navigate in. She allowed her magic to well up again, slipping over her irises and sending out steady pulses of crackling blue power, just enough to allow her to locate the stairs.

There was so much magic here, it was… intoxicating and yet painful at the same time. The residue energy from the de-activated Ban’dinoriel felt sharp against her senses and the discordant crackle of arcane was making it very hard to locate anything with the use of magic alone. Unfamiliar signatures and energy sources flared from several directions causing Jaina to swear loudly and allow the glow to fade from her eyes. It would seem that locating Drathir would require the old fashioned method which would… take time.

The streets of Silvermoon were in chaos, guards shouting evacuation orders and with her hood shrouding her face in shadow, Jaina slipped unnoticed through the crowds as they ducked and weaved around her.

“What do you mean everyone must be evacuated? You will not order me out of my own shop! My family have lived here for millenia, you can’t just make us leave!” An indignant taylor wrestled with a guard and Jaina took the distraction as an opportunity to blink a short distance past them, speeding up her pace as she scanned over the tops of many sets of pointed ears, desperate to orientate herself. A mother rushed past, a crying child in her arms and Jaina turned her face away as the terrified elf brushed against her shoulder. She needn’t have worried, the woman’s eyes barely left the ground as she dutifully watched her feet in fear of tripping and getting crushed by the panicked masses.

If Sylvanas’s accounts were correct, which Jaina was very certain they were, then the traitor mage would be headed toward the gate, flanked by those who thought themselves to be dutifully protecting him as he channeled his energies into a shield that would never form. She just needed to get higher so she could…

A rush of dark power rippled to her left and Jaina abruptly changed direction, locking onto the signature like a bloodhound. A few twists and turns though the chaotic alleyways and she found him. Dressed in fine robes, a hat with a hawkstrider plume sticking out of it and his neck and elegant ears studded with fine jewellery, Dar’Khan barked orders at his personal guard as they strode toward the main gate. Jaina’s lips curled back from her teeth as she watched him dismiss them in a poor show of false martyrdom as he begged them to ‘save themselves.’ Her fingers clenched into a fist before slowly uncurling as her eyes began to glow again, the fabric of her cloak fluttering as runes formed around her wrist, twisting and turning like some device slotting together as she began to channel.

She stopped when flash of light caught her eye and she turned, only to feel the heat of a gaze she knew very well trained on her, a gaze that glared at her from behind the point of a tightly drawn arrow, light glinting off the barbed metal.

f*ck Vereesa, not now.

Jaina froze, slowly spinning to face her and dismissing the spell as it misted from her hand in icy tendrils. Vereesa shifted her stance, drawing the arrow further back as her gaze narrowed, ears pinned back and fangs bared. For a moment Jaina felt her mind go blank with surprise, having never seen such a feral and hate filled gaze directed at her. She knew her friend to be a formidable warrior, one that went far beyond her sweet nurturing temperament. She’d seen it before, in Dalaran, but still, a chill crawled up her spine as she slowly turned to face the Ranger Captain, holding her palms outward in what she hoped was a passive gesture. She could see Drathir turning as well, eyes widening as he caught sight of her and his irises starting to glow a fiery orange. Flames flickered along his palms, already channeling burning missiles to launch in her direction.

It felt as if everything was happening in slow motion as Jaina very carefully pulled back her hood, revealing her face, watched as Vereesa’s eyes widened, a myriad of expressions flitting across her face. Shock, betrayal, confusion, fear, suspicion. Drathir began to shout, some upper class Thalassian drawl that Jaina could barely understand, something about traitors and begging for protection. Jaina held Vereesa’s gaze once more and risked turning away as she threw her focus into protecting herself when the Traitor of Silvermoon started to release his spell.

Please, she internally begged, for the sake of your nation ‘Reesa, make the right choice.

“Get down!” Vereesa found herself yelling and not a moment later as her and several of bystanders hit the dirt as the air above them lit up with a volley of missiles. Some of them fire, the rest ice as the two mages engaged in combat.

“What are you doing? Kill her!” Drathir screeched in her direction as he threw up an arcane barrier, one that was quickly cracking under the relentless volley of ice-shards Jaina had sent his way. A couple of Silvermoon guards, who had hurried to the scene, half moved to obey the order only for Vereesa to hold up a hand to stop them.

Jaina? What... how? Vereesa spat out a few curses, still keeping low she wormed her way behind an overturned cart for protection, ears flattened against her skull as a particularly potent blast of frigid arcane roared overhead. One errant shard of ice hit the side of the cart causing splinters of wood and hay to fly past her cheek as she ducked her head away with less than a second to spare.

“Give me the stone, traitor.” Jaina snapped in a frightening tone Vereesa had never heard before and Drathir spluttered in indignation.

“Me the traitor? How would you even know about such a device human, if you did not have you hand in this abhorrent attack.”

“Your wealth, your status, your power… was it never enough for you Drathir? Or did you kneel and kiss his boots like some simpering mutt the moment he offered you a morsel more. I’ve battled many of your kind before, the weak-minded, those who believe they are entitled to such power rather than have the decency to earn it, and I’ll say the same thing; witness the meaning of true power and know that you picked the wrong f*cking side.”

A flash of pain flared behind Vereesa’s eyes as something monumentally powerful formed above Drathir and she looked up in horror as shards of ice rained down from above, causing the flames in the elven mage’s eyes to die out as he screamed and moved to protect his head.

Vereesa lithely rolled to a standstill, bow in her right hand and arrow re-notched as she glanced between the two of the indecisively. Dar’Khan’s gaze focused on her and vessels popped within his glowing eyes as he screamed in her direction.

“What are you doing Ranger? Do your duty and protect me! Don’t just… stand there, execute the invader!” While her brain screamed at her to do as ordered, this was Jaina he was talking about, one of her closest friends in Dalaran. Vereesa turned to the human and found her to not even be glancing in her direction, her focus never leaving the other mage who, she realized in shock, was rapidly losing against a relentless torrent of ice spells that Vereesa had no idea Jaina was capable of. There was something in the desperation of Drathir’s voice, the decisiveness of his actions as though he was trying to kill the young human as quickly as possible. While Jaina seemed to going for the option to incapacitate him, he seemed hell bent on sending his spells out to end her life in an instant. Vereesa tilted her head, eyes flickering between the two of them, so that meant...either he was trying to end the battle as quickly as possible or… he wanted to silence her.

Decision made, Vereesa fired.

The spells on both sides instantly stopped, Jaina let out a shuddering breath as she stumbled forward, dropping to her knees in the dirt. With arms trembling she proceeded to frantically search the corpse of Dark’Khan Drathir, who’s decadent robes were now stained with a rapidly spreading pool of blood that bloomed from the left side of his chest from the arrow embedded in it.

With cautious and measured steps, Vereesa notched another arrow and closed in on Jaina, slowly crouching down beside her as the mage continued to mutter to herself, patting down his pockets with an increasingly frenzied motion.

“Jaina,” Vereesa murmured quietly in the human’s right ear, eyes scanning the shocked faces of those who’d witnessed her loose the arrow. “Please tell me I just made the right decision.”

“He has the stone… well one of them… but one is all we need, at least, I hope that’s the case.” Jaina half muttered to herself, half to Vereesa as her hands dug into his inner pocket before a grin of triumph crossed her lips.

“Belore, is that…” Vereesa’s eyes widened as Jaina handed her the stone.

“Yes. I know it needs to be activated but the location, I don’t know where to…”

“I know,” Vereesa’s mouth twisted into a frown, “Jaina how do you know… did you...are you…” she hated the sound of hurt betrayal in her voice, knowing Jaina would pick up on the gravity of what she was accusing her of.

The human looked hurt too, before seeming to mask her emotions and fixing Vereesa with a grave stare. “I’ll tell you when all of this is over but for now we don’t have time, we need to get this activated.”

Vereesa nodded, still feeling her stomach flip as several questions bubbled to her lips but knowing they didn’t have the luxury of conversation. “It’s going to be dangerous but yes, I can take it there, still…” she paused and suddenly looked torn. “If we activate it, that will leave Sylvanas on the wrong side.”

Jaina seemed surprisingly devoid of emotion as she shook her head, “I’m sorry, we can’t risk wasting any more time…”

“She’s my sister!” Vereesa hissed, “I can’t activate it knowing that it will be her death sentence.”

“She’s not…”Jaina started before seeming to grimace and trail off. “Vereesa just show me where we need to go I can…”

“If she’s trapped out with him, he’ll kill her! He’s nearly at the second gate and all he has to do is...”

Jaian froze, turning her gaze back toward the gate. “Arthas,” she growled in a low voice.

“Yes… I…” Vereesa’s eyes widened with the realization, “Oh Jaina I’m sorry I…”

“You…” Jaina’s steely gaze focused on her and Vereesa fought the urge to look away from its intensity, “you get that stone where it needs to be, I’ll deal with Arthas.” The venom that dripped in the mage’s tone made Vereesa’s skin crawl.

“And my sister? Please Jaina, if she’s out there try and get her home… for me.” Vereesa’s felt hot tears prick at her eyes.

The human looked conflicted before finally nodding, “Okay, but don’t waste any time in activating that defense, your sister’s life is not worth the population of Silvermoon.” Jaina’s tone softened, “but yes I will do my best to bring her home alive.”

Vereesa didn’t know why Jaina was here, didn’t even know the extent of her hand in the attack but in that moment, all she could feel was blinding gratitude as she pocketed the stone and tore away down the street.

“Anar’alah belore! You will go no further! ” It was all false bravado now, yet Sylvanas would not grant him the satisfaction of watching her accept her failure. She would remain proud to the end, she would die for her kingdom with her eyes locked with his, not with a spear or sword in her back.

One hit, if she could just get one hit, then that was all she needed. A single strike to let him know that despite what he’d thrown at her, how many of his wretched soldiers she’d had to slaughter in order to reach him, how many hours he’d made her suffer, still she stood. All she wanted was for him to know that she had come for him, that he’d seen the defiance in her eyes, that he hadn’t killed her hope.

“Enough, woman.” Arthas snarled, spittle flying from his pallid lips as he wheeled his sickly looking horse around and nudged his heavy boots into its skeletal sides, guiding it in her direction. “If you’re this eager to die by my hand then so be it.”

Oh she was in so much pain, her head felt light, dizzy, the gashes in her side hot and infected and she was dehydrated beyond compare but… but yes she deserved that at least, the honor of facing him alone on the battlefield, even though she knew it to be her last moment and then… she would know peace.

I did promise I’d take time to myself Little Moon, I’ll be sure to have a pleasant nap after this. Sylvanas almost smiled wistfully as she drew her sword, quiver long since empty as she readied her stance, awaiting his oncoming charge as the harbinger of death raised his rune blade, whirling it effortlessly around his head as if rallying his troops though Sylvanas knew them all to be but mindless thralls, forced into his servitude. Her soft smile widened into a grin as she mockingly copied the motion.

She still continued to grin even as his shadow eclipsed the sun from her gaze.

“Arthas!”

Sylvanas flinched as she felt the sting of air from his sword narrowly missing her side. There was a sound of horse's hooves skidding to a stop as the Death Knight yanked back on the reins, those unholy blue eyes widening in disbelief. For a moment his expression almost looked… heartbroken and Sylvanas could hardly believe to be seeing it on such a monster.

“Jaina” he whispered and his voice was so uncharacteristically soft that it made her narrow her eyes in confusion as she ducked away. She risked a glance back and her eyes widened.

A human, a mage… one who was practically crackling with raw arcane power came charging through the ranks. Her eyes glowed white as she channeled an orb of potent energy in her palm.

“Arthas! You will answer for what you have done, for what you have done to Quel’Thalas, for what you have done to Lordaeron, for what you have done to me.” Her voice seemed to break on the last word but it did little to slow her down as she charged toward him, a steady sweep of her arm casting aside several of his troops as they rushed forward to protect him.

“Sylvanas!” Velonara stumbled toward her, finally able to catch up on her ruined leg. “The human...she came out of nowhere she’s,” a shockwave of power and Jaina sent a blast of arcane toward the Death Knight who wheeled his horse around to avoid it. “She’s fighting him.” Velonara gawked in disbelief but Sylvanas was quicker to snap out of it.

“Then we help her!” Sylvanas readjusted the grip on her sword, still reeling for the sudden change in dynamic. “Rally who we have left, we need to keep that bastard’s minions off of her while he defends himself from her attacks…” her eyes scanned the battlefield and the first grin in over a week lit up her face. “You brilliant little human,” she muttered to herself before pointing it out to her captain, “look, she’s throwing up ice walls, channeling his troops for us! We have the advantage, let’s push forward!” Velonara even had the energy for a quick salute as she motioned for the surviving rangers to reform ranks, holding the line as the undead advanced, though this time at a much more manageable rate, easily cut down by their swords.

A deep hum, the sound of something charging up, caused several whoops and cheers to sound out from behind her and it took everything in Sylvanas not to join in, she knew not to celebrate until it was over. What she could do however, was further that morale into something useful.

“They’ve reactivated the defence!” Sylvanas cried, “Get behind the shield limit, it will fry anyone and anything that’s on the wrong side. Let’s make this vile creature pay.”

The cheers sounded again but this time accompanied by a renewed effort in attack as more ghouls were felled before they could even get close.

It was for the best that Sylvanas and her rangers had done such a fine job of keeping the undead off Jaina as the mage already felt her vision narrow to a tunnel, Arthas was the only person she could see as she advanced on him, arcane crackling around her- angry and wild.

“I thought I could save you Arthas, I thought that was my purpose,” Jaina laughed cruelly, all the while continuing to advance as the Death Knight backed up his horse. “But now… now I realize, you were always beyond saving and it was revealed to me, the real reason why I was here; it was never keeping you safe, it was keeping everyone safe… from you. ”

The footsteps of someone running to catch up distracted her and Jaina swore as Arthas dodged one of her attacks, the runes on his blade flaring to life as he narrowed his eyes.

“You cannot fight me and win Jaina,” his voice sounded… sad and Jaina felt her mouth twist into a cruel smile.

“Maybe so,” she whispered, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t try.”

The power in that cursed runeblade was startling but Jaina only found herself eager to try and match it, the arcane practically singing in her veins as her gaze seemed to blur then re-focus in sharp clarity. She could hear the hum of Ban’dinoriel behind her as it started to form, felt the white hot heat at her back as the forcefield threatened to vaporize all those that lay outside of it, but if it meant Arthas stuck around to fight her for long enough, then perhaps she could take him out with her.

“Dance with me then, my love .” She taunted and Arthas raised his sword.

She did not however, expect a strong pair of arms to grab her by the waist and haul her backwards. Arthas turned his gaze from her to focus behind at the shield and his eyes widened in realization before he turned his skeletal horse around, throwing the beast into a gallop.

“No!” Jaina spat out as she fought against the arms pulling her backward, “let go, he’s getting away!”

She tried to blast them back with magic but already the nullifying field was closing in around her, her arcane fizzling uselessly on her fingertips. All the while Arthas was retreating to safety. With a wordless cry she shrugged the arm off just enough to reach for the pistol at her hip, firing in his direction.

Four shots cracked out and she continued to pull at the trigger, even as it clicked uselessly. She snarled and threw it aside, ready to run after him.

She didn’t make it far.

Several Thalassian curses were snarled in her ear as she was rather gracelessly hauled across the line in a last ditch attempt, barely crossing to safety as Ban’dinoriel flared to life, bathing the battlefield in a flash of white light.

Pain exploded behind Jaina’s eyelids, far worse than the time she’d teleported in and, still weakly struggling against the restrictive grip of the soldier behind her, she screamed in agony, writhing on the ground. The undead behind the line, those that didn’t get away in time, instantly vaporized and she could just make out from over the deafening thrum of the shield the distant cheers of the surviving elves in the background.

For a while Jaina and the elf holding her lay in the blood stained grass, both panting in unison as the shield’s defenses stabilized and Jaina found that she could finally hear herself think again. Though with those thoughts came anger.

“You fools!” She yelled, wriggling out of the elf’s strong grasp and scrambling to her feet. “He got away… f*ck he got away!”

“I saved you,” the elf gasped, following, only to stumble back as Jaina roughly shoved at their chest. Undeterred, they refused to let go, still gripping onto the mage’s shoulders like their life depended on it. “Please, you’re bleeding, you need to sit down.”

“No…” Jaina gasped, ignoring the trickle of blood that was now flowing freely from her nose, “I don’t need to…I need to…” she glared up at them only for her words to fall silent on her lips. Eyes widening as her eyes took in that the features of a face that had long since haunted her nightmares with wicked fangs and cruel taunts in a ghostly ethereal voice.

Sylvanas Windrunner cautiously dropped her hands from around Jaina’s shoulders, though only to tentatively rest them on her forearms, ready to grab at her if the human were to try and run away again. “I can’t let you go beyond that shield, you will die, please… you need to sit down I…”

“Get your hands off me, banshee! ” Jaina shrieked before her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed into Sylvanas’s arms.

Chapter 4: Aftermath

Chapter Text

It was hot, uncomfortably so. And bright, far too bright.

She let out a soft muffled moan against a pillow and, despite the splitting headache, Jaina risked peeking between her eyelashes.

Sunlight. Pain flaring like white hot tendrils wrapping around her brain. Worse than that time Aysa Cloudsinger drank her under the table in Snug Harbor and she’d had to face the next day curled up next to the war table with Alleria steadily offering her sips of water from her flask. Maybe even worse than the time she’d taken the handle of Pained’s training staff to the temple when the night elf vindictively wished to prove a point that magic wasn’t always a means to an end. She groaned and attempted to roll over, if only to bury her face in the sheets and block out the hostile invasion. The mattress felt solid and the blankets smelled musty, as though they had been pulled out of storage after months of disuse, but right now they were her salvation as she attempted to snuggle amongst them.

“Well, well, look who’s awake.” A lilting voice, one that was far closer and louder than she expected. Jaina’s eyes abruptly shot open, at first all she could see was white, until her eyes sluggishly adjusted to take in the vision of a very curious elf who was sitting backwards on a chair, her chin on her forearms as they rested atop the backrest, gazing at her attentively with inquisitive blue eyes.

Jaina swore loudly, kicking free of her sheets with such violence that the bed in which she was resting in jolted with her movements, the legs scraping against the floor making an unpleasant noise that caused both the human to wince and the elf to abruptly straighten, ears pinned back at the offending sound.

“Wow, wow. Calm down there, easy… you’re safe.This is a medical tent, a trauma camp has been set up next to Farstrider’s retreat, which is where we are…” The elf paused at the blank expression on Jaina’s face before hastily adding, “in northern Quel’Thalas.”

Quel’Thalas. Jaina felt her mind finally catch up with the racing panic of her rather primitive reaction to seeing what she knew to be the face of her enemy peering at her from less than three feet away.

“Quel’Thalas…” Jaina voiced aloud as she slumped back into the pillows, heart still hammering. “Right.”

Sylvanas hummed in pleased confirmation, chair creaking as she leant closer and Jaina fought back a wince as she curled further into the blankets as though they would somehow provide her with protection.

“You gave us all quite a scare,” Sylvanas explained, seemingly unaware of the human’s discomfort. “One minute you were out on the battlefield and the next I was dragging you back behind the shield only to have you collapse in my arms in a full on seizure. I was… rather concerned you weren’t going to wake up.” The elf suddenly looked wary, peering at Jaina’s shell-shocked expression with a furrow in her long eyebrows. “You do remember what happened right? Liadrin told me I wasn’t supposed to talk to you until she’d seen to you first, whatever that’s supposed to achieve, but I…”

“Sylvanas, for Lights-sake!” A stern voice barked in Thalassian from the entranceway and Jaina’s eyes widened at the almost comical wilt of her ears as Sylvanas glanced sheepishly at the rather angry looking priestess who was marching determinedly toward the two of them. “I explicitly told you not to leave your bed again.”

Sylvanas grumbled, actually grumbled, yet begrudgingly obeyed the command and it was all Jaina could do not to have her jaw hang open as the person she knew to be the Banshee Queen sulkily lifted herself up on unsteady legs and followed the direction to where Liadrin was sternly pointing.

“If I see that you’ve pulled those stitches… oh Light , she’s awake.” Liadrin instantly abandoned chastising the Ranger General in favor of hurrying over to the human’s bed. “Hello Jaina,” she switched to Common and dragged out the chair Sylvanas had been previously occupying to perch on it as she hovered over the rather dazed looking mage. “I’m sorry, this must all be very confusing for you. I’m Liadrin, one of the priestesses of Silvermoon.”

“A very good one too!” Sylvanas piped up as she smugly settled under the blankets and Liadrin shot her a withering glare before continuing.

“Ignore her, it’s best for both of us if you do... now let’s see…” Liadrin scooted closer, a soft golden glow emanating between her fingertips as she dragged it across Jaina’s vision. “Can you follow this for me?”

Jaina did as asked, not particularly liking how the spark of light didn’t help the pounding headache in her skull as she fought back a grimace.

“Well that’s looking normal, at least I hope that’s normal, forgive me but you are the first human I’ve had the honor of treating. I’m quite literally going off of books here.” Liadrin sounded almost apprehensive as she tucked a few wayward strands of copper hair behind an elegant ear. “Can you tell me what you last remember Jaina?” The priestess’s voice dropped to something softer as she waited in trepidation for her patient to recall what would be something less than pleasant.

“I…” Jaina swallowed, wincing at the dryness in her throat and expert perception had Liadrin fluidly reaching for a glass of water, holding it to Jaina’s lips with gentle concern in her golden eyes.

Jaina was glad she didn’t know much about Liadrin, other than she’d been a formidable opponent on the Arathi warfront, a perpetual thorn in the Alliance’s side in retaking Stromgarde. At least, to her, Liadrin was enough of a stranger for it to not be overwhelming as the healer cared for her in a breathtakingly gentle manner. Jaina gratefully sipped at the water, trying very hard not to glance at Sylvanas out of the corner of her vision.

“It’s okay,” Liadrin soothed, directing Jaina’s gaze back to her, “take your time.”

Jaina swallowed and continued. “I was facing him down on the field… then the shield, there was a lot of power behind me, it… burned, and my neck it…” Jaina’s eyes suddenly widened and she clutched at the pendant on her chest. Relief rushed through her when her fingers came into contact with the smooth, metallic disk and she let out a shuddering sigh. Liadrin frowned as she tilted her head at the strange reaction. “Sorry,” Jaina huffed, “I thought...I thought-”

“Thought what?”

The human froze, blue eyes meeting gold as she clammed up and stared resolutely at the sheets. “Nothing, just my necklace, it’s... special to me.”

Liadrin frowned, gaze darting to said piece of jewelry resting against Jaina’s chest, partially exposed by the loose robes she had been dressed in, before her eyebrows furrowed even further. “That’s strange, I never noticed it before…” she tilted her head, lifting her hand as if to touch it before seemingly thinking better and dropping it back in her lap. “Can you remember anything else Jaina?”

“Just that I was pulled behind the shield and… and,” Jaina’s voice became pained, hands curling into fists, “ he got away.”

“You mean…?”

“Arthas.” Jaina finished, lips pulled back into an anguished grimace. “I had him as well but he... you, ” Jaina half turned and pointed a finger accusingly at Sylvanas as the memories rushed back. “You let him escape!”

“Only by saving your life!” Sylvanas spluttered indignantly, shocked by the sudden hostility directed at her, features twisting into a scowl as she went to pull herself out of bed. Now that particular expression on Sylvanas she knew all too well. Jaina tensed, ready to defend herself if need be.

“Sylvanas you stay right where you are!” Liadrin ordered and the elf huffed in frustration and folded her arms across her chest though her scrutinizing gaze remained on Jaina as she bristled in response to the accusation.

There was a moment of icy tension as elf and human glared at one another before Sylvanas was the first to break.

“Okay,” The Ranger General relented, features relaxing and Jaina once again was thrown when she even held up her hands in a semblance of a peace offering. “He got away, but not before tucking his sorry tail between his legs like the cowardly whelp that he is.” Her expression passionate, ears lifting in what looked like pride. “We won’t let him get far, we just need to regroup, repair and…” Sylvanas’s voice became muted as the gleam faded from her eyes, “there’s a lot of dead that need to be accounted for.”

Jaina dropped her face into her hands, fingers twisting in her hair and tugging at the roots. “No, no, you don’t understand. We cannot let him slink away to lick his wounds or he’s just going to come back an even bigger threat. We have to go after him! Already just by sitting here we are wasting time.”

“And with what exactly are you planning on going after him with?” Sylvanas questioned, tone sharp. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but our military isn’t exactly in the best… shape as of yet. Many of the stationed guard in Silvermoon haven’t experienced an active battle in their lives and those that have, well, we are in no fit condition to march out there so soon.”

“How could you of all people just…” Jaina stopped herself, lifting her face from her hands and glancing warily in Sylvanas’s direction and at the look of utter confusion on the elf’s face.

f*ck. Of course. In this timeline Sylvanas did not have such an intimate vendetta against Arthas. While Jaina had no doubts the Ranger General still wanted his head on a pike, she absolutely did not hate him with the blind and all-consuming rage the Sylvanas she knew would. For the first time, Jaina almost wished the undead elf was here with her, if only to have someone else to convey the gravity and urgency of the situation.

“How could I what?” Sylvanas looked tense, her ears tilted in a way Jaina couldn’t quite understand. Confused? Apprehensive?

Fear? No, absolutely not. Sylvanas most definitely wasn’t afraid of her, but Jaina could sense the wariness coming off her in waves, clearly not expecting to be in an argument while she was effectively very injured and confined to a bed. She probably felt cornered, trapped. For the first time Jaina noticed how tired she looked, while devoid of the burnt looking tear marks she was used to seeing, there were still shadows under her eyes, the ridges of her cheekbones looking far too sharp, even for the acute features of an elf.

“Why did you pull me away? I could have ended him.” Jaina’s voice was softer now as she wiped her clammy hands on the sheets, taking the time to steady her breaths.

“I…” Sylvanas ducked her head, mouth opening and closing as if she were carefully choosing her words. “I suppose,” she responded slowly, “after seeing so many of my rangers, my family , die I…” her silver eyes closed, “I couldn’t bear to watch another one, not after you saved us, not after you saved me.”

“She nearly got herself killed.” Liadrin added, a tone of exasperation laced within her voice. “From the accounts Velonara gave, it seemed like the two of you crossed to safety with less than seconds to spare. She honestly thought that would be the last she saw of her General.”

Jaina looked away, not liking the guilt she was feeling for chewing Sylvanas out like that over what she knew to be a well-intended action.

“Vel…” Sylvanas sat up straighter, a shred of desperation to her voice, “how is she?”

“She’s fine, she’s fine.” Liadrin placated the aggravated looking General. “Her leg has seen better days but we’ve managed to wring out the infection while still letting her you know…” Liadrin winced, “keep it.”

Sylvanas collapsed against her pillow, a murmur of Thalassian on her lips that sounded like a prayer of thanks. “I need to see them, all of them.”

“You will,” Liadrin promised, moving swiftly over to her bed to place a half comforting, half restraining hand on her shoulder. “But not until you yourself have recovered. It will do your people no favors in seeing you in such a state.”

Sylvanas looked frustrated but nodded, allowing Liadrin to fuss over her, pulling back the loose linen she was dressed in to check over neatly stitched wounds under the dressing.

“Hm... well these are still intact, luckily for you.” Liadrin scolded, swatting playfully at an ear only for Sylvanas’s lips to quirk into a small smile as she half attempted to flick it away. Jaina found it hard to watch, it was all just so… strange. Intimate. A little overwhelming. She let out a heavy sigh and closed her eyes, leaning against the pillow, defeated.

Both Sylvanas and Liadrin exchanged concerned looks before the priestess brightened, half ducking out the door and motioning for someone rather animatedly. “Speaking of recovering, I think someone’s here to see you Sylv… and she brings food.”

“Oh thank f*ck,” Sylvanas muttered, only to gasp in suprise as blur of movment crossed the threshold of the tent and she was tackled into a tight hug.

Vereesa had been through the doorway, thrown the bowls of soup on the table which rocked dangerously, threatening to spill and had effectively launched herself onto Sylvanas’s bed before Jaina even had the time to register.

“Lady Moon I…” Vereesa sobbed in rushed Thalassian, arms wrapped tightly around her older sister’s shoulders as she buried her face into her neck, only to pull back and glare at her, teeth bared inches away from her face as her fingers tenaciously tightened around the loose fabric of Sylvanas’s shirt. “Don’t you dare do that to me again.”

“Ouch, Little Moon, please I…” Sylvanas trailed off as her sister started sobbing all over again, practically wilting in her arms. Clearly Sylvanas didn’t mind the discomfort that much as she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around Vereesa in return, a couple of her own tears tracking down her cheeks.

Jaina couldn’t bear this. After knowing what their relationship was like in the future, it felt somehow… wrong, like she wasn’t supposed to be witness to this. This tender moment between two sisters who clearly loved one another with a fierceness that even Jaina, who cared for her brothers dearly, found difficult to fathom. Liadrin also seemed to be blinking back her own tears as she made herself scarce, gathering the bowls of soup and placing one next to Sylvanas before making her way over to Jaina.

“Sorry, it’s not much,” she gestured to the bowl in her hands with a tilt of her head, “we’ve had to seriously ration supplies but I can more than say that you’ve earned it.” She smiled fondly and Jaina found she couldn’t even force herself to return it, eyes never leaving the loving exchange between two sisters which, in that moment, even the Titans themselves could not have interrupted.

“It’s enviable isn’t it,” Liadrin chuckled lowly, following Jaina’s transfixed gaze. “So rare to have a close relationship like that, especially when it comes to utter gamble of luck that is family. Those two have such big hearts, they are lucky to have one another.”

Jaina wanted to disagree, wanted to argue back that Sylvanas absolutely did not deserve someone like Vereesa, but seeing the two of them, the way Vereesa closed her eyes in utter relief and bliss as she snuggled further into her sister’s embrace, it was hard to deny the proof right in front of her eyes. She absently nodded and Liadrin awkwardly patted her knee.

“I need to do my rounds, a lot of very sick people and not nearly enough resources.” The priestess huffed, eyes tightening and Jaina’s lips twisted into a sympathetic frown. As elegant as she looked in maroon robes, the poor healer looked more than a little run down with strands of hair escaping her ponytail as she uncorked a mana bottle and steadily chugged it down before closing her eyes and letting out a weary sigh. “It was nice to meet you Jaina, I’ll be back as soon as I can. Oh, and be sure that Sylvanas stays in bed or she’ll have me to answer to.” Liadrin raised her voice on the last part so that Vereesa could hear it as well and the young elf turned her face that was still rested against her sister’s chest to resolutely nod as Liadrin rolled her eyes and marched out.

“Insufferable healers.” Sylvanas muttered and Vereesa snorted.

“I’m sure it’s you being the insufferable one, not her. Now eat your soup while I go harass Jaina.” Vereesa switched to Common as she gracefully extracted herself from Sylvanas’s arms and pushed herself away, approaching the human with a soft smile on her face. “Hey, how are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” Jaina whispered as Vereesa tentatively perched on the edge of her bed. “A little… overwhelmed.” She could at least allow some of the truth, right?

“I bet,” Vereesa murmured, hand moving to gently touch her calf. “Liadrin treating you well?”

“Yes, fine.” Jaina kept her sentences short, not missing the brief flash of apprehension that crossed Vereesa’s face.

The silver-haired elf swallowed, suddenly finding it hard to look into Jaina’s eyes. “Jaina, I... first of all I’m going to say thank you, your actions yesterday… I believe you just might have saved us all.” Vereesa’s expression was still soft but her mouth pressed into a thin line. Jaina could practically taste the distrust in the air, and inwardly grimaced. She already knew she was going to have several questions thrown her way, questions she was in no way prepared to answer.

Luckily she was saved by the momentary distraction that was a crash of cutlery as Sylvanas descended on her bowl of soup with the fervor of someone who hadn’t eaten in days. Dignity long forgotten, she moaned as she lifted spoonfuls of broth to her lips before clearly even that wasn’t fast enough when she forgoed the implement altogether to drink from the bowl itself.

“Belore Sylvanas, breathe. ” Vereesa exclaimed glaring at the sister in question who clearly had no semblance of self preservation as she tipped the bowl back, to the point that some of it was dribbling down her chin before wiping her mouth and whimpering in dismay at having finished it so fast.

“Merciful Light, I’m sorry.” Sylvanas gasped out between breaths, “I’m just… I’m starving. Is there any more?”

“No I…” Vereesa suddenly looked rather remorseful, “Healer’s orders, we have to feed you in small amounts or it could make you sick after such a long period of starvation.”

Sylvanas deflated, to the point that Jaina felt guilty for having a full bowl of soup still and not even feeling hungry. She glanced up her sister again, shame coloring her cheeks. “Surely just a little more won’t hurt?”

Vereesa merely shook her head sadly, ears drooping slightly at the suddenly vulnerable way in which Sylvanas was holding herself, almost feral, like an abused hound that didn’t know when its next meal would be. It was like it hadn’t hit her until now just how close to death her sister had been.

The gravity of the situation hit Jaina as well and she felt her throat tighten as the sudden sense of not-belonging hit her like a tidal wave. Sylvanas was here because of her, Quel’thalas itself still stood strong because she had interfered. She had done what Kairozdormu had warned her not to, she had changed the course of history, drastically, and it was a surprise she was even still around and hadn't been outright killed from such a rebellious act of defiance against the very course of time.

Unless… it wasn’t all that rebellious at all. Quel’thalas was but one city and Sylvanas, as important as her role in future events seemed, was only a singular person. Maybe in the grand scheme of things the monumental change she had enacted wasn’t really that monumental at all. Well, and Jaina didn’t like to think about it, it was either that or, like her incident with Arthas, Quel’thalas wasn’t out of the woods yet- that his undead army would return, only this time they would succeed and, despite her best efforts, all would be as it should.

Jaina felt sick. She knew she couldn’t stay here. She had to go, now, before things fell apart and she was forced to stick around to face questions she had no answers to, wasting time with petty talk when the time was for immediate action.

“Vereesa I… I want to explain but, I fear if I do, it will only cause more confusion and I,” Jaina’s voice became stern, “I can’t just stay here, now while he’s still out there.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed, noticing with some discomfort that somebody, probably Liadrin, had changed her. Wearing what was effectively loose linen robes with nothing underneath, she felt rather exposed and vulnerable as two sets of glowing silver eyes fixated on her in response to the abrupt movement. Sylvanas made to get up but Vereesa shot her a meaningful look and the older elf frowned before her eyes widened in realization and she settled back down, looking uneasy.

Jaina inwardly questioned their silent exchange but ignored it in favor of standing up and smoothing her robes and pushing her loose hair over one shoulder before slowly bending down to pick up her staff, ignoring the stiffness in her limbs as they shook from exertion. “Forgive me ‘Reesa, I promise, I’ll explain everything once I...once I…” Jaina frowned as she tried to cast only to find her magic not responding, it was there, ready to be used, but ever so slightly beyond her reach, weaving around her fingers but never quite making the connection. She looked down at her hands, confused only to realize in horror at the addition on her wrists.

Gold cuffs, etched in intricate Thalassian script were snapped around them, cuffs that couldn’t be removed without some form of outside aid. Jaina knew these particularly well, she’d even modified sets of these herself when she’d started taking prisoners in Dalaran. Magic nullifying cuffs. How had she only noticed them just now? Jaina felt panic well up within her chest, tears sprang to her eyes and the look she gave Vereesa was full of heartbreak and betrayal.

Her staff clattered to the floor.

“What did you do?!” She seethed and Vereesa’s face crumpled.

“It wasn’t my idea Jaina, I…”

“You mean to keep me as a prisoner? After all I did for you, for your people?”

“Jaina they simply want answers and trust me I absolutely did not order this, if anything this is the last thing I-”

“Remove these, right now, Vereesa or I swear I’ll-” Jaina stepped toward the younger Windrunner.

“Don’t you dare threaten my sister!” Before Jaina could blink Sylvanas was up and on her feet, and seemingly out of nowhere the glint of a knife was brandished in her left hand as she made her way around the bed. Even dressed in similarly matching robes, feet bare against the temporary boards of the tent, she looked imposing, fangs bared in a wicked snarl and ears pinned back to the point they were flat against her skull. Jaina froze, though only momentarily, before she stepped around Vereesa to face Sylvanas instead.

“As if I would ever actually act on them, this is Vereesa we are talking about” Jaina scoffed before she lowered her voice into a growl, “But right now I don’t particularly like being held against my will.”

Sylvanas’s eyes widened a fraction, clearly not expecting such an honest and heated response. She slowly eased her grip on the knife and straightened, glancing at Vereesa before relaxing her posture and chuckling.

“Well I’ve gotta say Little Moon, I regret not travelling to Dalaran more often, if this is the kind of company you get to keep.”

“This isn’t a laughing matter Sylvanas.” Vereesa ground out only causing Sylvanas to chuckle louder, turning back to Jaina and gesturing with her free hand.

“Take a look at her wrists.”

Jaina slid her gaze to Vereesa and realized with some humiliation that Vereesa was cuffed too. The younger Windrunner shrugged, looking at Jaina bashfully.

“Witnesses ratted me out, they saw me shoot Drathir and have effectively linked me to working with you. Rhonin can’t teleport me out either, even if he wanted to.”

Oh. Oh. Well this wasn’t good. Feeling rather embarrassed and defeated, Jaina sighed heavily and walked back to her bed, collapsing on it stomach first and letting out a muffled groan against the sheets. Even if she were able to get out of these Tide-forsaken cuffs she knew that there was no way she was letting Vereesa suffer the consequence of her sloppy and impulsive actions.

“Well, I guess I have some explaining to do.” She muttered, turning her face to the side so her voice was clearer.

“Yes, thank you .” Vereesa huffed, shooting Sylvanas a grateful look as warily made her way over to Jaina rubbing a sympathetic hand along her back. “I really want to trust you Jaina and well… after everything you’ve done for us, I kind of already do but, I need to know what we are dealing with.”

“I will tell you,” Jaina replied, choosing her words slowly. “But it’s a long and painful story, one I’d rather not have to repeat more than once so perhaps we save it for whoever needs to know.”

“It will be in a trial I’m afraid,” Vereesa muttered and Jaina let out a rather colorful curse much to Sylvanas’s amusem*nt as she carefully set her knife down on the table next to her.

“Grant her that request at least Little Moon?” Sylvanas cautioned in Thalassian, causing Jaina to scowl and bury her face back in the sheets. She wasn’t ready to reveal her hand that she had a rather decent grasp of the language, no need in drawing even more suspicion from Vereesa herself than she already had. “Clearly it’s a difficult topic for her to bring up and honestly I don’t want a repeat of the shouting match we just had. I am far too tired for this sh*t.”

Jaina had to fight back the surprised snort of laughter as she relaxed into the soothing touch of Vereesa gently stroking her back, hating just how starved of attention her body was.

“Fine,” Vereesa huffed back in Common, her fingers stilling against Jaina’s spine and human almost whimpered at the loss. “For some inane reason my sister has convinced me to leave you alone, but Jaina, for both our sakes, don’t use this as a chance to stall or lie to us. No matter how bad you think the truth is, you’re still considered a hero and no haughty Quel’Dorei noble can deny that you saved us all and that includes their own sorry hides.” A kiss was pressed against the top of her head. “Now get some sleep, both of you.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Sylvanas slurred, stretching back in the sheets with a satisfied groan. “I honestly feel as though I could sleep for a week.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Vereesa muttered as she turned to walk out of the tent. “Unlike me, you’re not the one arrested for treason. You and your rangers are the praise on everyone’s lips, far as I’m aware your name can’t be tarnished at this point.”

Jaina resisted the urge to scoff, if only Vereesa knew just how wrong she was. The young elf gave a final wave at the two of them before shooting a fond look in Sylvanas’s direction, like she was still finding it hard to believe she was still alive. Jaina didn’t blame her, she was having a hard time processing it too.

The mage rolled over so she was now staring at the ceiling, pleased that her headache had finally relented, leaving her thoughts a little more clearer, a little more rational. Perhaps Vereesa was right about her getting some sleep, maybe some rest would do her good if only to allow her to plan on what exactly she was going to say at the trial. f*ck, being stuck in Silvermoon wasn’t ideal at all but right now exhaustion was quickly winning the battle againsts any urgency she felt. Instead Jaina opted to enjoy the golden beams of sunlight that fell across the white sheets and the scent of fresh air drifting in from outside, a far cry from the stench of the battlefield earlier.

So she nearly leapt out of bed again when Sylvanas’s voice piped up from across the room. “So…” Ears perked up in hopeful expectation as she eyed Jaina’s untouched bowl of soup, “do you have any plans on eating that?”

Jaina paused, glancing at Sylvanas warily before wordlessly pushing it in her direction.

Kael’Thas was furious. When news reached Dalaran of the plight of his people, how a kingdom had nearly fallen due to a betrayal from within, it took everything within him not tear through the city, striking everything in his path.

“You humans!” He spat as Antonidas hurried after him, “I was a fool to think that we would find aid in your kind.”

“We were just as in the dark as you were Kael’Thas, you must believe us.” The elderly human Archmage struggled to keep up with the brisk stride of the elven prince as he tore his way down the alleyway, the flicker of flames in his eyes as his magic welled within him, fury boiling within his veins.

“And yet a Kirin Tor missive was sent there!” Kael’Thas wheeled round to fix Antonidas with a furious glare. “Unless you wish to tell me my reports are incorrect, that my own father is mistaken? That Jaina Proudmoore did not aid my people when the butcher Menethil almost slaughtered my city? How could you possibly think it fit to send a mere apprentice when we should have had the entire council there! And how could you have dared to keep such information from me?” An orb of flame appeared in the palm of the prince’s left hand and he threw it in the direction of a pillar, ignoring the shouts of fear from those in the vicinity. “I should have been there!”

“Nobody in the Kirin Tor knew of the attack” Antonidas raised his voice, knowing Kael was merely lashing out but not prepared to take such an accusation. “I did not send Jaina Proudmoore to Quel’Thalas. I was given a report that she was in Kul Tiras, recovering after what Arthas-”

The flames abruptly extinguished in Kael’Thas’ hands and he straightened as a look of realization crossed his features. “Of course,” he spat, ears flattening as his gaze became distant, cold. “I should have known.”

“Kael’Thas?” Antonidas’ voice sounded wary, for the cold, calm fury in the princes’ eyes was far more terrifying than his previous heated outburst.

“She was his lover.” Kael’Thas ground out, “I bet you didn’t know that, did you old man…so enamoured by the promise in your perfect little apprentice.” Kael’Thas paused before fixing Antonidas with a truly menacing glare. “Or maybe you did, but you brushed it aside, putting it down to the dalliances of youth. Well look what that youth did to us, it nearly razed an entire city, an entire people!”

“What are you trying to tell me?” Antonidas raised a white eyebrow, his blood running cold.

“She knew Antonidas, she knew what was to come. And if you were not the one who sent her, then who did?” Kael’Thas lips pulled back from his teeth, baring fangs and the old Archmage flinched, for while the prince had always been one to hold himself in reservation, he was still an elf and behind that pomp and nobility was something much more wild, much more feral.

“You don’t think…” Antonidas began slowly, his eyes widening at what Kael might be suggesting. No, it couldn’t be. Not Jaina.

“If I find out she was working with Arthas.” Kael’Thas spat the name like a curse. “Then Belore have mercy on her.”

“Okay, so take a look at this,” Sylvanas muttered through a mouthful of food as she bit off a hunk of bread and chewed enthusiastically. She tapped an elegant finger against the scrawl she’d written out on a spare sheet of paper she’d begged off of Liadrin. “It’s a common mistake many elves make, even as adults, but it totally changes the meaning of the sentence. So if you add the stress at the start, it comes across as disappointment but if you put it here,” Sylvanas traced her finger to the other example she’d hastily written out, “it’s said more in anger.”

“Ugh, complicated.” Jaina frowned, glaring at the foreign script until each symbol started to make less and less sense the more she thought about it.

“Hm but would it even be Thalassian if it wasn’t?” Sylvanas teased, throwing her a wink before not-so-subtly stealing her companion’s roll of bread. Jaina, in response simply flushed, and stared resolutely at the sheet of paper as though it somehow had all the answers to the turmoil of emotions whipping around her brain.

This was all just too weird. Sylvanas was alive, so very alive. With flushed cheeks, bronzed skin that was looking healthier and healthier with each passing day, the shadows under her eyes less pronounced with every full night of rest and cheeks less gaunt with every finished bowl of soup and whatever she could successfully scrounge off Jaina. This elf, with inquisitive silver eyes and the inability to speak without cracking a joke was all too real as she bombarded Jaina with questions all the while fighting Liadrin on just about everything until the overworked priestess declared her to be just about the worst patient she’d ever had had the misfortune of treating. It was… amusing, this lighthearted banter, and even after just a few short days it was becoming easier and easier for Jaina to relax around her, easier for her to tell herself she wasn’t about to get stabbed in the night the moment she dropped her guard.

So sitting here, learning Thalassian from a surprisingly passionate teacher was actually… kind of nice. An impromptu session that had come about when Jaina admitted to understanding more about the language than she’d initially let on, but still expressed a struggle in reading it. Sylvanas went to turn the sheet over before both her ears flattened slightly in response to the disturbance and she muttered something under her breath that Jaina couldn’t quite make out.

“ Belore Lady Moon, I told you already to leave her alone!” Vereesa hurried into the medical tent, eyebrow raised in disapproval at the chair Sylvanas had pulled up next to the human, though this time with her legs resting on Jaina’s bed as well so she could stretch out her aching limbs.

Sylvanas had incessantly voiced her worries that her muscles were starting to atrophy, which Jaina in turn kept reminding her restless companion that it’d been less than a week and was still far too sick to be on her feet for long. It was sometimes easy to forget with all the nervous energy the elf radiated as she snooped around the shared space, ignoring Liadrin’s instruction of strict bed rest as she harassed her only tent-mate with curious remarks all the while sifting through Jaina’s things with unwarranted abandon. From tracing the hastily etched protection runes the mage had inscribed on her makeshift bracers to inspecting her staff, testing its weight in her hands, eyes greedily drinking in the power from within before asking her yet more questions about how she came into possession of such an artifact.

Jaina didn’t particularly mind it, she was going a little stir crazy herself. At least Sylvanas was genuinely recovering and exhaustion made her periods of restless activity rather short before she admitted defeat and retired to her bed in a sprawl of long, tanned limbs and gentle rhythmic snores.

Yes, Sylvanas snored. Jaina wouldn’t have believed it had she not witnessed it herself.

Jaina, on the other hand, felt all too healthy now that her headache was gone and with it came a stifling anxiety to get away from these four canvas walls and start doing something about the rather pressing problem that was her ex lover carving his way through Lordaeron, no doubt plotting a counter attack.

They’d won this time but history proved that Arthas needed the Sunwell in order to carry out his plans. Surely it would be only a matter of time before he tried again.

Right?

Tides she needed some fresh air. She could at least indulge in that, it wasn’t like she could get very far, inhibited as she was.

Locked up in her thoughts she almost forgot that Vereesa had arrived before Sylvanas waved a hand in front of her face and Jaina flinched as she snapped out of it. Vereesa looked worried while Sylvanas looked more amused than anything as she chuckled lowly.

Jaina hated that she was starting to like that sound a lot.

“That’s a habit of yours isn’t it,” she teased gently, white fangs flashing as she grinned. “To just zone out, trapped in your own mind.”

The human blushed which only caused Sylvanas’s grin to widen and Jaina found herself fascinated by the angle of her ears, the way they were pricked upright, yet canted forward slightly. Curiosity perhaps? Attentiveness? Either way it caused Vereesa to sigh heavily and roughly tilt the chair backwards, causing her older sister to yelp as she was thrown off balance.

“Don’t even think about it,” Vereesa warned lowly into said long ear that flicked away irritably, her voice quiet enough that Jaina almost missed it. She then straightened and pointed to the bed with a lighter tone to her voice. “I will get Liadrin to restrain you if I see you out of your bed again.”

“She wouldn’t dare.”

“Don’t think she’s scared of you Sylvanas, she will quite happily find a reason to take you down a peg or two. Notwithstanding the fact that she’s mentioned once or several times that she’s just about had it and if we don’t send her a bottle of wine to say thank you for putting up with your antics, she’s making a formal complaint.”

“Oh I don’t doubt she’s not scared of me but if she means to restrain me she might find herself getting more than she bargained for.” Sylvanas smirked causing the tips of Vereesa’s ears to flush red as she screwed her face up into an uncomfortable grimace.

“It’s been four days and already your mind is in the gutter.” She snapped back in Thalassian, before turning to Jaina, features schooling back into a slightly too friendly smile. “You need to come with me. Don’t worry we’ll get you some proper clothes as well.”

“Yes, thank you.” Jaina leapt to her feet, all too eager to hide the burning in her cheeks at Sylvanas’s suggestiveness as well as a chance to go outside. She jolted in surprise when Vereesa put an arm around her, ushering her out in what seemed like a rather protective manner as she continued to glare at her sister.

“Wait!” Sylvanas’s voice came out sounding rather desperate as she stumbled for the entranceway as Vereesa quietly offered Jaina her cloak. “You’re both leaving now?”

“Yes that’s what I said, I have orders from the king himself,” Vereesa huffed a strand of hair away from her face, looking more than a little flustered. “And absolutely no, no way.” Her voice rose as Sylvanas made to grab a blanket off the bed, wrapping it around her shoulders.

“Vereesa, there is no way you’re leaving me in this prison alone, I’m coming with you. Where are my boots?” Sylvanas was trying her best to look and sound casual, but Jaina didn’t miss the white-knuckled grip she had on the iron railing at the foot of the bed as she was clearly fighting against a wave of vertigo that could be seen from the sudden paleness of her skin and the way her hands shook.

“Sylvanas, stop.” The words were out her mouth before she’d even thought them and she felt a prickle of fear at the back of her neck for speaking so firmly. She hadn’t been thinking, in that moment all she’d seen was the elf struggling and felt the overwhelming need to have her lie back down.

What she didn’t expect was Sylvanas to obey , admitting defeat and lowering herself slowly back onto the mattress, burying her face in her hands. “This is so frustrating,” she responded in a small voice. “My rangers are out there, hurting, and all I can do is... lay here, useless.”

“You’re hurting too,” Vereesa responded gently, taking her cue from Jaina. “You know they are in good hands and wouldn’t want you making it worse for yourself just to make an appearance. We will be back soon, I promise.”

Sylvanas did not look any more convinced and for the first time Jaina saw the cracks in her mask. She’d been so upbeat, so cheery, flinging jokes and stealing food, that it was only now that Jaina realized how much Sylvanas was hurting. Hurting for her fallen friends, the villages she’d failed to save- that all of...this had been her way of keeping herself busy. For the first time Jaina could see just how terrified Sylvanas was of being left alone.

And here I always thought you acted as a lone wolf, someone who thought themselves above friendship and family.

She could still feel the uncomfortable heat of Sylvanas’s gaze on the back of her neck as she followed Vereesa out into the bright sunshine, gazing upon the endless row of white medical tents as healers and volunteers alike ducked in and out of them, arms piled high with blankets and bandages. The stress and chaos almost palpable as the mage took in the brutal aftermath of battle. Grief was a strange thing, Jaina concluded, as she was tugged along by the iron grip Vereesa had around her arm. Some of the elves she witnessed were on the ground bawling, lamenting those who were missing or dead while others stayed quiet and helpful, though she could see from the torment in their eyes they they too had lost those who were dear. A stretcher was carted past her, held aloft by a couple of elves who looked to be teenagers though Jaina couldn't be completely sure, definitely young enough that they hadn't yet filled out into their adult physiques, the wiry muscles of their arms straining from under the weight. The sheet covering the body suggested whoever they were transporting was deceased. Grief was rampant here, yet did little to slow the efficiency as the Kingdom of Quel'Thalas quickly moved to heal their wounded and bury their dead. A few glowing eyes glanced in her direction, some in awe, others in fear. She briefly lamented the lack of elven ears to make out the whispers as some murmured to eachother as she passed, but could tell from the urgency in which Vereesa pulled her along that not all of them were friendly.

Tides help her, she couldn’t get Sylvanas’s expression out of her mind. This spark of empathy Jaina felt, she didn’t like it one bit. Her thoughts regarding this woman had always been pretty mixed- flinging from pity to hatred and back again several times. The fallen elf had been her enemy, a threat to everything she held dear. She had been someone who was cold and clinical, had no qualms in using her own family against her. A ruthless leader who believed that no act was too cruel, too extreme, if it bought her even the slightest advantage.

Aysa Cloudsinger, a stalwart follower of the path of Tushui, once said to her that success in any endeavor never justifies dishonorable deeds. It was something Jaina had taken a while to put into practice, but she liked to think she’d grown to be a firm adopter of such a belief. It had been those words that had her refraining from pressing the attack after Dazar’alor. Yet, as seemingly wise and honorable as those words were, they were still fraught with inconsistencies. Her pulling back her fleet when victory was within the Alliance’s grasp was considered, by some, one of the worst tactical moves in military history- that it had only given the Horde breathing room to bolster their ranks as Sylvanas twisted Zandalar’s tragedy into an act of revenge and hatred. Her inaction may have indirectly cost the lives of thousands by dragging out a war that could have been ended, and was that truly worth it for her own peace of mind? Perhaps not.

But Sylvanas. Sylvanas’s actions could not be justified. Could they? She’d slaughtered innocents. Civilians in their own home.

Just like Jaina almost had, consumed with rage and a tidal wave of enslaved elements at her back.

Had it not been for Thrall and Kalec…

Jaina focused on her footsteps, jaw clenching as her eyes shifted in the direction of the tent she’d exited from though they were far enough away now she couldn't make out which one. You’d were alone then too, weren’t you? Would you have been talked down, had the right person been there by your side? Could you have stopped it, had there been only been a voice familiar enough to break through to you?

She only wished she had an answer to that.

But no, she couldn’t waste time trying to empathize with Sylvanas. At the end of the day, Jaina knew Sylvanas and her dark potential and no matter how vulnerable she looked, no matter how friendly or charming or alive she seemed, Jaina could never forget that.

She wasn’t here to make friends, not when she had a Prince to kill.

Velonara was trying her hardest to sleep. The first few days, the fever and the agonizing pain in her leg had been all that consumed her, her head lolling against a sweat-soaked pillow as the hours passed unnoticed. Eventually, when the healer sliced at her leg, draining the infected blood until it ran a healthy red again, her thoughts started to clear, her mind becoming more coherent. Pain relief brought her strange dreams as she slept and sometimes she would moan or cry out as her mind cruelly replayed the final moments of battle in stark realism. The panicked cries, the snarls of mindless undead and the stench of fear and decay. Sometimes she saw her squad cheering in victory, other times she saw that strange human mage, hurling deadly shards of ice and clearing everything in her path. And one occasion she saw the undead advance, swarming the villages and tearing down anyone who’d been too slow or stubborn to escape while she could only watch, unable to move or speak and her soul feeling as though it had been ripped to shreds.

When she saw something slink into her tent she was convinced it was another hallucination, a fevered daydream as the fabric of the tent fluttered gently from the movement. So she flinched and nearly cried out in alarm had it not been for the hand firmly clamping over her mouth.

“Shhh, it’s just me.” Sylvanas hissed next to her ear and Velonara instantly relaxed, eyes narrowing as she shrugged angrily out of her General’s grasp.

“ Belore Sylvanas, had my heart been any weaker you might have killed me,” Velonara growled lowly under her breath as she struggled to sit upright with Sylvanas helpfully propping the pillows behind her back to support her. “But… hey…” she sighed as her General glanced at her with barely contained excitement.

“Hey.” Sylvanas’s smile widened, ears perked expectantly before collapsing into a fully fanged grin as Velonara couldn’t help but smirk in response. Sylvanas didn’t waste any time in crawling over to snuggle next to her Captain, careful so as not to knock her leg.

“You’re an idiot you know,” Velonara sighed causing Sylvanas to hum happily in response before gently embracing her from the side. The Ranger Captain softened when she felt the soft puffs of breath from Sylvanas as she buried her face into the warmth of her neck. “I’m okay Sylv… you know I’ll always be okay. I’m as tough as old leather.”

“I know,” Sylvanas breathed. “I just had to see it for myself.”

Velonara rolled her eyes and nudged Sylvanas playfully. “You’re going to be in so much trouble by coming here.”

“Mhm.”

“You’re so damn pleased with yourself for finding me aren’t you.”

“Damn right I am.”

Velonara scoffed and shifted to get more comfortable, causing an annoyed Sylvnas to grumble in response. She huffed out a gentle laugh, glad that the Ranger General was back to her usual demanding antics. Despite wanting to scold her for sneaking out of her bed she couldn’t help but feel soothed by her familiar presence.

“How’s your leg?” Sylvanas’s voice was soft, wary.

“It’s… fine, I don’t particularly like looking at it. I fear it won’t be the same after this.”

“We can work on it.”

“Hmm.” The two rangers took a moment to bask in the moment, of being safe, of being alive. Velonara let out a long sigh, her fingers tracing the stitching of the pillowcase as she tried to ground herself from the terrifying thought of how close she’d been to losing her General, how close they’d both been to losing their lives. Then there was the horrific thought that it was only a matter of time before the two of them would have to face the uncomfortable task of finding out and naming everyone under their regiment who hadn't made it. “You know,” Velonara cleared her throat, tamping down on her emotions, “they had Clea here, but she was a lot better off than either of us, the healer discharged her yesterday.”

“Lucky girl.”

“I know,” Velonara chuckled, “I’m going crazy here by myself.”

“Tell me about it, Jaina kept me occupied but Vereesa whisked her away.” Sylvanas’s features became sour as she shifted more upright and folded her arms.

“Jaina?” Velonara sounded incredulous. “The human is still here?”

“Yes, she was out for days, clearly whatever she did took its toll.” Sylvanas’s lips twisted into a frown. “But she’s awake now, and healthy it seems, if Vereesa felt the need to take her to see the king.”

“She’s being taken to see Anasterian?” Velonara exclaimed looking all the more lost and Sylvanas nodded solemnly.

“I wish I could explain it but I’m just as in the dark as you are. All I know is that Vereesa knows her from Dalaran but is perplexed as to how she came to be here, not only knowing about our best kept defensive secret but also being aware that it was going to fail. The mystery of it all, it’s driving me insane.” Sylvanas huffed and let her head drop against the pillow.

“Well…” Velonara clicked her tongue thoughtfully before deciding to shrug and lighten the mood, “Well I suppose it wouldn’t be the same without it being a pretty woman driving you crazy.”

“Don’t even…tease me about that.” Sylvanas sighed, rubbing at her temple.

“Wait,” Velonara’s eyebrows raised in alarm, “don’t tell me you…”

“Oh no, no way, absolutely not.” Sylvanas shook her head fiercely. “It just...I don’t understand her, one minute she’s friendly enough, we’re talking, getting along and the next she looks at me like I’ve pissed all over her belongings and offended her ancestors in the same action.” Sylvanas let out a tired chuckle as Velonara scrunched her nose up at the crude analogy. “You want to know one of the first things she did when she woke up? She yelled at me.”

“She… yelled at you?”

Sylvanas made a gesture as though she were agreeing with Velonara just absurd it was. “Apparently saving her life was the wrong thing to do,” she muttered sarcastically before her eyes flashed as she leant closer, “but she’s smart Vel, very smart and Light is she powerful, I’ve never felt that much magic within a person, even Kael’thas, she practically breathes arcane but… she’s mad. Positively insane.”

“Well, whoever she is, it matters little to us. We just do our thing, play the part of the hero, say thank you and lay low while the Kirin Tor-”

“-And I f*cking love it.” Sylvanas butted in, breathless and staring at the ceiling dreamily. Velonara groaned in exasperation and rolled over, half considering kicking Sylvanas out of her tent.

"Belore help you Sylvanas, Belore help us all.”

Chapter 5: Insects

Chapter Text

“Jaina?” Sylvanas’ voice is soft as she trudges barefoot through the snow. The icy chill of the wind whipping past her ears, causing them to flatten as she further tugs at her hood, struggling to squint against the squalling blizzard. The landscape is frigid, bleak and cold. There are no trees to speak of, no homely scents or sounds of the forest, just sharp jagged rocks that pierce through thick blue ice. Logically, standing poorly clad in such wintery conditions, she should be chilled to the bone, but as the flakes settle on her bare skin she finds she isn’t bothered, that she can barely feel them at all.

Again she calls the human’s name but her voice sounds strange, detached, her own and yet...not. An imitation projected from her lips rather than through the familiar vibration of vocal chords. She’s been following her new companion for a while as her form slips in and out of the snowstorm, but now Sylvanas has lost all direction. All she can see is white as the mist and snow close in. She opens her mouth to call again yet no sound comes out. Her lips part but the breath catches in her throat, chest seizing in what she recognizes to be dread. The light is fading, the shriek of the wind muffled as the snow begins to fall thicker.

Several red eyes open in the dark.

Sylvanas woke with a gasp, her hand reaching next to her, only to grasp at empty sheets.

“Vel?” She murmured, heart still pounding as she struggled to come to, banishing the strange and disturbing dream from her mind. Eyes adjusted to the light, surroundings sharpened into focus, though much more sluggishly than she would like. The entrance to the tent was tied open, allowing the cool and refreshing morning air to breeze through, gently tussling the errant strands of her hair as they tickle against her neck. And although her body still ached like somebody had run her over with a Dwarvish Iron-charger, she felt better than she had done in days.

“No Velonara, I’m afraid,” a dry voice muttered just out of Sylvanas’s line of sight and she closed her eyes to ground herself, before sheepishly turning over and risking a glance at the glare Liadrin was boring into her as the healer folded her arms, ears canted back in disapproval.

“Playing the stern matron doesn’t suit you.” Sylvanas grumbled, making a show of closing her eyes again and rolling away. It’s an obvious lie. Lady Liadrin demands acquiesce from her patients like one would demand air or water, a fine priestess in everything but bedside manner, yet Sylvanas knows that a helping hand is not one easily accepted unless its hold is decisive and firm.

“Get up.” Sylvanas fights a grin as she settles on her back, hands folded behind her head.

“I thought I was supposed to stay in-”

“I said get up, you’re discharged.”

Sylvanas hated that her ears gave away her surprise as they shot up. She’s always had such expressive ones, ears that tip off hidden emotions that she’s tried hard to outwardly suppress. Traitorous things really. She turned back toward Liadrin only to find the healer hiding a subtle smirk.

“Wait...you’re serious?”

“You heard me. I’ve deemed you fit to leave my care. Now get out of my sight. I need these beds free.”

Sylvanas waited for a response, waited for there to be some sort of catch, but Liadrin’s stony silence was more than enough. She could still hardly believe it as she slowly lifted herself to a standstill, the sheets sliding away from her body, and she shivered from the sudden exposure to the biting chill of the air. Still not daring to take her gaze away from the priestess, she slowly gathered what little belongings she’d taken with her, edging toward the entrance of the tent, one ear still pointed in Liadrin’s direction.

Liadrin sighed, “I’m serious, Windrunner, leave me be. Follow the line of tents down and you’ll find blankets and coffee. I believe several of your rangers are waiting for you there, like despondent ducklings without a mother.”

Blankets… coffee. That sounded nice. And the chance to reunite with her squad. Sylvanas shook her head, still struggling to clear her thoughts. The essence of that nightmare, the details already forgotten, coiled at the back of her brain. “Liadrin?” She started, her voice unusually humbled and small. “I…”

“A bottle please, Silvermoon Port, from the year 596 preferrably and don’t pretend you haven’t got it because I know your mother collected several in reserve and I can’t imagine, even now, that either you or Vereesa would have dared touch it.”

“I-” Sylvanas attempted again, not used to feeling flustered.

“-And if you even try to say thank you I will rip out those stitches and feed your insides to the dragonhawks. For one you have been about the worst patient I have had the misfortune of treating and my second point is that you, like your mother, have never gotten the hang of expressing your emotion through words. So I’m sparing us both the discomfort and telling you, bottle of port, my desk, at the end of the week.”

Sylvanas found that she can only nod in response before slipping out of the tent and to her freedom. Away from the muted sanctuary of the sickbay, sights, sounds and scents hit her like a runaway cart. Her ears swivelled actively as she struggled to take in the chaos of people rushing around her. Some faltered a couple of steps when they saw her, yet their dedication to their duty made sure they did not linger beyond shooting her an emotion-filled glance as they hurried past. Like a drunk, her boots, still only partially laced, stumbled haphazardly along the trail that had been stamped into the mud. She paused once or twice to catch her breath and glance into the entrance of tents, taking several wounded, soldier and civilian alike, laying feverishly in their beds. She could smell blood in the air, along with the sharp scent of sterile alcohol and bitter medicinal herbs. She was exposed, emotional, and it didn’t help matters when she finally caught sight of her rangers huddled by the fire, looking equally exhausted and dejected, their frightened and lost expressions reflecting everything she felt in that moment. Some were perched on logs, swaddled in blankets while others tentatively sipped at flasks of coffee or cupped hands around bowls of heated gruel. Velonara was the first to spot her, eyes lighting up as she stood with an awkward hop on her remaining good leg to enthusiastically wave her over.

“Ranger General.” She simply stated, a soft yet relieved smile on her face and, following a simultaneous clatter of flasks and cutlery hitting the ground, Sylvanas found herself surrounded. Hands tentatively brushed against her, as several exhausted elves took it in turns to ground themselves with the reality of seeing her alive. Marrah eventually broke the tension by flinging herself at Sylvanas, arms wrapped securely around her neck. She was soon joined by Kalira and Cyndia. Vorel hung back, yet her smile was wide, as did Thyala and Loralen. Velonara simply chuckled and handed Sylvanas a steaming flask which she gratefully took.

“And you thought I was lying.” Velonara scolded, rubbing Kalira’s arm affectionately who merely scowled in response and tightened her hold around Sylvanas’s waist.

It was good to see them, so good, but all too soon the dark thoughts seeped into her mind as she glanced at the faces of her beloved rangers and started to take note of who wasn’t there. Areiel, Alina, Anya...Sylvanas began to list names in her mind every time she searched for a face and found it absent. She slowly dropped her arms from Kalira, her jaw working yet unable to voice the mix of emotions wracking through her like a turbulent storm. Velonara was quick to catch the relieved smile fading from Sylvanas’s face and she stepped closer, leaning to murmur in her ear.

“I promise you we will have time to grieve, we will honor our fallen and will make sure that nobody will ever forget, but for now you must temper these troubled thoughts and be there for those around you, be there for your people.” Velonara firmly gripped Sylvanas’s shoulder and it was exactly what she needed to stand a little straighter, to smile again at her rather sorry looking lot of beautiful, brave rangers. She realized, only now, that they had their ears strained in her direction, eyes fixated on her with a look of desperation. They were hanging onto her every move like their sanity depended on it.

And perhaps it did.

Velonara was right, now is not the time to break down, now is the time to remind them of what they’ve suffered so greatly for.

“Quel’Thalas stands.”

She’d opened her mouth to make a speech, to congratulate each and everyone for their skill, their tenacity, their unflinching bravery in the face of death, but in that moment that simple statement was all that left her lips... and from the reaction of her rangers she quickly realized that was all she had to say.

“Quel’Thalas stands.” Velonara joined in, followed by Kalira and then Vorel and before she knew it, it started to ripple through the ranks like a tidal surge as people began to whoop and cheer. A fierceness crossed their faces, a feverish mixture of pride and pain as one by one, they thumped a hand against their chest in salute and turned toward their Ranger General. Even those who’d been hurrying to and fro from the tents paused in response to the commotion, eyes brightening and lips curling into a smile. Sylvanas found her legs moving on their own accord, to stand on one of the fallen logs by the fire so that she could be seen over the crowd. The sunrise warmed her back, the tips of her ears glowing red and her blonde hair catching the light like a halo as it highlighted her silhouette from behind. Her breath steamed in the frigid morning air as she repeated it again, this time louder, her voice breaking on the final syllable.

“Quel’Thalas stands!”

In response the yelling increased in volume until everyone in the encampment was taking it up like a chant before dissolving into wordless cries of triumph as she raised a single fist in victory, fangs bared in a feral grin.

“An elf and a human walk into a bar, the dwarf walks under it.”

“Seriously? Is that the best you can do?” Jaina groaned and let her head drop against the smooth, sanded wood of the bench she was lying on. They’d been in this cell for hours, well ‘cell’ was a crude term for it; ‘secured room’ was a description more apt. It was warm, full of light and well furnished with plenty of privacy.

But a prison nethertheless.

Jaina let her arm dangle, focusing on the uncomfortable weight of the metal cuff on her wrist.

“What can I say, I’m a mother now. Bad jokes come with the job description… well that and the fact that I’m married to Rhonin.”

Jaina’s bored expression morphed into one of wistfulness.

Rhonin.

“How is he?” She asked quietly before inwardly cursing herself for wanting to enquire. She knew she had to stop indulging in the ghosts of the past. She needed to stay sane, well... that ship had long since sailed but...sane enough. Enough to get through this, whatever this was.

“He’s fine, worried sick about you, but fine. He’s trying to keep the household together but I dread to think what state it will be in when I return.” Vereesa suckes an unsteady breath through her teeth while shooting Jaina a searching look, “ If I return.”

“Drathir was a traitor.” Jaina responded in a dry tone, holding her elven friend’s worried gaze. “You will have nothing to fear from this trial.”

“How can you be so sure?” Vereesa sat upright, wincing as her back popped.

“Whatever happens, whatever sentence they give me, I promise I’ll have your name cleared.”

Vereesa’s ears dipped a little at the detached tone in Jaina’s voice. “Is it that bad? What you have done?”

Jaina swallowed and ducked her gaze away, flinching slightly as Vereesa placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, look at me?” Vereesa’s voice was soft, almost motherly, and while part of her wanted to snarl and snap like a cornered and wounded animal, accuse Vereesa of treating her like fragile goods, a smaller yet rather vocal part cried out to lean into that comforting touch. Gentle fingers traced her jaw, slowly guiding her gaze to look into soft, glowing eyes. “Look at me, Jaina. Whatever you have done, I...I forgive you- you made the right choice... in the end.”

You wouldn’t forgive me, Jaina thought bitterly, if you knew what I have done, who I’ve bargained with to be here, you’d never want to look at me again. Still she closed her eyes and allowed Vereesa to smooth her thumb over a cheekbone before pulling away.

“Enough with the self loathing okay?” Vereesa’s hand shifted to Jaina’s shoulder to give it a firm shake. “We will face this together, one stuffy noble at a time.”

Jaina found herself sitting a little straighter, eyes widening at the utter trust her friend was giving her right now, the unrelenting kindness she absolutely did not deserve.

“Okay.” Was all she could simply whisper in response.

“This is an outrage,” Sylvanas snapped, arms tightly folded as she leant against the wall, one foot kicked up as it rested against the stone tiles. “Witnesses saw her remove the stone from Drathir’s pocket, just as much as they saw you shoot him, yet do they launch an investigation into their own ranks? Of course not, no, let’s just put the human on trial.” Sylvanas scoffed, one ear flicking in irritation. “Filthy rats, the lot of them”

“Jaina’s knowledge regarding the Key of Three Moons is still concerning.” Vereesa leveled in return, “it is valid cause for some form of questioning”

“Yes, questioning, not a fully fledged trial!” Sylvanas huffed, gathering a single breath before launching into another tirade. “Don’t you find it the slightest bit embarrassing? That even following what was the brink of our own nation’s demise, our so called ‘governing elders’ are willing to make a public spectacle of her in order to cover up their own failure and deceit.”

“And what has you so invested all of a sudden?” Vereesa raised an eyebrow, “you’ve never been one for politics and you’re not the one in theoretical chains here, this isn’t your concern.”

Sylvanas made an exasperated noise in the back of her throat. “I think you’ll find it is, for one I’m not sure I feel particularly happy that I nearly sacrificed myself for a kingdom that can’t even own up to its own mistakes, and secondly,” Sylvanas lowered her voice to a low growl, “I’ve come to be quite fond of the little mage, considering she saved my f*cking life.”

“I don’t know why you’re arguing with me.” Vereesa replied tersely, cheeks heating a little at the unusually emotional outburst from the same sister she’d deemed a lost cause when it came to altruistic tendencies. “It’s not like I’ve orchestrated this to happen. If you have an issue, take it up with the Elite Magisters.”

Sylvanas threw her head back and let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Oh of course it was them, vying for this outcome, squawking in our King’s ear...can’t have one black sheep sullying their perfect organisation now can we.”

“Sylvanas-”

Lips curled back in a distasteful sneer as Vereesa’s protests were ignored. “They pretend they’re too good for Dalaran when we all know the Kirin Tor wouldn’t take them. They pretend to be scholars, ever humble, ever wise but we all see the fine jewelry that adorns their necks and ears- the lavish parties they insist is worth spending vast sums of gold on for the sake of ‘appearances’ and ‘foreign relations’.” Sylvanas scoffed. “You know many of them were friends of that snake Drathir, who’s to say they don’t all have some backhanded organisation, leaking information to any fool that will offer the right sum of coin.”

“Are you sure this is about helping Jaina or are you still just mad that they voted against funding your little crusade to Zul’Aman all those years ago?” Vereesa nudged her sister’s shoulder, hoping to at least get a semblance of a smile but it fell flat as Sylvanas simply narrowed her eyes and kicked off the wall, ready to stalk away.

“Sylvanas!” Vereesa closed her eyes in frustration and tried again, “most of them are simply pompous old fools who drink too much and like to sit on gaudy chairs in gilded rooms, pretending they have a say in the world through the farce of law and politics- totally harmless!” She softened and dared to catch her fingers on her sister’s forearm, not missing the roughness of the bandages covering wounds still disturbingly fresh. “Perhaps Jaina might shed some light on how exactly this information came to reach her ears, maybe she even has a list of names for us.”

Her sister spun around to stand in front of Vereesa again, towering over her with a height she used to be jealous of until she discovered how blissfull it was to be held, small and secure in the gentle embrace of a shabby human in oversized robes and a scruffy beard. She really missed Rhonin right about now. It had been an emotional two weeks and she was aching to hold her boys in her arms again, to be back in the comfort of their home which must look like a hurricane has hit it if her husband’s housekeeping skills are anything to go by. Then again he always did have a habit of surprising her… for all his sickeningly adorable yet boyish antics, he’s amazing in times of crisis. It’s not fair that they won’t let her see him.

“Oh I hope she does. Give those pompous roaches a taste of their own medicine...” Sylvanas’s eyes took on a sinister gleam and Vereesa struggled to fight back a grimace. Her sister really scared her sometimes when she had something on her mind.

“Whatever thought you’re having, shut it down. Now.” Vereesa warned, though she knew it to be in vain. When Sylvanas had that expression on her face, the titans themselves wouldn’t be able to stop her from acting upon it.

“I’m serious!” Vereesa’s composure broke when she was merely met with silence. “Just let them do their trial, go through the motions as though Silvermoon still has some semblance of order amongst this awful, awful...turmoil and hopefully all will blow over with little incident.”

Sylvanas shook her head before her sister had even finished talking, stepping closer and lowering her voice. There was a restlessness to her demeanor that put Vereesa on edge, the way she rocked on the balls of her feet and flickered her glowing gaze toward the closed door where Jaina was currently bathing. “You know it won’t. People are angry ‘Reesa. They want answers, they want justice, and it’s only a matter of time before the people of Quel’Thalas turn their collective gaze upon our leaders and demand someone take responsibility. Responsibility they will jump through every hoop in order to avoid because that’s the one thing they’re good at. They need something, someone to blame.”

“And they will try and make Jaina the scapegoat.” Vereesa concluded for her, shoulders stiff as she straightened in realization.

A heavy silence fell between the two sisters as they shared a nervous glance, both sets of ears perking up in tandem at the sound of water being sloshed from sudden movement and then of bare feet against the marble floor. With a creak from the door, Jaina emerged quietly, towel around her chest and damp hair up in a messy bun as she approached Vereesa apprehensively. Her skin was flushed from the sudden drop in temperature as she moved from the humid climate of the bathroom. Sylvanas was quick to avert her gaze, opting to stroll over to the window, glaring at the outdoor scenery through the pane with arms folded behind her back in a militant fashion. Jaina spared her a distrustful glance before padding in Vereesa’s direction.

“Sorry, these were all I could find.” The younger elf muttered apologetically while handing over a clean set of breeches as well as a loose fitting shirt, wincing as Jaina pulled it on, only for it to almost come down to her thighs. “They’re Rhonin’s, so naturally it will be a little big. I will try my best to find you something smarter to wear for the trial.”

“No, keep those on.” Sylvanas interrupted, spinning on one foot and regarding Jaina with an expression that seemed almost soft if she didn’t know better. “It will make her look smaller, vulnerable, less threatening to the gawking masses at the trial.”

Vereesa let out an amused snort before she noticed the serious expression on her sister’s face and tilted her head with a frown. Jaina realized it too and couldn’t help the confused furrow of her own brow at the honest admission.

So... Sylvanas thought her to be intimidating. How... bizarre and yet strangely refreshing.

All her life she’d been underestimated. People overlooked her power, her rage, her authority. Her own peers in the Kirin Tor, people who were a first hand witness to her magical prowess, had even done it. In a way it was a blessing in disguise, had been what allowed her to steal the focusing iris in the first place- nobody had thought her capable, or perhaps capable but unwilling. Oh but she had proved them wrong, time and time again. So many had misjudged her... and it had been their downfall.

But Sylvanas, Sylvanas saw right through it. Saw her potential and acted accordingly.

Jaina didn’t know why that thought pleased her so.

“Well, alright then,” Vereesa shrugged, pulling Jaina out of her thoughts while she awkwardly wrestled her feet into elven-tailored boots that were clearly too narrow. “Keep the clothes. Can’t say anything can get worse at this point.” Vereesa swallowed when she received no response and cautiously touched the crook of the human’s elbow. “Jaina...you hanging in there, please talk to me?”

“My gun.” Was all the mage could mumble in response and Sylvanas froze, suddenly finding a particular crack in the tiles interesting enough to consume her attention as she all but glared at it.

“Your... gun?” Vereesa questioned, stepping closer to Jaina like one would approach a skittish colt.

“Well not my gun but my...my mother’s. I had it when I... when we …” she paused, not daring to address Sylvanas directly, but still outwardly asking Vereesa in the hope that she’d overheard. Vereesa never saw her fire the gun, but Sylvanas had, Sylvanas had been there through all of it and it almost felt like sharing a secret, an experience between the two that felt wrong to describe to any third party.

The moment she’d missed and Arthas got away.

“It’s a pistol, well my mother’s...it has the Proudmoore crest on the side of the grip and I didn’t mean to but I... I dropped it when we…” Jaina’s nerves fizzled out at the sight of Sylvanas’s shoulders tensing as the tall elf abruptly straightened, marching out the room with an angry expression on her face.

Jaina deflated, gaze dropping to her feet. “Nevermind.”

Vereesa frowned at the sudden disappearance of her sister but opted instead to turn back and rub Jaina’s arm. “Hey if it’s something you’ve lost we can ask the rangers to keep an eye out while they patrol the…” She trailed off when Jaina merely waved her concern away.

“I guess we should prepare for those ‘cranky nobles’ as you so delicately put it.” Jaina raised an eyebrow, the briefest hint of a smile on her face highlighting one dimple as she held her hand out for Vereesa. The youngest Windrunner gratefully took it and, fingers clasped together, the two waited by the doorway for the inevitable.

“My name is Keeldris Morningsky, I was a ranger serving under the Silvermoon Guard and stationed on the northern inner wall when I was a witness to the incident. I am also speaking on behalf of the main witness to this case, Mala Rightshade, who currently is in an unfit state to appear in court due to extensive injuries.”

“I see, and ranger, where was the main witness during this incident?”

“According to the main witnesses’ clarification, she was down in the square where the deceased was killed.”

Lucera Dawnrunner was a stern looking woman, dressed in dark, form fitting clothes and delicate silver jewelry that adorned slender wrists and an equally slender neck that craned from a high collared robe to look down, impervious, at the young soldier below who shuffled uneasily under her arcane infused gaze. The young ranger felt uncomfortable in formal military wear; an outfit that he thought he’d never have to squeeze into again once his graduation procession had come to pass. A prominent noblewoman of House Dawnrunner, Lucera was all too eager to jump on the podium as public prosecutor, shielding the Dawnrunner and Sunreaver spellcasters with her tailored black cloak like a mother raven would drape a feathered wing over her chicks.

Already Jaina knew there was no pleasing this woman, no matter how she chose to plead her case. From the looks of Vereesa’s thunderous expression beside her, it seemed the youngest Windrunner was having the same thought.

“Ranger Morningsky,” Lucera’s nasally voice questioned as she came to a standstill, boots clicking once as she snapped her heels together. “Care to enlighten us with some information about what happened before the deceased was killed if you would be so inclined.”

There was a moment of silence, the pendant on the young ranger’s ear rattling slightly as he flicked his ear anxiously. “Well,” he began, pausing to swallow before hastily continuing as Dawnrunner’s lips pursed into an impatient line. “On the day that the deceased was killed I was tasked with protecting the wall, though I was given the instruction to vacate my post to guard the deceased as he was charged with helping construct an emergency protection ward around the city. The main witness was at the time escorted by the second accused under evacuation orders given by the Ranger General.”

“And what happened after that?”

“Around noon, while the main witness was being escorted by the second accused, the first accused came from the alleyway and attacked the deceased.”

A murmur rose from the crowd and Jaina fought back the urge to roll her eyes. Oh Lucera was absolutely playing this child into her hands.

“Did the main witness see anything else once the attack occurred? Are you certain from reading her statement that it was the accused who struck first?”

“She… she couldn’t be certain, but she believed it was the accused who threw the first harmful spell.”

“Bullsh*t!” Vereesa exploded, and Lucera wheeled around with barely contained fury in her eyes, before schooling her features into one of a calm and cold mask as she glared down at Vereesa’s outburst like one would scold a misbehaving child.

“Do contain yourself Windrunner, I would rather not have to request your removal from court for verbally threatening my witness. Now please,” she gestured to the young ranger who looked to be growing paler by the second. “Continue.”

“There was...chaos. The two fought with the use of offensive ranged spells, the main witness was caught in the crossfire and gravely injured.”

Jaina stiffened and the movement didn’t go unmissed by Dawnrunner, who tried to hide the small smirk as she turned to address the human for the first time.

“Were you aware of this, human?”

“Proudmoore.” Jaina stated tersely, holding out a hand to calm Vereesa who’d sucked in a sharp breath for her own retort. Dawnrunner’s eyes narrowed before airily gesturing toward Jaina and repeating the question.

“I will say this again, were you aware of this, Proudmoore? ” She hissed the name with a sneer on her lips as though it took her great pains to pronounce the foreign syllables in her thick Thalassian accent. Jaina knew she was merely making a show of the inconvenience. “Were you aware that in your hamfisted approach in taking out your target, many innocent bystanders were caught in the harmful trajectory of your spells? That even now Mala Rightshade’s life hands by a thread, her only crime being that she moved to push her daughter out the way to take the stray shot herself.”

Jaina swallowed and tried her hardest to keep the guilt from flooding her face but it was already too late. And it was another victory for Lucera.

Jaina quickly schooled her features and tried again. “No, I was not aware of such a casualty. I have trained hard to keep my spells from harming anyone who is not an immediate target, but no mage can guarantee the safety of those who are in close proximity, and for that I will take full responsibility.” Jaina paused a moment to raise her voice, keeping her chin up in defiance as she fixed the jury with a glare. “But the situation called for swift action and Drathir made it so I could not-”

“I asked you a question, Proudmoore, and you answered.” Dawnrunner snapped, her voice rising in pitch to the point it sounded shrill before she seemed to calm herself and allowed Jaina a sickly sweet smile. “You will get your time to speak, but for now I have a witness to question.” Her smile gentled into something more indulgent as she turned back to the young Ranger who seemed to be shrinking under her withering gaze, ears tilted back submissively. His expression was uncertain and, despite the fact that he was playing right into Dawnrunner’s plan, Jaina couldn’t find it within herself to hate him. He was but a greenling, one who’d barely donned his leathers before being thrust into a situation leagues beyond his calibre.

“Ranger Morningsky, you were tasked with the order of guarding the deceased were you not?”

“Yes ma’am, I was.”

“Yet you failed your duty.” There were unhappy murmurs from the crowd yet Lucera held up a hand, indicating she wasn’t finished. “Now I know this is not the fault of a single soldier yet a high ranking mage was killed in his own city while supposedly under the protection of an elite guard. What measures were taken to prevent his demise, if any? Did the deceased request aid during the encounter? ”

“He did but but we-”

“And yet there were accounts that none of you moved to protect him.”

“No we tried but we-”

“It was but one juvenile mage that attacked him was it not? Surely the elite guard of Silvermoon has protocol to deal with magic users with mal-intent, were you not capable of handling a singular attack from-”

“Because we were ordered not to!” The young ranger blurted out, his youthful face giving away to both indignation and shame before he flushed with embarrassment. “We were ordered to stand down by a superior.”

“And that was?” Dawnrunner patiently goaded.

The young ranger glanced in Vereesa’s direction, his expression suddenly apologetic and his jaw tight. Jaina continued to feel sorry for him. Dawnrunner did not miss where his vision had landed.

“Could you clarify, ranger, to both the jury and I who exactly ordered you and the rest of your guard to stand down?”

Morningsky looked miserable, as though he realized only now that he was effectively about to throw someone who most likely had been a hero in his eyes to the wolves.

“It was…” he licked his dry lips and even though Vereesa bristled, Jaina knew she was thinking the same thing. Poor kid. “It was Ranger Captain Windrunner who issued the order to stand down.”

“And there you have it!” Dawnrunner crowed with barely contained triumph, green eyes flaring as she turned to Vereesa. “You were friends with Proudmoore were you not? I have been told by the prince himself the two of you were close. Close enough it seems that you would directly disobey orders to protect a ranking superior in favor of staying loyal to a... friend. ” Lucera hissed the world like the concept was foreign to her. “Risking the safety of Silvermoon over the influence of an outsider, that kind of reckless action should not only strip you of your rank but frankly have you exiled!”

“Jaina did nothing to influence me.” Vereesa hissed, unable to take it anymore. Court etiquette be damned. “My actions that day were my own, a decision based after assessing the situation and-”

“You mean to tell me that you shot the deceased based on a hunch? ” Dawnrunner’s lips curled back, “you had no evidence to suggest that Drathir was doing anything other than taking action in the defense of Silvermoon.”

“Except he was!” Vereesa snapped and very quickly Jaina could see the tenuous semblance of decorum breaking down as the two headstrong elves glared daggers, barely an accusation or insult away from baring fangs and snarling at one another. The crowd started to mutter uneasily, the volume in voices increasing as each elf started to utter their own protests amongst the seated crowd.

“I request that Windrunner is reminded to remain silent while the prosecution is in-”

“Enough!” Jaina roared and all at once the bickering between Vereesa and Lucera fell silent, along with the buzz from the jury. “You wanted answers did you not? That’s the real reason for this trial right? Not some platform to exchange barbs between noble houses in disagreement.” Jaina almost spat the word, fixing Dawnrunner with a stern glare. “If you want a reason to lock me up for meddling with your failed politics then I will give it, gladly, just to save me from this headache.”

The outrage was evident in Lucera’s eyes. “Like I said before, I request silence while the-”

“That’s enough, Dawnrunner. Let the human speak.”

Jaina was surprised to hear the deep, commanding tone come from none other than King Anasterian himself.

The older elf hadn’t taken his eyes off the human mage since she’d entered the courtroom, but it seemed now that Jaina’s spirited outburst had further piqued his interest. He leaned forward, chin resting on one hand and ears pricked, his gaze scrutinizing yet not unkind, like a scholar would glance at a particularly troublesome text.

All at once Lucera bristled yet deflated, stepping aside and mockingly gesturing to Jaina as though conveying what a privilege it was to even allow the young mage her voice. Jaina looked into his eyes, finding it strange to be face to face with the fabled King of Quel’thalas. It threw her somewhat to see just how much of Kael’Thas she could see in his face. The same angular jawline and high cheekbones, while a common trademark of an elf, seemed to be notable features regardless. But it was his eyes, his eyes were ancient, sad. She had seen them before on Kalec, the gaze of a man who’d lived too long, seen too much.

She was surprised to find that they were… kind.

Which made lying to him all the more painful.

“You wish to understand how I knew about the Key of the Three Moons?” Jaina ignored Dawnrunner and opted to address Anasterian directly instead.

Deciding not to patronize him with clarifying what was an obvious answer, she continued on, wringing her hands together anxiously. “I fear that my answer is perhaps one that you were dreading and for that I am truly sorry. What I did was unforgivable and despite my most recent actions in saving your city, I know that to many I will remain an enemy of Silvermoon.” Jaina paused, her tongue feeling sticky in her throat, her heart hammering painfully against her ribs.

“What are you trying to say Jaina?” Vereesa questioned in a small voice, the tremble at the end of it not going unregistered as Jaina sluggishly built herself up to answer the question that would likely strain their friendship forever.

“Arthas communicated his plan of attack to me prior to the invasion of Silvermoon.”

That caused quite the commotion. Some people gasped, others outwardly bayed for blood and Lucera looked like she’d just hit the jackpot as her lips twitched to hide a smirk as she folded her arms in a I told you so manner.

“How?” Vereesa exclaimed, betrayal brimming in her eyes. “I was told you were in Kul Tiras, how could you have possibly known, how could you have stayed in contact with that monster after all he has done?”

The King of Quel’Thalas simply held up his hand, and that motion alone caused the room to fall silent. The kindness had left his eyes, yet his face remained impassive, holding back any judgement or emotion until Jaina had finished her piece and for that she respected him more than most.

“Your words are concerning Lady Proudmoore yet I am not blind to the measures you took in order to protect our city, clearly whatever Arthas asked of you, you refused.”

“I didn’t at first,” Jaina fought to keep her voice steady. “You have to understand, your majesty, that I cared deeply for Arthas. I believed I could…” her voice wavered as her nails dug into her palm. “I thought I could save him, pull him away from that terrible and dark path he’d set himself down. I remained in contact, hoping, wishing, praying that I could draw him back from that precipice, but it was only as he marched his army toward your gates that I knew the man I loved was gone, that he was never coming back.” Jaina felt the tears brim in her eyes and she let them, for despite the outward lie there was truth to her words. She’d known what he was capable of at Stratholme and yet foolishly she’d thought she could change him only for the killing to continue… and it had all been her fault. “I think he...he still loved me. But I know now, know that the moment he took up that cursed runeblade, the boy I loved died...it just took me too long to realize.”

Out of the corner of her eyes she watched Vereesa’s ears droop before the elf tentatively reached for the human’s hand, twisting her fingers with Jaina’s and offering a comforting squeeze. She hadn’t realized until then how much she needed that.

“And look where that got you.” Another voice spat and Jaina glanced to the left of King Anasterian to meet the gaze of someone who she’d been trying to avoid ever since she’d entered this accursed court. Kael’Thas had an expression much colder than his father’s, his flawless features twisted into one of fury as his arms folded tightly across his chest. “I could forgive your reasoning if this was mere political discourse from the spoiled child of Terenas Menethil but you’re talking about standing with the very Butcher of Lordaeron, the man who wished to see our city burn!”

“And yet it didn’t.” Jaina levelled, holding his gaze defiantly. “Silvermoon stands because I could take it no more. Quel’Thalas remains strong because I took action to fix my mistakes. I know that this does not redeem me from my prior failure, neither can it excuse the countless deaths that happened as a result, but I can assure you I am no threat to Silvermoon. Exile me if you so wish but please, let me go so that I may continue to atone for all that I have done... starting with Arthas’s swift execution.”

“Exile?” Dawnrunner scoffed, seeming unable to bear not being in the spotlight. “You think we’d be so merciful as to grant you exile? What you deserve is no less than death for withholding information of an invasion to our very home!”

“Then perhaps you deserve the same fate Lucera, considering the information you have withheld regarding your dear friend’s shady dealings.”

Jaina’s heart froze at that familiar voice while Vereesa cursed loudly.

There was a frenzied buzz of voices as people reacted to the commotion and who exactly it had come from. The Ranger General uttered some hasty apologies as she pushed her way through the crowd before vaulting over the podium to settle beside her younger sister.

“Sylvanas.” Vereesa growled under her breath. “What are you doing here?”

“What’s it look like,” Sylvanas hissed back, shuffling what looked like a stack of parchment. “You’re doing a terrible job at defendant so I’m here to do it better.”

“Technically I was a suspect.” Vereesa continued to glare at Sylvanas.

“Well technically this whole farce of a trial is suspect. I think any hope for protocol or decorum has gone out the window so it’s our turn to fight dirty too.”

“Sylvanas…”

“Dawnrunner.” Sylvanas cleared her throat, while shuffling her papers in a mocking manner as she fixed Lucera with a stern glare. Jaina couldn’t help but fight back a smile. “Were you aware of your dear friend’s little side business?”

“Side business?”

“I mean surely someone on your intellectual level knew that Drathir’s decadent wealth could not have come from magister work alone. The Elite Magisters are servants to Silvermoon, their work humbly paid and definitely not enough to cover half the lavish parties that weasel threw last year alone.”

“Windrunner.” Lucera hissed. “I will not have you so blatantly disrespect the deceased.”

“And why should I have any respect for him?” For the first time Sylvanas’s tone lost its jovial edge, sending a genuine bolt of fear up Jaina’s spine before rational thought took over. “Look at me Dawnrunner, truly. As someone who has fought tooth and nail for our nation, someone who has bled more than you can imagine so you can live in security and comfort- trading gossip on what taylor made your cloak or what overpriced wine you recently acquired in your pantry. How could I possibly find it in me to respect a man who was so willing to throw that away in his blind lust for power.”

“Ranger General.” Kael’Thas began, his voice surprisingly quiet but Sylvanas merely held up a hand.

“No please, let me speak.” Sylvanas turned back to Lucera, her eyes fierce. “Did you not think, as you dined on his expensive food, drank his wine and slid amongst his finest sheets...” There were a few gasps from the crowd as Dawnrunner’s eyes burned with outraged fury. “Did it not occur once how a man who so humbly devoted his arcane gift to our nation was able to afford all this? I take you for many things Lucera, but I never took you for a fool.” Sylvanas leant closer, fangs bared in a sinister grin. “Did he tell you, as he f*cked you, did he brag about how much money he made while whoring himself out like a party-trick magician, whispering secrets to any fool that would listen. City layouts, military tactics... palace scandal,” Sylvanas uttered the last phrase staring directly at Kael’Thas who’s eyes narrowed in response.

“Sylvanas!” Vereesa’s ears were bright red, the flush creeping down her neck. “Are you trying to get us all killed?”

Lucera seethed, the tendons in her neck straining to the point it looked like they would snap. “You dare come in here and spout these abhorrent lies?” Ears pinned, she licked her lips like a snarling hound. “Though why should I be surprised? Like I would expect anything else from House Windrunner, the breeding ground for insolent brats like you.” Dawnrunner paced forward a couple steps. “Feral, insubordinate...not a lick of magical talent to be seen. Is this what your legacy of failure has led to, spreading meaningless gossip out of jealousy and spite?”

“Are they lies though?” Sylvanas drawled, casually thumbing through the sheets of parchment she still had stacked neatly beside her. She paused as though in thought before deftly plucking one from the pile. “It didn’t take me long to hunt these down. Drathir might have had a rather… established network in place but fortunately for me and rather unfortunately for you...he wasn’t very good at hiding his paperwork.” She flipped it around as she offered the parchment to Dawnrunner. “Recognize this signature by any chance?”

Of course Lucera recognized the signature. Of course she could sense the arcane brand affixed on the form, brandished alongside Drathir’s as trade secrets were exchanged for an almost embarrassingly petty sum of gold. The anger melted off her face in exchange for poorly disguised fear. “Ranger General,” she levelled, clasping her hands out in front of her. “These are private documents that you had no right in…”

“Oh so now she addresses me properly.” Sylvanas let out a bitter laugh. “Where was your respect before, or am I correct in thinking I have something here you would really rather I hide.”

“This is...this wasn’t. I…” Lucera’s composure broke. “I never believed it would ever come to this!”

The crowd murmured uneasily.

“Silence!” Anasterian’s commanding tone hushed them before he gestured for Sylvanas to continue.

“Come to what?” Sylvanas pressed, “I believe the people would like to know who exactly helped jeopardize our very nation in exchange for an embarrassingly small amount in monetary return.”

“I didn’t know.” Dawnrunner was trembling now, skin paler than anything Jaina had seen on an elf. “Please, Windrunner, you have to believe me. I never thought he would go this far. I thought these trades of information would never bear fruition for the other party, I thought we would be safe!”

“Yes...you thought, you gambled, you nearly doomed us all.” Sylvanas replied coldly before abruptly standing up and striding over to the accused. “This human, Lady Proudmoore…” Jaina flinched as Sylvanas rested a hand lightly on her shoulder, gaze never leaving the enraptured audience. “She shouldn’t be the one standing here. It should be you....” Sylvanas glared up at the rest of the Elite Magisters who suddenly seemed to be looking anywhere but at her. “All of you!”

“General Windrunner, that is enough.” Kael’Thas responded, lips pursed and expression deeply troubled. “What you have brought to the court and Dawnrunner’s admission are indeed extremely concerning and most definitely warrant further investigation, yet we cannot absolve Jaina of her crimes. She was aware of an impending invasion and yet did nothing to alert any of us of the danger encroaching on our lands. She broke her duty as a member of the Kirin Tor and as a member of the Alliance of Lordaeron.”

“Crime or no crime, she more than absolved herself by stopping the attack.” Vereesa’s voice was surprisingly passionate as she took her place beside Sylvanas. “Silvermoon would not be standing without her aid, a city that she has no real duty to, which can more than be said for our own governing elders who not only paved the way for an invasion but scrambled to bury their heads in the sand when the very fate they tempted came to our doorstep. Jaina did more for Quel’Thalas than they could possibly dream of, and I made the right choice in taking her side.”

Jaina had to suck in a breath through her teeth to fight back tears of guilt and pride as her best friend smiled at her warmly.

“You wish to place such trust in the hands of this… this child? Barely into her twentieth year and thinking herself capable of deciding such action?” Kael’Thas questioned, voice incredulous and it was Jaina’s turn to let out a harsh laugh in response. Vereesa shot her a questioning look.

Jaina risked glancing up at Kael’Thas and, despite feeling slightly queasy at seeing him alive, she couldn’t help but find it amusing that she’d once found him to be intimidating.

“Did you think me a child Kael’Thas,” she couldn’t help the twitch of her lips as she fought back a smirk, “when you approached me all those months ago at the Winter Veil ball? Did you believe I was simply a child when you propositioned a courtship under the arches of Runeweaver Square, thinking I would find your conjured falling snow romantic?”

There was a choking noise next to her… and it wasn’t coming from Vereesa.

Kael’Thas looked mortified yet recovered surprisingly well, features smoothing into one of neutrality as snippets of gossip were murmured through the crowd like a ripple through a smooth lake.

“No.” He eventually replied, jaw tense. “I suppose I did not.”

Sylvanas let out an unsteady huff of air and Jaina risked a glance. Somehow seeing that floored expression on what Jaina knew to be a ruthless future Warchief was stranger than anything else she’d encountered that day.

Unsurprisingly Kael’Thas was quick to swiftly move on, well, as swiftly as elven court etiquette allowed, even if he looked about ready to cover his face and bolt out of the door. And it was almost poetic justice, as the jury declared her a free woman, to watch the guards remove her nullifying cuffs only to swiftly snap them around Dawnrunner’s wrists.

“How did you get all that so quickly?” Vereesa questioned a smug Sylvanas as evidence was handed over and the case was officially dismissed, allowing both Windrunners to saunter out, a newly freed human on their arms.

“All of it?” Sylvanas chuckled dryly. “Oh my dear sister I barely managed to sniff out two documents- and those were tenuous links at best. The rest of it was entirely a bluff!” She smirked as Vereesa narrowed her gaze before allowing a shrug. “I could already see Lucera cracking, the guilt would have gotten to her eventually, but her pride just needed me to chip away a little more to get her to admit it- at least in time to have Jaina walk free. She’s always been underhanded and greedy but I never believed her to be inherently evil- just simply scared.”

Vereesa snorted. “Scared to the point she was willing to risk an execution rather than put her sorry hide on the line.”

Sylvanas merely tilted her head in aquisicence. “Perhaps coward is a description more apt, though I like to think she wouldn’t have let it get that far.”

Vereesa grunted, unconvinced, before her gaze settled uneasily on Jaina’s retreating form. She’d taken to watching the sunset alone, leaving the two sisters to chat quietly amongst themselves. “So what now?”

“Now?” Sylvanas’s smirk which had been a dominant feature on her face the moment the court had started to wind in her favor, widened into a grin. “Now we watch as the news spreads, as the people cry out for justice. How our nobility crumbles, the old gives way to the new and Silvermoon, as we know it, steps forward into a glorious new era. One where we strive to be better, where we learn from our mistakes.” Sylvanas clapped Vereesa on the shoulder as she struggled to contain her excitement. “We will move forward, wiser, stronger… a nation reborn. A nation I will be proud to fight for.” Sylvanas glanced fondly at Jaina’s silhouette, framed by the sunset. “Sometimes all we need is a little fresh blood to remind ourselves of that.”

A sharp crack in the sky, followed by a flurry of screams and spits as sparks and flames roared overhead. The crowd below cheered as the firework display became increasingly extravagant, to the point that an entire pandaren dragon exploded into life before fading away into steadily falling streams of gold.

“A party.” Sylvanas muttered, glaring at the smoky night sky. “They threw a f*cking party.”

“I don’t know how you expected anything different. I didn’t want to interrupt your naively optimistic and beautiful poetic monologuing the evening before, but I hate to say that this is exactly what I predicted to happen. ” Vereesa chuckled, settling herself in the arms of her husband as he pulled her against him and kissed the side of her temple. Perhaps Rhonin was holding her a little too tight, perhaps her kids were acting a little too clingy, grabbing at her legs and arms and clambering in and out her lap, but to Vereesa this was bliss. She’d missed them so dearly, hated that speculation and fear had kept her away from them, robbed her of her ability to ground herself with the normalcy of her family around her.

There was still plenty of fear. Silvermoon was all but shut to the outside world, allowing very few through their gates. Even the portal network to Dalaran was being overseen by Kael’Thas himself as those who wished to cross were checked and then checked again. Intentions had to be stated, goods had to be declared- the nation was on lockdown and Vereesa feared that ties with the remainder of the Alliance of Lordaeron was wearing woefully thin. Lack of aid was the main gripe. Bar the efforts of one mage acting alone, the Alliance had simply left Silvermoon to burn and it would take generations for that sour taste to leave anyone’s mouth. Elves lived a long time, elves did not forget.

“A blatant distraction tactic.” Sylvanas continued, interrupting her thoughts. “A downright despicable attempt at swinging the focus away from their failure in keeping Quel’Thalas safe and instead directing it toward a less than subtle display of national pride.” Her scowl deepened. “You want to know the worst part? Its f*cking working.”

“Of course it is!” Vereesa sang, enthusiastically waving a young ranger trainee over, holding a tray of warm cider. “People want to be comfortable Sylvanas, they want things to feel normal- they don’t want political unrest or revolution. What they want…” she paused and grabbed three generous mugs, thanking the young elf profusely, “...Is everything to be as it was. A nation standing secured, good company, good food…” she offered one of them to Sylvanas. “And excellent drink. Come on, have a sip, relax a little. Bask in the glory that you’re practically revered amongst the masses at this point- the brave protector of Quel’Thalas. You can stew about the injustices of the Silvermoon elite another day, preferably when I’m not within earshot.”

“They’re using us.” Sylvanas grumbled and took the mug, cradling the warm drink in her hands. “But... they’re lucky this is my favorite.” She allowed, before taking a tentative sip and closing her eyes in delight. Only in Silvermoon could they get the sweetness of the cider just right. Sylvanas glanced up and it didn’t take Vereesa long to follow her gaze to Jaina, who was currently sitting a little way from the group, swirling pretty arcane patterns in her outstretched palm, Galadin and Giramar crowding in close, their little ears pricked with interest.

“She needs to purge some of her mana.” Sylvanas muttered, still not taking her eyes away from the human. “I can feel the arcane bleeding off her skin from over here.”

“Those cuffs aren’t exactly the most… comfortable things for a mage to wear. Must be a relief to do even something as little as illusionary magic.” Rhonin agreed and Vereesa shot him an amused look.

“Why husband” she teased, “you seem to have a rather… personal experience with such a device.”

Rhonin rolled his eyes. “We had to test them in Dalaran, I was the unlucky subject. Unlike you I’m not a filthy delinquent.” He dodged a sharp elbow in his side as Vereesa opened her mouth to protest.

“Does it hurt?” Sylvanas questioned suddenly and Rhonin looked up alarmed, caught off guard by her rather direct interest. “To not use magic for a long time. Does the excess mana harm a mage in its disuse?”

“Uhh,” Rhonin awkwardly scratched at his stubble. “I wouldn’t say it hurts? But it’s not comfortable either. It’s like… an itch but deep within your bones. Impossible to scratch yet it leaves you feeling restless… on edge. Though I can’t speak for every mage, and Jaina’s a pretty healthy conduit.” Rhonin narrowed his gaze in thought. “More so than I remembered...”

Sylvanas nodded once, glaring at the human in question as the young mage tentatively put an arm around one of the boys and flipped his hand over so he could cradle the arcane spark in his own outstretched palm. She took one last aggressive swig of her drink and leapt to her feet.

Rhonin let out a low whistle to Vereesa as the elder Windrunner stalked away. “Well that was mildly terrifying. I don’t think she’s said more than three words to me since I’ve married you and suddenly I’m in the spotlight. I don’t know how you two are related, one look and she has me sweating and not in a good way.”

“Rhonin.” Vereesa tutted, resisting the urge to swat at him before her expression darkened. “Though you’ll be perhaps relieved to know that I don’t think that interest was directed in any way at you.” She glared at Sylvanas who was now crouching next to Jaina and the young boys, leaning in and murmuring something that caused them to whisper excitedly and scamper off. Vereesa’s lips pursed into a narrow line as Sylvanas stood again, offering Jaina a hand and the human took it with all the caution of stag being stalked by a nightsaber. Sylvanas gestured down the hill and Jaina took a few steps after her, her pace slow, looking once back at Vereesa as though worriedly checking she was still there before seeming to reluctantly follow.

“Watch what you’re doing ‘Vanas.” Vereesa muttered to herself before turning away to enthusiastically greet her boys who were now charging their way in her direction begging for a few copper to buy some sparklers.

“Braziers?” Jaina questioned, falling instep beside Sylvanas as the elf nodded once in confirmation.

“Yep, thinking it would be nice to have some light. The fringes of the forest look a little omnious from here don’t you agree?”

Jaina shot her a strange look but continued to follow. Sylvanas paced the perimeter of the field, arms behind her back and a scrutinizing expression on her face. It was rather amusing to see so many citizens glance up, a flicker of excitement as they registered the Ranger General stalking past yet chose to remain in their seats, subtly whispering amongst themselves. It seemed, despite her popularity amongst her people, Sylvanas had always had that standoffish approach, even in life.

“I see no braziers.” Jaina mumbled suspiciously, and despite the logical side of her brain repeating that it was highly unlikely this version of Sylvanas meant her any harm, she couldn’t help how her muscles tensed, how every hair prickled at the back of her neck the further away from the masses they went, until the voices were drowned out by the deafening sounds of wildlife, of the crickets chirping amongst the dried grass and the caw of ravens as they settled down to roost. And they were alone.

“There. Can you see?” Sylvanas pointed. Jaina could not at first, but she nodded anyway, only just able to make out the large metal brazier stacked tall with logs.“Then five more in equal increments down the line where the fielded area ends and the forest begins.” Sylvanas paused for a moment, hands still behind her back as she looked down at the wary human beside her, always so damn tense- still glancing at her, when she thought she wasn’t looking, eyes full of distrust. “These were set up a while ago in lieu of the Farstriders graduation ceremony but, as you can probably guess, that event was cut alarmingly short. The logs will be a little damp, yet I can’t imagine someone of your ability would struggle to set them ablaze?”

“I didn’t take you for an event planner.” Jaina muttered dryly and Sylvanas let out a single snort of unnamused laughter.

“Just light the damn fires, Jaina.”

Something about that order didn’t sit right, the moon casted Sylvanas’s features into an ethereal light, her skin pristine and pale. As her elven gaze adjusted to the dark, they flashed momentarily, like a wildcat’s eyes caught the glare of a torchlight. The human suppressed a shiver and turned away.

Closing her eyes, Jaina reached out, sending tenuous wisps of arcane like feelers, testing the moisture and texture of the wood. Her mind’s eye inspected each carefully stacked pile, partially rotten, covered in moss… and teeming with life. These few weeks as the battle raged and the rains fell had crafted the perfect home.

She was no druid of course, nature magic was still more of a mystery to her than something she could ever master, yet arcane was very closely tied in with elemental magic. It had been something she hadn’t been much aware of until Go’el showed her, how the ebb and flow of her powers interacted with her surroundings, how it reacted to each individual life-force, no matter how small. A thousand tiny creatures, crawling amongst the decaying bark.

But Jaina was no druid.

With a flick of her wrist, the moisture was drawn out of the wood, a snap of her fingers and those countless little life-forces were instantly snuffed, replaced with a turbulent roar of flames as each brazier flared to life.

Were they insects to you or were they people? Jaina thought as the wood spat and seethed as though it were angry its role as a peaceful micro-utopia had been so cruelly interrupted. I hope you saw them as nothing. I hope in your rage that connection was never made, that all you saw amongst those titanic burning branches was mere ants scurrying to and fro in a frenzy. That you didn’t see armorers and stablehands and taylors... mothers and fathers and children. Jaina closed her eyes in pain as she slowly drew the arcane back into herself, satisfied the fire no longer needed her aid to burn. Because I did... and I still wanted to slaughter them all.

She looked up and flinched when she realized how close Sylvanas was standing next to her, ears strained in her direction, an expression of poorly disguised hunger as she all but leaned forward. Jaina took a hurried step back and it instantly snapped the Ranger General out of her daze.

“I apologize,” Sylvanas cleared her throat as she straightened and smoothly took a stride backward herself. “That was very forward of me, though I must admit your arcane is very… distracting.”

The subtle flush on her cheeks and the way her ears dipped a little in embarrassment as she looked away was all Jaina needed to let out an internal sigh of relief, almost laughing at her own paranoia.

She was just an elf.

A very intimidating, sharp-tongued, battle-scarred, elf but an elf just the same. A living, breathing, forest dwelling, mana-addicted ranger who looked very intent on hiding the fact that she’d nearly draped herself over the mage in a bid to bask in every last vestige of arcane she could find.

She was no Banshee Queen, no Warchief of the Horde. Not yet, at least. It wasn’t fair of Jaina to judge her so.

So when Sylvanas pulled out a flask and gestured to the closest fire with a tilt of her head, she couldn’t help respond with a wry smile and head over to join this strange elven general for a drink.

“Windrunner.”

“Hm?” Sylvanas looked up from her absent poking of the fire to regard Jaina attentively.

Jaina mulled over the name. It had been one that many had uttered with a distasteful sneer to their lips and the mage was ashamed to admit that she too had been one of those people too. Someone who’d treated it like a curse. She’d thought it unfair that Vereesa had to be tied down to such a family title, the cursed legacy of fallen heroes and bitter disappointment.

“Jaina?”

She realized, only now, that Sylvanas was expecting to be addressed.

“Oh,” she huffed with an embarrassed chuckle. “Nothing, I was just thinking about your last name. It’s, it’s...nice.”

Sylvanas openly laughed and leant back, boots shifting in the fallen leaves as she positioned herself to relax against the log. “Hah! You can have it!” She then stiffened as though only just realizing what that implied, a delicate flush to her cheeks. “I didn’t mean it like…”

Jaina felt her face heat up, which had absolutely nothing to do with the fire. She allowed the warm smile that now came all too naturally in the Ranger General’s presence.

“I know.”

Sylvanas still kept that pretty looking flush as she busied herself with repositioning the logs. The flames of the fire crackled higher, sending sparks into the darkened sky above. “The point I was trying to make,” she waved her hand dismissively, “is that the name Windrunner never really brought me much luck. Lucera was right, my house is nothing more than a legacy of failure, distant memories kept alive by a lonely old soldier with her mind stuck in the past.” The elf allowed herself a self deprecating chuckle before seeming satisfied with the fire and returning to her spot.

Jaina felt something twist in her chest. “It’s not a crime to long for what once was.” She replied softly. “Regret is a powerful emotion and not always a bad thing.”

Sylvanas didn’t look convinced. “Not so long ago, Vereesa accused me once of being unable to move on... and I think she’s right. I’m far too sentimental for my own good, afraid to admit to myself that everything I do is a means to forget what has happened. I still live as though nothing has changed; that my mother is still alive, that any moment now Alleria will emerge from the woods with a fresh catch slung over the flanks of her horse, ready to insult me about how I look or something I’ve done…” Sylvanas trailed off, gaze far-away before she came back with a soft snort, tracing a line in the mud with the stick she’d been using to poke at the fire.

“She used to infuriate me, Alleria I mean. Always knew what words would get to me, exactly what offhand comment would drive me over the edge. We fought a lot and I...I never seemed to win, she was always two steps ahead.” Sylvanas sighed, mouth twisting into a grimace. “And she was two steps ahead when she went through that portal, it…” The stick snapped as Sylvanas pressed it too hard into the mud and she sighed and threw what remained of it aside. “It blindsided me.”

“You felt hurt that she left you.” Jaina let the words come out in one breath of realization. It wasn’t that Sylvanas’s reaction to Alleria’s departure was unusual that had her so thrown, it was the utter normality of it all. Sylvanas wasn’t this cold, tactical Ranger General, turned Banshee Queen- she was so utterly…

Real.

Real and thinking and feeling; someone with fear and doubt and regret but also hope. She carried so much hope in those all too earnest eyes that stared Jaina down with an intensity that made her shiver as the flames danced across those handsome features, highlighting the sharp cut of her jaw and the graceful slope of her nose.

“Yes.” Sylvanas admitted, looking down as though ashamed. “I was hurt. I didn’t understand why she felt so inclined to leave, was she so sick of her life here that she felt the need to jump at the opportunity? Was Quel’Thalas not enough? Was I not enough?”

“Alleria loved you, Sylvanas!” Jaina responded passionately, reflexively. “She risked everything in order to protect her homeland, to protect her family… to protect you. ”

“And how would you know?” Sylvanas shot back with a frown on her lips, a frown that at first glance Jaina might have taken for hostile, but she’d been around the general enough to see that frustration turned more in on herself and she was lashing out as a way to deal with it.

“I…” For a reckless moment the truth bubbled to her lips, to reveal everything, to describe the long and cold nights she spent aboard the darkened deck of a ship watching Alleria’s hands tremble as she dug her nails into the splintered wood of the table, blue eyes brimming with tears as she slowly recounted her woeful reunion with her fallen sister…

A flash of pain, the smarting of hot metal resting against her neck.

...Her jaw snapped shut and she swallowed back the words like a bitter pill. Jaina dropped her hands to her lap in defeat, looking down solemnly. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”

Sylvanas softened, “It’s okay. I don’t know either.”

Jaina watched the way Sylvanas tried and failed to hide the way her ears drooped, the way the muscles in her jaw flexed as she seemed to struggle to work through the grief she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in a while.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m a disappointment to my name as well.” Jaina offered, her voice soft.

“How could you possibly be a disappointment?” Sylvanas scoffed, the expression on her face incredulous. “You are a prodigy in the arcane, barely into adulthood and already a member of the Kirin Tor. You saved an entire nation, Jaina! Your parents must be nothing but proud.”

Jaina was already shaking her head. “My father thinks me incapable of protecting myself. He will hate that I’ve come here alone. It’s funny, really.” Jaina felt her hand toy idly with the pendant on her neck, the artifact had been unusually inactive the past few days which was both a relief and a worry tied in one. “He never truly wanted me studying in Dalaran. He and my mother fought about it...” Jaina grimaced, “...alot.”

Sylvanas nodded sympathetically and gestured for her to continue.

“Many times I refused to visit them, but I was young.” Jaina laughed bitterly. “I was enraptured by Dalaran, how refined it was, how much encouragement I received in flexing my powers, to study them. In Kul Tiras I was warned that power was dangerous… the only people who openly practiced it were Tidesages and honestly.” Jaina chuckled, “they were a pretty scary bunch and they didn’t exactly do much to dispel that rumor. A lot of dark robes and creepy shrines and dusty tomes written in languages older than our nation itself.”

Sylvanas laughed with her. “I don’t know. You might have been a perfect fit.”

Jaina couldn’t help but gasp in mock affrontation and the toothy grin Sylvanas offered in response sent a jolt through her chest.

Wait...were they… bantering?

Jaina tried not to mull over that too much and swiftly moved on.

“Daelin didn’t want me in Dalaran because, to him, power like that was intimidating. It was intangible, something he didn’t understand and so he was scared, scared for me, scared of what I could potentially become. He wanted me to stay in Kul Tiras, to be safe, to know the honest work of rigging a ship and captaining her crew. He wanted me to sail the waves, not command them.”

“That sounds… stifling.” Sylvanas looked so earnest that Jaina couldn’t help but offer her a weak smile in return.

“It’s alright. My mother won, but I do think it put a strain on their relationship. He always seemed… wary of me. But he was right, in some ways. He told me to never forget my Kul Tiran blood…” Jaina paused, “but I did. My peers teased me, so I lost my accent, the climate was too warm for my clothing, so I threw it out. It might have been gradual, but before I knew it, I was no longer Kul Tiran... and it only truly hit me when my brother died.”

Sylvanas was silent, but the way her eyes burned told of emotion of her own that she was trying to hide.

“When Derek was reported dead I finally came home. The ceremony was, for lack of a better word, lovely. The evening sun shone across the waters, which is a rare moment in Kul Tiras if you knew our weather. The Tidesages sang a hymn, his body was lost to the sea so they floated a boat out in his stead. It drifted across the calm waves, out of the harbour gates, and they sent a fiery arrow to pearce its hull, igniting the vessel into these spiralling green and blue flames. When driftwood burns, the salt on them makes fire burn a different color…” Jaina swallowed heavily. “It was beautiful.”

“It sounds beautiful.” Sylvanas agreed softly.

“But it didn’t feel right.” Jaina sighed. “I didn’t feel like I belonged in that moment, even though he was family- I felt disconnected from it all. An entire nation mourned my brother and I wasn’t a part of it. I wasn’t a Kul Tiran.” Jaina bared her teeth as she fought back the emotion. “I regret it immensely, losing that identity.”

“I lost a brother too.” Sylvanas replied quietly, eyes swimming in sympathy.

“Tell me about him.”

“Well…” a soft huff, “Where do I start? He was... the best of all of us. Brave, kind, loving. He could shoot a bow with ease, as every Windruner should, but it was his music where his talent truly lay. It was as if Belore herself shone through his eyes, the way they sparkled when he played.” She grinned, gaze distant before it faded into something more somber.

“When he was killed I was so… angry. I didn’t know how to think or feel, all I wanted was revenge.” Her gaze turned cold. “And by the sun did we get it. There’s a reason my name sparks fear among the ranks of both Orc and Troll.” She looked up, lips pursed in thought before she spoke again. “I wish I could say I regret it, all that bloodshed, the fact that they have orcish rhymes that warn of the wicked she-elf that hunts in the dark, ready to snap up any misbehaving whelp that wanders too far.” Sylvanas shrugged. “But I don’t. What I do regret however, is that in my rage I forgot to truly mourn his passing.” The flames let out an angry pop and Jaina watched an ear swivel toward the disturbance. “Lirath he…” her expression turned sad. “He wouldn’t have wanted this. He was the last person to invoke revenge, I think...” those ears flattened, “I think he would have been very disappointed in me.”

“We all have blood on our hands.” Jaina responded quietly, swallowing back emotion and tried to ignore how her heart bled for the very elf that had caused empires to burn.

But not yet, she hadn’t yet.

Sylvanas was quiet for a moment before she lifted her flask and took a swig from it, offering it in Jaina’s direction. “To family disappointment.”

“To family disappointment.” Jaina took it from her, toasting in response as she drank in a healthy gulp, only to find herself choking on the liquid.

“Tides that’s…”

“Strong?”

“No. Disgustingly sweet.”

“But strong?”

“No, absolutely not, how could you even… have you tried Anchor Drop? No, of course you haven’t, that stuff probably hasn’t been allowed to leave the island, but the clues in the name. A couple of sips of that and you will drop like an anchor. This is merely fancy cordial.”

“Cordial?” Sylvanas hissed before lifting an amused brow. “And you’re here telling me that your Kul Tiran identity was lost.” She jested before snatching the flask back. “Fancy cordial.” She muttered again, affronted, while tucking the offending drink back into her pocket.

The two broke off into laughter as the flames continued to flicker, shooting sparks up into the cool night air. They continued to sit together, talking, even as the fire died down and the air around them grew cold. And for a wonderful, fleeting moment, Jaina forgot why she was even there.

Chapter 6: Their Fate

Chapter Text

“Contact! Movement to your right, three o’clock, fifty paces!”

A miniscule pause and then the swish of an arrow flying through the air that ended in a dull thud as it impaled the corpse right through the eye socket. The skeletal creature, which had been shambling aimlessly through the forest, mind empty and without purpose, was finally granted rest as its ragged body flopped to the wet earth.

“f*ck.” Marrah huffed, lowering her bow and giving a curt nod to Velonara once she was sure no further movement came from the target she’d downed. The Ranger Captain approached the corpse, cautiously dropping to her good knee with a pained grunt to roll it on its back. She grimaced as she pulled back purplish, cracked lips to reveal its teeth.

“Human.” She announced stiffly, then gently pulled away the ragged fabric of its hood to further check and small rounded ears confirmed that. Fingers wrapped around the cedar-wood shaft of the arrow, twisting and turning until the arrowhead was pulled from the eye-socket, taking with it several chunks of bone and flesh.

A series of chirps and Velonara abandoned her inspection of the corpse in favor of standing to greet the arriving elves which were now flitting through the trees in her direction. She wiped a hand on the back of her leather breeches and stood to attention, hoping to mask her despair with some semblance of authority.

Sylvanas had promoted her in the field, days before what they had both expected to be their demise. Now however? Now things were complicated. Their unprecedented survival meant that Velonara wasn’t quite sure where things exactly… stood. Was she still a captain? She’d only had a few hasty words from Sylvanas to indicate that- the crest on her leathers still stated that she was an initiate- but the way the others treated her was a position of authority.

It felt strange… and incredibly stressful.

“Any update?” Cyndia questioned, jogging slightly to catch up with their group as both scouting parties finally met up in full circle, her voice frustrated and out of breath. All of them were lamenting at being a little out of shape after weeks recovering in bed.

Velonara shook her head, jaw tense. “None yet, how goes you?”

Cyndia swallowed loudly. “We found Alina.”

Velonara paused, as did the rest of the party, shoulders stiff and ears strained in her direction before she gestured stiffly in Cyndia’s direction. “Then lead the way.”

A few minutes later, the twisting route the ranger-scout mapped out, as she took note of the markers she’d previously placed, arrived at a charred pile of bones, scattered from animal activity and partially covered by the dirt and leaves. The only tell that it was even an elf was the way the skull’s jaw hung open, little fangs bared in a permanent grinning snarl.

The corpse had been burned before to prevent her fate of becoming a potential plaything of the Menethil boy but it was a sorry sight to see as Velonara grimly opened a hessian sack. Again, having to awkwardly maneuver herself on her damned knee, she knelt beside the charred corpse and, with reverent, trembling hands, she started to place what little of the bones remained inside.

“Belore…” a broken whimper cut through the muted atmosphere. Elor bindel felallan morin’aminor, Belore’dorei…”

“Loralen” Velonara gently warned as the voice wavered on hysterical, continuing her steady yet grueling task of moving the bones. She paused, taking a moment to steel herself, before she slowly reached for the main skull and torso.

“ Anar thas’alah… Don’t touch her!” The ranger broke from her prayer of mourning to yell a warning at her captain.

Velonara’s ears pinned back and she dropped her hands to the dirt with a pained growl. “Loralen, please… don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“Don’t touch her! You have… no right. A bag… you can put her in f*cking bag.” Loralen’s face contorted into a grimace of agony as tears spilled down her cheeks and her jaw wobbled as she fought back further howls of anguish, unable to find a suitable way to express her grief.

“f*ck.” Marrah sighed, shifting to stand beside Velonara’s kneeling form, it had been the only word she’d uttered this entire day.

“f*ck indeed.” Kalira growled under her breath, voice tinged with frustration. “What are we supposed to do now?”

“Hush Kalira, let her grieve.” Velonara whispered, dropping the bag and doing an ungainly shuffle to stand back up, arms, streaked with soot and filth, hanging awkwardly at her sides. Loralen all at once dropped to her knees, crawling slowly forward until her shaking hands rested on the bag, staring at the skull with agony in her eyes.

“Alina...my light… my star…” she whimpered, “it was never meant to be you… you didn’t deserve this...I...give her back…” she broke off into agonized sobs. “ Belore, please give her back!”

“Loralen.” Velonara had to fight her own tears as she kept her voice calm and steady. “She needs a proper burial, let me move her so we can bring her back to Silvermoon, so we can bring her home. ”

“No.” Loralen sniffed as she bravely gathered herself, sitting up a little straighter even as she still knelt, broken in the dirt. “I will do it, just...please.” Green eyes, swimming with tears, stared up at Velonara. “Let me have some time to say goodbye...alone.”

Velonara nodded, expression full of understanding as she whistled for the hawkstrider, grabbing its harness and leading it around so that it stood patiently behind the rock. The bird let out a nervous throaty chirp and she ran a gentle hand across it’s feathered flank.

“When you’re done, take him. The rest of us will meet up with Sylvanas and start heading home.”

Loralen nodded, eyes never leaving the blackened remains in front of her, With a sad smile, Velonara gestured for the rest of her rangers to follow as they left the grieving ranger to say her final farewells to her lover.

“This sucks.” Kalira sighed, voice etched in misery as they marched doggedly through the forest. “This really f*cking...sucks.”

A series of distinct bird calls caused Velonara’s ears to prick and she cupped her hands to let out an answering cry. Before long the steady thump of horses hooves against the earth grew louder until Velonara could spot the outline of a sleek chestnut horse through the trees.

“Ranger General” Velonara saluted as Sylvanas wheeled her horse around to calm it as it anxiously tossed its head, coat darkened with sweat.

“Captain.” Sylvanas nodded back and glanced over the rest of the scouting party with a scrutinizing eye, she was quick to spot the missing link. “Where’s Loralen?”

“We found Alina.” Kalira responded bluntly.

Sylvanas’s ears were the only thing that betrayed any emotion as they dipped slightly.

“I see. We will give her some privacy but we must not go far, it puts me on edge leaving anyone out here alone- even so close to the borders of Ban’dinoriel.”

The ancient magical ward had long since been deactivated but it’s discordant energies still crackled in the air, tasting metallic on her tongue. Sylvanas’s steed shifted his stance and she absently patted his neck.

“Any more news I should know of?” She asked and Velonara glumly shook her head. “We can’t find any trace of the missing rangers. Either we have been lacklustre in our search or the brute may have…” Velonara looked vaguely ill, “taken them with him.”

Sylvanas nodded grimly. “That is what I fear as well.” She again reached down to scratch at the damp neck of her tired looking charger as she reached into her saddle bag. “I have taken Dorah far and wide across the battlefield and along the ground which has been scarred where his undead marched. I could not find much evidence of them either but I did find...” she pulled out a ring and showed it to them, “this. It’s of elven make, I was wondering if any of you recognized it.”

“Yes.” Kalira stepped forward, “that belongs to Anya.”

Sylvanas narrowed her gaze at the immediate response, her attention homing in on the restless young ranger who’s demeanor had changed from one of relaxed boredom to anxious energy.

“Are you certain of this? I don’t want to be tracking a false trail if you are mistaken-”

“I know it’s hers.” Kalira snapped and Velonara shot her a warning glance at speaking so brashly to a superior. The young ranger took a steadying breath to calm herself before staring up at Sylvanas with a challenging gaze. “I know because... I was the one that gave it to her.”

“Anar'alah.” Sylvanas muttered under her breath but opted to ignore that part instead focusing on the more pressing matter. “I found this up near Goldenmist village. There are a few distinct possibilities as to how it got there. Kalira, when Anya died we never got around to burning her corpse did we.”

“No.” Kalira ground out, her sullen expression morphing to one of pain and anger. “No, we didn’t.”

Sylvanas twisted her fingers in the rains as she thought of a way to carefully word what she was about to say. “In the aftermath of the war there were many deceased left on the battlefield, our scouts reported activity of looters mere hours after the...Menethil Prince fled.” Sylvanas spat the name like it left a sour taste in her mouth.

“f*cking parasites. Have they no respect, sifting through the pockets of fallen soldiers before their bodies have even gone cold?” Velonara sighed and Kalira growled in agreement. “So you’re thinking the ring might have been dropped by one of them as they fled back south?”

Sylvanas nodded absently.“It was something that crossed my mind but then we would have found the body, and if Kalira is correct in reporting that we did not burn Anya after she perished, it is suggested that the corpse has been moved.”

“Or moved by itself.” Velonara ground out, a slight grimace pulling at her lips. Kalira stiffened at those words.

Sylvanas gave her a withering look. “I was going to put it more gently but yes, that is one of the more...likely possibilities.”

“I’m sorry Kalira.” Velonara murmured apologetically but the ranger-initiate only let out a sharp bark of a laugh in response.

“Why are you sorry? It wasn’t you that rode in with a swarming mass of undead, it wasn’t you that threw a nation’s own comrades against itself, hurling corpses and body parts at the gate in order to demoralize the enemy. It wasn’t you that…” Kalira broke off, fangs bared as she wheeled around, searching desperately for some sort of outlet to vent her anger. Eventually it came out as an anguished snarl.

“Kalira…”

“That monster is still out there… and he’s taken Anya with him.”

“We don’t know that,” Velonara warned but Kalira was already shaking her head.

“That hideous corpse was allowed to limp away, to raise his fallen soldiers and who knows, maybe even now he’s already amassing an army- just champing at the bit to attack us again while our nation is still weak.”

“He can’t attack while our magical defenses are still intact.” Velonara placated. “And besides, going after him now would only leave Silvermoon even more vulnerable, we need to regroup and rebuild before we even consider planning the next move.”

“Are we not rangers?” Kalira snapped, long eyebrows furrowing. “Were we not tasked in protecting our nation from any threat. Well there’s a f*cking big threat right now, festering somewhere out there and we are doing nothing to prevent it!”

“We haven’t even buried our dead!”

“Enough!” Sylvanas nudged her heels into the sides of her horse, moving forward so she could position him between the two bickering elves. “You’re right Kalira, we are rangers and rangers do not waste time standing around snapping at one another while we have work to do. I want all of us to gather up our belongings, take what we found, and travel back to Silvermoon...now!”

Kalira had opened her mouth, only to close it when Sylvanas punctuated her last word. She tensed her jaw, ears pinned, and sullenly fell back into line as Sylvanas leapt off her horse and offered the reins to Velonara so she could ease the weight off his back. The entire journey back was deathly silent save for the gentle tramp of boots through the wet grass and the heavy hoof falls of Sylvanas’s war horse as he paced beside them.

As they filed out into the clearing, the towering spires of Silvermoon in the far distance, Velonara let out a long, solemn sigh.

“Well here it is, ground zero, the last stand for Quel’Thalas.”

She could even see where parts of the scorched ground from when the wards had been activated. The mud was still churned up and stained with old blood, yet already the rains had brought forth new life, eager green shoots emerging from the blackened earth. Anything truly valuable had been long since looted, yet swords and spears still littered the ground...plenty of broken arrows and… something metallic that caught Velonara’s eye.

“Well would you look at that.” She murmured and dropped Dorah’s reins as she limped forward. “Look Sylv, I think I’ve found your pet human’s gun. It matches the description you gave me does it not?”

“She’s not my pet.” Sylvanas rumbled in warning but couldn’t help the all too eager jog as she sprang to the Captain’s side, inspecting the pistol in her outstretched hand. The metal was dulled and faded, the wooden paneling at the handle green and cracked, which might have been why the looters had overlooked it. Still, it was unmistakable in its design from the crafted Proudmoore Admiralty emblem that was etched along the grip.

“It’s a rather lovely piece isn’t it.” Velonara praised. “Of course as a ranger I wouldn’t be caught dead wielding such a weapon, but I won’t deny it would make a fine accessory to have in my newly appointed office as a captain .” She raised an eyebrow in challenge at Sylvanas who merely glowered back. “Though I bet your new girlfriend would be pleased to have it back.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Sylvanas muttered dryly, choosing to ignore the sly smiles many of the rangers behind her were giving each other. Let them gossip, it would do well to take their minds off the tragedy, even if it was at her expense. “And I have no interest in pursuing her either, we both have far too much to worry about without some petty dalliance getting in the way.”

“Even though she’s beautiful?”

“Yes, even though she’s beautiful.”

“Even though she’s smart?”

“Yes, even though she’s… Velonara stop that.”

The buzz of laughter behind her was a welcome sound to hear as her rangers fixed her with a myriad of smug smiles and flirty winks.

“Sylvanas finding a love interest? Maybe I really did die in that battle!”

More laughter, the kind that sounded hysterical as everyone felt the stifling heartbreak and tension ease from their shoulders just the tiniest bit.

“I do not have a love interest.” She grumbled, only for Velonara’s smirk to grow.

“Well then I guess you don’t mind if I return this to her myself?”

Sylvanas glared at her for a moment longer before snatching the gun from the Ranger Captain’s hands. “Give me that.”

Velonara simply grinned and clapped her teasingly on the shoulder.

It had mostly been a show, the back and forth between the General and her Captain, a means of easing the tension and providing some humor for her squad- but there had been a small kernel of truth to it. She really did want to be the one to give the gun to Jaina, if only to see those gorgeous blue eyes light up when she-

Sylvanas’s smile faded as realization dawned on her.

Or maybe not so much of a show at all.

f*ck.

Trees rushed below, the ground dipping away as her wings caught the war torrent of air, lifting her body in an effortless swoop, higher and higher. A lazy flap of her wings and the raven’s head twitched, the pale membrane of an eyelid flicking over sharply expanding pupils as her keen gaze swept over the endless stretch of forested land.

It was so peaceful up here, yet cold. The soft down of her feathers seemed to be useless against the chill that sapped within hollow bones, coiling like a dead weight in her chest. The sun hung high above in all its brilliance, the golden leaves shimmering below in its majestic rays.

But she was so cold.

Each wing beat started to labour, muscles becoming stiff and sore.

Just a little further…

The scar of deadened earth coiled through the forest like a dark snake, destroying everything in its path. But as she soared overhead, it seemed to abruptly vanish, as though the endless tramp of unholy feet that had stamped its existence into the mud all but ended in one moment, the land turning lush and green once more..

The chill further creeped along from wing tip to beak, like a hoar of frost dusting her jade-black feathers.

She made to circle lower-

-and a hand clamped firmly on her right shoulder.

The bird dissipated and Jaina let out a startled cry, feeling as though she’d all but crashed through the clouds and treetops onto the table she was currently sitting at.

“f*ck, Rhonin why?” She snapped, the sightless glow of her arcane infused eyes slowly bleeding away as her vision returned back to the cramped normality of the small town house she was currently residing in. Vereesa hovered by the stove anxiously, absently moving the kettle off the heat as it started to obnoxiously whistle.

“You were pushing way past your limits, I wasn’t about to let you chance another seizure.”

Limits? She’d barely gotten started.

Curse this juvenile body of hers.

Vereesa wordlessly poured her a cup of tea, placing it between trembling hands and made to pull out a chair, perching next to the mage with a worried pout to her lips.

“Did you see anything?”

“The deadened scar where he marched his army just abruptly stops, as though he somehow teleported himself and what was left of his army out… yet I sense no arcane it’s…” Jaina’s lips pursed into a frustrated grimace. “I don’t understand.”

“Perhaps he obtained outside aid?”

“How could he? Without Kel’Thuzad there was no Lich Powerful enough to…” Jaina’s fist thumped against the table causing Vereesa to flinch and the mug of tea to rock dangerously.

“What do you mean by a ‘Lich’ Jaina.” Rhonin questioned calmly. “And Kel’Thuzad?” His gaze turned frightened, “I knew of him, he was expelled only a few short years before I joined the Kirin Tor, but his name is infamous amongst our organization. It was reported to us that Arthas slayed him after his crusade to Northrend-”

“-Forget it Rhonin, I’ve said too much.” Jaina snapped.

“Too much? Jaina…” Rhonin sounded exasperated. “We’re on your side! How can we even begin to help you if you’re keeping us in the dark. Jaina, I-” his eyes softened. “I don’t know what Arthas did, or can say I truly understand what you went through, but you must know that we are here for you, that you’re not alone in all this. You need only let us help you.”

With a deep sigh, Jaina’s hands curled around the mug of tea to ground her with the comforting warmth against her chilled fingers. She needed to choose her next words carefully.

“I will explain all that I have learned. Arthas was... is a death knight, an undead soldier who wields an incredibly powerful artifact for a weapon. A cursed runeblade by the name of Frostmourne.” Even the name uttered aloud seemed to darken the very room they were huddled in.

Met by silence, Jaina continued. “It’s power is… unparalleled. While he wields Frostmourne, nobody, not even the most powerful of magic users can even begin to stand against him, not alone. Every death snuffed out by that wicked blade only feeds its strength, it gives him the ability to overpower anyone he comes across, to fell cities…to raise the dead to fight for him once more.” Jaina swallowed and looked down. “Kel’Thuzad was once a powerful mage but resurrected he would become an even more powerful Lich, one whose cursed soul would remain, even after his body would die. Arthas needed Kel’Thuzad alive but even with the power of his blade, he needed an unimaginable source of energy to animate his remains once more. A source of energy so powerful that it could bring a long since deceased soul back to the realm of the living.”

“And so he marched upon the Sunwell.” Vereesa murmured. “But why did he need Kel’Thuzad so badly? If he wanted a powerful mage on his side surely he could just have slain someone like you?” Vereesa then looked suddenly abashed at blurting that out loud. “I’m sorry Jaina, I didn't mean that to come off so bluntly. What I’m trying to say is that if he wanted powerful users of the arcane in his undead army, it seems a lot of effort to go through just to have someone resurrected.”

Rhonin, ever the scholar, was quick to figure it out. “He clearly had information Arthas needed.”

Jaina nodded in confirmation. “I don’t know what that information is,” she lied. “But what I do know is it could spell disaster for us all if Kel’Thuzad is allowed to live once more.”

“You think he will try again for the Sunwell?” Vereesa asked, jaw tense and shoulders stiff.

“He might, all I know is that he will stop at nothing to get him back, we need to keep an eye on all movements of Lordaeron, we have to figure out where he and his army have fled to but so far it’s…” Jaina let out a sharp, frustrated sigh.

“Perhaps Sylvanas might shed some light, I know she was up at first light this morning patrolling for any evidence of her missing rangers, perhaps her path might glean something we can use.”

“Unfortunately not.” A voice chimed in causing both Jaina and Rhonin to flinch in unison. Sylvanas strolled in, the door banging against its hinges as she threw her quiver to the side with a clatter of arrows before untying her bow and carefully placing it against the wall. “We discovered the… remains of those we burned but unfortunately the bodies that we had yet to destroy have gone… missing.”

Jaina and Sylvanas shared a solemn look as Vereesa appeared horrified.

“That monster.” She hissed.

Sylvanas gave her a curt nod. “Indeed. As for my search of evidence, I found very little to indicate where he took his army. Following the dead scar only led me to its end with nothing to indicate where they went. I couldn’t even sense any residue arcane in the air to suggest some form of mass teleportation or a woven portal.”

“So our observations match up.” Jaina stated, playing with the loose fabric of her sleeve.

“Jaina was scrying in the form of a raven.” Vereesa explained, a hint of disbelief to her voice. “Honestly, half the things you’ve done these past couple of weeks I didn’t even know you were capable!”

“Nor I.” Rhonin grumbled sullenly, “damned Antonidas and his favorites.”

Vereesa smiled gently in his direction.

“Well it's concerning news either way. An enemy we can’t track is a dangerous one indeed.” Sylvanas then straightened as if suddenly remembering something, and delved into her pack. “On a brighter note,” she slung a couple of strung up rabbits onto the table. “The wildlife seems to be returning, soon our hunting and foraging parties will return enough provisions that we will be able to put an end to the rationing.”

“Sylvanas!” Vereesa hissed, “I only just wiped the table down.”

“Well excuse me for thinking you might have wanted something more than tasteless oatmeal and grain handouts. The waystation’s hounds were looking a little bit peckish this morning, perhaps I’ll chuck this their way instead, maybe they will even be more grateful…”

“I didn’t say I…” Vereesa grumbled and held out a hand placidly in Sylvanas’s direction. “ Thank you.”

“Hm, that was dripping with sarcasm but I’ll take it, if only because I simply want to provide for my dear sister in her time of need.”

“You need a place to stay tonight, don’t you.” Vereesa wasn’t fooled in the slightest by that simpering act of kindness.

“Well technically this place was Alleria’s. ”

“Well technically she gave it to me before she left.”

“Only because she wanted you to get out more. It was almost like she somehow predicted you’d be tied down to two screaming brats the moment a man smiled at you the right way...”

“Do you even hear yourself sometimes-”

“Ladies, please.” Rhonin placated only for Sylvanas to shoot him a truly terrifying glare which he all but shrank away from.

“Look,” the elder Windrunner levelled, expression softening. “I’m going to need a full night's rest if I’m going to even stand a chance in making it to the Spire after the service. I can’t be dealing with wasting time looking for lodging tonight. I need a hot meal and a corner to sleep in, that’s all I ask.”

Vereesa’s expression in turn gentled and her arm reached across to gently touch her sister’s hand. “Of course, the kids are in the room to the right upstairs I’ll just…”

She was cut off by Sylvanas rounding the table and wrapping her up into a tight hug. Jaina and Rhonin exchanged a confused glance as Vereesa soothingly rubbed at her back.

“Rough day?” She murmured quietly only for Sylvanas to nod in response, tightening her arms around her younger sister’s shoulders. Jaina found herself rapidly blinking away tears and looking down. Everytime she thought she’d had Sylvanas figured out, only to be surprised once more.

This big softie of a Ranger General who’d spent from dawn ‘til dusk tirelessly searching for her fallen comrades even as her wounds had yet to be healed and she still walked with a limp to her gait.

That night they all crowded around the small kitchen table, eating a rather bland yet deliciously warm rabbit stew, speaking in hushed voices so as not to wake the young boys sleeping above. Even so, Galadin sleepily came down, trailing a rag of a blanket in his hand only to be scooped up by Sylvanas of all people who whispered to him in gentle Thalassian until he fell asleep.

Eventually, once the modest hearth had died down, the smoky scent of pine cones rich in the air, they all unanimously agreed to turn in for the night. As Vereesa and Rhonin gently closed the door behind them, Jaina took a deep breath and mustered the courage to approach Sylvanas who regarded her with such an honest and open expression it both unnerved and soothed her all at once.

“I… you said you were going to clear the Spire out after your service?”

Sylvanas nodded, wary. “Yes, at least I will try to, there’s a lot I’m hoping I can salvage- even if the safety of my home is now lost to me.”

Jaina nodded and dared to step closer, lowering her voice. “May I… help you? If you have an artifact of some sort, a memento that was made in that area- I can translocate us and save you hours of riding.”

“Why?” Sylvanas asked, though not unkindly, just a shimmering curiosity in her eyes as though she too was desperately trying to figure Jaina out.

“I’d like to patrol the area a little more, getting out as far as Windrunner spire will save me a lot of time and…” she paused, suddenly shy. “I feel I owe it to the woman who saved my life.”

Of all the responses she was expecting to get, she was in no way prepared for the flush that bled it's way across the taller woman’s cheeks. “You owe me nothing, Jaina. We are even.” Sylvanas responded softly.

“Alright, then I owe it for that time you whipped Dawnrunner’s ass halfway to IronForge.” The two shared a grin at that before Sylvanas nodded.

“I’ll find you something tomorrow.”

“The more sentiment attached to it, the better.” Jaina warned and the elf nodded again.

“I know just the thing. Though wait...Jaina.” Sylvanas’s hand caught Jaina’s arm as she turned to go and the human was surprised to find that it was the first time she didn’t flinch at her touch. “Speaking of objects of sentiment, you might be pleased to know I found this.”

Handed between them, almost as though it were a sacred item Sylvanas didn’t want anyone else seeing, she pressed the pistol into Jaina’s palm.

It was the second time that night Jaina had to keep herself from crying.

“We can wrangle someone to repair the damage, I’m just sorry that it took us this long to even find it...if you want I can-”

Sylvanas’s words cut off and her ears shot straight up when she felt the soft press of lips against her jaw. Jaina pulled back, gently coming down from her tiptoes and eyes swimming with unshed tears. “Thank you Sylvanas.”

And then she was gone, fleeing up the stairs and cursing herself the entire time as her face burned.

What she didn’t see however, was how long Sylvanas stood in the kitchen after, fingers absently tracing where the mage’s lips had met her skin.

“Here,” Sylvanas hopped down off the podium, glancing fugitively around her as though ashamed she was slipping away so soon after what had been one of the hardest services she’d had to take in her life. Deft fingers plucked what looked like a small knife strapped to the inside of her boot. Jaina blinked with a start, not even realizing she’d kept one there.

“And this is…” Jaina questioned as she took the knife from Sylvanas inspecting it and admiring the delicate Thalassian runes etched into the curved handle.

To my Lady Moon, the light that guides me home in the dark.

“My mother’s skinning knife.” Sylvanas’s tone was clipped, as though she was reluctant to explain any further. Jaina nodded, respecting that, even as her mind howled for more answers.

“And it was crafted at The Spire?”

Silver eyes shifted downwards. “Yes.”

“Perfect.” Jaina gently curled her fingers around the wooden handle, letting tendrils of arcane seep into the metal and wood. “You wish to leave now?”

Sylvanas again looked away guilty. “As soon as possible.”

Jaina nodded, offering Sylvanas a reassuring smile before gesturing for the elf to step closer. Sylvanas obeyed, the heat of the sun, already fierce this early in the morning, had warmed her leathers and Jaina felt a sudden overwhelming urge to lean into it. She closed her eyes, latching onto that feeling as she sank into the memories that the artifact held.

Warmth. Warm sunlight.

A soft voice humming a tune she did not recognize.

The distant crash of waves on the rocks below. The rich scent of resin, laughter echoing to her right, the musical clatter of windchimes from a particularly strong onshore gust…

“Alright, step close to me.” Jaina murmured, opening an arm as though ready to receive an embrace. Sylvanas obeyed and Jaina tightened her hold around surprisingly broad shoulders as the elf shivered both from the contact and the arcane that eagerly enveloped the two in a shimmering dome. The scent of resin became stronger, coupled with flashes of memories- of strong scarred hands whittling delicate curls of wood away, a low throaty chuckle. A woman with a severe face, gentled only by the kindness in her eyes. A deep scar that bridged her nose. There was something about that strong jawline, the slightly lopsided smile that showed only a hint of fang…

Oh. Oh.

Sentimental indeed. Jaina nearly released her spell in shock.

The two gasped together as the memory snapped and the gentle image of the sunlit patio became cold and dark- devoid of laughter and windchimes and gentle hands carving artwork into the wood. The wind howled, threatening to send the two stumbling off the edge as both Jaina and Sylvanas struggled to ground themselves.

An unlit lantern, hanging off kilter above the doorway swung with an eerie creak. Broken splinters of wood and the twisted metal of furniture were littered everywhere, spilling out of a doorway that slammed a disjointed rhythm against the wall as the wind shrieked.

With an unsteady lurch, Sylvanas pushed away from Jaina and was promptly sick on the moss covered tiles below. A mixture of teleportation dizziness and the shock at seeing her ruined home. Perhaps translocation was a bad idea, a long ride to the spire might have made her better prepared. Emotionally.

The human shifted on her own feet, looking out toward the horizon to give her some privacy. She could imagine how Sylvanas felt, going from such peaceful memories of the place to the jarring reality they were in now.

“f*ck.” Sylvanas wheezed, hands on her thighs. “f*ck.” She straightened, coughing slightly and schooling her features into a stoic mask even as her ears still pressed flat against her skull. “Sorry I…”

“It’s fine. Take your time.” Jaina understood all too well the crumbling towers, the empty rooms and lonely creaking signposts, forever preserved upon the irradiated ground of Theramore.

“I’ll… find you a place to get set up.” Sylvanas stiffly gestured for Jaina to follow who couldn’t help but be impressed at how quickly she was able to tamp down on her emotions and spring into action.

Shouldering her way through a door, Sylvanas made quick work of clearing a space for Jaina, offering her an arm as she stepped over a discordant mess of splintered wood and broken glass. “This was the library.” She muttered, gesturing to the copious amount of scattered books and sodden pages littering the floor. “It seems our wayward thieves did not have an affinity for the written word. All the worse for them, many of those books were first editions and would fetch a pretty price on the market.”

Jaina smothered the curiosity that those discarded books brought and started to sweep away a portion of the stone floor with her boot, just enough space to have her sitting cross legged without any scattered shards of glass digging into her thigh.

“You’re okay for me to leave you alone down here?” Sylvanas was being considerate but Jaina could tell by the nervous twitch of her ears and the tightening of her jaw that she was eager to start her own search upstairs. The human quickly waved her away, already grounding herself and allowing her arcane to flow free, attuning her body and mind to the ebb and flow of the place.

Windrunner Spire was impressive, that was undeniable. The home that brought up the likes of Alleria, Sylvanas and Vereesa- of course it would have to be. But it wasn’t its sweeping staircases or its grand archways that had Jaina so captivated, it was its magic.

The place was rife with it.

And this went way beyond simple wards or preservation enchantments; these were spells that had been woven into the very stonework, blessed by the masons who had built it. The site itself, Jaina could guess, was placed on an intersecting leyline from the residue of ancient mana that thrummed when she pressed her palms against the cool, tiled floor. The building around her hummed almost in greeting and slowly Jaina let herself sink within its ancient presence, allowing once more for wings to burst free as the tall, twisting spires dropped away from her and she was flying once more.

This time the spell felt different. Less freeing and more a turbulent fight against the howling winds that buffeted her wings. Still, anchoring her vision spell from out here gave her a looser leash, one that had her reaching the end of the deadened scar in mere minutes than what had taken her the better part of an hour to do before. Already, too soon, she could feel the ache of her depleted mana sapping at her bones, but with a renewed surge of her wings she swooped lower, willing herself to focus as she weaved past the twisted branches of the trees, rotted from within, sap oozing like infected blood from a wound.

She had no means of smell or touch or taste, only her sharp vision as the raven perched upon a branch with an ungainly flutter of its wings. Standing at the edge of the infected ground, Jaina felt her entire soul shy away from it- the seeping chill of despair that saturated the very dirt. The surrounding trees, those that haven't yet been touched by the decaying necromantic powers seemed to lean away from the site, proud branches twisting away as though recoiling in horror. Flies buzzed around carrion, the bloated body of a deer, head thrown back in a permanent bellow of agony as it lay on the tainted ground as though it were an offering for a bloody ritual.

Her vision blackened as she struggled to hold onto her spell. Hopping closer, the bird tilted its head, vision focusing on the strange shape of something burned into the grass. Something that could have been a rune… or a sigil.

“Jaina!”

Her stomach lurched and her vision blurred.

Something was… off.

But she had work to do. Her mind’s eye started to trace the rune, committing it to memory.

“Jaina!”

No. She inwardly begged. Leave me alone.

“Jaina!” The voice calling her name was right behind her and two hands grasped at her shoulders, sharp nails digging into her skin insistently. The spell snapped and once again she was slammed back into reality.

“Sylvanas, what the f*ck.” Jaina shook her head angrily, clearing the spots in her vision.

A low growl next to her ear. “Someone’s here.”

Instantly the anger faded to worry as Jaina let the rest of her arcane dissipate, the pale glow from her eyes fading. She gripped Sylvanas’s forearm, allowing the elf to pull her upright and back her into a corner, pressing against her as she ushered the two of them into a hiding spot.

For a moment Jaina was startled by the hot breath tickling at her neck and the hammering of a heart against her fingertips that were pressed against the elf’s chest.

“What is it?” Jaina whispered and Sylvanas’s ears flicked, shooting her a panicked look.

She made a series of hand gestures that Jaina frowned at before she let out a puff of air in frustration and leant closer.

“Movement above us, east side tower, coming closer.”

Jaina frowned, not hearing anything, but trusting her companions elven ears to be telling the truth. Sylvanas shifted her stance and Jaina only realized just now that she had her mother's skinning knife unsheathed.

“Where’s your bow?” Jaina hissed and Sylvanas answered with a jerk of her head toward the doorway.

A loud crash upstairs followed by an animalistic, guttural growl. Okay, she’d definitely heard that.

“What is that?” Jaina questioned, “some kind of animal?”

Sylvanas merely shook her head, looking visibly shaken. “Definitely not an animal. Think you can port us out?”

It was Jaina’s turn to shake her head, cursing herself as she did so. A mage’s first lesson was to always be aware of their limits, but she was still thinking in future terms- of parameters that her current body had no hope in achieving. “No, I used up way too much of my mana scrying, it wouldn’t be safe for me to do so.”

She half expected Sylvanas to scold her, or at the very least shoot her a scathing look, but all she got was a serious nod, those blue-grey eyes sharpening as seemed to draw up other plans on the spot. “What about a conventional anchored portal? Something that would remain stable long enough for us to slip through?”

Jaina sighed, dropping an unsteady hand to grip at the elf’s forearm suddenly feeling very exposed with how little magic she had to her name. Right now the only thing she had protecting her from this unseen threat upstairs was Sylvanas. That realization didn’t sit well within her. “Will take me a while,” she eventually muttered. “I’d need direct access to that leyline below.”

“That can be arranged…”

Another snarl, and the splintering of wood as something viciously tore through it.

“We are running out of time-”

“On my mark you make a sprint for the door and down those stairs; I'll hold whatever it is off while you channel. I’ll do whatever I can to delay its attack, and will follow you as soon as you give me the go ahead that it’s done.” Ears flattened, and Sylvanas’s lips curled back over her teeth.

Jaina glanced up at her, confused. “It’s clearly hunting us, shouldn’t we try and fight back?”

“I am absolutely not engaging with that thing, we are running, now go.”

A seething hiss, and Jaina felt her limbs seize in dread.

Composure lost, Sylvanas spat out a curse. “For f*cks sake, Jaina, go!”

The break from whispering to Sylvanas’s panicked shouts seemed to jolt the creature from its stalking as it snarled and rushed out into the open, a roiling mass of black tendrils amounting to a shadowy humanoid form, long clawed fingers outstretched as if to strangle or dismember. Sylvanas rushed forward, cloak whipping around her ankles and fangs bared in retaliation as she adjusted the grip on her dagger. Jaina in turn made a break for the door.

Neither made it very far.

A scream pierced the air. One that sucked the air from both their lungs and caused Jaina’s knees to buckle as she clutched at the sharp pain radiating from the sides of her head. Something heavy hit the ground beside her and she faintly realized it was Sylvanas, clutching at her own ears as they pressed flat against her skull, an agonized expression on her face. The scream sounded again… no not a scream, a wail. One that tore at sensitive eardrums and dug its tendrils of despair further into her brain, worming its way into her cortex until all she could think of was death and despair. As if nothing would ever be right in the world again.

“Jaina.” Sylvanas’s voice came out as a broken wheeze beside her. “Run.”

Any tenuous semblance of a plan was forgotten as the two rushed out, boots slipping on the rain-slicked tiles as they took the stairs two at a time. Jaina tripped and Sylvanas half caught her around the waist before pitching forward herself, still hopelessly disoriented by the scream. For all they knew, the shadowy creature could have been at their heels and they wouldn’t have been any the wiser, both refusing to look behind in their mad dash for the ground below. For a horrible moment Jaina’s stomach lurched as the two of them fell, before instinct had her blinking forward, arms still wrapped around Sylvanas as her mana-drained body howled in protest.

The world shifted around them and they were on the ground, both wildly glancing around them as they scrambled amongst sand and surf, mercifully realizing that out in the pale glare of the daylight, they hadn’t been followed. Yet.

“What… the f*ck was that.” Sylvanas croaked out, throat hoarse as she sat up in the sand, ears still pinned and a pained grimace to her lips. “That scream… my head…”

“Yeah it’s not nice, is it.” Jaina snapped without thinking, trying to stand on shaky legs- Sylvanas shot her a confused look, even as she too scrambled to a stand, seawater dripping from her cloak and squelching in her boots.

“How very Kul Tiran of you to have blinked us to the shoreline.” There was a sharp sucking sound as Sylvanas tugged her foot out of the waterlogged sand. “We need to get out of here before that thing figures out where we went.”

“That thing,” Jaina grunted as she too made to wade toward dryer land, “is a banshee.”

“Hawkstrider-sh*t,” Sylvanas spat, idly wondering how she’d managed to get so much seawater in her left ear. “That’s just you jumping to conclusions based on fables. Banshee’s don’t exist.”

Jaina fixed her with a grave stare that lingered a little too long. “They absolutely do.”

Standing on firmer ground, the two glanced up at the spindly architecture of Windrunner Spire, looking ominous as it was silhouetted against the greying sky.

“You think she’s still up there?” Jaina asked, peering around Sylvanas’s shoulder to get a better look as the elf frowned and squinted up at the platform above.

“She?” A trademark elven head tilt as Sylvanas paused to glance at her.

“All banshee’s are she’s if we are going off the fables you’re accusing me of.” Jaina quipped in response and Sylvanas laughed once without humor.

“Hm… good for them.” Sylvanas adjusted the clinch of her cloak, ears drooping when she felt the weight of the sodden material at her back.

“So…” Jaina pressed again, “reckon she’s there?”

Silver eyes narrowed. “Who knows, I’m not sticking around long enough to find out.”

The mage’s step faltered. “You’re running?”

Sylvanas wheeled around to glare at her, which might have looked menacing were it not for the off kilter hood and the bedraggled strands of pale blonde hair sticking to her face. “Apparently you’ve never met elven rangers before, we will always ‘run’ from a fight until we have the enemy truly figured out. That...” she pointed a gloved finger in the direction of the tower. “Is something I do not know or understand, so for now, we are getting out of here.”

“Okay, okay.” Jaina grunted and flexed her numb fingers. “I can try and weave a portal but it’s going to take time.”

Sylvanas didn’t respond but the way she fixed her hood and shifted into a defensive stance told Jaina enough that she was to be protected so she could cast in peace.

Casting while low on mana was agonizing, like the sting of nerve damage along with a bitter deep chill that sunk deep within the marrow of her bones. Jaina winced as her teeth worried at her lip, trying to steady her shaking hands as they methodically wove the runes for a stable portal.

“Jaina,” Sylvanas’s voice was tense.

“Yep, I feel it too.” Jaina’s hands wove the runes faster in response to the seeping chill of the necromantic magic winding its way down from the towering rocks above.

“It... she’s coming in for another attack, you need to hurry.”

“I’m trying!” Jaina’s voice wavered as she tried to keep steady.

“I need my bow.” Sylvanas ground out, knife catching the pale light as she feinted to the left, hoping her movements would distract the banshee long enough for Jaina to continue her spell.

It worked and the writhing mass of darkness sped in her direction. Sylvanas cried out in alarm, slashing away at tendrils that seemed to wrestle with her, coiling around arms and legs as she struggled.

“Jaina!”

“It’s done, it’s done!” The human gasped in response as the windowed image of Northern Quel’Thalas mercifully greeted her. Sylvanas wasted no time crawling toward the shakily woven portal as she gave a well aimed kick to the main bulk of the humanoid torso. It didn’t do much other than serve to enrage it more.

“Jaina,” Sylvanas cursed loudly and kicked out again. “Get it off me.”

Nodding, she sent a lash of magic in its direction. While it did not seem to effectively harm the creature, the light from the arcane caused it to rear back and cover its smoldering eyes with its clawed hands.

So it was deeply sensitive to any form of light… interesting. Jaina filed that information away as she grabbed a hold of Sylvanas’s wrist to pull her through the portal, sparking a shining orb of energy in her palm that she held aloft like a tidesage would hold a beacon to ward off the fog at the prow of a ship.

Only to find that Sylvanas wasn’t moving.

“Sylvanas, c’mon.” Jaina spat, yanking at her arm again, though unable to budge the elven general a single inch as she glanced up at the banshee in disbelief.

It’s...you?” Sylvanas uttered, her voice confused and broken.

“Sylvanas we need to go!” Jaina grunted in exhaustion as she pushed out with her magic, desperate to hold the tenuous edges as they threatened to snap shut.

Without thinking, Sylvanas reached toward the shadowy mass that cowered from Jaina’s orb of light.

“Sylvanas for f*ckssake. ” Time was up and it was all Jaina could do to wrap her arms around the elf as she blinked the two of them backward while the portal dissipated, nearly severing them in half as they passed its barrier with seconds to spare. “Tides you nearly got us both killed, damn you!” Jaina wondered if it were possible for her heart to burst through her chest from the intensity at which it was beating.

“I saw… it was her it was…” Sylvanas was scrambling upright, as if ready to grasp at the very air itself in order to wrench the portal back open.

“Sylvanas…”

“What, how…” her voice turned furious. “What has that monster done?”

“Sylvanas?” Shouts in the distance as two rangers that Jaina didn’t recognize rushed to their general’s aid, even as she gasped and swatted away their hands as they tried to comfort her.

“What did you do?” One of them seethed at her and Jaina held up her hands passively.

“Nothing! We were attacked I-”

“Anya.” Sylvanas gasped out and all at once the ranger accusing Jaina wheeled around, her ire directed at the mage forgotten as she glanced up at her general with fear in her eyes.

“What do you mean Anya?”

“The rangers in our station that were missing?” Sylvanas composed herself as her voice grew steely, silver eyes flaring with a murderous rage that made Jaina’s stomach turn. “I believe Jaina and I inadvertently stumbled upon their fate.” She swallowed and glanced at her insubordinate who was hanging onto every word with amounting horror. “There was a creature that attacked- a vengeful spirit that had every intent on murdering us had Jaina not opened a portal for our escape and,” that gaze turned haunted and apologetic. “I believe it was Ranger Captain Anya Duskweaver.”

Chapter 7: Monstrous means to Monstrous Ends

Chapter Text

The elf stared up at Jaina, her baleful fel-green glare never faltering as she tilted her chin up defiantly at the mage; so proud, so sure of herself despite the sweat gleaming on her skin, thick, dark red blood trickling from her nose and ears.

“You can stop this at any time.” Jaina kept her voice silky smooth; coaxing, were it not for the emptiness of its tone, a mirror to the gaping cavern in her chest. “You need only tell us where your comrades are hiding and this will all be over, a horrible nightmare in which both you and I can gladly forget.” Jaina idly tapped the potion in her left palm. “Drink this and your torment will be nothing more than a troublesome dream, should you simply choose to comply.”

“Why? Don’t have the stomach for it?” The elf snarled, spittle flying from her chapped lips.

“I can take this as far as I need to,” Jaina drawled, “I’m only pointing out that the torment of memory extraction could so easily be avoided. Your misguided loyalty is neither brave nor admirable,” The archmage leant closer so that the Sin’Dorei could see the seething arcane that paled irises that had once been a hopeful ocean blue. “Your leader stands a traitor, your people murderers.”

“Yet it was the simple herbalist you dragged from family and home, the shopkeepers, the alchemists, civilians slaughtered in the street.” The elf barked out a stilted, humorless chuckle between unsteady breaths.

“A simple herbalist who was once a soldier of the Horde.You know where your brethren are, and you’re going to tell me,” Jaina glanced idly at the potion, even as her palms flared with magic, “one way, or another.”

“I hung flowers at the fountain every anniversary you know,” the elf murmured, and Jaina paused, tilting her head even as the arcane continued to menacingly hum, “for the innocents who fell that day, for those who had no graves in which to place them. We wept for them, for the Horde, for the death of all that was honorable and just under that tyrant's command.”

“And yet you still wear red, and still he sits upon his throne, and those flowers you placed have long since withered away, along with the empty condolences of your cursed faction.” Jaina laughed once with a mocking shrug before her voice steeled over with terrifying resolve. “Last chance, blood elf, tell me where your people hide.”

“You wish to see a murderer? You need only look in the mirror.” The elf then muttered something derogatory in Thalassian and Jaina had to fight the slightly unhinged smile that flickered across her face as she placed her palms either side of her captives face, eyes glowing white as the elf whimpered at the contact.

“So be it. Sit still, this may hurt a lot.”

Jaina jolted awake to the sound of the door slamming. There was a bickering of voices below and the tramp of boots across kitchen tiles before another door was crudely pulled shut with enough force for it to rattle on its hinges. Bleary eyed, she pushed the errant strands of hair away from her face and reluctantly left the warmth of her bed sheets in favor of investigating the commotion below.

By the time she made it down the stairs she was merely greeted with the sight of Vereesa slumped across the table, fingers idly toying with the frayed edge of a string, amongst a pile of fractured scraps of wood.

“I’m sorry if that woke you up.” Vereesa muttered, still fiddling with the string. “My sister is... she’s just so…” the younger Windrunner trailed off into a growl of frustration and lifted her hands as though strangling thin air. “When Lirath and I were young, Alleria spread a rumour that Minn’da once found an abandoned infant troll on her doorstep... that she’d fed her, clothed her and named her Sylvanas.” Jaina couldn’t help the surprised snort that escaped her, unsure whether it was appropriate to laugh in this sombre recollection of memories but Vereesa chuckled as well, gesturing for Jaina to sit down. “I truly believed her for a while, until I naively asked when Sylvanas’s tusks would come in and she stared at me in horror. I was mortified, Alleria couldn’t stop laughing. It was ridiculous.” Vereesa let out a soft, wistful sigh even as she smiled in pleasant memory. “We were all so ridiculous.”

“Still are, from the sounds of it.” Jaina retorted, gauging that Vereesa was in the mood for a little lighthearted ribbing. “Pretty sure that door slam damaged the structural integrity of the house.”

“Oh don’t even get me started on her dramatics. People think she’s so cool headed and above such emotional outbursts, but they don’t know half the theatrics when you’re unfortunate enough to be related.” Vereesa sighed, and picked up a shard of the splintered wood. “She’s rather… particular about her choice in weapon, so she takes it personally when things like this get broken.”

Oh. Jaina realized it was what remained of Sylvanas’s bow. The ornate wooden pieces, once polished to shine, now a splintered mess, held in Vereesa’s calloused, ranger’s hands as she idly placed the broken edges together to resemble the outline of what the weapon once was. She sensed the misting eddies of magic that curled around the remains, the seething energies of an enchantment broken beyond repair.

“It’s unfixable.” Jaina simply stated. Vereesa let out a heavy sigh and reluctantly nodded in agreement.

“I knew you were going to say that, but a foolish part of me hoped otherwise. Now she’s going to be even more of a pain in the ass than she already is.”

Jaina’s lips pursed into a thin line. Vereesa wasn’t wrong, Sylvanas had been rather difficult to work with lately; her ears always flattened and angry and a stiffness to her posture as though she were perpetually fighting against a rage-fuelled meltdown at any second. Her sentences were short, her temper even shorter and frankly interacting with her in any way felt like handling a goblin-crafted grenade, which, unfortunately for Jaina, was far more like the Sylvanas she knew during their extremely uneasy alliance in her own timeline. As for this particular version of Sylvanas, Jaina understood it was because she was upset, devastated at the news of Anya and what it could potentially mean for all those that had been marked as missing amongst her squad, but she imagined it was also something else that plagued her thoughts- what caused her to toss and whimper when Jaina had walked past her bedroom door, heart twisting to the sound of broken pleas that Sylvanas fitfully cried out in her sleep.

Please don’t take her! Take me instead.

Survivor's guilt. Jaina knew that awful feeling a little too intimately.

“You should talk to her.”

For a second Jaina didn’t respond until she realized that she was the only other person in the room that Vereesa could have possibly spoken to.

“Wait, what? Me… why?” Jaina’s brows furrowed in confusion as Vereesa shot her a withering glare.

“Because for some ineffable reason she likes you, I might even go as far as saying that she thinks of you as a friend.” Vereesa let out another tired sigh and swept the broken parts of the bow aside. “And Belore knows she could do with one, now more than ever.”

Friend? Jaina bit her lip to keep from barking back a sarcastic reply. When was the last time anyone thought her a friend? Vereesa maybe, though their relationship had been forged in anger and pain- a mutual hatred toward the Horde forcing one another into each other's arms. And the rest? Well, the rest only needed her when it suited, empty words of consolation at her tragedy, chiding words of disapproval at her anger, like they had any idea what it was like to lose your entire world in the space of four horrible seconds. Like they understood what it was like to have the mana boil in your veins, seething, hissing, offering you more power than you ever could have imagined, though yet still unable to find deliverance in revenge.

Jaina wondered how much quicker she might have healed had there been someone there to offer her something as simple as a heartfelt hug; to hold her, to let her release all her hatred and pain in ugly sobs against their shoulder. Offering no chiding words of wisdom about how she should react or what way she should grieve, but to simply tell her: “I know, this is awful, I’m so sorry.”

Maybe not enough, but it would have been something.

Jaina stared at the scattered pieces of the bow, sensed the ragged edge of the broken enchantment desperately trying to piece itself together but twisted beyond comprehension. Even with her vast knowledge, it would be a nigh impossible feat to repair.

Though something about the magic felt familiar.

She reached out and traced her finger over a splintered piece of wood, careful not to catch her skin on the sharp edges. Whoever created this enchantment did it out of immense love, it was a melancholy feeling for sure to see it broken. Jaina sucked in a sharp breath, jolting herself from her thoughts and offered Vereesa a weak smile. “I’ll do my best.”

“Thought I might find you here.” Velonara’s voice was smooth but Sylvanas knew her too well not to detect the nervous hitch of breath when she encroached on her hidden corner of the workshop.

“Then you should know to leave me alone.” Sylvanas warned through gritted teeth, holding the small, thin plate of steel up for better inspection before placing it over the lead pipe, centering, and striking once with the hammer.

Velonara let out a humorless chuckle, toying with one of the hooks hanging from the beam and letting it swing lazily like a pendulum. “Normally I would, but time is not on our side my friend, we need a plan.”

Another sharp strike with the hammer and Sylvanas realigned the metal, slowly shaping it so that it became curved, perfect for fitting around a leather-gloved finger.

“Don’t you have an armorer for that kind of task?” Velonara’s hand shot up to still the swinging hook and dared to saunter closer, eyes raking across the various discarded tools. Hammers and roofing nails and chisels, scattered across the workbench and floor, remnants of that fateful day where they had been hastily abandoned and the workshop evacuated.

“She’s dead.” Sylvanas’ lip curled back from her fangs and the next strike she made with the hammer felt like a vicious punctuation to her words.

Velonara’s own ears wilted and she cursed herself for even asking. Of course she was dead, so many were dead. The travelling baker, the one who’d whistle the exact call of the common songbird as he’d throw still-warm buns to the hungry recruits sitting on the fence, the leatherworker, who’d continually scold her for her cracked vambraces yet still managed to return them well oiled and gleaming to perfection. She wondered what had become of the disillusioned cheese vendor, the one who’d huffed and puffed about the continuous stench and flicked her auburn braid back with an airy sigh, dreaming of better life in the heart of Silvermoon nobility. They’d found the upturned cart, still packed full of goods for the market- but no sign of her.

Perhaps now she was living the high life, sipping on the finest vintage with her feet up, bathing in Belore’s grace. Oh Light, she hoped so, even if Velonara had to pointedly ignore the doubt eating at the back of her mind.

Sylvanas had always had her armor tended, her clothes tailored, even her horses bred by those that resided in Windrunner village. She could have just as easily dumped her stuff off at Farstrider’s retreat like the rest of them, and it would have been on a stand, fixed and threaded and polished for the next day. The recruits surely would have been more than glad to have brushed and exercised her steed for free but she’d paid a stablehand back home. Always keen on keeping her services local, supporting Windrunner village businesses as people flocked like pilgrims to be the one to have their cloak adjusted by the same person who’d made The Ranger General’s gloves. She’d visited the same people for centuries, like her mother before her and her mother’s father before that.

Velonara realized with a pang in her chest that many of those people would have felt like extended members, intertwined with the Windrunner family. Neighbors who’d measured and poked and prodded at four unruly growing elves, had popped over for dinners and sent cards at each achievement or milestone.

She’d remembered a select few of their troop coming home with Sylvanas following the funeral procession of Lireesa Windrunner, had heated a deliciously seasoned haunch of venison while they’d sat at the kitchen table and listlessly picked at it in empty silence, one of the many meals left at the door by the concerned villagers. They hadn’t offered flowers, or lit candles or sang songs, they’d simply brought food to ensure that a grieving Alleria, Sylvanas and Vereesa wouldn’t go hungry. A promise to a deceased mother that her children would be looked after, no matter what.

Velonara felt that now, felt her grief, her anguish, her helplessness. For it seemed now to be elven was to know immeasurable loss.

“It was an axe that caught the edge of my hand.” Sylvanas’s voice cut through Velonara’s moment of horrified realization. “Funny really, I was so tired, so accepting of my death, yet when that axe came at me... I blocked it out of reflex.” Hollow laughter followed as Sylvanas inspected the ring of metal, frowning and sliding her arm across the workbench to retrieve some coarse sandpaper. “Somehow my body found the strength, the sheer will to catch the edge of the blade so that it drove into my hand instead of my face. I remember stumbling over to the healer, half mad with pain and grunting out some command for her to fix it. Her mana was so depleted that she screamed in agony even as she continued to channel the Light. Were it not for that gauntlet over there,” Sylvanas gestured to the mess of twisted metal on the bench, “the swing of the blade may well have taken it clean off.”

“I know, I somehow sprinted on a ruined leg in order to get to safety.” Velonara grimaced at the memory, it hadn’t hurt then but she sure had felt it the next day. “I suppose the body can do remarkable things when it wants to survive.”

Sylvanas nodded and shifted closer, setting aside the sandpaper and metal. “The biggest lie I told myself was when I was in that accursed field; to cope with the betrayal, the failure . I desperately convinced myself that I’d done all I could, that I’d martyred myself, that death wouldn’t be so bad. But when I saw that wonderful little mage, when I saw Jaina, it was” Sylvanas winced, “it was like a switch had flipped. Suddenly there was hope and all at once I was terrified. I didn’t want to go, I wanted nothing more in that second than to live.”

“And you did!” Velonara pressed, offering her a hopeful smile, but it faded when Sylvanas didn’t match it.

“I didn’t know it then, and even now the memory of how I truly felt has faded, but the fear, the sheer terror of that final heartbeat as you stare into the maw of death wanting nothing to do with it yet unable to look away. The anger you feel at the injustice of it all, it’s-” Sylvanas clenched her jaw so that the next words came through gritted teeth. “The banshee scream, Anya’s scream, it reminded me of that one horrible moment, a moment I’d almost forgotten.”

“-Sylvanas.”

“She didn’t want to die, Vel.” Her voice wavered on a sob, “she was always so calm, so level headed. She kept Kalira’s fiery temper in check, she always called out Zanra for cheating at cards. She was rational, she was practical, she forgave so easily and her heart was as open as the sky… but the scream, the anguish on her face.” Sylvanas felt hot tears stream down her face as she all but broke down under Velonara’s worried and sympathetic frown. “She was so angry, she was so scared . She’s experiencing that moment Vel, over and over again and there is nothing I can do. If only I’d kept her behind the front lines, if I’d known the shield would be back up, that Jaina would be there to turn the tide in our favor…”

“Sylvanas!” Velonara finally broke her silence to grasp her general by the shoulder in a firm, borderline painful grip. “This was not your fault.”

“I ordered her to cover our flanks when we retreated back to-”

“-Because you knew she was the best shot under pressure. Anyone else may very well have baulked at their advance and had us all killed.” Velonara closed her eyes in frustration and let out a long sigh, before meeting that wounded gaze again. “Sylvanas, nobody can predict the future. You didn’t know, none of us knew. We were faced with impossible odds, we understood we were only there to delay them so that the citizens of Silvermoon could escape. Not a single ranger followed you out there that day expecting to return.”

“But here I am.” Sylvanas muttered bitterly, “and here she is not.”

Velonara let out a steadying breath and stood up, pushing the chain aside to get a better look at her general as she braced herself for what she was about to say. “You didn’t fail her Sylvanas, you didn’t fail any of them, but you are about to.”

Sylvanas looked up at her sharply.

“You couldn’t save them then, none of us could. But if you saw Anya back at the spire, then she’s not truly gone, is she.”

“Vel she’s a tortured spirit now, a tormented echo of what was once Anya Duskweaver. We can’t save her, or bring her back.”

“But maybe we can help her move on.” Velonara stepped closer. “Spirits remain because their deaths are traumatic, or they feel like they have some unfinished business in the realm of the living. I can imagine that Anya has both in spades right now. We could help her Sylv, and in turn perhaps she has information for what we are up against-”

“And how can we possibly do that?” Sylvanas snapped. “Last time she tried to attack me and the other times I went back in an attempt to retrieve my bow she was patrolling the spire like some personal mockery of a guard dog. I nearly lost my life twice to those ethereal claws attempting to dismember me. There’s no way she’s willing to establish any higher form of communication that goes beyond our immediate death.”

“Then we will have to find a way to make her talk.”

“What you’re asking of me is a practice banned since the formation of the Lordaeron Alliance.” Jaina chose her words carefully, keeping her expression neutral as she glanced around the abandoned workshop and the several expectant rangers within it. “And if found out, would certainly get any mage kicked from the Kirin Tor, regardless of rank or talent.”

“Hence why we are asking you,” Velonara responded, an anxious tilt to her ears as she implored Jaina with a searching look. “I don’t believe that any other mage would agree to it.”

“Certainly not Rhonin,” Sylvanas added, swiping the errant wood shavings off the workbench before settling there herself. Recent activity from her squad filing in had kicked up the dust from the floor, and she distracted herself with its swirling patterns in the sunbeam through the window, lest she’d baulk from the mage’s searing gaze, tell Jaina to forget about it and bury her head in the dirt once more.

“Or our dear Prince.” Clea piped up, her gaze was diverted as well, never leaving her fletching tools from her position by the door. So still and focused on her task was she that Jaina hadn’t even noticed her presence until now if the surprised swivel of her head was anything to go by. One ear co*cked toward their conversation but otherwise she seemed content to just let Sylvanas talk, clearly not wanting to directly be a part of this. Sylvanas couldn’t blame her.

“I would disagree on that one,” Jaina sighed. “For all his preening, Kael’thas strikes me as a man who would stop at nothing to ensure the survival of his people, personal integrity be damned.”

Sylvanas made a humming noise of confirmation. “Astute of you to have realized that so soon, though I imagine you have spent time under his tutelage.”

“I know him well enough,” Jaina kept her explanations short.

“Besides, isn’t your place in the Kirin Tor already under fire?” Favoring her injured knee, Velonara leant against the table Sylvanas was perched on, arms folded. “Rumor has it the elderly human archmage from Dalaran seemed rather insistent in having an audience with you, scrambling to protect your place and honor amongst the order.”

“Don’t remind me.” Jaina sighed. Antonidas, you kind-hearted old fool. Of course he was blaming himself, taking on Jaina’s own treachery by withholding information as a product of his failure as a teacher. Part of her ached to see him, chasing the eddies of fond memories, of the man with the kind smile, who knelt down so that he was eye level with her and informed her that she could learn to perform the tricks he had shown her earlier, should she only agree to come with him to Dalaran.

Now she supposed she had tricks to teach him , incantations he wouldn’t dare dream of, beautiful, deadly, terrible spells that would turn his face away in horror should he know what she was capable of. It would be for the best, were she to stay as far away as possible. Her usefulness to Sylvanas and her squad kept her safe in Quel’Thalas, but she wasn’t sure just how long that was going to last. The longer she stuck around playing cleanup crew to the surviving nation, the further she strayed from her original mission.

Which was what?

She’d been so sure that her purpose was that easy, that she’d champion Arthas in being the salvation for them all. What a bitter joke that was now, and she was no better than the rest. Terenenas, Uther, they’d all had such faith in him, the golden boy; they used him like a tool for their own selfish gains, only to fall to ruin. Her own damned guilt aside, Arthas had still made his choice, she’d offered him a way out, trusted him, and he’d sealed his fate all the same.

The story however, had changed. Jaina studied the strange color of Sylvanas’ eyes, silver-gray; like the first rays of light peeking through the clouds of a fading storm. They spoke of hardship, but also determination, hope. In her own timeline that hope would have been snuffed the moment that cursed blade split open her chest, with the seething crimson gaze of the Banshee taking its place. So what did that mean for her now?

Jaina’s past had only known Sylvanas as her enemy; a ruthless Warchief whose orders had rippled across Azeroth, hatred usurping hope even as they still reeled in the aftermath of the Legion’s invasion. It had only been later that those despicable actions had been translated as actions of despair, the futile struggle of something harried and cornered, hissing and spitting at its hunters as they ever closed in. What Sylvanas was asking of her felt like an echo of that, something desperate, a request that clearly pained her to utter, but still she’d asked.

Delving into the mind without consent was a terrible thing, painful to the caster, agony for the victim. It wrenched everything that they were into the harsh, ugly light, to be pulled apart and dissected like birds stripping away at a carcass. It was a violation of body and mind, something she had learned when circ*mstance forced her hand. It was not unusual for the elves to know; Quel’Thalas itself stood upon the arcane dust of those that had opposed its founding. Magic had given the elves the upper hand, and it certainly had not been used with any measure of kindness or restraint.

What she was surprised about was that Sylvanas had asked her. As if she knew Jaina had the knowledge, that she saw something in her that suggested a darkness within her; a grim kinship between two leaders that would do anything for their people, no matter what that action may require. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

“If I do agree to what you are asking of me,” Jaina eventually replied after a stifling pause that had Sylvanas let out a shaky exhale. “The question then becomes, how?”

“Hey hey hey, easy, girl, easy .” Thyala murmured to the horse as she anxiously tossed her head and shifted away from where the ranger was as she tightened the straps of the saddle bags, fingers still stiff from the early morning chill. “Kalira, you're holding the reins too tight.” Hot breath from the mare’s nostrils steamed in the air, mingling with the stifled yawns from the tired group of rangers gathering in the courtyard.

“I’m not,” The younger ranger muttered, leather gloves creaking as she loosened her white knuckled grip with a scowl, the horse, in turn, stretched her neck out with the new found freedom.

“Are you sure you should be travelling with us Kalira?” A voice, still thick with sleep murmured from behind.

Predictably, her ears flattened as she regarded Loralen with an icy glare. “Of course, it’s not like Sylvanas or Velonara are going to let me near the Spire, the best I can do is follow as far as I can.”

Vorel injected herself into the conversation with a heavy sigh, stepping up to gently take the reins from the volatile ranger. “We only fear that you may be too emotionally...compromised for this task.”

“Emotionally compromised,” Kalira chuckled without warmth. “Our dear General’s favorite phrase, as if we aren’t all emotionally compromised, as if we didn’t see her cry herself sick that day the portal took Alleria to her-”

“Alright you miserable lot, listen up!” Velonara’s voice carried across the yard, interrupting Kalira’s scathing words as she strode into view, a sheet of parchment in hand as she paused to sling her pack down with the rest of the supply pile. Outfitted in freshly tailored leathers, with the newly minted crest of the Ranger Captain, she was striking quite the figure- despite the brace wrapped snugly around her leg. “We’re running a little late, no thanks to me I know, but I need you all taking stock and marking it against this sheet. Everything needs to be accounted for and packed on the backs of these beasts within the hour. We leave these gates before the sun rises.”

The rangers saluted in tandem and the courtyard exploded to life with activity. Kalira muttered under her breath as she shrugged past Thyala to retrieve her pack, hoping to slink past Velonara without question... but to no avail when she felt the warmth of a palm pressing against her shoulder, halting her trajectory. She raised her chin and glared, as if daring her Captain to challenge her decision.

“I will not stop you from joining us for the journey, but when we do reach the Spire, I will order you to remain at camp, you must understand this.” Velonara’s voice was tired, rough from the early start and the stress that pinched the features of her face.

Kalira shook her head, her laughter harsh as she made to step toward the supplies. “Not like I have a choice.”

“I mean it.” Velonara pressed, grabbing ahold of her subordinates shoulder to keep her in place. “If I cannot trust you to follow my orders, Silvermoon will be your station until we return. Please, for your sake, for Anya’s sake, stay out of this.”

Kalira’s ears flagged a little, even as her stubborn jaw tightened before eventually nodding, looking away so as not to catch the pity in Velonara’s eyes. “You are my Captain, your orders are final.”

Velonara held her grip for a moment longer, analyzing the truth in those words before stepping back with a sigh, placated, as she tightened the strap on the younger ranger's pauldron with a sharp motion before clapping her on the back and pushing her toward the supply pile. “Good, now get ready, I’ll need your keen eyes on my right as we ride out.”

“Where is Sylvanas?” Thyala questioned, leading her horse toward the fence so that someone of her smaller stature could comfortably secure saddle bags. “And that two-arrows-short-of-a-quiver mage of hers...ow.” She hissed as Vorel smacked the back of her head, causing the sharp scrape of hooves against the cobblestones as the steed flinched from the noise.

“I have to agree with Thyala here.” Kalira chuckled, the bitterness easing from her voice. “Jaina be kind of…” she gestured with her index finger to her temple and circled it, causing Vorel to stifle a laugh.

“-Speak for yourself, I like a little crazy...”

“-Hah! And it’s always the pretty ones ones who are-”

“Enough, all of you,” Velonara barked, throwing a satchel at Vorel whose laughter cut off with a muffled oof as she caught it’s weight against her stomach. “I want all of you to be on your best behavior today, I’d like to at least keep up the illusion that we are a professional squad of elite rangers.”

“And not the dregs of whoever’s left to fight?” Kalira's laughter was genuine this time but the joke fell flat, a solemn silence falling across the courtyard as the words hit too close to home, the only noise remaining being the scrape of the broom and the monotone whir of an arcane golem as it swept at the cobblestone, removing errant strands of straw displaced by horses hooves.

“Who are we even keeping up a level of professionalism for?” Vorel broke the empty moment with a tired sigh. ‘Pretty sure Sylvanas’s little mage is re-writing the rule books when it comes to the Kirin Tor.” She then splayed her hands over the horn of the saddle, testing her weight a couple of times before swinging her leg over, quickly gathering up the reins before her horse tried to walk off. “And she did agree a little too easily to something quite controversial.”

“Controversial?” Kalira’s voice was sharp, ears shooting upright as her gaze locked onto Vorel’s. The ranger silently shook her head, imploring her not to question any further.

“Only controversial in the eyes of the Kirin Tor,” Velonara smoothly lied, smiling in gratitude as Marrah subtly helped her into the saddle, being careful not to put the weight on her leg. “Besides, it's not Jaina I wish to keep up pretences for, Priestess Liadrin will be joining us on our mission.”

Vorel made a questioning sound in the back of her throat only for Marrah to catch her eye and silently shake her head, jerking her chin in Kalira’s direction. Right. The less they knew the better.

“So where are they then?” Thyala muttered, “Sylvanas, Liadrin, the human...Jaina.”

“Will be here momentarily,” Velonara shrugged, shifting her weight several times and not liking how unwieldy she felt to be in the saddle again. “It took the better part of the night to convince the Priestess, and a bottle of port that was apparently promised. Supposedly the two have a bargain our General has yet to fulfill.”

“Hey,” Marrah shrugged, offering a truce on behalf of the tired, disgruntled rangers, “you know the old motto amongst Farstriders; hurry up and wait.”

Thankfully it didn’t take long before a sucking displacement of air had Sylvanas striding through the portal, ears lifted high and keen gaze sweeping across her squad; inspecting, analyzing. Velonara didn’t miss the twitch of muscles in her jaw, or the way her eyes shut for a second too long, processing the empty hitching posts, the vacant armor stands, leftover ration packs still sitting in the crates, untouched. Still the appreciation was apparent in her eyes when she nodded toward her Captain, signalling Marrah to lead Liadrin and Jaina to their respective mounts.

The duo that trailed behind her looked much less aware, unused to the early hours that came with being a ranger. Jaina’s face was stoic as ever, but her eyes had a glassy look to them, as though her mind hadn’t woken up yet, even as her body trailed after Marrah on autopilot. Catching Velonara’s eye, she offered the Ranger Captain a wan smile as she gently took the offered rains. Velonara allowed herself a shy smile in return, only to hold back a surprised snort of laughter as Sylvanas practically fell over herself to help the human into the saddle, one gloved hand resting on her calf as she quietly questioned her comfort while Jaina got herself situated.

“I’ve been on a horse before, Sylvanas.” Jaina mumbled, fighting back a yawn and Velonara’s ear twitched at the tut from behind at the exchange. She spun round, realizing the sound had come from Liadrin, whose golden eyes pierced through the thin light of dawn even as her ears flagged. A few errant strands had escaped her usually perfect ponytail and Velonara found herself thinking she looked better this way, softer somehow, as though the strict matron, who barked orders in the temple and scared sick children and wounded soldiers alike, had yet to rouse. Still, the way the priestess sharply waved off Marrah’s attempt to help her into the saddle assured her she wasn’t far away.

At Sylvanas’s signal, Velonara nudged her heels into her horse’s sides, moving off while she gestured to Kalira who rolled her eyes and guided her horse to her right, clearly displeased with Velonara’s ploy to keep her close. The clatter of horses' hooves were the only sound in Silvermoon as the troop were quick to leave the gates behind, even those waiting to make the early morning deliveries barely rousing in their beds as they passed beyond the city walls. It wasn’t until they’d made some headway down the main roadway toward Sunsail Anchorage that the first rays of the golden morning sun filtered through the leaves and predictably the elves seemed to come to life as a low hum of conversation filtered within the ranks.

Jaina remained silent, hood drawn and her hands fiddling nervously with the reins, she felt the burning of Liadrin’s eyes at her back, grimacing at the way the priestess had reacted to hers and Sylvanas’s plan. Monstrous means to monstrous ends had been her world for so long, so to see the discomfort in one's face at actions that had become a second nature was a reality check she hadn’t been ready to face. The void and the scourge did not give the luxury of one's agency over their body; possession, enslavement, it was regrettably a common problem she’d had to face. When your foe all too easily wore the faces of your comrades, dissociating was key to survival in Jaina’s world… and yet, it hurt.

It hurt to see two sets of glowing eyes look at you in horror, to see them share a glance with one another when they thought she wasn’t aware. It hurt to be seen as the monster, even if being the monster was the only way to get things done. Couldn’t they see that? That she was only trying to help, did they not understand that she was no happier about this than either of them were? The gifted necklace, despite its lack of activity, felt heavier than ever around her neck. Who were they to judge, when they had the luxury of keeping their hands out of the filth…

Jaina paused in her thoughts, a dry chuckle stifled in the back of her throat as the irony washed over her.

It seems I’m learning more about you, Banshee, even as I march alongside the ghost of your past.

Sylvanas was equally quiet, ears tilted back, expression solemn. Jaina could see the nerves, the indecisiveness swirling in those serious grey eyes and the way she idly plucked at the bow she had resting against her thigh, the arrow nocked but not drawn. It looked good, though Jaina could never be sure with elven bows when even the military stock looked as though it were carved for a king. She watched her test it’s weight, cycling it’s draw, her arm pulling back with a smoothness to its motion that would have fooled her untrained eye, but from the pursing of the General’s lips something clearly wasn’t right.

“Not a hit?” The words were out before she could stop them and Jaina inwardly winced at her choice in language. She gestured to the bow to clarify her words and Sylvanas, thankfully not offended, allowed her the luxury of a small smile.

“No, but not a miss either. It will do for now until I,” Sylvanas paused and sighed. “Until I can commission a mage that will enchant it how I wish… and no, that wasn’t some roundabout way of asking you, I myself am hesitant if I even wish to do so in the first place.”

Jaina tilted her head in question, allowing Sylvanas to collect her thoughts. “The last bow I had, the one I foolishly left at my doorway to be splintered by the vengeful ghost of my ranger was commissioned while my brother was still alive. He was always the one to…” She waved her hand, a flush to her cheeks that spoke of embarrassment. “Belore, I really am a sentimental fool.”

“No,” Jaina’s voice came out firmer than she meant to, “No, you’re not. I know it’s more than just a weapon, I’m sorry.”

Sylvanas’s ears laid back as she offered Jaina a warm smile, one that was still jarring to see on features she knew to hold such icy rage. Sadly their moment was broken by the sound of heavy hoofsteps as Sylvanas lifted her head to greet one of her rangers making her way toward them.

“I’m sorry to interrupt such a touching moment but time is running out and we need to figure out if we’re taking boats from Sunsail or braving the route to Goldenmist and checking out the runestone en route, at the mercy of the agitated wildlife that seems to defend it with tooth, claw and uh...thorn.”

“In Common please Vorel,” Sylvanas drawled before her features twisted into one of consternation. “And I thought we’d reached a decision to go the rest of the way by sail and make camp further up the coastline. The last thing we need is our progress hindered by skirmishes with crazed springpaws and frenzied treants, a low priority cleanup for another day but not one we need to face now. ”

“That’s a valid point, General,” Vorel replied seriously, switching to the language in question. “But I believe if we leave the horses behind as planned and are light enough on our feet, we could pass through without much in the way of confrontation. Besides, Marrah and I get seasick.”

“That’s not a reason-.” Sylvanas sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Look, the boats aren’t my first choice either but the whole point of the trip was for Jaina to preserve her mana for when we got there, and to establish a camp so that we’d have time to gather as much information as possible. The last thing I need is for either Jaina to waste spells or for any of you to get hurt and have to turn back.”

“How about we just have Jaina teleport us to fairbreeze, that way we can avoid the worst without-”

“I’ll have you know I get portal-sick too,” Marrah pointed out, causing Vorel to shoot her a glare of betrayal.

“Light preserve us.” Liadrin sighed to Jaina over the bickering. “To think these fools saved us all,” before her golden eyes narrowed. “Though I supposed you are to credit as well.”

“I’m no saviour.” Jaina sighed, “It was Arthas I was after.”

“Good, you’re honest at least.” Liadrin murmured and Jaina couldn’t help the tightening of her chest at those words. “But what you’re about to do, are you sure this is the right way to go about it? Could you find no other solution?”

“Other than educated guesses as to where he went? No, I need to be sure and so far Anya was the only high ranking scourge to be found. I am unsure as to why… he… Arthas left her behind, but I guess I will find out.”

“High ranking?” Liadrin questioned with a frown and Jaina had to pause for a moment, chewing on lip as she chose her next words carefully.

“When Arthas and I confronted Kel’Thuzad he was quite…forthcoming in his information of the Scourge. Perhaps too forthcoming, as if he knew that it was futile enough that he could share the information freely…” Jaina fought back the shudder at those memories before grounding herself in Liadrin’s intelligent gaze. “The army is made up of multiple races, regardless of age or ranking, but it’s also made up of many facets of...undeath, to put it poorly. Deathknights, liches, crypt fiends…”

“Banshees.”

“-Yes, banshees, one of the more intelligent entities, powerful… Generals of the Scourge, you could say.” Jaina’s eyes flicked to Sylvanas, causing Liadrin’s own to narrow.

“Which is the case with Sylvanas’s lost ranger from what you explained.”

“Yes.”

“Hm.” Liadrin was quiet for a moment, idly stroking the neck of her steed in a repetitive, calming motion before sucking in a sharp breath and lifting her chin. “I agreed to aid you, but If I may be blunt, I do not trust you Jaina. If I see this going too far, I will intervene. Banshee or not, I will not allow one of our own to be hurt.”

“But she’s not…” Jaina, bit back her words and sighed. “Noted, priestess.”

“Call me Liadrin, please.” The auburn haired elf smiled with enough fang that Jaina couldn’t tell if it was friendly, before turning away to face forward, unhooking her boots from the stirrups and stretching her legs to release the tension.

Jaina allowed herself a small smile in response, thinking to herself how glad she was that circ*mstance had never led her to meet that piercing gaze on opposite ends of the battlefield. “Noted, Liadrin.”

Even engaged with route planning, Velonara and Sylvanas had their hackles raised at the exchange, Sylvanas looked to be on the verge of defending the mage, only held back by Jaina’s assured response, so confident for someone of her age that it astounded.

“Well!” Sylvanas found herself announcing brightly in Thalassian instead, making an effort to take the collective attention off the duo, even if most hadn’t exactly caught what went on. She deftly secured her bow behind her back, bored with moping over it. “Gonna inspect the fencing behind those trees, will only be a minute, don’t wait up.”

“We've only just set off, why do you always do this.” Marrah grumbled, lazily extending an arm to catch the reins Sylvanas threw at her as she leapt off her horse with a light thud, the gravel of the road crunching under her boots as she broke off into a light jog toward the trees.

“Inspect some...fencing? Now?” Jaina frowned, wondering if she’d translated her Thalassian correctly.

“It’s ranger-speak for going for a piss.” Velonara muttered dryly, barely glancing at the human as she urged her horse past to catch up with Liadrin.

“Oh.” Jaina felt her face go hot as she glanced at the wither of her own steed in embarrassment. “Right.”

“Sorry, us mere non-magic users aren’t blessed with teleporting the problem away whenever needs must.” Marrah gently ribbed and Jaina scowled at that, affronted.

Velonara mercilessly left Jaina to explain to a dubious bunch of rangers that was not what mages did regardless of the logistics of whether she could and allowed herself to ride alongside the stoic looking priestess as she glared ahead. She awkwardly cleared her throat with what she hoped was an encouraging expression.

“I bet you’re glad to be away from the medical tent, you must be exhausted with all the tireless work you and your order have been put through. You know… it almost makes our job look easy in comparison.” The ranger captain chuckled nervously when Liadran kept her expression frostily neutral.

“I am not glad to be away.” Liadrin tersely replied after a painful silence, “My absence will put even more strain on my fellow healers, there will be a nightmarish labyrinth of negligence to clean up when I return I’m sure, and it puts me on edge to think that I left Astalor of all people in charge, he is atrocious at keeping track of his paperwork.”

“Oh, I-I’m sorry.” Velonara’s cheeks flushed as she stammered out her response. Luckily Liadrin took pity on her chastised expression and offered her a truce in the form of a small smile.

“But it is a relief to be outdoors once more, I was beginning to think my desk and the inside of a tent was all that was left, it's nice to be reminded that there’s more to this world, that the forests still stand proud under your protection. The grounding scent of leather and horses, the warmth of the sun on my skin, the hiss of the breeze in the leaves up above. It’s a beautiful morning to be amongst nature, and with refreshing company.” Again Velonara’s cheeks colored, but for an entirely different reason as she couldn’t help but preen at the rare compliment.

“Well, that’s… that’s good at least? Right?”

Liadrin resisted rolling her eyes. Rangers. They banter and flirt with one another as though it were as natural to them as breathing, but the moment conversation sets them with someone outside the safety of their squad, they stammer like children, wide eyed and shy. Still there was something endearing about this Captain; perhaps it was in the fresh press of her uniform, no sign of wear and tear, which suggested she was new to her role, or the fact that Liadrin still found herself remembering that muted whimper when she’d pressed her fingers to the hot skin of that awful infected wound, an injury that would have caused a lesser soldier to scream their throat raw with the pain. Despite what little patience she had for brash soldiers or anyone that had suffered under Windrunner’s command, junior or senior for that matter, she decided that she did like Velonara, liked her for her quiet stoicism, for her ability to step up to an unenviable role and come out of it stronger.

“Yes, it’s good. Sometimes in the face of uncertainty, with the threat of annihilation gnawing at our doors, it's all the more reason to appreciate the here and now don’t you think?” Liadrin lowered her voice to a murmur, “lest you end up like that little mage over there, looking like she’s playing games with her own mind, and losing rather frequently at that. I don’t know what Windrunner sees in her.”

True to her ranger nature, Velonara’s eyes lit up with interest at that snippet of gossip. “Ah so you’ve noticed it too.”

“Yes, though Sylvanas has hardly ever been subtle now has she.”

“I find it very strange.” Velonara remarked, “to see her infatuated so. I feared that perhaps beyond chasing for something physical, relationships weren’t really her thing. But for some reason this human, Jaina, it’s like there’s a yearning in her eyes I’ve never before seen, a desire to know her. Sylvanas never saves that for anyone outside of sisters-in-arms or family. I don’t understand, why a human, why now?”

“I wouldn’t tax yourself in wondering what goes on in your General’s head, it’s probably not a place that would do either of us any good to venture. If Sylvanas wishes to entangle herself with the short lifespan of a human then that’s her prerogative, is it not?” Liadrin raised her voice in the direction of Sylvanas when she noticed she’d rejoined the ranks in a loping stride, fiddling with the buckle of her belt and one ear angled in their direction at the mention of her name. “Yes, we are talking about you, get on your horse and stay up ahead like a good General and let me continue my gossip with your strapping young Captain if I may?”

The hand gesture Sylvanas gave in response was not of the ranger code and it caused Velonara to chuckle before her eyes widened at the realization of Liadrin’s choice in words.

“When we get to Sunsail, remind me to take a look at that leg, whoever wrapped that deserves to have their medical license revoked.”

Velonara stifled a grin as she nudged her horse with her heels to keep pace. “Yes, ma’am.”