Jailbreak
Last night, I had the strangest dream. I was back in that dark place, and standing there was a man dressed in the oddest cloth tunic—blue with a red ‘S’ over a yellow triangle. He was strong, like a warrior, but wore glasses, his hair tousled like he’d just woken up. He called my name: “Perfectia Dawnlight?”
Puzzled, I looked around. He seemed familiar but… not. “Yes,” I answered cautiously, “do I know you?”
He smiled brightly, “I made you.”
I furrowed my brow, shaking my head. “You didn’t make me. I’m… me.”
His gaze wandered as if searching for something. “Where’s Telavani?”
A jolt of surprise hit me. “You know my aunty?”
Before I could react further, Telavani appeared behind him, startling him with her usual flair. “Hi, Erik,” she said, grinning.
He looked between the two of us, bewildered. I asked, “Did you make her too?”
His face scrunched in confusion. “No… I don’t think I did.”
And just like that, I woke up.
It was so strange. My nightmares had been relentless, invading every moment of peace. Dark shadows loomed in my subconscious, exhausting and terrifying me. But this? This was different—disorienting, yes, but not as threatening.
Now I was wide awake, lost in thought, only hours from facing my fate. Yet all I felt was the tight knot of nerves deep inside. Well… let’s get this over with.
—–
Perfectia stood before Grommash Hold, inhaling deeply to steady her nerves. Inside, Sylvanas and Nathanos awaited her. The air was thick with tension.
“I’ve read your reports,” Sylvanas began, her tone cool. “While I disagree with your motivations, I understand you escaped the Stockades recently.”
Perfectia shrugged nonchalantly. “I was imprisoned, yes, but it wasn’t part of some grand plan. I saw an opportunity and took it.”
Sylvanas’s lips curled into a faint smile. “And you freed something… or rather, someone?”
Perfectia lowered her gaze, feeling a bit sheepish. “My lion. He was being kept a few floors down.”
Sylvanas half-smirked. “And without any equipment, no less.”
“You know what I’m capable of, warchief. I don’t need to explain it,” Perfectia replied, her voice steady but respectful.
Sylvanas sighed, exasperated but resigned. “Yes. Despite everything, you’re still the most qualified for this mission. Do not fail me.”
Perfectia nodded but added, “I’m going to need more Azerite shards. The power isn’t always reliable when I need it.”
Suspicion flickered in Sylvanas’s eyes. She glanced at Nathanos.
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Nathanos said, his tone confident. “A few shards aren’t a great loss if it helps the mission.”
Sylvanas stared at Nathanos for a beat, then looked back at Perfectia. “Return them to Nathanos when you’re done. And if I find out you’ve handed any over to the Alliance… I will brand you a traitor.” Her voice dropped into a cold whisper. “And you know I never give up on hunting traitors.”
Perfectia nodded, catching herself mid-sentence. “Of course, Ranger Gen-… I mean.”
“Don’t!” Sylvanas snapped, her voice sharp. What once could have elicited a rare smirk from the Dark Lady now caused Perfectia to shrink, her body trembling like a cornered animal. “You’re already walking on thin ice. Don’t think you can win me over with flattery.”
Sylvanas took a deep breath, regaining composure. “I’ve received word about a vessel carrying important intelligence en route to Blade Bay. It never arrived.” Her eyes darkened. “My scouts report that the Alliance intercepted it and took it to Stormwind.”
She turned, her piercing gaze landing on Perfectia. “Your mission is simple: find the vessel and retrieve its contents. Deliver them to me.”
She raised her hand toward Nathanos, who stepped forward. “I’ve assembled a team to assist you. They’re waiting at the Broken Tusk.” With a sharp nod, Nathanos strode out, leaving Perfectia standing awkwardly.
As she turned to leave, Sylvanas’s voice cut through the silence again. “Stop! Where are you going, child?”
Perfectia froze, confusion clear on her face. “You said…”
“You asked for Azerite, didn’t you?” Sylvanas signaled an orc peon, who dashed out of Grommash Hold to fetch the shards.
They waited. The silence stretched painfully. Perfectia’s hands trembled slightly, betraying her nerves, as she glanced upward—there, looming over her, was the ever-watchful specter that only she could see. Its scowl mirrored the harsh posture of Sylvanas herself. Perfectia tried to steady her breathing, but the weight of Sylvanas’s cold red gaze felt crushing.
“Are you really still upset about Teldrassil?” Sylvanas asked, breaking the silence. Her voice carried no empathy, only curiosity. “You didn’t seem to mind anything we did before that.”
The question hung in the air. Perfectia felt the burden of a thousand eyes on her, all expecting her to hold herself together. But she was cracking, and no one seemed to care enough to notice. She shrugged, her voice barely a whisper. “It was just… another job for me. That wasn’t the only reason.”
Sylvanas shrugged, her tone flat. “Well, I can’t imagine it was because you were worshiping Anduin Wrynn from afar.”
Perfectia shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips, though her eyes never rose to meet Sylvanas’s. “No, that came later. I wanted to raise horses… figured Stormwind would be okay with that.”
Sylvanas’s eyes widened, genuinely surprised. “THAT’S why you wanted to join the Alliance?”
Perfectia finally looked up at Sylvanas, her voice quieter than before. “I’ve been trying for years. Every Warchief rejected me, and then… after Teldrassil… all I could think about were those cats and—”
“You thought I’d kill all the ponies and fillies in Stormwind,” Sylvanas finished the sentence, a sharpness to her tone.
Perfectia shuddered, disturbed by the thought of stables aflame, horses screaming within. Her heart ached at the image. “Wouldn’t you?” she asked, her voice softer but filled with sadness as she met Sylvanas’s red-eyed gaze.
Sylvanas seemed momentarily confused before she sighed. “Gosh, you must think I’m a monster.” She glanced away, shaking her head. “Listen, I never gave an order to kill the Nightsabers. If they died, it wasn’t because I wanted them to.”
Perfectia exhaled softly, a small bit of relief washing over her as she nodded.
Sylvanas, lost in thought, mused aloud, “If you really wanted to raise horses, you could’ve just asked me. If I’d known it meant that much to you, I’d have said yes. How long have we known each other?”
Perfectia shrugged, thinking back. “Twelve years, at least since we first met.”
A faint smile tugged at Sylvanas’s lips. “I remember. I think I saw you once with your mother… what was her name, Kel… Kel’Derius?”
“Kel’Donas,” Perfectia corrected softly.
Sylvanas gasped, eyes wide in recognition. “Wait, I remember her! Wasn’t she seven feet tall?”
Perfectia nodded. “Six feet, seven inches. That’s why she couldn’t find a husband.”
Sylvanas chuckled at the memory. “Lirath was just over six feet. He looked like a child standing next to her.”
Perfectia’s eyes narrowed slightly, but Sylvanas didn’t notice.
Sylvanas tapped her chin, thinking back. “I think my father tried setting Lirath up with her once. He really liked her. We were close to being a family.”
Perfectia smiled and nodded. “My grandfather wanted her to marry Anasterian or Kael’thas, someone of her stature. But in the end, she got tired of waiting and laid with one of her slaves. I guess I was almost a Windrunner myself, though I didn’t realize she meant Lirath.”
She paused, considering. “Speaking of which, I’ve noticed our soldiers fighting more vigorously since we’ve taken to the wildlife in Darkshore. And that pig farm outside the city gates—it’s an eyesore. Pork doesn’t even compare to veal in nutrition. When we take over Stormwind, I’ll have the horses transferred to you. You can shut down that pig farm and replace it with a stable, raise your horses there.”
Perfectia’s eyes lit up with joy. “Really?”
Sylvanas half-smiled and shrugged. “Yes, you and that boy—Anduin—can even live there if you want.”
Perfectia beamed, excitement filling her as she rushed toward Sylvanas with her arms open. “Thank you!” she exclaimed.
Sylvanas quickly raised a hand, stopping her. “No!” she snapped. “You know I hate that.”
Perfectia halted, lowering her arms slowly, her joy faltering. “Please?” she whispered, voice shaking.
Sylvanas’ irritation deepened, but something softened in her expression as she saw Perfectia’s vulnerability. “No,” she repeated, but her tone lacked the edge it had before.
Perfectia’s lip trembled, her body beginning to shake as the weight of her emotions became overwhelming. She looked down, fighting back tears, her breaths coming in shallow waves.
“Stop,” Sylvanas commanded, though a sigh escaped her. “Stop crying. I’m ordering you, child—don’t cry.”
But as she saw Perfectia trembling, Sylvanas rolled her eyes, realizing the futility of her words. Even with all her power, she couldn’t force someone to control their emotions. A deep, exasperated sigh followed as if acknowledging the absurdity of what she’d just tried to command.
“I’m sorry,” Perfectia whimpered, her tears breaking through. “I betrayed you.”
Sylvanas groaned, her frustration mixing with reluctant acceptance. “It’s fine, just—stop crying. And don’t hug me.”
Perfectia looked up with tear-filled eyes. “Just one?”
At that moment, a goblin entered with a chest of Azerite. “Got your Azerite here, Warchief!”
Sylvanas sighed, relieved for the distraction. “Good timing. Bring it here.”
She grabbed several shards and placed them in Perfectia’s hand. “There. Now go meet Nathanos.”
Perfectia, still emotional, managed a smile. “Thank you, Ranger General,” she whispered, saluting.
Sylvanas rolled her eyes but softened, muttering, “That’s not my title anymore.”
“That’s how I’ve always seen you,” Perfectia murmured before turning to leave.
“Go, Ashbringer,” Sylvanas ordered, watching her leave with a shake of her head, still bewildered by how hard emotions could be to control, even for her.
As Perfectia exited, Dark Cleric Cecille approached. “Dark Lady,” she asked, “are you serious about letting them stay where the pigs are?”
Sylvanas smirked sarcastically. “Keeping a traitor and the king of my enemies with the pigs? Seems fitting, doesn’t it?”
Cecille shrugged. “Well, when you put it that way…”
First Arcanist Thalyssra, leader of the Nightborne, stood alongside Rokhan and Nathanos in the dim interior of the Broken Tusk. Nathanos explained their mission with his usual cold precision. “Our queen has assigned Perfectia to lead this operation through the Stockades. We need her to find what we’re looking for.”
Thalyssra’s eyes widened. “The Ashbringer? That Perfectia?” she exclaimed in disbelief.
Rokhan grinned, making a vase-like shape with his hands, “De elf wit’ da… uh, figure, yeah?”
Nathanos smirked at the response. “You know her?”
Rokhan chuckled. “Not properly, but she’s well known. Her an’ dat doc of hers always show up at da natal spa clinic. Kinda hard to miss. I did hear she likes her drinks a lil’ too much, doh.”
Thalyssra’s expression darkened as she recalled her own encounters with Perfectia. “That’s no rumor,” she muttered. “I’ve seen her drink arch-wine like it’s water, but when she fights? It’s… terrifying. Like a storm of flashing blades, fire, and death. I had to look away sometimes, just to avoid seeing the carnage. It helped save my people, but that woman? She’s not stable.” She swallowed hard, her voice betraying the lingering memories of battle.
Nathanos, arms crossed, nodded. “Well, she has another complication now. She’s fallen for Anduin Wrynn, the King of Stormwind.”
Both Thalyssra and Rokhan stared at him in shock. “What?!” they exclaimed in unison.
Thalyssra, recovering first, looked at Nathanos incredulously. “An emotional wreck in love with one of our greatest enemies? This isn’t just risky—it’s madness.”
Nathanos maintained his cool demeanor, shaking his head. “Sylvanas trusts her, and she escaped the Stockades not long ago. That makes her the best option for this mission. You’ll just have to… manage her.”
Thalyssra sighed heavily. “So that’s why I’m here—to babysit.”
“Essentially,” Nathanos replied dryly, a slight smile tugging at his lips.
Rokhan looked out the window, noticing someone outside. “Is dat her? Dancin’?”
They all peered out and saw Perfectia twirling and singing softly to herself, completely oblivious to her surroundings. “All day, every day. All day, every day,” she hummed.
Rokhan scratched his head, perplexed. “Why is she dancin’?”
Nathanos shrugged. “No clue.”
Thalyssra rolled her eyes. “Probably found some new gear at the auction house,” she muttered, as if this explained everything.
Perfectia tripped, landing hard on her rear with a sharp yelp. She rubbed her head, glanced up, and saw the group staring at her from inside. Awkwardly laughing at herself, she dusted off and rushed over to them.
“Thalyssra?!” she called out excitedly.
“Hey, Perf—” Thalyssra started, only to be cut off as Perfectia enveloped her in a tight hug.
“Oh my gosh, it’s been so long! You look amazing!” Perfectia gushed.
Thalyssra, still holding her hands up defensively, stiffened under the embrace. “Uh, yes, thank you,” she replied, her voice strained. “You look… different.”
Perfectia let her go and beamed, showing off. “I cut my hair, and check out these eyes!” She tugged down her lower eyelid to display glowing golden irises.
Thalyssra nodded thoughtfully. “I remember something like that before. A lot of Blood Elves who went to Argus had changes in their eyes. Did you go there?”
Perfectia shook her head. “Nope! I was at sea for a while. Kind of like a cruise, I guess. But yeah, they still change sometimes.”
Rokhan gave a nervous wave. “Hi, Perfectia Dawnlight.”
Perfectia blinked curiously. “Hi… have we met?”
“I’ve seen ya at Shatterspear Vale with Dr. Olisarra,” Rokhan replied.
She looked puzzled. “Isn’t that area pretty hidden? I thought they kept the male and female areas separate.”
Rokhan rubbed the back of his neck, “Dey do, but we’ve seen ya swim in da neutral areas by da fall.”
Nathanos raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were a voyeurist, Rokhan.”
Rokhan flinched. “It wasn’t just me, everyone was watching! She wasn’t naked, she was in a two-piece!”
Thalyssra sighed. “That doesn’t really make it better, Rokhan.”
Perfectia grinned wickedly. “Oooh, flattery would have gotten you to fourth base! Could’ve just introduced yourselves. I don’t bite… too hard.”
Rokhan, embarrassed, backed off a little. “You were… very intimidating, even more so half-dressed. Name’s Rokhan.”
Perfectia shook his hand, still smiling. “Nice to meet you, Rokhan.”
Perfectia slammed her palms on the table, her voice booming, “ALRIGHT, SMUTTS!! GUESS WHO JUST BROKE OUT OF PRISON AND IS BREAKING BACK IN? BUT FIRST—HOW ABOUT A LITTLE FOUR, FIVE, AND SIX PLAY?”
Nathanos sighed, unimpressed. “I’m in charge, Dawnlight. Sit. Down.”
Perfectia crossed her arms but complied, grumbling, “Fine, I’ll bite the pillow since you’re going in dry.”
“Back to the mission,” Nathanos continued. “The transport awaits us. Let’s move.”
Perfectia glanced outside and saw Protecto, waiting for her in his bronze dragon form. She approached him, the brief joy in her eyes dimming as she realized he wouldn’t be joining her. “I’m not going with you?” Protecto asked, voice tinged with concern.
“No,” Perfectia said softly, shaking her head.
Nathanos interrupted, “The birds will get us to Stormwind faster.”
Protecto’s gaze lingered on her. “I won’t be able to save you again.”
Touching his face, she rested her forehead against his, whispering, “I’ll be fine.”
He shook his head, still uncertain. “Please… be careful.”
“It’s just another job,” she replied, though her words lacked conviction. Protecto nodded, though reluctantly, before flying off, leaving Perfectia watching the empty sky.
Thalyssra approached, mounting her bird. “You two seem close.”
Perfectia gave a half-smile. “We’ve had our fallouts, but he’s one of my best friends.”
As they mounted their birds, flying across the vast ocean toward the Eastern Kingdom, Perfectia’s thoughts raced. The journey was long, and although the birds were fast, the mission weighed heavy. She touched the cracked Ashbringer on her back, feeling its familiar presence, but doubted whether it would be enough. As the moonlit waves glistened below, she braced for what awaited her in the Stockades.
“Listen closely,” Nathanos shouted over the wind as they rode their birds. “Once we’ve entered Stormwind, we will not have any contact. Perfectia, Thalyssra, and Rokhan—you infiltrate the Stockades and extract the prisoners. Our scouts found a hidden entrance. The tauren and I will cover your escape.”
He paused, scanning their faces. “If you’re captured, the Warchief and the Horde will disavow all knowledge of this mission. I’ve supplied each of you with an easy death—use it if necessary.” Nathanos cast a sharp look back at Perfectia. “Dawnlight, if you even think about getting yourself caught, I’ve been ordered to make sure it doesn’t happen.”
Perfectia, ever irreverent, smirked. “Lastly, and most importantly, everyone, remember to have fun!”
Without missing a beat, Nathanos hurled a white stone at Perfectia’s forehead. She barely blocked it with her arm and winced from the impact. “Was that your hearthstone, Nathanos?” she asked.
“Yes. I wasn’t planning on using it anyway.”
As they neared Stormwind, a massive ship loomed in the distance. Perfectia’s eyes widened—it was unlike any vessel she had seen before. Blue and gold with a dragon carved into the bow, the ship’s sheer size dwarfed most fortresses. Nathanos pointed. “There’s our way out. Get to that ship once you have the prisoners.”
As they flew over Lion’s Rest, Perfectia couldn’t help but pause, her mind drifting to memories of Anduin—his kiss, the fear and hope she’d felt that day. Her lips curled into a soft smile, but her thoughts were interrupted.
“Perfectia,” Thalyssra’s voice pulled her from the daydream. “Are you… crying?”
Perfectia hastily wiped her nose. “No, something got in my eye. Just a speck.” She turned to face the task at hand, taking a deep breath before diving into the water pipe leading to the Stockades.
They landed in a dimly lit room. Two guards immediately fell to Thalyssra’s magic as they prepared for the mission ahead.
“The 7th Legion be here,” Rokhan muttered, his eyes scanning the area. “Humans not be takin’ chances. I’ll stay back and watch ya both.”
Thalyssra gave him a hard stare. “Stay back? You’ll blend in better than either of us—why wouldn’t you go first?”
Rokhan shuffled awkwardly. “I’ll ambush ‘em from behind… when dey distracted.”
Thalyssra rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Is this about her again?” she whispered sharply, glancing toward Perfectia, who was busy checking her gear.
Rokhan scratched the back of his head, avoiding her gaze. “She’s… intimidating.”
Thalyssra huffed, crossing her arms. “Sure, that’s it.”
Thalyssra raised an eyebrow and leaned closer to whisper, “Is she really going to be a problem?”
Rokhan shook his head. “Nah, but…”
“Then no buts. Move and find our target.”
“And no butts either, Rokhan,” Perfectia teased, smacking her own rear. “But maybe after this is over.”
Rokhan shot her a quick glance, blushing slightly, before cloaking himself and moving ahead. “I be goin’ on ahead ta find da prisoners.”
Perfectia raised a hand, “Wait, I thought he said…” but he was already gone.
Thalyssra sighed. “Do you know these areas?”
Perfectia glanced around, her eyes narrowing. “No… I wasn’t kept this deep. Must be another section.”
“Then we need to deal with the 7th Legion,” Thalyssra replied firmly.
Perfectia stepped forward, noticing two of the 7th Legion soldiers talking. She unsheathed the broken Ashbringer and marched toward them, her voice carrying a sarcastic edge. “Return of the one-woman army! Show’s about to start, careful though—first three zones are the splash zone. You will get wet.”
The Ashbringer flickered, glowing faintly as both guards and Thalyssra stared, bewildered.
“Is this a joke?” one of the guards muttered.
Perfectia swung her blade swiftly, disarming both guards with a flick of her wrist, sending them crashing to the floor.
Thalyssra blinked. “What was that?”
Perfectia sighed. “Talking like my aunty again… She’s a bit insane.”
Thalyssra raised an eyebrow. “I used to think you were funny, now you’re just… annoying. So please, keep your statements to a minimum.”
Perfectia grinned mischievously. “Keep that up and I’ll kiss you.”
“What?!” Thalyssra sputtered, clearly caught off guard.
“Just kidding!” Perfectia shrugged, quickly changing the subject. “Look, rogue, paladin, mage—no tank. We might run into some issues. This isn’t the three-way I was hoping for, ya know?”
Thalyssra sighed, eyes narrowing. “I’m just going to ignore you now.”
The Ashbringer flickered with faint power, driven by Perfectia’s instinct to protect Thalyssra, though she knew in her heart the First Arcanist didn’t need her help. The blade’s glow wasn’t at full strength, but it was enough to cut down the 7th Legion guards. She moved swiftly, taunting and cursing as she fought—a chaotic blur of strikes and slashes that left soldiers on the floor. When they reached a staircase, Perfectia froze.
“Wait,” she said, her eyes catching on a familiar cell. “This is where I was kept…” Her voice trailed off when she saw the white-haired orc sitting inside, his back turned. “Varok?” Her heart leapt with joy. She slashed the lock off with the Ashbringer and rushed into the cell. “High Overlord, we’ve come to get you out.”
Saurfang shrugged her off defensively, shaking his head. “No.”
Confusion crossed Perfectia’s face. “You ran off and I didn’t see you again. If you got captured…” She smiled, a hopeful gleam in her eye. “It doesn’t matter, we’re here now, and—”
“I wasn’t captured!” Saurfang barked, his anger sharp but fading as he saw the tears welling in Perfectia’s eyes. “Sylvanas left me to die. So did you.”
Perfectia’s eyes widened, shaking her head. “No, no. That’s not true. I wouldn’t—she wouldn’t do that…” Her eyes darted to Thalyssra and Rokhan, pleading for confirmation. “That’s not what happened, right?”
Rokhan stepped forward, his voice heavy. “I was there, Perfectia. They left him outside to face da Alliance alone.”
Her head spun as she tried to grasp their words. “I don’t remember that. I would’ve stayed with you. I would’ve done something.”
Saurfang softened as he saw her confusion, his large hand gently cupping her tear-streaked face. “I know you would have.” His voice lowered, filled with sorrow. “But I can’t go back. Not to her Horde.”
Perfectia’s voice cracked, desperate. “We need you. I need you. I wouldn’t have survived without you.” Her tears flowed freely now.
Thalyssra stepped closer, trying to pull her back. “Come on, Perfectia. He’s not coming.”
Perfectia jerked away from Thalyssra’s touch, her eyes glowing dangerously as she glared at her. Thalyssra shielded her face from the blinding light as Perfectia turned back to Saurfang, her voice breaking. “They’ll torture you. You know what they did to me—they’ll do worse to you! Please… don’t stay. They’ll kill you without honor.”
Saurfang’s sigh was heavy with resignation. He stood and gently pushed her toward the door. “Goodbye, Perfectia.” He closed the cell door, his voice low and final. “Be strong. And make sure you understand the difference between loyalty and honor.”
As the door shut, Perfectia collapsed outside, sobbing on her knees.
Rokhan whispered to Thalyssra, “Is she always like dis?”
Thalyssra sighed. “You should have seen her when she lost her first batch of Withered to Furog the Elfbreaker. She cried for over an hour… So yes, she is.”
Rokhan frowned. “We don’t have dat kind of time.”
Thalyssra nodded. “I know.”
Rokhan moved closer, gently touching Perfectia’s shoulder. “We still got a mission, Perfectia. We need ya. Are ya really dat upset we lost our tank?”
Perfectia, mid-sob, suddenly burst into laughter, the tension evaporating. “I’m good,” she said between chuckles, wiping her face. She pointed ahead. “They were keeping Kel’Magnus over there. I remember the way.”
Though Perfectia had regained some composure, her light was dimmed. As they moved through the Stockades, it was clear her connection to the Light was weak. The guards were tougher to deal with, and Perfectia’s performance lacked its usual fervor. Luckily, Rokhan’s quick thinking and Thalyssra’s magic compensated for her lapse.
They finally approached a cell housing two elaborately dressed trolls, adorned in gold, glowing gems, and feathers. One of them, the Prophet, smiled. “Ah, our escort arrives. Just as I foresaw, Princess.”
Perfectia unlocked the cell door, the Princess eyeing her up and down with curiosity. “Hmm… My Prophet says you’re allies,” she remarked.
Rokhan narrowed his gaze. “Oho, I be knowin’ you. You be dat snake dat—”
Before Rokhan could finish, Thalyssra interrupted. “We’re here on behalf of the Horde. I am Thalyssra, this is Rokhan, and this is Perfectia.”
The Princess tilted her head, her eyes settling on Perfectia. “And who’s he?” she nodded toward the space above Perfectia’s head.
The group shared confused glances. “I—” Perfectia began, but her voice was cut off by a silence spell.
A commanding voice echoed in their ears. “Lock it down!”
Everyone tensed, shuddering at the sound. The Prophet’s expression darkened. “Greetings will have to wait.”
Thalyssra tried to cast a spell but found her magic blocked. “It’s a nullification field. I can’t cast.”
Perfectia glanced around. “Stay here, I’ll handle them.” She unsheathed the Ashbringer from her back and stepped toward the exit.
Rokhan quickly followed. “I be comin’ wit you,” he said, determined.
Looking ahead, Perfectia saw that the prison areas were blocked off by a shimmering purple magical barrier. “They’ve sealed the exits,” she muttered, slamming the Ashbringer against it. The blade bounced off, the barrier unmoved. “Merde.”
Rokhan pointed to the left. “We go dis way.”
Just as Perfectia prepared to strike again, Zul, the Prophet, intervened, “Dat would be a mistake. De path is de other way.”
Princess Talanji hovered in a surge of yellow light, dispelling the barrier with a flick of her hand. “You best be right, Zul,” she warned.
As the barrier fell, Perfectia charged. Her sword slammed into a mage’s shoulder, the bone snapping beneath the blade. Before the man could scream, Perfectia silenced him with a swift kick to the jaw. More guards poured in, but Perfectia, now in a calm fury, dealt with them swiftly, leaving a trail of incapacitated, moaning soldiers.
Rokhan, watching her merciless efficiency, whispered to Thalyssra, “Ya were right. She’s not stable. I’m sure glad she’s on our side.”
Thalyssra chuckled and nodded. “You have no idea.”
The mages fared the worst. Perfectia targeted their throats with the Ashbringer, dropping them before they could unleash their spells. One managed to summon water elementals, casting lesser ice spells at her.
“Cover your eyes,” Perfectia commanded as her own eyes began to glow like blazing suns. The light blinded her enemies, freezing them in place. She delivered a devastating blow, splitting the mage’s skull. The elementals vanished into thin air.
At the end of the hall, she spotted two prisoners huddled in a cell. She slammed the Ashbringer into the lock, breaking it.
“PERFECTIA!” Thalyssra’s voice echoed, pulling her attention away. She turned to see Thalyssra gesturing toward a hole in the floor. “This way,” she urged.
“You best be right, Zul,” the Princess warned, her voice steady. Even with the nullification field in place, she floated effortlessly in a surge of golden light, dispelling the magical barrier. Perfectia didn’t waste a second, charging across the field, her blade finding its mark on a mage’s shoulder. The sickening crack of the mage’s collarbone breaking echoed through the hall. Before he could scream, Perfectia’s boot slammed into his jaw with a dull thud, knocking him out cold.
More guards flooded in, but Perfectia, fueled by a simmering rage, showed no mercy. She wasn’t just fighting to kill—she was punishing them. Each guard she engaged received brutal, crippling injuries. When one raised a sword against her, she effortlessly dodged and countered with a brutal stomp to his locked knee, the sickening snap of bone followed by a bloodcurdling scream.
Rokhan visibly shuddered as he watched Perfectia’s ruthless precision. Every guard that faced her fell with broken limbs, crushed joints, or worse. Another guard tried to block her, but she parried his attack, spun, and smashed the Ashbringer into his forearm with enough force to shatter the bone. His scream pierced the air as he collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony.
The hallway was soon filled with the groans of injured, moaning guards. They lay scattered across the floor, clutching their mangled limbs, their cries echoing off the stone walls. Perfectia didn’t even glance down at the carnage she was leaving behind, her focus razor-sharp.
Rokhan’s skin crawled as he witnessed the scene. He turned to Thalyssra, expecting her to share his unease, but she appeared entirely unfazed. Her eyes remained cool and distant, as if the gruesome spectacle unfolding before them was nothing out of the ordinary.
“You were right, Thalyssra,” Rokhan muttered, his voice tinged with unease. “She ain’t stable. I’m real glad she’s fightin’ for our side.”
Thalyssra let out a small laugh, her expression unchanged. “I’ve known her long enough to accept that. Trust me, this is her holding back.”
Mages were the worst off in the assault. Perfectia didn’t hesitate, driving the Ashbringer into their throats, their bodies dropping like lifeless sacks. One mage managed to summon a group of water elementals, but Perfectia dealt with them swiftly, her eyes glowing with fury.
“Cover your eyes,” she ordered, her voice cold and steady.
As her glowing eyes flared brighter, the mages and elementals froze in place, blinded by the searing light. With one final, brutal swing, she crushed the last mage’s skull, the crack echoing through the hall before the silence fell.
When she reached a dead end, she found two prisoners huddled in terror. She raised her sword to break the lock when Thalyssra’s voice cut through the air.
“PERFECTIA!” she shouted, pointing to a hidden tunnel. “This way.”
Perfectia looked at the two prisoners she would have to leave behind, gesturing a lock across her lips and slicing motion across her neck. The prisoners nodded back, understanding her silent warning. As the Prophet Zul opened the escape route into the sewers, the Princess wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“It smells… unpleasant,” she complained.
Perfectia couldn’t help but agree. The stench of rot and filth assaulted her senses, and her vision flickered in flashes of black and white as they plunged into the murky waters. The further they swam, the stronger the nausea grew, but they pressed on, knowing it was their only way out.
Emerging from the sewers, Rokhan cast a mist spell, wrapping them in a thick, damp shroud of humidity that blended seamlessly with the marshy terrain. "Alright, stay close. We’re all friends now,” he muttered.
Unseen by the nearby guards, they moved silently past them. Perfectia’s fingers itched toward her sword, her instincts screaming to strike, to break bones and silence the guards permanently. But Rokhan gave her a sharp look, remembering all too well how the guards in the Stockades had screamed in agony as she broke their bodies. "Don’t,” he whispered sternly. “Just follow me.”
As they neared a bridge, the voice of a town crier rang out: “Attention, citizens of Stormwind! Horde infiltrators have breached the Stockades! Civilians are to remain in their homes until the threat is subdued! By order of the king.”
Perfectia clenched her fists at the sound, her heart sinking as they approached the bridge. “Let’s cross here,” Rokhan suggested. “Unless ya prophet be havin’ a problem wit dat.” He shot a glance at Zul.
Zul’s expression darkened, his hand clutching his chest as if something were terribly wrong. “I feel… strange," he murmured, his voice shaky. “Jump off the bridge now,” he ordered in a whisper, his eyes filled with dread.
Perfectia looked back at Zul, confused. “Why?” she whispered back, just as Thalyssra’s eyes widened in horror.
It was Anduin. He rode toward them, his figure towering above them on his horse, his presence overwhelming the area like a wave. Perfectia gasped loudly, her heart pounding. She reached out, her hand trembling. “An-” she began, her voice filled with hope.
Thalyssra, seeing disaster about to unfold, quickly wrapped her arm around Perfectia and cast a silencing spell. Rokhan grabbed her legs. Without a second thought, they jumped into the water below the bridge, dragging Perfectia with them.
When they resurfaced, Thalyssra’s grip tightened around Perfectia’s mouth. “If you mess this up for us, Blightcaller will kill you, even if you’re in Anduin’s arms,” she whispered harshly into her ear.
Perfectia’s gaze locked onto Anduin as he passed above them. She struggled briefly but stilled as the weight of Thalyssra’s warning hit her. They quietly swam to the nearest stairwell, out of sight, and climbed out of the water.
Perfectia, shaking with emotion, stared at Thalyssra in disbelief. “How… why?" she muttered, her voice breaking.
Thalyssra sighed, her voice calm but firm. “Cry if you need to, but I just saved all of our lives."
Perfectia turned away, her heart heavy with unspoken words, her mind torn between loyalty and love.
The Princess, noticing the tension, looked around in confusion. “What’s going on?”
Thalyssra, steady as ever, glanced at the Princess. “I’ll explain later. But she almost got us caught.”
Prophet Zul glanced at Perfectia, her anger still simmering beneath the surface. “Hmm, so that’s what that was—extremely unpleasant,” he remarked.
Perfectia’s response was immediate and fierce; she spit directly into his face. “Did you predict that?”
Wiping his face, Zul sighed, nodding in silent agreement as Rokhan added his complaint. “A little more warnin’ woulda been nice.”
They ascended the stairs from the riverbed, and Rokhan, trying to refocus the group, said, “We ain’t stoppin’ 'til we reach the docks. Get ready.”
As they moved forward, Princess Talanji gently placed a hand on Perfectia’s shoulder. “Are you alright, Perfectia?” she asked, her voice soft with concern.
Perfectia shook her head, her bitterness spilling over. “Just be grateful I’m even helping you. Whoever you are.”
Talanji nodded solemnly. “I am grateful. My name is Princess Talanji. You carry a strong guardian spirit with you, stronger than most… though not quite like Rezan.” She glanced upward with admiration. “He must truly care for you.”
Perfectia’s expression softened momentarily as she looked at her, surprised. “You can see him?”
Talanji nodded again, meeting her gaze. “I can. Rezan only comes when I truly need him—not when I want him. I’m envious of your bond.”
Perfectia managed a weak smile. “Yeah, mine’s the same… sometimes.”
Their conversation was interrupted as they entered an eerily quiet part of Stormwind. Thalyssra, on high alert, scanned the empty streets. “Wait… where are the guards?”
Rokhan stopped his mist spell, looking around suspiciously. “Dis don’t feel right.”
Perfectia’s instincts flared, and she gripped her sword tighter. “I taste something… stale. Like dirty water.”
Princess Talanji followed, her eyes narrowing. “Zul isn’t… soiling himself, is he?”
Prophet Zul, looking uncomfortable, shook his head. “No, but it’s not nothing.”
A group of howling Worgen attacked suddenly, their claws crashing against the magical barrier Thalyssra had erected to protect the group. Genn Greymane, leading the ambush, lunged at the barrier with fury, but when he recognized who stood inside, he stopped in his tracks. “Perfectia?! What are you doing here?” His voice was filled with surprise. “Anduin, he’s…”
Perfectia’s heart leaped with hope, and she pressed against the edge of the barrier, desperation in her voice. “Is he looking for me?”
Genn hesitated, his gaze flicking away as though torn. “Stand down!” he barked to his Worgen, who reluctantly halted their assault. “You need to go, Perfectia. I’m supposed to stop you.”
Confusion and desperation tangled in her thoughts as she shook her head, pleading, “No, Genn, tell me! Please—what’s happening?”
He sighed, the weight of his orders heavy on him. “Go. Don’t make me do this.” His voice was softer now, filled with regret.
Thalyssra grabbed Perfectia’s hand urgently, pulling her away from the confrontation. They fled into the shadows as Genn’s half-hearted shout echoed after them, “Yeah! Scurry, like the rats you are!” But even his words lacked conviction.
As they ran, Prophet Zul suddenly stopped, picking up a torch lying by the side. “This could come in handy,” he mused, looking around with a strange glint in his eyes. “Maybe we should wait.”
“What is it now?” Princess Talanji snapped impatiently.
Before anyone could respond, Perfectia noticed a flurry of snow approaching from the docks. Her body tensed as the familiar sight filled her with rage. “This… this is familiar.” The blizzard chilled the air around them, and through the freezing mist, a figure emerged: Jaina Proudmoore.
“I’ve known the Horde to be cruel and heartless,” Jaina’s voice cut through the wind, full of righteous fury, “but this? This is folly. You’ll die here, and your grave will be nothing more than a footnote in history.”
Perfectia drew the Ashbringer off her back, the blade gleaming with purpose, and started toward Jaina. Before she could take a step, Thalyssra grabbed her arm, pulling her back. “We can’t fight her. Run, Perfectia.”
Perfectia wrenched her arm free with a force that stunned Thalyssra. “You’re not stopping me this time,” she growled, her eyes blazing with anger.
Princess Talanji, sensing the tension, intervened. “Let her go, Thalyssra. She’s made her choice.”
Thalyssra hesitated but ultimately released her grip, watching with regret as Perfectia marched forward alone, her anger uncontainable. The others retreated into the shadows, leaving Perfectia to face Jaina on her own.
Perfectia walked toward Jaina, stepping boldly into the swirling blizzard spell that surrounded her. “I suppose you think this is brave, don’t you?” Jaina’s voice echoed through the icy wind as Perfectia’s body began to freeze, encased in a solid chunk of ice. Unable to move, Perfectia closed her eyes and prayed to the Light. Slowly, a soft glow enveloped her, growing brighter and more intense until the ice began to crack, splintering into shards as the Light broke through. Jaina’s spell shattered, leaving the battlefield littered with broken ice.
Perfectia stood, her gaze locked on Jaina, both surprised and angered. “You didn’t actually think that would work, did you? Haven’t you been down that road before, Lich Queen?” she taunted, her voice sharp and defiant.
Jaina’s face twisted in confusion. “What did you call me?” Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at the Ashbringer in Perfectia’s hands. “That blade… I thought the Ashbringers had been rendered powerless.”
Perfectia’s gaze flicked toward her sword. “Mine still holds its power,” she murmured, her voice cold. “And now I’m going to ring you up like the devil’s doorbell.” With that, she hurled the Corrupted Ashbringer at Jaina. The blade sang through the air, forcing Jaina to duck just in time as it embedded itself in the stairs, only to disappear.
Jaina turned, her breath catching as she pieced it together. “It was you… You threw that at my ship.”
Perfectia rolled her eyes, sighing. “Why do I yell things? Fine, I won’t miss this time.”
Her voice turned dark as she pulled out a piece of Azerite, smashing it into dust with her bare hands. The substance inhaled into her lungs like a poison, igniting her veins with power. Her hair flared red, the glow in her eyes turning an eerie blue. Time seemed to slow as Perfectia felt her strength increase. She was lost in the memories of Lordaeron, the pain of betrayal, and the life of Alexandros Mograine merged with her own.
Suddenly, his voice appeared before her, spectral and pleading. “Don’t, Perfectia!” Alexandros Mograine stood, his ghostly form trying to block her path. “Please, don’t do this. If you kill her, Anduin will never forgive you.”
Perfectia blinked, staring at him blankly as her mind raced. “Didn’t you hear what Genn said? He doesn’t want to see me again.” Her voice trembled, filled with a strange mix of rage and sorrow. “She took him from me. Let me have this.”
Mograine’s voice softened. "You can’t beat her, Perfectia. She’s stronger than you, and you know it.”
Her eyes flashed with defiance. “I don’t care.”
“You saw what she did at Lordaeron. She tore through armies, left ruins in her wake. She’s more than a mage, Perfectia—she’s wrath and power incarnate itself… She’s… She’s” He paused, realizing he couldn’t get through to her. “Am I just making this worse?”
Perfectia nodded, her voice barely audible. “…Yeah, kind of.”
Mograine sighed, his face twisted in regret. “I told them not to let you go. You were meant to purify the Ashbringer, to be a last resort. You and Arthas should’ve died together. Now, you’re about to use a power that was never meant for you.”
Perfectia’s hand tightened around the sword. “Jaina has a lover in the afterlife. I won’t let her take mine.”
Mograine’s form faded, his voice sorrowful. “I can’t stop you. Not with that Azerite burning inside you.”
Time returned to normal as Perfectia stood before Jaina, her expression unwavering. “How are we going to do this? Will you come at me, or should I come at you?” Perfectia’s grip tightened around the Ashbringer, holding it upside down until it shifted, becoming the corrupted version. “Or perhaps… we come together. Oh, at the same time?” Her voice dripped with challenge.
Jaina readied her staff, eyes narrowing in focus. Six Ashbringers materialized behind Perfectia, each slightly different from the last, radiating with an ominous glow. Jaina blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Before she could fully register the change, two blasts of ice magic flew toward Perfectia—only to be deflected by the hovering blades.
Perfectia rushed forward, the twin slashes of her blades striking down toward Jaina, who managed to block with her staff. But Perfectia followed up with a brutal kick to Jaina’s midsection, sending her skidding backward. “Oh, you’ll come,” Perfectia taunted, her voice dark and menacing. “They always come.”
Undeterred, Jaina charged a frost spell and sent a torrent of freezing energy at her opponent. Perfectia weaved from side to side, narrowly avoiding each blast, her speed near impossible to track. She closed the gap between them, delivering two overhand slashes that forced Jaina to defend with her staff. The sheer force of the blows knocked Jaina off her feet, sending her crashing onto the ground.
Before Jaina could recover, Perfectia spotted a horse-drawn wagon nearby. With a flick of her wrist, the floating Ashbringers lifted the wagon into the air and hurled it toward Jaina. Startled, Jaina teleported forward, narrowly avoiding being crushed. As she reappeared in mid-air, staff raised high, she swung down toward Perfectia in a surprise melee strike.
Perfectia’s blades moved with her like extensions of her body. The Ashbringers caught the impact of Jaina’s attack, absorbing the brunt of it. “I can melee too,” Jaina hissed through clenched teeth.
With a swift movement, the floating Ashbringers connected mid-air, each blade slashing upward in unison like a fan of deadly steel. Jaina performed a high backflip, narrowly dodging the attack. But mid-flip, she released a frost blast that hit Perfectia square in the chest, sending her skidding backward.
Gritting her teeth, Perfectia recovered quickly, circling Jaina with a predatory grace. “Ready for more?” she taunted as she revealed a second Ashbringer in her other hand—one corrupted, the other pure. “Let’s see you melee your way out of this one.”
She struck with both blades, driving Jaina to defend furiously with her staff. Perfectia’s strikes were relentless, her slashes raining down like a hailstorm. Jaina could barely keep up, each block forcing her back. When Perfectia slammed her blades down with a final overhand strike, the other Ashbringers joined in, striking Jaina’s staff in quick succession until she was driven to her knees.
Perfectia’s lips curled into a grin as she raised her swords. “Now you fall.”
With one final motion, the floating Ashbringers slashed upward in unison, sending Jaina flying into the air. Her staff trembled as she blocked each blow, the rapid metallic clang of steel against wood ringing out in the frenzied exchange. The ice barrier around her flickered and cracked under the strain.
Not content to let her opponent recover, Perfectia leapt into the air, using the floating swords to slam Jaina back down onto the stone floor with a sickening thud. The impact left Jaina gasping, her ears ringing as she struggled to refocus, knowing that the paladin’s fury was far from spent.
Perfectia’s flaming Ashbringer spun through the air like a vengeful flame, circling Jaina with deadly precision. Jaina barely rolled out of the way in time, her reflexes sharpened by the sound of the sword cutting through the space where she had just been. The heat from the flames seared the edges of her robes, and she winced at the proximity.
Blocking the sword with her staff, Jaina cast a slow-moving arcane spell that hovered like a silent storm. The floating swords aimed to deflect it, but the orb was too close—Perfectia’s eyes widened just before the explosion of fire erupted in her face, throwing her backward with the force of a thunderclap. Her head snapped back from the concussive blast, stars dancing in her vision.
Perfectia coughed, spitting out blood, but her resolve only darkened. As her corrupted Ashbringer vanished from sight, it reappeared by Jaina, aimed directly at her. Jaina’s eyes narrowed, barely parrying the strike with her staff. The force of it left her gasping.
Perfectia’s voice rang out, mocking her: “Hey Jaina, I can range too!” Her tone was full of malice as she unleashed the Ashbringers to surround her foe. The blades circled Jaina like a pack of wolves preparing to close in on their prey, glowing with murderous intent. Jaina barely had time to throw up her strongest ice shield, encasing herself in a barrier of solid frost.
For a moment, the blades bounced harmlessly off the ice, but Perfectia only smiled, knowing the shield wouldn’t hold. When it shattered, the corrupted Ashbringer slashed across Jaina’s back, the sickening sound of flesh splitting filling the air. Jaina teleported, but not before blood spilled onto the ground.
Perfectia caught the bloodied blade, lifting it to her lips. Slowly, she licked Jaina’s blood from the edge, her fangs protruding as the twisted smile stretched across her face. “Oh, that’s good,” she murmured, her eyes glowing a deep red as the power of the Azerite coursed through her veins.
With a feral hiss, she lunged at Jaina, moving faster than the human eye could track. Her hand closed around Jaina’s throat, and with savage strength, she slammed the mage into the stone floor, cracking it beneath them. The corrupted Ashbringer hovered over Jaina’s chest, and Perfectia pressed it down, feeling the resistance of the staff as Jaina fought to push back.
Jaina struggled, her mana draining with every second that passed, and Perfectia sneered. “Feel that? Your power slipping away… Smile. Confess, and I’ll make it quick,” she whispered venomously, her fingers tightening around the hilt of the blade.
Jaina’s voice trembled with confusion. “Avouer quoi?” she asked breathlessly, trying to push the blade off her.
Perfectia’s fury only intensified as she switched to Thalassian. “Don’t lie to me. You tried to take him from me. SAY IT! Admit you wanted him for yourself!” Her words cut through the air, filled with the madness of jealousy and obsession.
For the first time, Jaina’s eyes caught sight of the necklace around Perfectia’s neck, the small picture within its locket. “Where did you get that necklace?” Jaina whispered, her breath hitching as she looked into Perfectia’s crazed eyes.
Perfectia’s composure cracked. Tears welled up as she trembled uncontrollably, the Ashbringer slipping from her grip. She let out a scream, her heart torn in two, and fled from Jaina, clutching her arm as if in pain, her cries echoing through the battlefield.
As Perfectia ran through the burning city, her arm seared with pain, turning an angry red, then blackened as if charred by fire. The skin stretched thin, barely holding her bones together as her muscles withered. Desperation gnawed at her as she tried to heal herself with the Light, only to find her connection severed, leaving her powerless. Wrapping her arm tightly in her Blood Knight tabard, she reached the docks where Nathanos and the Forsaken fought the Alliance.
Nathanos smirked, firing arrow after arrow. “Dawnlight, glad you could make it. Thought I’d have to hunt you down.”
Rolling her eyes, Perfectia kept her voice steady. “No need. How’s everything going?”
“Better than expected.” Nathanos nodded, taking out the last enemy. “Heard you were dealing with Jaina Proudmoore. Survive that?”
Nathanos looked at Perfectia with a smirk. “So, did you cut her in half with the Ashbringer?”
“Uhhhm…” Perfectia started, as they approached the end of the docks where Jaina Proudmoore stood, launching into one of her classic, long-winded speeches with four mages in tow.
“To answer your question, Nathanos,” Perfectia interrupted loudly, completely talking over Jaina’s righteous monologue, “No, I did not do that.”
Nathanos leaned in, whispering, “Do you think she’s ever going to shut up?” he asked, ignoring Jaina’s righteous speech.
Perfectia crossed her arms, already losing patience as Jaina’s speech dragged on. She sighed, rolling her eyes. “I swear, she just loves hearing herself talk,” she muttered, clearly unimpressed.
Nathanos chuckled, his voice interrupting Jaina’s long-winded monologue. “You can barely walk, Proudmoore. And, respectfully, we have a boat to catch.”
“Then perish.” Jaina readied ice lances behind her. And the four mages behind her started casting ice spells.
Perfectia looked down at her arm and knew she couldn’t do anything with it, but grabbed onto the powerless Ashbringer with her non-dominant hand, and it felt heavy for the first time.
Prophet Zul stepped forward a few feet away from Jaina, “You can try to subdue us, and likely succeed.” He nodded, “But do you have time to waste?”
Jaina looked outward and saw that most of the Stormwind port was covered with flames, “No… it can’t be.” She said in panic.
Prophet Zul gestured toward the fire, “Seems a mage of your… skill… could be very useful right now, hm?”
Jaina looked over at Perfectia. “Don’t look at me, I didn’t do zat.” Perfectia shrugged
Jaina nodded at Perfectia, “He will hear of this, so… va te faire foutre.” She said brokenly angrily toward her.
Perfectia half smiled, and shrugged, “Nique ta mere.” She insulted her back.
Nathanos laughed slightly as he seemed to have understood.
Jaina teleported herself and the other mages back to Stormwind.
“Loa help dem dat cross ya, Zul.” Rokhan said as he got on the ship.
"I believe de phrase you be looking for is ‘thank you’. "Zul the Prophet said as he got on as well.
Princess Talanji followed as well, “Come. We set sail for Zuldazar.”
Perfectia looked to Nathanos and to the trolls, "Wait don’t we have orders to- "
Nathanos nodded in agreement, “Yes,” he interrupted, “I think not. We are to return you to the warchief directly.”
Princess Tananji looked at them both Perfectia and Nathanos, shrugged, and smiled slightly, “Seeing as how this is my ship. I think you will need to adjust your plans.” She got on the main wheel and started turning it.
Perfectia rolled her eyes at her and let out an exaggerated sigh toward Princess Tananji, “Rokhan, adjust the main sail, starbound! Thalyssra raises the shield a little higher! The attacks coming from the Alliance might give us the wind we need to send us seaborn! Nathanos retie the lines to the jib!” Perfectia pointed at the two Forsaken troops, “You two, pull in the plank so no more Alliance try to get on board!” They both nodded and did what she said.
Nathanos looked at Perfectia questionably, “Wait, who do you think you’re talking to?” he asked.
Thalyssra raised the shield like Perfectia ordered and looked back at Nathanos, “She said she lived out at sea for a while. I trust it, she’s not known for lying.”
Princess Tanaji took the gem and placed it on her forehead, “You stole this.” She looked at Perfectia
Perfectia shook her head, “They died. My mother killed an entire Amani tribe right in front of me. She thought they were going to eat me, but they were kind. Right in the Silvermoon forest, I took that gem to remember, also it can hold a bit of magic if my arcane withdrawal gets too painful.”
Princess Tanaji looked at the gem that was behind the picture, “But you lost it.”
Perfectia looked away, “It nearly got me killed at one point, but if it hadn’t, I may have never known what I could do with the Ashbringer. Someone gave it back to me, a former Mossflayer shaman that left his tribe when his people started eating Scourge infected corpses.” Perfectia looked away, “I asked someone to craft it so when I went back home maybe I could find a picture of my mother to put inside.” Perfectia explained blankly.
“Did you find one?” Princess Tanaji asked.
Perfectia laughed slightly and looked away, “No, Arthas took our home, but Kael’thas Sunstrider,” Perfectia laughed to herself, “our prince. He took everything else. When I came back home. There was nothing but demons, Wretched, and Blood Elves still loyal to our fallen prince, there are less of them now but it’s still a ruin. I never found a picture of my mother and she would write all the time, not a single book, painting, or family picture was left. Dawnstar Village, that’s where I’m from. Everyone there, my family, had the word ‘dawn’ somewhere in their last name.”
“I’m sorry. Also, Thalyssra said that you cry a lot, I would think anyone would be upset when bringing up stuff like this.” Princess Tanaji stated.
Perfectia shook her head, “Don’t be sorry. I’ve never cried over this. I’ve come to terms with it, no point crying about it now. Also, to do that would be to accept that I lost something or maybe that it won’t come back. I still consider myself nobility, noble blood, and my family name will be restored to its former glory.” She looked down at the necklace that was in Princess Tanaji’s hand. Perfectia shrugged, “But… I would throw it all on the fire to just be with him again.”
“This is the man from the bridge. You’re in love with him and that’s why those wolf people didn’t attack us. Prophet Zul knew that we weren’t in any danger.” Princess Tanaji said in realization. She thought back, “I guess I understand why you were so upset that we didn’t get caught.”
Perfectia shrugged slightly, “The Alliance and the Horde have been at war for over 20 years, and we’ve only come together to fight some other war. Yet somehow even as enemies we fell in love, and it’s so painful because… I feel like it will never end.”
Princess Tanaji shrugged slightly, “Do you feel that the love you carry for each other is stronger than your hate as enemies?” She asked.
Perfectia shrugged, “I do, but is it stronger than this war we’ve made for each other? In this world of warcraft? We seem more likely to kill one another than be together.”
Princess Tanaji nodded, “Is that really what you believe?” She handed back the necklace to Perfectia.
Perfectia looked at the picture as it was in her hands, “I don’t know, but I know my friend might be throwing his life away.”
Princess Tanaji smiled and laughed slightly, “I heard him crying as well, when he thought everyone was asleep.”
Perfectia put the necklace around her neck, “I didn’t ask, he deserves dignity.”
A Game of Chess
This is really painful to do with my left hand. Honestly, if I had known I’d end up writing an epilogue with my off-hand, I’d have practiced more. But here I am, stranded, waiting for a portals to take me home while trying to remember where I dropped my hearthstone. Probably somewhere in Stormwind during that graceful escape.
Princess Talanji was right about Rezan being a stronger guardian spirit than Mograine. But I’m starting to wonder if “stronger” means “giant dinosaur that pushes ships while I lose feeling in my right arm.” My sword arm is totally paralyzed, charred black, and… well, looks like I stuck it in a bonfire for too long. Of course, it all started when I inhaled that Azerite.
I can’t use the Light anymore. The Ashbringer? Heavy as a dragon’s claw and about as useless as a spoon at a steakhouse. It’s funny—just a few days ago, it was this glowing beacon of hope, and now it feels more like a paperweight. Maybe a trip to the Sunwell will fix this, but honestly, with my luck? I’ll probably just set something on fire.
Thinking about setting things on fire actually reminds me of Garrosh. He wasn’t as bad as people made him out to be over the years…
Garrosh wasn’t as bad as people have made him out to be over the years. I still remember the day he called me into Grommash Hold. I had been avoiding everything, numbing myself. He looked at me and said, “Where have you been, Blood Elf? From what I remember from the Argent Tournament, the Horde is in need of your skills in the fight with Deathwing and his minions.”
I could barely care. I rolled my eyes, still somewhat intoxicated, “I don’t care.”
That made him stand up from his throne, rage practically pouring out of him. “The world is falling into ruin, and you don’t care?!”
I laughed. Because what was the point? With everything I’d lost, everything that had been taken from me, what was the point? I just shrugged, dismissive, “This whole world could burn under Deathwing, and I wouldn’t care.”
Garrosh stepped down, closing the distance between us, the anger rolling off him in waves. “People are dying out there. Your people are dying. The Horde will fail if you don’t take up the sword and fight!”
I didn’t even have armor, let alone a sword, but I faced him like I did. “The Horde failed me, so I don’t care.” I shook my head at him and laughed, a bitter sound. “Kill me if you want, but tell me this—why wasn’t I allowed to get revenge for my mother’s death?! Why wasn’t I allowed to kill the man who took everything from me? I should have been there when Arthas fell! After all the warriors I’ve bested, you let Fordring just say no to me?” I felt my voice get louder. “I thought you had a spine!”
His grip tightened on Gorehowl, but instead of cutting me down, he sat back down in his chair. He looked at me for a moment, gripping that ax like it was the only thing keeping him from letting loose. But then, his voice softened. “I wanted you to go.” He shook his head slightly. “Fordring said it had something to do with the Ashbringer. That it wouldn’t work if you were there. I wanted him to give it to you, but… I suppose you would have stolen his glory. It would have been a great victory for the Horde if you had taken it.”
I nodded, slightly surprised but understanding. There was a strange respect in that. He wasn’t trying to insult me. He wanted me there.
Then he sat back, looking exhausted. “Take your time to mourn,” he said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “But when I call on you, I expect you to follow my orders. Do you understand?”
I nodded and turned to leave. His words hung in the air, but I wasn’t expecting anything more. I’d been prepared for him to kill me. I wasn’t prepared for what came next.
“Perfectia!” His voice echoed through Grommash Hold as I stopped at the entrance, turning back to face him.
Garrosh, the mighty warchief, was looking down. He hesitated for a second, gripping Gorehowl tightly before he met my gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said.
I just nodded, that hollow ache still there, and I left. The rest of my day was spent fishing and collecting ingredients for more fermented fruit alcohol. Because what else did I have to live for back then?
So, after almost a year of living like that—yeah, my eyes turned blue again, and I packed on a good 45 kilos. Honestly, I looked like someone had inflated me with a bellows. Nobody could recognize me anymore as the Argent Tournament Champion. So, when I tried to just stroll into Orgrimmar from Silvermoon like it was no big deal, I got arrested by grunts. Grunts. Me. I mean, seriously, they were interrogating me, and nobody believed I was who I said I was. Hell, I didn’t even believe it half the time.
Garrosh came down himself while I was in a prison cell, probably curious about who this pudgy elf was claiming to be Perfectia Dawnlight. He looked at me like I was a festering wound. “I let you fall apart for too long,” he growled. But then his eyes flicked to mine, and he seemed to get some idea. “Those blue eyes might still be useful to me,” he said, turning to one of the guards. “Take her to Ragefire Chasm.”
I wasn’t going down without a fight, of course. I tried to wrestle away as they slapped restraints on me. “Garrosh, it’s me! If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be in Nagrand, crying into your breakfast and navel-gazing!”
He didn’t even blink. “True,” he admitted, while personally binding my hands behind me. “You got me out of that mess, so now I’m returning the favor.” He tightened the bindings, but I stopped resisting. “Whether you like it or not, you’ll thank me for this. And we’ll be even.”
And so, began what I like to call the Ragefire Chasm Extreme Weight Loss Program. Just me, steam, water, and pulverized fruit and vegetables. No arcane magic, no alcohol. And yeah, it hurt. Like, a lot. But Garrosh was right. I lost the weight, kicked the alcohol, and found myself again. Not only did I feel better, I actually looked like myself again. He gave me purpose when I was just aimlessly wandering around, and for that, I respected him.
I’ll admit it—Garrosh had my loyalty after that. Not the same kind I had for Thrall. Garrosh? He was practical. He made changes to Orgrimmar, real changes. Thrall was… well, a dreamer. Sure, he was friends with Jaina and all that, but under Thrall, Orgrimmar was basically a few huts and a mountain. One good torch could’ve burned it down, and believe me, I’ve seen Centaur plans that could’ve done just that.
But Garrosh’s Orgrimmar? If you told me you were going to try burning that down, I’d laugh in your face. No joke, I’d probably offer to watch with popcorn. Just kidding—kinda. But really, his version of the city was something. He was a man of action, someone who embraced change, even if it made people squirm.
He was around my age too, so maybe that’s why I got him. If I had been the one to kill Arthas, I probably would’ve ended up just like Garrosh—always looking for the next fix of vengeance or justice or whatever we want to call it. Hell, even if I didn’t have Alexandros Mograine’s spirit hanging around, I probably would’ve killed my enemies the way Garrosh did, because we were cut from the same cloth—driven by something deep and relentless.
So yeah, Garrosh? He wasn’t the worst. He just understood what it took to survive in a world where everyone’s out for blood. And I guess, in the end, I understood that too.
So, here’s the thing—I didn’t kill Jaina. I could’ve, probably should’ve, but I didn’t. Maybe it’s because I’ve been in her shoes before. That raw, burning rage, the disgust so deep it poisons everything you touch. I get it. It’s probably what made her come for Lordaeron in the first place. But as I replayed Alexandros Mograine’s memories in my head last night, something else clicked—she saved Anduin’s life.
But still… last night, I crossed a line. I took in that Azerite, twisted it to fit what I needed. And in my eyes, Jaina’s more than just some rival or threat. No, she’s a monster. It wasn’t just my jealousy whispering in my ear, convincing me she’d steal him away—it was that deep-rooted fear I’ve carried for so long. For years, I’d wake up alone in Isirami’s bed, haunted by the thought that Jaina could round some corner and turn me or everyone I loved to ashes, frozen in place.
But now? Now I have power. And she knows it. Let her have nightmares of me for once. Let her wake up in a cold sweat, remembering how close she came to death by my hand. When I see her face again, fear-stricken and desperate, I’ll be the one looking down at her with pity. I’ve earned that much.
But then there’s Anduin. I love him—I really do. But I’m scared. Jaina will twist him, mold him into something dark and unrecognizable. He won’t be the man I fell for at the Stormwind Emissary anymore. No, he’ll be full of the same anger and vengeance that’s consumed her. And if I can’t protect him from her, if I can’t stop her from turning him into a monster… Well, I guess I’ll have to make good on what I told Sylvanas. I’ll watch her turn him into one of the undead. I’m not really known for lying, am I?
So, we got off that rickety warship, barely held together by bolts and willpower, and guess what? I couldn’t summon Lucy, my warhorse. I couldn’t even summon a lightbulb. Princess Talanji darted off on her raptor, all majestic and full of purpose, while I was, well… jogging like an idiot trying to keep up.
She stopped, clearly noticing my sad attempt to run alongside her mount. “Perfectia, do you have a mount?”
I shrugged. “Can’t use the Light right now. No Light, no warhorse. No warhorse, no mount.” Simple math.
Talanji sighed, holding her nose like this was the worst news she’d gotten all day. “Right.” She slid off her raptor. “Well, I guess we’ve got more time than I thought.”
Then she went into this whole speech about her kingdom and how it’s on the brink of collapse. "Zandalar is beset by enemies, both within and without,” she explained, all regal and dramatic. "This is why I went seeking the Horde… and why I need you.”
I rolled my eyes and glanced at my completely useless arm, charred and deformed from the Azerite. She didn’t even notice.
“Blood trolls,” she continued, like I wasn’t standing there with half a working body. “They surged across our northern border. They drag our people off to the swamps of Nazmir, never to be seen again.”
I gave her a nod, trying to be polite, while clearing my throat and slightly raising my mangled arm as a reminder.
But nope. She kept going. “Meanwhile, the Zanchuli Council, scheming politicians and decrepit old tusks, dismiss this threat. They convince my father that nothing needs to be done.” She was fuming.
I raised an eyebrow, sighed, and said, “Well, I hope things work out for you.”
Because honestly? I had my own problems to deal with.
Princess Talanji finally noticed my arm—wrapped up in my tabard, looking like it had gone through a forge and back. She blinked, genuinely surprised. “What happened?” she asked, like she hadn’t just been talking about an impending blood troll invasion.
I lifted my deformed arm higher, sighing as if it weren’t obvious. “Yeah, about that… kinda useless right now.”
She finally sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Right, well… I guess there’s no rush.”
As we moved forward, we approached a group of troll soldiers, all decked out in full regalia, loyal to Zandalar and its kingdom. An older troll, probably their leader, stepped forward with that authority vibe. “Princess,” he said, his voice deep and full of judgment. “When you left, you told your father you were going exploring. Not negotiating with mongrels from de Horde.”
Princess Talanji rolled her eyes, clearly used to this type of response. “You are sworn to protect dis kingdom. If you will not do your duty, den I must look for someone who will.”
The troll leader crossed his arms, looking away with an air of superiority. “De best way to protect de kingdom would be for me to banish dis… thing… to Vol’dun. De Horde has no place in Zandalar.”
I shot him a look, raising an eyebrow. “Thing? Really? I’ve been called worse.” But I stayed quiet. For now.
Talanji wasn’t having it. “Their fate will not be decided by you, General,” she snapped.
He didn’t back down. “Nor you. Your father is displeased dat you have brought dese creatures here. He has ordered me to collect you.”
I shrugged nonchalantly. “Told you we should’ve gone to Orgrimmar,” I said, half teasing but also half serious.
Princess Talanji shook her head, unfazed. “It’s fine. I wanted you to meet my father anyway.”
We hopped onto what I could only describe as a flying bat—a sturdy one, thankfully, since it carried both of us without much trouble. As we soared over Zuldazar, Talanji turned to me, looking slightly concerned but trying to play it off. “Know dis… Father is set in his ways, but he is most observant. I would wager he already knows of your role in freeing me from Stormwind, but he might have seen it as trading one prison for another if I went back with you. Just show respect and let him do the talking.”
Then she added, with a sly grin, “Oh, and Perfectia, please do not fall in love with my father, the king.”
I rolled my eyes. “Ha, ha. Very funny,” I said, but I felt a small blush creep up on my cheeks.
When we landed, I was hit with the grandeur of King Rastakhan’s kingdom. It was breathtaking. Everything screamed tradition and power—the kind of place that held onto its history without crumbling under it. It reminded me of the old Amani Empire near Silvermoon, except this place hadn’t been torn apart by defeat. The walls were gleaming with bright yellow bricks embroidered with golds, blues, and greens that sparkled like sacred gems. The wealth and craftsmanship here weren’t just for show; they were a statement—a warning to enemies and an invitation to allies.
Then there was King Rastakhan himself. Tall, imposing, and dressed in armor that could rival the beauty of his kingdom. He stood like a true king, much taller than any troll I’d seen, even Vol’jin on his best day. Talanji nudged me in the ribs.
“I told you not—”
“I’m not!” I cut her off quickly, though I felt my cheeks flush a bit.
But despite the stunning surroundings, the soldiers were stone-cold, like statues loyal to their king alone. The same troll leader from earlier marched right up to King Rastakhan, looking like he was about to start a war with his words.
“My king, de Horde has come to steal our navy for their undead warchief,” he barked, his tone full of contempt.
I glanced at Talanji, thinking, Well, this is going to be fun.
Princess Talanji gestured toward me, speaking proudly to her father, “This champion defied the might of Stormwind and battled the Lady of the Sea, Jaina Proudmoore, in single combat to save Zul and me. Such bravery merits an audience, Father.”
I gave her a sideways glance, whispering, “You really didn’t have to tell him that…”
She whispered back, “I’m not lying. Besides, he’ll be impressed, trust me.”
Before I could respond, King Rastakhan’s voice boomed through the hall, “Enough!” He began walking toward us, his presence commanding the room.
I quickly curtsied, lowering my head out of respect as he approached. His heavy footsteps echoed, and I felt Princess Talanji give me a gentle shove from behind, urging me to walk alongside her father. I didn’t quite get it at first, but I soon fell into step beside him.
“Jacla Set speaks true,” Rastakhan said, his voice deep and authoritative. “You seek the might of our fleet against the Alliance,” he continued, addressing the situation at hand, “but my daughter is right as well. Rescuing her showed great courage, a trait I admire. Tanaji worries that I do not see our true enemies, and she knows that I am not as blind as she thinks.”
He stopped for a moment, looking out over the hall. “Let us see if the Horde can prove its worth in Zandalar. Let them stay in the Great Seal as my guests, for now.”
From the hallway, Jacla Set yelled in protest, “Only the Zandalari may walk those sacred halls! The law states—”
King Rastakhan interrupted him, his voice sharp, “The law is what I say it is! So long as I am King, the eyes of the kingdom rest upon this new champion. This day, I name you as ‘Speaker.’”
I tilted my head, blinking in confusion. I had no idea what that meant, and I couldn’t quite grasp everything he was saying. So, I mumbled something from my memory. “Arishokost. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun.” It was a Zul’Aman phrase, but I wasn’t entirely sure if it was the right one for this situation.
Rastakhan looked at me, then at Talanji, visibly confused.
Talanji’s expression turned slightly exasperated as she explained, “He says you’re using Zul’Aman slang. My father hasn’t heard that phrasing in a long time, and I didn’t catch that last word either… Arishok?”
“It means ‘tribe leader,’” I explained.
She looked at me, slightly surprised. “You didn’t tell me you knew Troll.”
I nodded, shrugging. “I was raised by the Zul’Aman for a while. I know a few words. Shanedan (greetings formally), Ataash varin kata (In the end lies glory), TAARSIDATH-AN HALSAAM—”
Talanji quickly slapped her hand in front of my face, her eyes wide. “No! No, no, do not say dat in de presence of a king!" She turned to the guards, who were now snickering, including King Rastakhan himself. I must have looked confused until she explained under her breath, "You just said, ‘I will bring myself sexual pleasure later, while thinking about this with great respect.’ You probably thought it meant something else, like 'my allies and brothers in victory,’ didn’t you?”
I blinked, mortified. “Uh… yeah, that’s exactly what I thought it meant.”
She sighed, giving me a stern look. “Just speak Orcish, alright? Most of us can speak Orcish.”
I grinned sheepishly, feeling the embarrassment settle in. “Noted.”
I nodded, “So… should I say something?”
The King, having just finished laughing, wiped away a tear of amusement. “By definition, that’s what a ‘speaker’ should do,” he said, his tone light but then serious. “But know this—what you say and do represents your entire faction as a whole.”
I half-smiled and shook my head. “Well, I should tell—”
“No!” Princess Talanji suddenly yelled, grabbing my hand before I could finish. The touch sent a surge of pain through my blackened, deformed arm. I screamed, unable to contain it.
King Rastakhan’s eyes immediately filled with concern. “Are you okay, champion?”
Princess Talanji glanced at him quickly, trying to play it off. “She’s fine, Father. She’s just…”
But Rastakhan wasn’t buying it. He shook his head, eyes narrowing. “No. What happened to your arm, champion?”
I shook my head, trying to brush it off. “It’s nothing. It was my fault. Something that happened while we were rescuing your daughter.”
King Rastakhan’s gaze shifted back to Talanji, disappointment clear in his voice. “Daughter, why haven’t you tended to this champion’s injuries? Have I not taught you to return kindness with kindness?”
I tried to wave it off again. “No, really, it’s fine. She already tried.”
But Talanji wasn’t having it. She shook her head at me, clearly torn. “Perfectia, don’t. Father, it’s complicated. She has a guardian spirit, similar to how we have Rezan, but… she exploited it. That’s why I can’t heal her with my power.”
Rastakhan looked down at me for several seconds, his expression shifting as if he was sensing something in the air. He took a sudden step back, his gaze rising above me, as if sizing up an invisible presence. His voice lowered, more serious now. “A human stand… uncommon, but not unheard of.”
“A what?” Talanji and I said in unison, equally confused.
He looked down at his daughter. “A Sutando. It’s like a contract made with a spirit… Daughter, you should know this from our history. From when we were once allied with the Old Gods against the Titans.”
Talanji shrugged dismissively. “Dat was twenty-thousand years ago, Father.”
Rastakhan sighed, clearly frustrated by her lack of concern. “It’s the same ting…” His eyes remained fixed above me as he continued backing away cautiously, as if measuring up the invisible force he sensed. He turned his gaze back to me, more wary now.
I sighed, knowing this conversation was going to be tough. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” I met his gaze, standing as firm as I could. “I’m not sure I’m the best representative of the Horde. Princess Talanji told me about your kingdom, but… I’m going to need time to tend to my injuries. Also…” I hesitated, but decided to be honest. “I’m not sure if I want a war with the Alliance. If anything, I’d rather we learn to protect each other. I would never ask you to take your fleet and attack enemies of the Horde—unless it was absolutely necessary.”
King Rastakhan studied me for a moment before shrugging slightly. “War is sometimes inevitable, Perfectia.” His voice carried the weight of a king who had seen many battles, but also the understanding that sometimes conflict couldn’t be avoided.
Princess Talanji rolled her eyes and let out a small sigh. “Yes,” she replied, a little disappointed. “Just make yourself at home and try not to offend anyone. Mages should be arriving soon to set up portals.”
I nodded, offering her a grateful smile. “Thank you for everything.”
She returned the smile but hesitated for a moment before saying, “Thank you, and I’m sorry about your… mate.”
I couldn’t help but suppress a laugh. “It’s fine. I’ll keep trying.”
As I was walking away, she suddenly called out, “Wait!” Her voice was just loud enough to stop me, but not quite a shout. I turned back, raising an eyebrow. “What is it?”
She looked around as if making sure no one was listening, then gestured for me to come closer. “Why is ya behind so big?”
I blinked, wide-eyed and offended. “Seriously!?”
“Look behind you,” she whispered.
I glanced over my shoulder and caught the guards behind me quickly snapping their heads forward, pretending they hadn’t been staring. Talanji leaned in and whispered, “Dey’ve been staring at ya since ya walked in, and you’ve been turning heads everywhere you go.”
I crossed my arms defensively, expecting the usual lecture about how I should dress differently or be more careful—like all those warnings women gave about being attacked in dark alleys. But instead, she asked, “What’s ya secret?”
“Uh…?” I was caught so off guard by her question that I felt I had no choice but to be honest. “I used to be overweight, lost it really fast. A few surgeries and, well, a lot of time at the Darkspear Troll natal spas.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Ahh, I should have guessed from dat fragrance ya have…”
I looked at her, confused. “Fragrance?”
“It be like coconut and someting else, someting sweet. It was pretty strong when we were on de bat ride over here.”
“Oh,” I said, rummaging through my bag. “It’s orange essence, pineapple, jasmine flower, and coconut oil. Works as a sunblock too, and helps prevent stretch marks—if you’re expecting, that is. My friend Harris taught me how to make it.” I pulled out a small bottle and handed it to her. “If you ever head to Outland, she sells more.”
Princess Talanji’s eyes lit up as she took the bottle. “I never had a child, but I heard doze natal spas are quite relaxing. Guess I’ll have ta go more often if I want de sharp curve you have.” She paused for a moment, then asked, “So, you are a mother?”
I shook my head, feeling a sudden weight on my heart. “I lost him five years ago.”
Talanji’s expression softened, her gaze falling to the ground. “Oh… What was his name?”
“Auron,” I answered quickly—the first name that came to mind. I hadn’t thought about it before, but there it was. “He was half-Draenei. You might have seen their kind in the Alliance—the blue-skinned people.”
She looked at me with a mix of sympathy and curiosity. “I’m sorry for your loss, Perfectia.”
I gave a small nod, brushing away the emotions that threatened to rise. “Thank you.”
So, after wandering around aimlessly for a while, I quickly figured out that First Arcanist Thalyssra wasn’t exactly in the mood for conversation. Honestly, I didn’t really want to talk to her either. She did mention needing more mages to set up a portal network before disappearing with her hearthstone, leaving me stuck here until the rest of the Horde decided to show up.
Just when I thought the day couldn’t drag any slower, Nathanos called out behind me. “Dawnlight!” he barked.
I turned around, trying not to roll my eyes too hard. “Yes?”
“The Azerite,” he demanded, because of course he did.
With an exaggerated sigh, I fished into my pocket and handed him the two pieces I had left.
He examined them, then glanced up at me. “I was told you had four. Where are the other two?”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes again. “I smashed one, and I had to throw the other during my fight with Jaina. It’s probably still lying somewhere in Stormwind Port.”
Nathanos raised an eyebrow, looking at me like I’d just confessed to spilling wine on his favorite cape. “You know most people would lie about that. Our queen won’t be thrilled to hear this.”
I just shrugged. It wasn’t like lying was going to help me now.
He sighed, clearly unamused, before his gaze flickered to my arm. “I could put in a good word for you, but that arm of yours seems to have put you out of commission.”
“Yeah,” I nodded, glancing at my bandaged, useless arm. “If I had my sword arm back, I’d be doing random chores or something.”
He paused, eyeing me like he was sizing me up for something. “So… you have some time on your hands, or well, hand.”
I couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Looks that way. Until the mages show up, I guess I’m stuck here for the night.”
Nathanos tilted his head, a sly smile forming. “Do you play chess?”
I blinked, thrown off by the question. “I know the rules.”
“Are you any good?” he asked, studying me with that intense, calculating look of his.
“Not really,” I admitted. “How about you?”
He nodded confidently. “I am. But if you play me—and, by some miracle, beat me—I’ll put in a good word with the Dark Lady.”
I thought about it. There were no witnesses to back up what happened during my fight with Jaina, and I couldn’t prove it, even if I wanted to. That one small piece of Azerite still lying in Stormwind Port was probably in someone else’s hands by now. So, what choice did I have?
“Alright,” I said with a sigh, a hint of a smile creeping in. “I’m game.”
Nathanos smiled slyly as he set up the board once more, the weight of his words hanging between us like an unspoken challenge. His sharp gaze never wavered from mine as I placed my sword on the ground and tried to get comfortable, my arm aching slightly from holding it for so long.
As he meticulously placed each chess piece, I couldn’t help but smirk. “So, what do you usually play for?" he asked, his tone casual, but I knew there was more behind it.
I shrugged. “I’m not really much of a gambler.”
He shook his head, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “That’s just for keeping score.”
Curiosity piqued, I leaned in a little. “What do you play for?”
Without missing a beat, he gestured toward the board, his eyes gleaming with that ever-present intensity. “Win, and I’ll tell you.”
I wasn’t about to back down from that. I moved my King’s pawn to E4, the opening move. Nathanos followed up swiftly, his fingers gliding over the pieces as if they were extensions of his will. Within four brutal moves, I was trapped. “Checkmate,” he said with a hint of satisfaction. “So, how did you manage to seduce the king of Stormwind?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You play for conversation, huh?”
Nathanos leaned back, smirking. “I play for the truth.”
Tilting my head slightly, I couldn’t help but feel intrigued. “You might want to be careful with betting on that. I might ask you something about Sylvanas.”
He shrugged, already setting up the board again. “Then I better make sure you don’t win.”
I placed the white pieces in their starting position, my fingers tracing the edges of the pawns. “We haven’t been intimate,” I stated plainly, watching him for a reaction.
His eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity. “But…”
I cut him off with a grin. “Nope. You have to win again for more.”
The next game began, and I played more cautiously this time, trying to guard against his ruthless openings. I moved my King-side knight to H3, blocking his earlier trick of trapping my King with his Bishop. Nathanos, of course, saw through my defenses almost instantly, capturing my stronger pieces one by one with his relentless pace. The game dragged on longer than the first, but in the end, I was caught between his rooks, my King helpless.
“Checkmate,” he announced again, leaning forward slightly. “Do you use a different fighting style when you’re intoxicated?”
I looked away, pondering that for a moment. “I wish I could tell you. I feel more… focused, balanced, unorthodox when I’m buzzed. But three sheets to the wind? It’s just an illusionary and fleeting sense of wellbeing.” I paused, struggling to recall details. “That didn’t really count, so you can ask another question.”
Nathanos’s expression hardened, and he didn’t hold back with his next words. “Maybe if you focused more on fighting and spent less time trying to be funny, you would have killed Jaina and not been injured.”
The truth of his words stung, and for a moment, I had nothing to say. He was right. I’d spent so long covering my vulnerabilities with humor, but when it came down to it, that didn’t save me from Jaina’s ice or the consequences of my actions. I sighed and glanced at my injured arm. “You’re not wrong.”
Nathanos leaned back, watching me with that same calculating gaze. “I know.”
I shrugged slightly and nodded my head, “I guess the booze turns everything off.”
Nathanos chuckled, “From what Thalyssra told me, maybe I should have handed you a bottle of bourbon before sending you on assignment.”
I smirked, shaking my head. “If you had, I’d probably have killed my allies, too. Wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.”
He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Maybe. So, how did you manage to steal the king’s heart?”
I smiled, memories flooding back. It was almost embarrassing to admit. “Poetry… I think? And maybe everything else… my personality?” I shrugged, just as confused as Nathanos about how any of this had come to be. “I gave him a love poem, and he wanted to meet me.”
Nathanos’s eyes gleamed with curiosity. “Interesting. Have you ever written a poem about our queen?”
I looked at him, then away, suppressing a smile. “I guess you’ll have to beat me to find out.”
He grinned and shook his head. “Your face just gave it away. I’ll give you a two-turn advantage. If I win, you’ll read it to me or hand it over.”
I shrugged, glancing down. “It’s not flattering. Honestly, I’d imagine she’d be furious if she ever read what I wrote.”
Nathanos raised an eyebrow, his tone teasing but serious. “If it’s offensive or idiotic, I won’t breathe a word to anyone, but I might stop playing with you. But considering you managed to steal a king’s heart with your poetry, I doubt it’s bad.”
I gave a small nod, appreciating his words. “Thank you for your confidence, Nathanos.”
We set up the pieces again, and this time I took my two-turn advantage, moving my King’s pawn to E4 and then the King’s Knight to H3. I wasn’t going to lose easily this time. I played carefully, making sure every move had a purpose. I was on the lookout for his traps, slowly picking off his stronger pieces with my pawns, creating chain reactions. I even managed to take his queen early, though in a careless move, he later took mine.
The game dragged on longer than before, with me planning to capture his king using two rooks. But I wasn’t paying attention to the pawns, and my over-focus on setting up my rooks left my side of the board open. Nathanos advanced a pawn to my side, reclaiming his queen. He laughed, mid-game. “Just like you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“You moved into enemy territory and became a queen,” Nathanos explained.
I shook my head and shrugged. “I’m not a queen. If I was, I’d probably be your enemy.”
He smiled, his gaze sharp. “Still, you fought his queen. Not literally, but you’re both powerful. I didn’t see what happened up there, but I heard it, and it sounded like a battle between two powerful queens. Everyone knows how formidable Jaina Proudmoore is, but you—” he gestured to me with a slight nod, “—you became that powerful recently. You were just an adventurer, a pawn. Then you did what no one else dared: you moved into enemy territory, motivated by love for a king on the opposing side. You became powerful. Powerful enough to go toe to toe with one of the most feared individuals on Azeroth.”
I paused, the weight of his words settling in. Nathanos had a way of making things sound… epic, but also brutally honest. Maybe he was right. In a way, I had transformed, just like that pawn on the board, crossing into enemy lines to become something greater, something I hadn’t quite realized myself.
“Well, when you put it like that…” I smirked, pushing my hair behind my ear. “Guess I’ll have to play better next time, huh?”
Nathanos’s smile lingered. “We’ll see if you can avoid checkmate, queen."
Nathanos smiled faintly, “I’ve always been strong Nathanos, I’m just an indecisive oxygen thief that’s too whimsical to do anything noteworthy. I don’t think I’ve ever truly focused on anything. Besides, I still got hurt.”
Nathanos chuckled, "So did she. Self-deprecating humor doesn’t suit you, Perfectia. It just sounds like an excuse to be lazy.”
I clenched my fists under the table—why does he always have to be right!? I agreed with him… again.
“I could smell the blood on her, and she was limping. We could have finished her off at the port,” Nathanos continued. “But she’d have likely killed you with the look she gave. Zul’s plan had a higher survival rate." He looked down at the board and moved his queen piece. “I think this game is over, don’t you? Remember, don’t sacrifice your queen unless you’re sure the pawns will make it across.”
I nodded, giving a half-smile. “I guess I owe you a poem.”
Nathanos leaned back, crossing his arms, clearly satisfied.
I pulled my journal from my bag, unlocked it, and flipped to the page. “I can’t promise you won’t be offended.”
Nathanos nodded, completely unbothered. “It’s fine.”
I took a deep breath and started to read:
“Plague, plague, endless plague
Friends and foes are left as vague
Wake, wake, from the grave
Rise to set the world aflame
Night, night, endless night
Terror is her only light
Plague, plague, left unclaimed
Death has come, and she’s to blame
Rage, rage, left untamed
Darkness comes from this old bane
Death, death, what she brings
Like the angel of Light, she sings
Run, run, she has come
Curse the grave where she is from
Lies, lies, she despise
Resurrecting undead lives.”
I glanced up, and to my surprise, Nathanos was grinning ear to ear.
“I’ve never seen you smile like that,” I said, genuinely confused.
Nathanos chuckled. “I haven’t been this impressed in a while. You almost sang it.”
I shrugged. “Didn’t mean to.”
“It’s not flattering, but it’s accurate. Dark, but beautiful, like her,” Nathanos mused, his expression softening as if recalling a memory. “The kind of chant that would strike fear into our enemies as we march, and scare the Stormwind children as we invade their cities. May I have it?”
I looked away, torn about handing it over. “If you put in a good word with the Warchief… but also, there’s one more thing.”
Nathanos waited, arms still crossed, his gaze sharp.
“Promise me,” I said, meeting his eyes, “you won’t kill Anduin unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
Nathanos’s expression hardened. He was about to take the poem but withdrew his hand, crossing his arms more tightly. “I won’t disobey my queen.”
“I’m not asking you to disobey her,” I replied, keeping my voice steady. “Just… if she gives that order, give him five or ten seconds—a moment of hesitation. Ask yourself if it’s necessary. There’s a reason you have to say ‘check’ in chess when you threaten the king. If you were to just take the king without warning, someone else would take that throne, right?”
Nathanos studied me quietly. “And you think hesitation could force his hand?”
I nodded. “And the Horde gets what we want without turning the battlefield into a bloodbath.”
Nathanos rolled his eyes but smiled slightly. “You do realize our Warchief likely wants to turn every human into the undead, right?”
I chuckled. “Nathanos, I’m an elf. You know that, right?”
He nodded. “Hard to miss. Your point?”
Nathanos leaned back, arms crossed, a thoughtful expression crossing his face as I finished my point. “Humans are finally ascending, and yeah, right now it looks grotesque, but with eternity… people change. Perceptions change. When trolls saw us elves for the first time—standing upright, no tusks, more fingers—it probably looked like a hideous mutation to them. An abomination. But we built something. We had time, and that time gave us the space to craft, to create, to perfect.”
He nodded, glancing away as I spoke, but I could tell my words were sinking in.
“And humans… I can see the same thing happening. Maybe they don’t have eternity, but they’re trying. When I was a child, I saw artisans take weeks, even months, to carve a single ship. One wrong stroke, one bad brush of paint, and they’d start all over. We had the luxury of time. We could afford perfection—whether it was in dance, writing, or swordplay. Mortal races don’t have that kind of time, and they rush, trying to do as much as they can with what little they have. But I know that feeling too. I’m 24, and I shouldn’t look like this. I shouldn’t have reached adulthood until I was in my 30s, but here I am… already grown."
Nathanos gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Most human women get there around that age too, you know.”
I smiled, but it was more out of frustration than anything. “It bothers you, though, doesn’t it? Not being able to… procreate.”
He sighed, his expression hardening. “It does. I can still… do it,” he said with a smirk, “and it’s still pleasurable. But that drive, that hunger—it’s not there anymore. Not like it was when I was alive.”
I laughed lightly. “Ever wonder why Tyrande and Malfurion, two of the oldest elves in Azeroth, never had children?”
Nathanos shrugged, raising an eyebrow. “Can’t say I’ve thought about it, but now that you mention it… does raise some questions. Maybe they do have kids, just none we know of.”
“Maybe,” I mused. “But give it a few millennia, and I’m sure even the undead will figure something out.”
Nathanos crossed his arms, his tone taking on a more serious note. “I’ve already told Sylvanas I won’t kill children. Nor will I let her or any of the Horde do it.”
His words stopped me cold. I glanced at him sharply, anger stirring in my chest. “You know there were children in Teldrassil.”
“I know,” he said quietly, his gaze darkening. “I told her after you left. She agreed… but warned me to be prepared for the time when the Alliance gets desperate.”
I scoffed, shaking my head. “If the Alliance ever starts using children in battle, they deserve no pity. No mercy.”
Nathanos raised his eyebrows slightly. “But they already have…”
I looked at Nathanos, utterly confused, my mind whirling. "Anduin… remember. He was crowned king when he was what, six? The Alliance isn’t using children as cannon fodder, but they put a massive bullseye on a child’s back after losing so many royals to kidnappings and assassinations. They’ve been playing a dangerous game, using their moral high ground as a tool.”
The thought twisted my stomach. Anduin, who should’ve been free of this nightmare, turned into a weapon by the very people he fought to protect. “The Alliance… they stayed afloat by weaponizing our sense of morality against us.”
Nathanos nodded, his expression darkening with anger. “It seems that way. And now, Sylvanas plans to have the surrendered Night Elves drink Arc-wine. She’s not after complete genocide, but you can’t breathe a word of it. Fear—she needs that, even from her allies.”
I raised an eyebrow at him, confused. “Then why are you telling me?”
Nathanos looked at me intently. “Because I couldn’t figure out why she didn’t kill you when she found out about you and Anduin. Why did she believe your claim about turning him into an undead? She respects you, Perfectia. You’re not known for lying, and somehow, she trusts that."