Chapter One
The sky over Suramar burned with felfire, a hideous bright green churning with the deep pink hues of night fall. Far ahead, the city’s dome towers lit up with the distant booms of fel and arcane explosions. Thalyssra and her Nightborne resistance, aided by the Alliance the Horde had already broken through into the Grand Promenade.
For Lieutenant Vyra Stormsong the burning legion was an enemy her people were all too familiar with. Though she wasn’t alive during the first attack she was indeed for the second. The demons wrought havoc across Mount Hyjal when she was little more than a low-ranking scout in the Sentinel army.
Breathless, heart pounding, the twisted trees of Suramar rushed by, wind whipping at her long silver braid as the rhythmic beats of the nightsaber’s paws against the ground drummed through her. Vyra never felt more free than when she rode on saberback. Every ride brought her back to her days as a huntress in Ashenvale during the great Cataclysm. Most of her time then was spent repelling attacks from the Naga and Twilight’s Hammer.
Her sister sentinels, nine in all, charged behind, the lithe strides of their sabers pattering against the hard packed dirt road. Clad in scarred silver and violet armor, reins gripped tight in their hands, cloaks bearing the moon and glaive snapped behind them. Among the unit rode two of her oldest friends. Maelyn’s lips curved into that sly grin, her short fiery hair tied back into that half ponytail she always wore. Nadyea, on the other hand, betrayed no hint of emotion with her lips pressed together, eyes narrowed, lilac braids tucked behind her long ears. Most of them had been part of her unit since the alliance began its campaign here. The newest members, Scout Illyssa and Sentinel Faelyn joined just before their deployment to Suramar.
They’d been fighting the legion all over the Broken Isles, but it seemed now the confrontation with Gul’dan finally came to a head. Last reports revealed he was up in the Nighthold palace doing goddess knows what with that Nightwell. The mission her unit received from Shandris Feathermoon was straightforward. Rendezvous with Captain Selara at the checkpoint then make for the main gate of Suramar City to rejoin with the alliance.
Vyra spotted the crumbled walls of the ruined plaza ahead, she thrust her fingers against the corners of her mouth, whistling out like an owl. The mimicked “Skreeeee!” signaled the nightsabers to slow their strides to a stalk. They veered off the road descending through a thick tangle of trees until they reached the forest’s edge where they dismounted.
Vyra raised two fingers up, for silence and then twirled the pointer finger on her other hand to signify to follow. They crossed into the ruined plaza, glaives and bows drawn, checking flanks, as they crossed into a building, crushed in half by a fallen column. They reached the center, gathering in a circle. Nadyea kept an arrow notched as she peered out each window for enemies.
Vyra raised one finger.
“Thank the goddess I can speak again,” Maelyn breathed out. “Where’s Selara?”
Vyra glanced around the ruined house “I don’t know. Something must have happened, look for the sign.” It wasn’t like the Captain to miss a rendezvous. In fact, Vyra couldn’t recall a time that had ever happened. Selara had trained she, Maelyn, and Nadyea from basic scouts all the way through to their sentinel trials. The Captain was well known and respected throughout the army. If she wasn’t there, it was for a damn good reason. Protocol was to carve signs in a not-so-obvious place, crescent moon for enemies, halfmoon for injuries.
The sentinels fanned out, keeping a low profile, checking every corner and crevice. There were several empty book shelves and chests against the walls, long since picked clean. Vyra scanned over the worn ceiling, finding only cracked stone and spiderwebs. The sheer amount of ruins in Suramar disappointed her, but she could only imagine the beauty they once held. As one of the much younger night elves, at only a whopping 172 years of age, she wasn’t there thousands of years ago to see its magnificence firsthand.
After several minutes of failure, Nadyea whistled low, drawing their attention. Vyra met her by the back door, rubbing her fingers over a crescent and half moon carved by the door frame.
Great. Of course nothing went according to plan.
“Do you think Cap is injured?” Nadyea’s forehead creased.
Vyra forced a smile for her, “I’m sure she’s fine. Stay focused, Sentinel.” It was her duty to keep the morale up for her warriors, even if she had her own doubts. Nadyea responded with a quick nod, then went back to peeking out the windows.
“What do we do now?” Maelyn cut in. “Is there another rendezvous?”
“Yeah…about that,” Vyra bit her bottom lip. “There is no second location. We were supposed to meet here then go to the gate.”
Maelyn’s eyes snapped open, “What?! How could you lead us out here without a backup plan!”
“It wasn’t my fault!” Vyra bit back.
“Yeh huh.”
“Shut up, Mae or I’ll smack you into Elune’s arms, I swear!”
Maelyn clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the laugh.
Vyra cringed when she saw the incredulous looks on the other sentinel’s faces. Some of their newer sisters like Ilyssa and Faelyn weren’t used to their banter yet. She cleared her throat, “We need to keep moving, back to the sabers. Eyes sharp.”
Before they could leave, the sharp crack of a spell broke through the quiet, followed by someone’s frantic cries, growling louder and louder. Vyra raised up a fist, snapping her fingers open, the sentinels drew weapons, covering every open door and window. A lone human emerged from the shadows of the central square running, flinging small bright orange firebolts behind him. He ducked behind a broken column, robes singed, staff spired with a red jewel. He cast a giant fireball, launching it into a felguard, the boom from the impact shook the ground as the flames engulfed the demon. The mage noticed them before they could duck back down.
“Ladies, I could use a little help here!”
Vyra wondered what happened to the enemies the signs spoke of, maybe these were it. And somehow a human mage was involved? “Cover us from the roof, Ilyssa!”
The newly appointed scout returned a nod. She leapt atop the column and flipped up through the gash in the roof, her midnight-blue braids whipping up as she rose.
Vyra raised a hand, chopping it down in the human’s direction. Just as they rushed out, a pack of imps rampaged through, slinging fire bolts of their own. Three of them fell dead in quick succession from Illyssa’s arrows. Vyra and the rest of her sentinels dodged effortlessly through the rest of the bolts, making it behind cover. One of the imps teleported on to the mage’s arm biting him. He let out a high pitch yelp before smashing it into the column.
“Well met!” he called out. “I didn’t expect to see any more of your kind out here!”
“Less talking, more shooting,” Nadyea loosed an arrow, taking an imp in the eye.
The human laughed at that, “Archmage Modera used to tell me the same thing.”
Vyra charged, glaive flashing, cutting through a felguard’s shoulder. The rest of the Sentinels joined in, blades and arrows cutting through the remaining demons. One by one each imp fell from the sentinel’s arrows. Maelyn vaulted over one of the felguards, slicing its head with her glaive. The mage muttered another spell, sending a burst of frost, freezing the last felguard solid. Vyra planted her boot into it, watching the ugly sculpture shatter into a thousand pieces.
Silence fell around them once more.
The mage straightened his robes, brushing dust from his sleeve. He grinned at Vyra, twirled his hand and took a bow. “Thorwyn of Dalaran, master of the elemental arts, at your service.”
Vyra eyed him up and down. He had a rather kept and clean look for someone in a warzone. “Why are you out here alone?”
“Not by accident, I can assure you,” Thorwyn replied. “Khadgar sent me, well, us–a contingent of mages to aid the resistance. We were supposed to reinforce this quarter.”
“You mentioned seeing other sentinels here. Did you meet a Captain named Selara? She would have been travelling with nine other sentinels.” Maybe the other mages had assisted the Captain, helping them reach the gate or at least providing some kind of aid to their injured.
Thorwyn gestured to the streets, charred and still smoking from the previous assault. “I met them briefly. Unfortunately, a rather large Abyssal took a liking to this area. I was separated from my colleagues after we got hit. I assume the same reason why your night elf friends moved on. The wicked thing knocked me out cold into a ditch. Woke up to a horde of demons ready to cook me alive…thank you for helping me deal with them by the way.”
Vyra looked over the demons around them. “It is our pleasure to serve the alliance, especially a mage. You fought well here.”
He grinned. “Flattery from a night elf, I’ll gladly accept it. Mind if I tag along until I find my friends? They should be around here somewhere.”
“Can’t you just open a portal for us?” Vyra disliked the use of mage portals. They always left her dizzy with a sick pain in her stomach. But if it could get them to the Captain faster she would put up with the nausea.
Thorwyn grimaced, “Unfortunately, this is my first time in Suramar, I’m not aware of any anchor points or attunements.”
Vyra eyed him up and down. “Very well, you can ride with me, then.”
Thorwyn was apprehensive about riding a saber, but with a few words of encouragement from her and some snickering from her sisters, he got over it, jumping behind her in the saddle. They moved on together through the rest of the ruins, warped and burned by fel fire. Withered bodies lay scattered, and some were stacked onto a pile. It appeared someone had tried to clean up the carnage.
Their nightsaber’s moved like shadows, speeding up and slowing down when needed. Thorwyn whispered complaints the entire time about how depressing and dreary everything looked. They came upon the remnants of a fallen horde wyvern, its rider missing. “The poor thing,” Thorwyn pointed out. “Should we bury it?”
Vyra made the gesture of a mouth closing with her hand. “No,” she whispered. “And keep quiet.”
They arrived at a crater filled with demon and nightborne bodies, covered in ash, some still smoldering. Vyra gave the hand signal for them to go around. They crossed over into the midst of an abandoned alliance camp that had been set up on the remnants of a ruin’s foundation. Half broken columns still rose up like old fingers in certain spots.
“Ah, a place to rest our heads. I’ll summon us some cinnamon rolls.” Thorwyn dismounted and began weaving a spell in front of him until he stopped suddenly.
The air around them trembled, dust and rocks kicked up from the ground.
A deep rumble rolled beneath them, shaking the stones. “Something big,” Maelyn said.
The dirt road on the other side of the encampment split open. From it rose a fel abyssal, molten cracks glowing between plates of black stone. Trails of green fire followed every step it took. The first one Vyra saw was only a month ago, from a distance, when they were fighting to secure a ruin in Azsuna. They were much more imposing up close.
“Oh look, he’s back and angrier than ever,” Thowyn drew the staff from his back and planted it into the ground.
“Can you slow it?” Vyra asked, eyes fixed on the monstrosity.
“Slowing demons is my specialty, when I’m not unconscious of course.”
He whispered a spell, frost exploded outward in a wave. “Mind the ice, ladies!” The ground froze, ice spreading across the rubble until it reached the abyssal’s feet. The creature roared, swinging an arm, but its movement was clumsy. Its limbs dragged under the growing frost.
“Now!” Vyra shouted.
The Sentinels struck. Arrows whistled, shattering through glowing cracks in the demon’s chest. Vyra’s glaive sliced low, cutting into one of its molten arms. Maelyn and Valena, went for the legs, hacking at the joints until sparks and smoke burst forth. Faelyn vaulted atop its head, stood on its shoulder and stabbed it in the face. Nadyea filled its eyes with arrows, the rest of the sentinels firing their bows with similar precision.
“You all might not want to stand inside of this one,” Thorwyn yelled.
“Sentinels retreat!” They disengaged, moving back behind a column near the mage.
Thorwyn lifted his staff, calling down a blizzard. Ice and hail crashed against the abyssal’s body. The temperature dropped around the demon in mere seconds, dissolving the fel-flames and freezing half its body.
This was her first time fighting alongside a mage of any race, the stories of the power they wielded fell in comparison to witnessing the devastation of it firsthand.
The abyssal struggled, breaking off chunks of its own frozen body, roaring in fury. Vyra and her sentinels re-engaged. She darted under its reach, her glaive piercing deep into its core, sending smoke pouring out. Maelyn struck from the other side, opening a fissure that split the creature’s chest. Its arm swung wide catching Nadyea in the stomach as she tried engaging with glaive instead of bow.
Thorwyn flung a giant spike of ice into the demon’s head, shattering half of its face, with the sound of breaking glass. “Finish it!” he yelled, his voice hoarse.
Vyra leapt, driving her glaive straight down through the glowing wound. The abyssal let out a shriek like grinding metal, bursting apart in a shower of molten rock.
For a long moment, only their breathing filled the silence. Ilyssa took a knee, hand over her chest, breathing in and out slowly. Vyra rushed over to check on Nadyea who’d just managed to sit up. She had a few scrapes on the side of her face, but otherwise appeared alright.
Thorwyn leaned against the half-collapsed column, panting. “Revenge at last. Brilliant.”
Maelyn smirked. “Not bad for a human.”
“Your compliment is appreciated," Thorwyn said.
Vyra gave him a curt nod. “I’m legitimately impressed, mage.” She began to wonder how much trouble they would have had if Thorwyn wasn’t with them, but she shoved the thought aside.
“And you, Vyra. I’ll tell you what, this battle is for sure going into my autobiography.”
Nadyea stared at him, still favoring her chest from where the abyssal struck. “Of course you’re writing about yourself… mages.”
They pressed southward through another set of broken avenues, stopping only when they came upon a stream to let the nightsabers drink. Not long after, Thorwyn pointed ahead. Through the smoke of a burned out goblin tank, shimmered the violet glow of arcane wards. A cluster of robed figures moved behind the barrier.
“My people,” Thorwyn said, letting out a nice long sigh. “They made it.”
Vyra dismounted with him and gave him a respectful nod. “So, this is farewell then.”
He hesitated. “It appears so, what will you do?”
“We’ve orders to meet our sisters at the main gate,” she said. And hopefully find all of them in one piece.
Thorwyn smiled faintly. “Ishnu-alah, Vyra and to your Sentinels. Perhaps if we all survive this, we’ll see each other again.”
“I’ll look forward to it, Elune-adore.” Truthfully she did hope to see him again, but Vyra was under no illusions about how quickly hope could turn to despair. Especially in the world called Azeroth.
With that said, Thorwyn of Dalaran took a final bow and departed.
Vyra turned back to her sisters. “Thirty minutes then we move out. We’re close.”
Nadyea dug a hole and built a fire, keeping it as low as possible. They gathered around the radiating warmth, dried sticks crackling and popping within the flames. Maelyn distributed the rations of dried berries and boar jerky. After all the fighting, Vyra devoured all of the sweet fruit and spiced meat, washing it down with a cool swig of water from her skin, politely covering her mouth when the inevitable belch came.
Vyra volunteered to keep watch while her sisters rested, so she grabbed up her weapons and stalked silently around the camp’s perimeter. Stopping every now and then if she heard a noise that clearly wasn’t from an animal. She’d spent so much of her life in the wilderness, she could immediately tell the type of animal whether it be from land or air.
Maelyn only took fifteen minutes for herself before joining her. “Hey V, sorry about giving you a hard time earlier.”
Vyra laughed, forcing it under her breath, “You’ve always given me a hard time. Nothing new there.” She paused for a moment, her mouth stretching into another smile, ‘You remember when I first learned how to start a fire?”
The memory made her sister facepalm, her grin widened, “You set an entire dead tree aflame, almost starting a forest fire. You remember the look on Tyrande’s face?”
Vyra recalled perfectly, the high priestess of Elune had calmly but very firmly told her mother she couldn’t be left unsupervised in the forests until learning proper kindling technique. She even remembered the last words from Tyrande to her mother, “Get this under control. I don’t wish for Malfurion to awaken to the entirety of Mount Hyjal burning down.”
She and Maelyn both shared a laugh from that memory. Nadyea soon joined them, tossing her hands on their shoulders, reminding them about the “owl incident”, invoking another round of chuckles. Vyra lived for these moments, just the three of them again, bringing her back to that lost innocence. As children they could never be separated, her mother even going so far as to call them ‘attached at the hip’. But that was over a century and a half ago, before the burning legion attacked for the second time, bringing the idea of Mount Hyjal burning to fruition. The demons scorched their homes and every sacred place that meant the world to their people.
Everything changed after that. The three of them packed everything they had left and left for Teldrassil. Maelyn and Vyra’s parents moved as well, trying to start a new life.
Nadyea had lost her entire family. Years later, if not for a last minute intervention from Vyra and Maelyn, she would have joined with Illidan when he departed for Outland.
~~
After packing up, Vyra snuffed out the fire with a kick of dirt. Their journey continued on the main road toward Suramar city. The sun was finally descending, distant explosions rocked the air and ground from beyond the city’s walls.The city’s main gate came into view or what was left of it. The great arch that once guarded the way to the Grand Promenade had half-collapsed in on itself.
The wide road leading to the gate lay choked with rubble and corpses, demons, orcs, trolls, and humans. Two Draenei warriors and an undead priest were dragging the bodies, organizing them by race. They stopped to look at Vyra and her sentinels for a moment before continuing with their work. They eventually came up on shattered statues of an ancient nightborne that had been used as cover during previous skirmishes. What appeared to be two blood elves tried to take cover behind one of them, but were incinerated by something. Their ashen forms petrified in the same position.
Vyra raised her hand. “Hold.”
Movement flickered in the haze down the road, not demons this time, but humanoid.
“Alliance colors,” Maelyn whispered.
Vyra gave a short nod. “Keep your weapons ready.”
As they drew closer, the faint glow of armor and steel caught her attention. A ragtag looking group of Alliance emerged from the smoke. A human paladin in scorched golden armor overlaid with a Silver Hand tabard, a stocky dwarf hunter at his side carrying a rifle, and three weary looking warriors in full silver plate, trailing behind. All three knights wore the blue and gold tabard of Stormwind.
The paladin raised his hand in greeting. “More sentinels?” His voice was rough but steady. “By the Light, I didn’t think any of you were left out here.”
Vyra stepped forward, her glaive lowered. “Vyra Stormsong, I lead this unit. Who leads you?”
“Ser Gregorn from Lights Hope Chapel,” the paladin said. “What’s left of my command. The three Stormwind knights were randoms that we picked up along the way. This is Grannik of Kharanos,” He gestured to the dwarf, who gave a curt nod.
“Aye,” Grannik grunted. “What in the name o’ Magni’s beard happened to you lot?”
“The Legion happened,” Vyra said. “We’re looking for another Sentinel unit, led by Captain Selara. Have you seen them?” Her pulse quickened behind her ears, heart revving in the hope there would be good news.
Gregorn’s face hardened. He looked toward the broken towers near the gate before answering. “We passed their banner not long ago. Eastern side of the main gate.”
Vyra’s grip tightened on her glaive. “And?”
“They didn’t make it,” Gregorn said, jaw clenching. “We cut down what was left of the demons there, but your sisters… they’d already fallen.”
Vyra’s heart sank, her lunch ready to make its way back up. She swallowed, taking in a deep breath. There was a time not too long ago when she imagined how she’d feel in this moment, but the reality was something else entirely. Silence followed, except for Nadyea cursing under her breath. Maelyn’s normal care-free smile turned into a frown.
“Captain Selara, are you certain?” Deep down, Vyra already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from him.
Gregorn shook his head. “I’m sorry. They fought like hell from the looks of it. We found what was left of them near the wall. We moved their bodies together and wrapped them in blankets. It was all we could do, we had no Night Elves with us to perform your rites. I said a small prayer for them to the light. I hope that suffices.”
Vyra could only manage a slight nod. “Thank you, Ser.”
The paladin bowed his head. “We’re regrouping to the North in Shal’Aran. You’re welcome of course to join us, but if you intend on continuing south you should know what is ahead of you. A detachment of nightborne rebels are holding the gate. The Alliance and Horde forces have already pushed through the Grand Promenade. A rider informed us not too long ago that they were making a push for the Nighthold palace. I’d caution you, the area between here and the gate is still not that secure. Watch yourselves.”
Grannik spat into the dirt. “If ye see any more o’ those bloody demons, tell ’em Grannik sends his regards.”
Vyra almost smiled at that. Almost. “I will.”
Ser Gregorn called down the light to heal their injuries before leading his group on. They disappeared down the road shortly after that.
The Sentinels advanced toward the gate in silence. The air was heavy, thicker, darker — every breath carried the stench of either flesh burning or decay.They passed over to the eastern side of the road close to the city wall. Then they saw them.
The fallen Sentinels lay together, organized in two rows of five. Captain Selara’s banner was half-buried in the dirt, its silver crescent soaked dark. Passed them, they glimpsed fallen glaives and bows amidst demon corpses. Two felguards were frozen into ash, probably from the work of Ser Gregorn.
Vyra knelt beside one of the fallen, whose cloak had been draped over her body. Maleyn and Nadyea knelt down beside her, the rest of the sentinels standing watch. Vyra brushed the moon and glaive emblem on the Captain’s cloak. “Selara,” she said softly. “They fought to the last.” She bowed her head. “We were too late.”
Maelyn laid her hand on her shoulder, “Don’t do this to yourself, Vyra. We got here as fast as we could. They are in Elune’s hands now.”
“I know,” Vyra began. “It’s just… Selara was the one that put my mother’s glaive in my hand after she died.” She wanted to rage, to cut down every single demon that could be found. Her life had become one with the sentinel army, her friends, dreams, ambitions all converged into one place and she was slowly losing everyone she cared about.
Before another word could be spoken, a shadow swept over them. Then another and another.
From the haze above, wings unfolded, vast and black. Doomguards descended in a roar of flame, landing so hard the ground cracked beneath them. Their blades pulsed with fel, but it was their eyes that caught Vyra’s attention. Pure hatred burned within them.
Maelyn’s voice shook. “V…”
Vyra stepped forward, raising her glaive. “I see them.”
I’ve led my sisters into an ambush. How could she have been so stupid? She was so caught up with finding the Captain, all caution had been abandoned even after Ser Gregorn had warned her.
One of the horned demons smiled, a slow, guttural sound grinding out from a mouth of sharpened teeth. “More little night elves come to feed us.”
Vyra whistled, she and her sentinels met them. She ducked mid-swing, her glaive clashing with the first one’s blade in a burst of sparks. Maelyn flanked, cutting at his leg. He knocked her aside with one backhand. Vyra rolled under his next strike and cut deep into his ribs.
Nadyea, Ilyssa, and Faelyn engaged the second doomguard while Valena and the others began filling the third with arrows.
Vyra leapt forward to attack again, but he deflected her glaive and shoulder-checked her into the ground. Maelyn rushed in again, blades flashing, but she danced too close. The demon dodged sideways out of her attack, impaling its claws through her chest. The monster laughed, slinging her body away as if she were nothing.
“Maelyn!” Vyra crawled to her sister’s side, pulling her close, blood slowly pooling beneath her.
“V…I can’t–,” Maelyn choked out.
“Shut up, don’t talk!” Vyra tore off her cloak, wrapped it up and pressed down onto her sister’s chest with all the strength she had left. “I’ve got you. Everything’s going to be–”
Maelyn’s eyes looked up, unblinking. “Mae, wake up!” Vyra jostled her sister’s body, but it was no use. She pulled her closer, burying her head to hers then kissed her forehead. “Elune-adore. Rest now.” She closed Maelyn’s eyes as her hand slipped away.
It was as if time had slowed. Vyra looked over, Faelyn and Ilyssa lay on the ground, eyes blank. A Doomguard lifted Valena up by her throat, impaling her with a felsword, as she cried out. Nadyea jumped onto the back of the third, jamming her glaive into his jugular. He reached up, grabbing her by the head and snapped her neck.
No…this can’t be how it ends for us.
Vyra didn’t want to believe what she was seeing, numbness wrenched through her as she rose, slow and steady. The doomguard that had slain Maelyn turned, facing her, a wet choking laugh rolling out between jagged teeth.
She lunged, the fury in her war cry blotting out all other sound, as she drove her glaive upward into the seam in his armor. The blade tore through flesh and bone finding his heart. The demon roared, but not before a sharp biting pain ripped through her chest. Vyra glanced down, the demon’s sword plunged through her.
Vyra fell with him, a sharp sting tearing through her chest as she rolled off the blade. She lay convulsing, eyes turned toward the sky, the taste of metal filling her mouth. Twisted ribbons of green clouds coiled through the stars.
She heard the stomping of feet suddenly, the vibrations in the ground pulsing under her head. A warrior in black armor, eyes smoldering glacial blue, charged past her. They brought down a greatsword, humming with runes along the blade, splitting the second Doomguard’s head in half with a crunch and twang of steel. More in the same dark armor arrived, chilling battle shouts thundered through the darkening sky as they swarmed the third like ants on a carcass, their runed blades falling into its flesh with deadly precision.
Vyra struggled to turn her head, gazing up to another knight towering on a skeletal horse. He wore a helmet, the mask crudely forged into a skull, his fingers brushing over a polished lute. His voice, soft and melancholic, cut like ice over her as he plucked the strings to chilling notes:
“She fled from the dark, her lantern almost out,
The wind swallowed every word she tried to shout.
The demon’s hunger trailed her every breath,
Alas the moon could not save the night elf from death.”
Was he seriously singing about them dying while she lay bleeding out? Who was this callous a**hole of a knight?
A voice shouted from her left. “Cut it out with that damn noise!” The speaker carried the deep guttural tones of an orc, though his voice harbored the same resonance under each word as the singer. “Or I’ll knock the head off your shoulders!”
“You wound me, Ser Vargrim.” The singing knight placed a gauntlet over his heart. “You don’t love the beautiful ballad I’ve just composed here on this bloody night?”
The orc moved into Vyra’s sight, boots hammering into the mud as he stormed up to the singing knight’s horse, a huge skull forged onto his shoulderguard. His pale green arms, ripped with muscle, lifted a greataxe dripping with demon blood, crimson runes enkindled along the blades. “I don’t like listening to soft sh**!”
The singer tipped his head back, howling with laughter.
A voice with a similar icy rasp resounded over them. “That’s enough out of you two!” The knight who gave the order trotted up, riding a pale horse covered in dark armor, with massive horns twisting out from its head. Twin swords carved with the same eerily glowing runes rested across his back. His helmet bore the shape of a horned human skull. “Are all of the elves dead, Vargrim?”
The orc looked around, settling on Vyra at last, pointing a gauntleted finger at her. “This one still has some light in her eyes, Highlord, but she’s good as gone.”
Vyra’s pulse faded behind her ears, the tingling in her limbs growing numb as the rest of the knights huddled around. A symphony of fiery blue irises glared down upon her as the darkness breached the corners of her vision, swallowing everything. Not exactly the last image Vyra thought she would see before she died. People always said your entire life would flash before your eyes in the final moments. Instead she was surrounded by the most apathetic ragtag group of knights she’d ever seen.
“You want us to salvage any of ‘em, my Lord?” Vargrim asked.
“Bring the one with the silver braid and the red-head over there.”
The one with the silver braid. Vyra tried to laugh, but it came out a wet choking sound. The great legacy of Lieutenant Vyra Stormsong.
The last thing she saw was the chilling gaze of their Highlord transfixed upon her.
Drowned in pitch black, heart barely beating, Vyra’s thoughts turned to her mother, wondering if she witnessed the same massacre of her own sisters before she fell in Icecrown. It had always been her dream to meet her mother as an equal, sentinel to sentinel. Final proof that she had lived up to the expectations set forth by her parents when she was just a child. However, that dream died when her mother marched to Northrend, never to return.
Vyra dying now was just the final nail in a long history of coffins she’d nailed shut. Her dreams of becoming a priestess, joining the Explorer’s League, finding love…becoming a mother. She had thrown every wish and dream away all to make her parents proud. Worst of all, in the end, she failed them, the sentinels who put their trust in her, the Captain, Maelyn, Nadyea, Shandris, Tyrande, all of them.
She was going to die in the image everyone expected, instead of who she really wanted to be. And yet, even after that realization, she still felt like a damn disappointment.
Her voice came soft, the final breaths. “I’m…sorry Mama.”