Khoshek turned the odd coin in his fingers. The old woman had called it copper, but Khoshek had seen no copper like it before. It gleamed in the fading light, sometimes gold, sometimes blue. Azerite, perhaps?
âYour deepest desire, or that which you fear most,â Khoshek muttered, repeating the womanâs words.
Yesha snorted and stamped her hooves impatiently, breaking Khoshek from his thoughts. He smiled and rubbed her withers.
âIt is getting cold,â Khoshek said, and slipped the coin into his purse with one hand as he took Yeshaâs reins with the other. âWe should find shelter up ahead.â
It was fully dark before they reached the small town, a hamlet of simply thatched structures that seemed crowded intentionally around the largest of them. There was no mistaking that one for the inn. Its windows were alight with a warming glow, and the din of conversation seemed to follow the aromas of warm bread and a hearty stew.
A young boy perched on the hitching post outside the tavern hopped to his feet as Khoshek approached.
âStable for your horse, mister?â he asked.
Khoshek nodded. âPlease. Iâll be by to see her as soon as Iâve made arrangements for myself.â
âFifty silverâs the payment,â the boy said.
Khoshek thought he sounded almost hesitant, and smiled as he reached into his purse. âAnd a gold itâll beââ he paused, looking down at the coins in is hand. There it was, his azerite copper, glimmering in its gold and sapphire hues.
âA gold?â The lad said, eager as any other who could do the math would be.
âA gold.â Khoshek smiled and plucked an appropriate coin from his hand, holding it out for his caretaker. He turned to Yesha. âBe good for him and soon youâll be warm and fed. Iâll see you soon.â
The horse snorted, and plodded after the child who held her reins. Khoshek returned all but his peculiar coin to his purse. He held the coin between his fingers, peering at it, feeling its pull, testing it.
Without a thought, he tossed the coin into the air and held his hand out flat to catch it. All at once the world shimmered away in the brightest hues of azure light. Khoshek felt the tidal wave of a presence push against him. He fell to one knee and turned his head away.
âKhoshek, the Beloved. Look and see,â a voice commanded. It was a gentle sound, and yet there was no room for choice. Khoshek turned his head upward to it, and gasped. All at once the pressure was gone, the azure light abated, but where the tavern had stood before himâŠ
âLightâs mercy,â Khoshek whispered, and his eyes filled with tears.
It was a farmhouse, not unlike those he had seen around the tavern. This one stood some distance from a cliffâs edge, in a clearing surrounded by a dense forest. It was neatly thatched, its walls newly painted and clean. A simple fence of planed driftwood marked the boundary of a garden and a yard, where two young children skipped among the berry bushes.
His children.
Khoshek crumpled to his knees as he wept, the tears hot on his cheeks. âIs it possible?â he cried.
A hand lifted Khoshekâs chin in response. A young woman smiled down at him, as beautiful as he had ever seen. She brought him to his feet, or so it seemed, by her mere touch. Khoshekâs wife pressed herself against him, as he lost himself in her eyes as blue as the banners of Stormwind. She tugged his beard playfully, and kissed him.
Peace unlike any he had known washed over and through him as Khoshek closed his eyes. All around him the world was hidden by brilliant light, purity given form in unrelenting redemption. Khoshek felt the weight of his years fall away, replaced by the certainty of forgiveness and goodness. He was at home, and loved, and a good man before the Light and his beloved.
Khoshek gasped, waking to the cold dark. The sudden weight of his armor pinned him for a dreadful moment, there on the ground before the tavern. Sweat had soaked him in spite of the cold.
He shivered, more from terror than the chill, and he was alone.
The old womanâs voice echoed in his head. ââŠit will show your deepest desire or that which you fear most⊠but only once.â As the words faded, so too did the echoes of the vision. The warmth of his wife, the joy he felt at seeing his children, the certainty he had felt in love; they were all but distant memories.
Memories? No, Khoshek thought. Hopes and dreams. Possibilities.
And what if you gain them only to lose them? He thought as he picked himself up, but it was not his voice within his mind. Khoshek turned back to the forest, his hand reaching instinctively for his sword, but the night was still and calm, and the forest was in no mood to betray its secrets.
Daring only then to wish for his bed and dreamless sleep, Khoshek turned back to the tavern and pushed open the door.