Chapter Text
“Your rangers seem to be avoiding me.”
“I’m not surprised. It is one thing to be dead in the presence of the living. It’s another entirely when the living knew who you were, little sister.” Sylvanas says without judgment, hands folded behind her back as her and Vereesa walk through the corridors of the Undercity together.
The dual-tone echo of Sylvanas’s voice is something Vereesa hopes she’ll get used to sooner rather than later. Out in the open air it was easier to tune out the way her voice layered on top of itself, but here it reverberates off decaying stone walls of what was once Lordaeron’s ancient crypts.
“How long will they shun me for?” Vereesa asks, looking up at Sylvanas. She watches the low lit embers of her gaze shift to her.
“So concerned about the opinions of those you will lead?”
“Well, shouldn’t I be? How am I supposed to get to know the people I’m supposed to call ‘mine’ if none of them will talk to me?” Vereesa says, exasperated. “I’ve been here almost a week and the only person I’ve really talked to besides you is the woman who runs the candle shop. And she doesn’t have a tongue! Not that I mind but conversation is not a strong point.”
Sylvanas’s only reply is a hum of acknowledgement that makes Vereesa’s brow furrow downwards and ears drop. Since she left Dalaran to take up her sister’s offer and promise of acceptance, Sylvanas has been very distant. When Vereesa had first reached out and they met at their old haunted home with nothing but suspicion for each other, even then Sylvanas had shown more interest and affection in her company. She had imagined that her sister would be warmer, not colder, now that she was here.
As they head to dinner back in what is now her chambers, Veeresa feels like the distance that her sister is forcing between them has only grown. A pit forms in her stomach as, for the first time, she notices the hallway between their chambers is devoid of the usual dreadguard that patrolled the halls. Her instincts warn her of… something, and they get louder with each step back to her room.
When they get to the door, Vereesa grabs the handle to turn it but Sylvanas places a hand on her shoulder to stop her. She looks up at the Banshee Queen, confused, watching her knock on the door. The sound of it echoes along the halls.
She fights the anxious urge to rock up on the balls of her feet, waiting for something to happen. The knot in her stomach feels like its wounding tighter and tighter with each silent moment.
It only takes a minute or two that feels like hours to Vereesa before the door opens and she recognizes the the lithe and diminutive form of Thyala in the door way. Unlike most other rangers whose armor and clothing did not fully cover their skin, with bare arms, legs, and midriffs for mobility, she was completely covered. A black cloth covered the lower half of her face and Vereesa could see scars peeking out just over the edge of her mask, triple streaks like fissures in her skin — as if an animal had attacked her. Their eyes meet for a moment before the ranger lowers her gaze and stands to the side.
“Apologies for being late with dinner, my Ladies.”
Sylvanas wordlessly strides in to the room towards the dining table and Vereesa follows her in, turning to Thyala.
“Ranger Thyala?”
The darkfallen raises her gaze and snaps to attention. “Yes, my Lady?” She responds in a silvery contralto.
Vereesa tries not to let it show on her face, but it’s still unsettling how the dark rangers show her deference now, in the few chances she gets to actually pin one down. Not nearly as much as they do Sylvanas, she knows it’ll never extend that far. For all their antics in life, these women were some of the most experienced rangers and farstriders Quel’thalas had. And in undeath, their skills were more honed than ever — who else was better prey than another Farstrider? What else could refine one’s skills to a knife’s edge even more than the living comrades they were forced to turn against?
Their reputation on the battlefield is well deserved. Mentions of their involvement in campaigns unsettled even the most senior Alliance veterans. Which made it all the more unnerving to see how Thyala looked at her. Not with the cold indifference she had grown accustomed to, but something akin to sadness.
“I just wanted to say I appreciate what you do. Your dishes remind me of Silvermoon.” Vereesa says with a smile that she hopes comes across as warm and welcoming.
One of the darkfallen’s ears flick to the side as she purses her lips. There’s a pained look in Thyala’s eyes that Vereesa can’t quite explain and she catches how the ranger’s eyes shift to Sylvanas before she schools her features.
“Thank the Dark Lady. I merely follow her instructions.” Her voice is matter-of-fact, not betraying whatever emotion she may have felt.
“Still, you have my compliments, Thyala. If there’s anything I can do as a token of my gratitude, please let me know.”
Thyala merely nods, eyes downcast and head bowed. Vereesa sees liquid like black ink welling at the corner of the ranger’s eyes.
“If you would excuse me, I have duties to attend to. Enjoy your dinner, my Queens.” Thyala slips past Vereesa and closes the door behind her as she leaves.
Vereesa just lets out a soul-deep sigh and turns towards the center of the room, walking towards the dining table that is already set. She looks at Sylvanas who is trying to seem like she was not listening or watching the exchange. Quietly, she takes her seat at the table, pulling a fine linen napkin over her lap. Sylvanas takes her seat at the opposite end of the table, sitting at an angle with her arm swung over the back.
The aroma of the food makes Vereesa realize she is hungrier than she thought. She hadn’t eaten much since the morning and it’s catching up to her now. Tonight’s meal is a herb-crusted venison steak, done well to her preference, with candied sweet potatoes and a foraged salad mix. It’s a contrast to Sylvanas’s side of the table, which only has a single silver goblet to match the one beside her.
Sylvanas reaches for the bottle of wine at the center of the table and Vereesa snatches it before she can with a playful grin. The surprise on her older sisters face is very worth almost tipping her plate of food over. “You pour every time, I want to do it.”
Pursing her lips, Sylvanas looks like she’s about to protest. Instead she gives a dismissive wave of her hand. “Go ahead, Little Moon.”
The bottle of wine in her hand is different than the usual vintages they had shared over the past week. Deep reds from Quel’thalas, whites from Stormwind, and sweet wines from her favorite shop in Dalaran. It was wine that paired well with whatever courses Thyala had made for dinner, but nothing that stood out. The one in her hand, however, looks familiar as she runs her fingers across the wax seal and faded label. Realization nearly makes her lose her grip on the bottle she has steady it with both hands.
“Is this… ann’da’s? How did you…?” Vereesa rasps, nearly overcome with sudden emotion. Sylvanas nods.
“I found a few bottles left over at the Spire in the cellar.” She says simply, not expanding on why Sylvanas had been searching through the ruins of their former home.
“I’m amazed any survived!” Vereesa excitedly rips the wax seal off the mouth of the bottle, then grabs the cork between her forefinger and thumb. With some effort she’s able to pull out it out with a loud pop and brings it up to her nose to take in the scent.
It’s a smell that can only remind her of home. Her first taste of Verath’s wine was when she was barely half Sylvanas’s height, having grabbed a cup that had been left unattended. The memory makes her chuckle aloud and Sylvanas gives her a curious look.
“Sorry, Sylvanas. I was just remembering the first time I had his wine.” Vereesa says with a wide smile.
Sylvanas ears raise then lower, her brows knitting. Vereesa just watches her patiently. She’s seen her sister do this a few times, when she’s trying to remember something long forgotten. Usually when Vereesa inevitably brings something about their shared past.
“I got my hands on your cup after you had left in the kitchen when you went to fetch something. You came back and I was on the floor. All I can remember past that is how terrified you looked, Alleria’s laughter and minn’da shouting.” Vereesa laughs.
A chuckle escapes Sylvanas that seems to surprise her. “Minn’da was not happy with me or Alleria for that. We had to cancel our plans for the rest of the night to take care of you. Not like that had stopped Lady Sun from sneaking out anyways once you were asleep. My date, however, was very unimpressed that I couldn’t make it because my little sister decided to drink an entire goblet.”
“I think that worked out for the better. What if she was the one you ended up giving your token to instead of Jaina?”Vereesa watches how Sylvanas’s face falls for a moment. “I… That was careless of me to say, I’m sorry.”
Sylvanas’s gaze turns to her with an intensity that makes Vereesa nervous.
“How did you know I gave Jaina a token?”
That is not what she expected Sylvanas to say.
“Um… I’ve seen it. I saw it in her apartment and it’s obviously from Silvermoon so I asked who gave it to her.”
“She… kept it?”
Vereesa furrows her brow, giving Sylvanas an incredulous look. “Of course she did. Why wouldn’t she?”
That makes Sylvanas grit her teeth and she looks away. Vereesa can see how her hand is digging into the wood of the table. A moment of tense silence falls over the room.
“Your food is getting cold.” Sylvanas says coolly, refusing to meeting Vereesa’s gaze and it makes her sigh.
“She really misses you, Sylvanas.”
Pallid, purple lips curl into a sneer. “Eat, Little Moon.”
Vereesa looks at Sylvanas sorrowfully. She opens her mouth to speak but then thinks better of it. Slowly, she grabs Sylvanas’s goblet and pours the wine. It comes out in a bright red and the sweet aroma of it fills the room. She fills the goblet and passes it over to her sister, before grabbing her own. Tilting the goblet to pour the liquid in, something makes her pause for a moment.
Picking it up, she sees the inside of the cup has a sheen she didn’t notice with Sylvanas, like a thin coat of something was layered over the bottom of the goblet. The dread she had felt walking to dinner with Sylvanas feels like stones in settled in her gut and she has to force herself to steady her breathing. In the corner of her vision she sees how Sylvanas is looking at her very intensely.
“Is there something wrong, sister?” Sylvanas asks as she reaches for her own goblet. Slowly and deliberately she takes a drink. Vereesa opens her mouth to say something but stops herself. What would I even say? There’s a voice in the back of her mind that is warning her, insisting something is wrong. The looming dread is starting to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She wants to rub her fingers across the bottom of the cup to see what is coating the bottom at the risk of offending her sister. There is something there, her instincts tell her, something that she did not see in Sylvanas’s.
Vereesa wants to say it’s trust that stops her from trying to look deeper. That the voice in her mind and her screaming instincts are wrong. But she hasn’t trusted Sylvanas since before the Scourge overtook Silvermoon. She did not trust Sylvanas when they planned to kill Garrosh, and she can’t say she trusts her sister now. But she would like to. And be able to pretend, if she couldn’t believe, that the older sister she has missed for some twenty-odd years is the same woman that would never let harm come to her.
So she gives Sylvanas a resigned smile. Putting her own cup back down, she pours the wine into it and fills it to the brim. It’s only when she takes a long gulp of her wine does Sylvanas look away.
The wine is so sweet it’s almost saccharine as it coats her mouth. Much more so than she remembers. The hint of cherries and honeysuckle is still there. It reminds her of the scents of the garden in bloom and when Verath would gather the ingredients for his wine.
A cold chill runs down her spine as the alcohol settles and she decides to work at her dinner. The knife slips through the threads of meat that is the center piece of her dinner. Vereesa can’t help but smile when it’s perfectly done, brown throughout. Even though she’s a ranger, Vereesa has never enjoyed the sight of the red juices that are so often a part of fresh meat.
A loud hum of satisfaction buzzes in her throat as she savors the flavor. She takes a piece of sweet potato, the sweet earthiness of the vegetable contrasts wonderfully against the backdrop of herbs, salt, and steak on her palate. By the time she takes a second bite of the venison, she can already feel the gentle blush on her cheeks and the pleasant buzz that comes with the wine.
As always Thyala outdid herself. Vereesa eats in silence while Sylvanas takes occasional sips of her wine, her sister avoiding any and all eye contact that keeps Vereesa feeling uneasy. The fork in her hand trembles slightly, which makes spearing the last piece of venison a bit of a clumsy affair. All due to the alcohol, of course. Frustrated, she puts the fork down and pinches the final morsel between her forefinger and thumb and pops it into her mouth. Vereesa chases it with the last of the wine her goblet and leans back in her chair.
There’s a pleasant heat spreading through her body from the alcohol and it helps her relax. She reaches for the bottle of wine, picking it up to pour more into her cup. Just as she goes to pour, her grip on the bottle slips and it falls out of her hand. It lands on the table, splashing bright crimson that stains her clothes and rolls off the edge.
Vereesa tries to catch it but finds her limbs suddenly sluggish and is unable to grab it before it shatters onto the floor. “Shit,” she curses loudly as she sits up, looking at Sylvanas, ashamed. “I’m sorry, Lady Moon. I-”
Sylvanas just shakes her head as she pushes back her chair and stands, grabbing a cloth from the table. She walks around to Vereesa’s side, crouching to gather the glass in the cloth. “Don’t worry, Vereesa.”
It’s hard not to notice how tight her sister’s voice sounds, like she’s fighting to suppress some kind of emotion. Vereesa bits her bottom lip and decides not press as she slips out of the chair and gets down on her knees to help Sylvanas clean the glass. “You shouldn’t be cleaning this, it’s my fault.”
“It’s fine. Clearly your constitution is about the same as the first time you tried this wine,” Sylvanas says dryly.
That makes Vereesa roll her eyes, giving Sylvanas an annoyed look. “I’m okay. Let me help,” she says as she goes pick up the larger pieces of glass. Her eyes catch onto ink-like blood dripping from Sylvanas’s finger and she realizes there’s a cut there. The sight of it is enough to make her stomach begin to turn and she forces herself steady, not letting the discomfort obvious on her face. Vereesa knows she’ll have to get used to the more hidden differences of the undead to the living sooner or later.
“Sylvanas, you’re bleeding.”
Her sister looks down at her finger and seems mildly perplexed for a moment before she wipes the blood off onto the fine leathers of her pants. That makes Vereesa give an offended scoff.
“Don’t just wipe that on your clothes! You’re not a troll, Sylvanas.”
The Dark Lady lets out a low laugh, dark red hues looking up at her. Vereesa can hear the sadness that has tinged her voice all night.
“Trolls are your allies now, remember? I would suggest you reevaluate your opinions on them.”
She has to try not to roll her eyes again but she recognizes Sylvanas’s words as true. “You’re right,” Vereesa says in a huff. “Let me get you a cloth at least, to clean your wound.”
“Wait Vereesa-”
She’s already standing and as soon as she does her knees buckle underneath her weight and she has to catch herself on her hands. There’s a look of shock plain on her face as she tries again and tumbles forward. “I… What?” Vereesa stares at Sylvanas with a bewildered expression before grabbing onto the edge of the table to lift herself up. There’s a weight to her limbs that she can’t attribute to the alcohol as she steadies herself on her legs. Once she’s confidant that her they have stopped shaking and she takes a step forward.
The room suddenly starts to spin and everything tilts sideways as she feels herself falling. Her limbs won’t even move to brace herself for the fall and there’s a primal fear that pounds in her chest. She’s caught by Sylvanas before she hits the floor and she’s lifted up — one arm under her back and another under her knees as she’s pulled close to her sister’s chest. She sees the low lit embers of Sylvanas’s eyes peering down at her with an impassive look. She stands, carrying Vereesa carefully through the dining room. Her steps are careful while she walks through the curtain-lined doorway that leads to the bedroom.
“Syl…va…nas…” Vereesa manages to rasp. Her thoughts are getting muddier and it feels like a heavy fog has settled across her body. It’s not unpleasant but with each passing moment she starts to feel colder. Her vision blurs, the outer edges of her sight going black as she centers her attention on Sylvanas. There’s a distant feeling of discomfort as she feels her sister’s nails dig into her arm and leg. She sees tears of ichor travel down the face of the bravest person she knows. Vereesa watches as it falls and black mixes with the crimson stains on her shirt.
( The first time she sees Sylvanas cry, Vereesa has no idea what to do. She doesn’t even know why Sylvanas is crying. It probably has something to do with the argument with minn’da she heard. She just stands in the doorway to her room, rubbing her hands together, trying to figure out how she can help. Sylvanas turns and sees her. She braces for the admonishment but instead she hears laughter. Her sister is laughing, wet droplets still trailing down her cheeks. Sylvanas gives her a grieved smile, holding her arms out for a hug and Vereesa nearly knocks her over. )
She feels the soft mattress underneath her as she’s gently placed on the bed. Her head falls to the side and she tries to get her eyes to focus on Sylvanas. There are more tears falling from her face as she folds Vereesa’s arms across her torso and pulls a blanket over her. She feels the bed dip as Sylvanas sits beside her.
“..si…ster?”
Her favorite sister turns to look at her.
( Vereesa sees pale blue eyes and blonde hair tied up in a ponytail. She’s ten years old and Sylvanas is bandaging her fingers that still don’t have the callouses for a bow. She calls her minn’da and Sylvanas laughs sadly. )
The room and everything in it seem so far away, and they only get further. Vereesa tries to open her mouth to say words but her tongue no longer moves. A feeling of lightness envelops her as if her body no longer holds weight.
Distantly, she hears the woman she has admired her entire life speak.
“This was the only way, sister…”
Vereesa’s last living thought is wishing she could take Sylvanas’s pain away.
Grave soil. Moss and mold. Still water. Stale air.
Areiel wrinkles her noise as she stands in a loose circle of rangers around a stone slab in the center of the room. Of all the things undeath had left her with, it unfortunately kept her keen sense of smell. One that, in the depths of an old crypt she still finds difficult to call home, constantly picks up all the dust, rot, and decay that is synonymous with their life here.
The door opens and they all turn to stand at attention. Her undead heart wants to crawl out of her throat.
Instead of the expected entrance of their queen, it is Thyala walking into this crypt among crypts. The ranger takes her position by Areiel. it’s impossible the miss the dark angry tears that run down Thyala’s cheeks and dampens the cloth covering her face with fists clenched at her sides.
Of all the rangers to set to the task…
Cooking is one of the few joys Thyala keeps in this life. Missing her sense of taste, she still derives such joy in the pleased faces of those that can taste her food. Areiel hopes this won’t change that. They all have so little joy to begin with.
A sigh escapes her lips and she turns back to the stone slab. A cold, plain, featureless shape of rock set in the center of the room at waist height long enough to place a person on. The Undercity is no place a living ranger should die. They should fall upon fields of grass and flowers, their body a final offer in defense of the land. Their last sight should be how the Sun shines through the falling leaves of the trees in Eversong as their spirit ascends.
But this? What they are taking part in today? It feels like some sort of blasphemy. A code that they are breaking. Some kind of honor lost. None of these things were ever something she had felt beholden to. She was never religious and she had no code that she adhered to other than the bonds of sisterhood. Honor was something lesser beings held onto when their skill was outmatched.
This, though, feels like they are all crossing a line that they cannot come back from.
Her thoughts are interrupted by a gloved hand reaching for her own. She looks down to see Thyala slip into her grasp and hold onto her tightly. Areiel does her best to give a comforting squeeze. Kalira approaches Thyala from the other side and wraps her in a hug.
“This is bullshit.” Comes a light tenor opposite of Areiel.
“Velonara,” Areiel warns, glaring at her.
“What? We all know it’s true. It’s Vereesa, Areiel. And we’re just… letting this happen?”
“She’s a traitor,” Kitala spits. “About time she be made to make amends.”
Velonara rounds on Kitala, getting into her personal space. “Amends!? That’s what you call what she’s going to do to her? What she did to me?”
Kitala growls, pushing Velonara away. “Out of my face, whelp. We get it, you don’t want to be here. You remind us every chance you get.”
“Well I’m fucking sorry that I’m not in love with unlife, Starshadow.”
The young ranger-captain steps forward and grabs Velonara by her cloak. “How typical of you. Our Lady deigned to raise you and all you do is look down on the rest of us for something we had no control over.”
“At least I never had to chew on one of my sisters,” Velonara hisses, looking pointedly over at Clea then back to the Kitala. Areiel watches the aforementioned ranger shift uncomfortably. She sees Clea’s right hand, missing two of its finger on a sleeved arm that covers missing flesh marred with elven teeth and fangs, hide behind her cloak.
“The Lich King is dead. He’s not making you do anything anymore. But I’ve seen you. Even if they’re part of the Silver Covenant, those rangers deserve a pyre. Not to be used as meat to satisfy your gullet.” Vereesa sneers, ripping her cloak away from Kitala’s grip.
“Velonara! Kitala! Stop this at once,” Areiel barks, marching towards them. “You are the Lady’s rangers, not children!”
Velonara bares her teeth and glares at Areiel, but relents. Her mouth opens to speak but a fist connects with her jaw, sending the ranger sprawling to the ground. Kitala walks over and picks up a dazed Velonara by the collar of her tunic. “We are not quel’dorei anymore and they are betrayers just like Vereesa. They get what they deserve.”
A savage snarl escapes Velonara’s throat as she grips at the cloth on Kitala’s shoulder and slams her head dead center on the ranger’s face. Kitala lets out a yell and drops Velonara, backing away as she holds her broken nose. Black blood drops to the floor, staining the stone.
Velonara takes a step forward towards Kitala before she feels hands tug at her cloak, then her arms. A snarling growl comes from her throat as she tries to fight off Anya and Kalira from holding her back. Kitala reaches for the wooden ebony handle at her belt. The glint of cold steel is barely exposed from the sheathe of the knife before her she is pulled back with her arms pinned by Loralen and Clea.
“You’re no better than a ghoul!” Velonara growls out.
“Watch yourself, Velonara. Or I will give you the true death you’re so desperately begging for.”
Areiel steps in between the both of them, bristling with barely contained fury. “Are you both about done? If the General hadn’t requested you here I would be putting you both on assignment to Deepholm.” She turns to Kitala. “You are a captain. I expect you to behave like one, not pull a weapon on one of your rangers. You and I will have words about whether or not you will remain so.”
Kitala’s anger turns to surprise, then resignation and shame as she turns away, her ears falling flat against her hood. “Yes, Captain.”
“And you.” Areiel turns to Velonara whose smirk immediately disappears. “Just because Sylvanas has a fondness for you does not mean I share the same sentiment. Act out again and I will make sure you will be doing nothing but watching moss grow on rocks until the abyss calls you home.”
“As you say.” Velonara mumbles bitterly. She shakes off the rangers holding her and gives Kitala a venomous look before turning to stand at her original position.
The air in the room goes cold as if a portal to Northrend had just opened. The door swings open and all the rangers turn. Areiel feels a freezing chill sluice down her spine as she turns to look at the entrance to the room. Her fingers twitch and she can feel how her muscle and bones ache with an unwilling vigor like when she was part of the Scourge.
A large woman enters, her wings unfolding outwards as she clears the doorway and levitates towards the center of the room. The aura of death that follows her makes Areiel’s nerves stand on edge and her muscles tense.
Skyja, the leader of the remaining Val’kyr under Sylvanas’s command, takes her place at the top of the stone slab. Nathanos enters next, followed by the banshee Sharlindra. They take their place on either side of the stone. Two hands of different color clasp behind Nathanos as he stands at ease. His gaze finds the ichor staining and follows them to the smears of blood on Velonara and Kitala. Turning to Areiel, sickly, pale yellow eyes meet the red embers of her own. Nathanos’s brow raises and she just shrugs, walking back to her place beside Thyala.
As one, the rangers salute when Sylvanas enters, carrying Vereesa in her arms. Even from the middle of the room it was obvious that the deed was done. An arm hung limply from the younger Windrunner’s body, swaying with each step Sylvanas took. Her head is tucked into the arm of the Dark Lady, cradled carefully with messy locks of almost-white hair draped over her shoulders. She walks up to the raised surface and gently lowers her sister’s body onto it. Sylvanas is slow and deliberate, as if a wrong move would shatter Vereesa like glass. Her hand supports Vereesa’s head gently as she is lowered, then move to tuck away stray strands of hair that cover her face.
Areiel watches the Dark Lady survey the room before turning her gaze to Sharlindra. They speak quietly enough that she can’t hear them, but she sees their old priestess nod and smile.
Sylvanas then looks at Skyja, nodding once.
“Begin.”
Areiel’s interaction with Val’kyr is limited. They often have a stony, impassive demeanor that makes it impossible to know what they are thinking. These women in blue, wreathed in death, regard almost everything with such cold indifference. They have a preternatural grace so much unlike the Dark Rangers. Lesser races would often describes elves as elegant, nimble, and agile, whereas the Val’kyr have a deliberate languor to their movements. Like time holds no bearing and urgency is not needed for lesser mortals.
Often, these women seemed implacable. Whatever semblance of emotion they have is reserved for their Queen or their fellow Val’kyr only. Areiel has only ever seen grief painted on their features when one of them falls. So it surprises her the way Skyja looks upon Sharlindra with sadness.
“I wish I could say this will be painless, Sharlindra. Or that you will go to a better place away from the torment you bear, but that would be a lie. And for that, your sacrifice has even deeper meaning than you know.”
Each ranger, even Nathanos, goes stock still, digesting Skyja’s words. Velonara meets Areiel’s eyes as if to search for some crumb of acknowledgement that the captain had known about this beforehand, but she is just as taken by surprise.
Sharlindra gives Skyja the same smile as earlier, long, ethereal fingers twining together.
“Sylvanas has told me what awaits and I offer myself readily.” She says, looking over to Sylvanas with such love and adoration that it forces the Dark Lady to avert her gaze. “And I know when the time comes, she will find me. And all the rest.”
“Sacrifice? What is she talking about?” It’s Kalira that speaks up first, stepping forward, her hand fisting the fabric on her chest tightly as if she is holding her heart together. “Sylvanas?”
Skyja and Sylvanas look to Kalira, the surprise on the Val’kyr’s face is obvious as she turns to Sylvanas.
“Have you not told them, my Queen?”
“Told us what!?” Velonara shouts, glaring at Sylvanas. “Is there more to this absurdity? Vereesa lies dead and you are asking for more?”
“Velonara, you are out of line!” Nathanos reprimands. “You will be silent, ranger!”
“But she’s right.” Kitala cuts in and Velonara looks at her in astonishment. “I- My Lady, forgive me. I believe that having Vereesa join us is a great boon to the Forsaken. But at the cost of one of us? Could you not raise her like you did Velonara and Loralen?”
“I will have both your tongues-” Nathanos shouts before he is cut off with a raised hand. Sylvanas looks down at Vereesa’s cold corpse. Areiel follow her gaze to look at the body for the first time. Her silver-blonde hair splayed across the stone, features smooth and relaxed. As if she is sleeping.
It reminds her of when they found Lireesa’s body.
The way Sylvanas stood rock still over her mother’s corpse when Areiel reached her. The Ranger-General lay still, surrounded by the bodies of elves and trolls, an axe buried in her chest. Silver threads of hair fanned out on the ground, covered in grime and blood. The scene was carnage but Lireesa’s face was serene — her lips still kept a lingering warmth and not enough time had passed for the skin to start to pale. Despite the death that surrounded her, her expression was peaceful. And all Areiel could do was fall to her knees and weep in front of the rangers she had trained for a life time, knowing she had failed her general.
The sting of tears prick at the corner of her eyes and she is forced to look downcast towards the floor.
“Vereesa will be a ruler. A queen. She must, in every way, be my equal. I will not have her be anything less.” Sylvanas says in a cool tone that belies her anger, the embers of her eyes beginning to glow deeper.
The implication of what ‘less’ means hits Areiel like an arrow to her chest. Less. Like us. Areiel schools her expression but she sees the open pain on many of her ranger’s faces. Even Velonara looks struck.
“And… what does Skyja mean about going somewhere worse than this?” Kalira looks worriedly at Sharlindra, then to Sylvanas. “What will happen to her?”
There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence. Sylvanas works her mouth, as if trying to find the words.
“We are the damned for more than one reason.” Sylvanas says darkly, looking around the room at each ranger. “Because of the Lich King. Because of the Burning Legion. Our souls are marred and marked. For what and for whom I do not know, but peace does not await us. I have seen it. Skyja and her sisters saved me from it.”
Names pass through Areiels mind. Pyres. Burials. Soldiers she could not bury. She had believed that they would be finding solace free from their cold unlife. It was a comfort — to think that sending her rangers to potential death was still some kind of freedom.
But if what Sylvanas says is true, then all she has been doing is sending them to even worse fates, and that realization twists like a knife in her heart.
“And so you would consign your sister to this eventual fate? Like you did to me?” Velonara rages with a snarl.
Nathanos moves to strike her and Areiel intercepts him, grabbing his arm with her teeth bared. “You will not strike a ranger in my presence.”
His eyes focus on Areiel as he tries to pull it away but she keeps a firm grip. “She has no right to question our Queen!”
“She has a right to question her fate. One that also await you, Blightcaller.” Areiel retorts, squeezing his rotting arm. “It would be a shame if this limb needs to get replaced too.”
“Enough!” Sylvanas yells and everyone in the room other than Skyja and Sharlindra freeze as if seized by an invisible force.
A will not her own has her limbs. An unbreakable compulsion forces her to stillness. Areiel no longer feels like her body is hers and it fills her with a terrifying, familiar dread.
Areiel watches in frozen horror the way Thyala’s eyes unfocus as if she disappears into herself, then Kalira, then Clea, then Anya. She can’t see Velonara behind her but her heart breaks knowing what she must be feeling for the first time.
A silent command forces each one of them to their kneel to face Sylvanas. A familiar voice, long since dead bubbles up in her mind.
( Obey. Hunt. Kill. Murder.
You and your sisters are Mine.
Bring them to Me.
The wind whips past. Branches snap and tear into the tatters of her blue and silver. Dark shadows run along side her among the trees. She moves with an urgency that is not her own. Red eyes blur between the leaves as they leap and bound across the forest to their quarry. A shadow turns to her and grins wide, teeth and fangs bared. There’s blood covering her face.
Shapes below are sprinting ahead of them, wearing the same blue and silver of the rangers she wears. They are running away. From them. She vaguely recognizes there’s more than one. Her focus is on the farthest.
One by one the shadows drop and engulf the figures below in splatters of crimson that shower the dying grass. Cries are muffled by the sound of tearing flesh and desperate calls for help die out.
The thrill of the hunt that runs through her veins is different in this darkness.
There is no adrenaline that is pushing her body. No pounding beat of her heart that she can feel in her ears. It is pure will and hunger and bloodlust. It is an excitement that runs up her spine and clouds her mind of all thought but for the pleasure of killing.
There’s a heartbeat now, but it doesn’t come from her chest. She feels it in her hands, soaked in warmth while the rest of her stays cold. It’s rapid and pounding and she wonders why she feels it in her hands and not her body.
It’s fading now. Glowing blue eyes soft as twilight beneath her are beginning to unfocus and fade. She realizes the heart that beats is not her own, the warmth in her hands is the slickness of fresh blood.
She grips the polished ivory handle of her knife buried in the woman’s chest, smeared in gore, and pulls. Her dying quarry makes a wet, choking noise and then she no longer feels the beat of a heart.
The hunt is over. A moment passes. Then another. She feels no drive. No directive.
Her gaze focuses on the dead ranger beneath her.
To her horror, she recognizes her. Annilyn. A fresh recruit, barely a year in her company. Anni’s mother had handed her off to Areiel with pride gleaming in her eyes. And the Ranger-Captain had left with a promise to keep the youngling safe.
Her lips are dull and blue, and the blood on the ground is already drying and turning brown.
How long has it been?
There’s a twisting knot in her stomach. Fury and grief come all at once and she feels tears fall down her face and it’s black. Why is it black?
Her mouth opens in a scream she cannot hear and the guilt and sorrow overtakes her. She takes the knife and turns it towards herself and-
The muscles in her arms seize. She is forced to drop the knife. The wave of emotion that engulfs her is suppressed. Like something is numbing her. That voice returns and its will asserts itself again, not that it had ever fully left. A new hunt begins. A familiar thrill.
She stands and shadows with piercing red eyes are surrounding her. It grins. It snarls. It laughs.
Wordlessly, she starts off in the direction of her new quarry, and her sisters follow.)
The memory of the Lich King’s booming voice threatens to shatter into a thousand pieces. The only thing holding her together is the silent command hovering over them all. She’s able to banish the haunting words and it’s a small mercy that the only voice in her head is her own.
Eventually the weight lifts and Areiel lets out a hiss as she exhales between her teeth. Her arms and legs are heavy and it feels like she has to fight every fiber of muscle to respond to her will. She raises a hand to her face almost disbelieving she has control again. It’s halfway to smoke and mist as black fog runs off of her in waves. She looks up and around the room, surveying her rangers. For his part, Nathanos has already schooled his features, still kneeling with his head bowed to Sylvanas. She can still tell how that sense of wrongness still buzzes under his skin with the way he twitches his limbs.
The rangers are still recovering. Many of them look stunned, testing their bodies to make sure they were themselves. Some start to weep and retch. She can see Loralen, black smoke and ink-like ichor bleeding from the scar on her neck and her eyes as she struggles against the compulsion to fade into her banshee form.
Beside her, Thyala is on her hands and knees and rips the cloth off her face, showing the dark scars that run down her face to her neck, her rasping sounding like a death-rattle.
A choking gasp draws Areiel’s attention to Velonara, who is doubled over on her hands. She’s heaving, gasping for air she doesn’t need, black tears pouring down her face. Her hand claws at her throat in a futile attempt to carve out the feeling of something crawling under her skin that Areiel is all to familiar with.
Areiel fights the sluggishness of her limbs and makes her way to Velonara, falling onto her knees beside her.
“Shh. Shh. It’s okay, you’re here. I’m with you.” Areiel says, pulling Velonara close to her chest. Her chest still feels it’s being crushed and breathing feels wrong.
Frail. Exposed. Violated. Betrayed.
She feels Sylvanas’s eyes on her but she doesn’t have the courage to meet them, and keeps her focus on the sobbing ranger before her.
“Is this… what it was like…?” Velonara chokes out, and grips the hand Areiel offers. Areiel doesn’t answer. Her own emotions are threatening to become uncontrollable. The banshee within threatens to break free and consume her in a deluge of grief and rage. Velonara doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t deserve to know what it feels like to have one’s self be subsumed and be made to bend to another’s will.
What have you done to my rangers, Sylvanas?
“Skyja. Continue.” Her Lady’s voice is calm and even. As if she did not just lash every ranger in this room to her will.
Areiel turns to face the center of the room and forces herself to stand again. Velonara makes a pained noise from the floor as she pulls away, but she needs to stay steady for the rest of the rangers as well. Others try to follow her example, but many remain where they are on the floor. A few of the rangers have not moved with vacant gazes on their faces.
The Val’kyr bows her head towards Sylvanas and one hand reaches toward Vereesa, fingers touching her forehead. She turns to Sharlindra, whose eyes are downcast, and Aeriel can see the tears running down her face. Skyja extends her other hand towards the banshee and Areiel is forced to look away, unable to watch.
It’s all she can do to stay where she is as the banshee’s pained screams fill the room.