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miximax-hell · 4 years

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...This should have been published the 10th of January. I queued it ages ago (back when my last post was published), but Tumblr farted and decided not to post it. Which is just fantastic. It’s not the first time it decides to screw up the queue, but it’s the first time it happens to me on this blog. So annoying. This means it’s coming a few days late, but I hope you all still had a fantastic EnYaga Day!

As I prepared for True EnYaga Day back in October, I found again this old doodle of mine--the base for what would later become the final design of EnYaga. I thought it might be fun to share it and use it as an excuse to talk about this subject AGAIN, and... that was good enough for me, really.

You guys know me and there’s probably very little reason to do so, but I have never really talked about the reasons behind this miximax, have I? Well, if there is a day to indulge in that, it’s EnYaga Day, so let’s get to it!

As usual, more under the cut.

Despite Tumblr’s betrayal, this does have a perk: I get to revise this post before it’s published, which is great, because I’m happy to report that things are better now than when I first wrote it. In the original version, I mentioned that my life at the time was a little... paused, so there wasn’t really a lot to say. Among the only news worth sharing, I sent an oil painting to a friend a couple of months ago and it arrived very fast and completely safe, so that was great! It was a Professor Layton-themed painting, but now that I don’t have it at home anymore, I’m tempted to make another one... (If I do, chances are more FudoLay content will arrive here swiftly after lol) Other than that, I’d just started my classes again, but I was still desperately looking for a job. At least, classes made me feel like I wasn’t completely wasting every single day, so I was more cheerful than I was during summer. (Funny, because my group of friends at uni used to say that they could only smile during summer, but I was pretty miserable during those months. ww;)

Thankfully, though, I can say I now have a job! And it’s great!! ...The conditions aren’t so great, but at least I’m back to work as a game designer. I’m learning so much and I feel very motivated to work, even if it’s technically a collaboration and I will only get money once the game is published--in other words, when the game starts bringing money our way. This is far from ideal, but I honestly had no other options and I’m having a blast working on this, so I hope something cool will come out of it! For now, I would ask you to keep your eyes on Eskema Games and maybe check out the company’s latest game, Delta Squad? I had absolutely NOTHING to do with that game because it was released way before I joined, but supporting it supports the company I work for, which always comes in handy! It also underperformed, so it could use all the love you guys can give it.

Also, let me quickly point something out: about a year ago, an anon asked me if i was going to include Danganronpa characters in this project. The question is here, in case anyone needs a reminder: https://miximax-hell.tumblr.com/post/181991994534/hey-there-since-youre-doing-miximaxs-with-game Well, I FINALLY got my hands on the DR Trilogy for PS4, so I’ll be looking into that and seeing what I can find! If that anon is still around, I hope I can make them happy.

But let’s cut to the chase already!

As I always make sure to clarify, yes, I do massively ship Endou and Yagami. But there’s thankfully much more to EnYaga (the miximax--if I need to talk about the ship again, I’ll just call it Endou x Yagami) than just “yeah, I ship them.” In order to understand the reasons behind this combination, though, we must venture into two very different subjects: what reasons there are to choose Yagami to begin with, and the life story of yours truly. I swear both are important to get the full picture, but I’ll keep the latter as brief and free of unnecessary information as possible, even if it’s definitely the longest and most complex part. So, without any further ado, let’s see what makes this miximax valid within the logic of this project.

A big chunk of what makes EnYaga work was explained exactly three years ago, here: https://miximax-hell.tumblr.com/post/131215636268/when-the-king-enters-the-room-the-world-stops-and

The tl;dr would be that Endou plays as a goalkeeper, but also as a libero! Being such radically different positions, it’s to be expected that he would need two different miximaxes, because it would be rather difficult to find an aura that improves his field skills (shooting power, speed, etc.) and his goalkeeping abilities at the same time. Thankfully, Yagami gives him the exact abilities a good libero needs to be able to excel--especially when that libero has the pressure of being part of most of the strong hissatsus the team can pull off. So, for more info on EnYaga’s powers, please check the link above. (And note that, of course, this miximax only marginally improves Endou’s goalkeeping capabilities.)

I have also talked in length about the relationship between Endou and Yagami, but here’s a very brief summary. During the in-game events of IE2, Endou gave Yagami hope when all she wanted was to die to atone for her sins, thus saving her life in the process. In return, she wanted to give him the strength to fight when he needed it most as a way to repay his kindness towards her.

Yagami’s innate abilities and the bond they share are the more logical reasons behind this miximax. There is, however, one extra reason to include this miximax in the project.

There have always been three main rules here when it comes to choosing auras:

1. Only characters that come from universes predominantly inhabited by humans (or very human-like creatures, like Zelda’s Hylians).

2. Only one character from every franchise, unless they are Level-5 franchises. In that case, I may use up to two per franchise. Examples of this are Danball Senki/Little Battlers eXperience (with Toramaru and Megane) and Professor Layton (with Fudou and Shishido).

3. One aura coming from every single (and proper) Inazuma Eleven game on the market. Those being Inazuma Eleven, IE2: Fire, IE2: Blizzard, IE3: Spark, IE3: Bomber, IE3: Ogre, IEGO: Light, IEGO: Dark, IEGO Chrono Stone: Raimei, IEGO Chrono Stone: Neppu, IEGO Galaxy: Supernova, IEGo Galaxy: Big Bang, Inazuma Eleven Strikers, IE Strikers 2012 XTreme, and IEGO Strikers 2013. I’m not counting Everyday, SD nor unreleased titles. So far, I have 7 out of 15.

From the beginning, I have wanted Endou to have nothing but Inazuma Eleven-only miximaxes. I mean, he’s the main character and all!

Needless to say, Yagami is part of the Inazuma Eleven miximaxes--in fact, she takes the IE2 Blizzard spot, if anyone is curious about that very specific detail. She is obviously a very predominant character in that game, having a relevant impact during the final match against The Genesis and even (spoiler alert for a 10 years old game) by injuring Kazemaru earlier, because he didn’t just leave like he did in the anime--Yagami sent him to the hospital when he started matching The Genesis’s power. Since she’s a main character in that game, and considering that many of the other important characters introduced in it become part of the teams that make up this project (such as Hiroto, Midorikawa and maaaybe Saginuma), Yagami was the perfect candidate. She was also arguably the strongest among the remaining main characters of IE2, and the only midfielder. Not to mention the bond she shares with Endou, which only rounds it all up even more.

So, as a brief summary, Yagami is an Inazuma Eleven character (which is exactly what I wanted for Endou) and a very strong player, she provides Endou with everything he would need to be a good libero (incredible speed, great shooting strength, being a midfielder and the stamina that inherently comes with it, powerful hissatsus, and so on), she shares a canonical bond with Endou, the contrast between their personalities is super interesting to explore, and there are reasons why even she would want him to take her power. He can hardly have it better! It makes a lot of sense, and it’s all heavily based on canon, so I don’t need to explain much in that regard. That’s always convenient.

But there is another side to all of this. My side.

I first started working on miximaxes with the idea of only making 4 or 5. I simply meant to give extra love to some of my favourite characters to make myself and a few friends happy. This never became a full-fledged project until my good friend Heather, who used to be on Tumblr under the username @ishidoshuuji, said she wanted to be able to reblog the Seitei x Yuuichi miximax I had drawn for her. In other words, this: https://miximax-hell.tumblr.com/post/129863262149/well-it-was-about-time-i-started-using-this-blog

Before that, miximax-hell used to be a private blog: one of those you can only check out if you have the password. I never thought ANY stranger would be interested in it, so why expose myself like that? It would only make me feel bad. I could have never imagined over a hundred people would follow me here, and even less so considering that only about 10 of my friends follow this blog. So I have to thank Heather because, even if 100 isn’t a big number at all here on Tumblr, I still appreciate each and every person who stops by and it’s helped me meet some incredibly lovely people.

Back to the subject, though. This story is directly linked to MamoDai’s. The important part of it was that EnYaga’s design isn’t mine, and so isn’t MamoDai: the former is completely not mine (even if, as the sketch above suggests, the concept was first doodled by me), while the latter was only partially mine. The thing, though, is that the same person made EnYaga and “collaborated” on the creation of MamoDai, which meant I let them into this very personal solo project twice. If you want to check out the full story, though, you can read it here: https://miximax-hell.tumblr.com/post/142160652319/you-should-have-seen-this-one-coming-come-on

As I was saying, miximax-hell is a solo project. It’s something for me to enjoy, for me to think about, for me to develop, for me to improve at designing character, and for me to decide on. I set the rules and I come up with suitable matches--or what I think are suitable matches, that is. ww I’m definitely open to suggestions if anyone is willing to share their thoughts with me, and fanart is always, always, ALWAYS welcome, of course, but I don’t borrow other people’s ideas nor designs. Not because those designs and ideas aren’t fantastic, nor because I’m not allowed to, but because the point of this blog is to have fun and improve my skills. If I don’t do it myself, it’s kind of pointless, so I prefer a bad design made by me over a great design by someone else. Also, if people were to check all of these things out, I wanted it to be because of my work, not because someone super well-known was part of it and people were desperate to get more content from them.

When I first came up with this project, though, someone very close to me wanted to be part of it. Not because they found it interesting per se, but simply because it was mine. I had previously declined an offer to join one of their projects because I lacked the necessary skill, so they wanted to join mine instead. And don’t get me wrong--I appreciate the interest even now! But, again, it beat the point and I had to refuse. Looking back, I’m very glad I didn’t give in, but I felt awful back then and this person must have felt really bad too.

That’s why I made that exception and suggested, “Hey, why don’t we create a miximax together?” That’s how MamoDai was born. But while the interest in working on MamoDai seemed... scarce, this person came up with and gave me something out of their own accord: the EnYaga miximax design I still use to this day.

Now, here’s the thing: EnYaga was a proper gift that person made for me, and I always honour gifts. If it had been a random doodle, like I have received others in the past, it would have ended there. But when someone puts true effort and time into making something especifically FOR ME, regardless of what happens between us later, I still treasure it forever. And this gift came from a person who, apparently, really wanted to be part of this project when I first came up with it, which, honestly, put me in a tight spot. The least I could do was accept this design, which I loved almost as much as I loved them, and incorporate it to my lineup.

EnYaga was going to happen regardless, because I was working on it myself, but this person beat me to it (with such incredible quality, too, which I would never be able to hold a candle to) and, after what I made them go through with my continuous rejections, I had to honour them somehow. It was my way of saying, “I can’t let you do this for me, but I deeply appreciate the thought.”

This person is now out of my life, though. This means that, honestly, I could just get rid of the design. They would never know, and I would be happier with something of my own even if it sucked in comparison. They would never feel offended either--not like they would even if they knew, because it’s obvious they don’t care about me anymore. It would be easy and 100% painless for all parties involved.

But EnYaga is a token of the bond we once shared and I treasure that, even though I don’t want anything to do with that person anymore. It portrays the fun and happy times, not the sad and bitter ending. Happiness is always something worth remembering, isn’t it? And maybe, just maybe, thanks to the wonderful people I’m close to and my eternal love towards Endou x Yagami, I might one day be able to completely forgive the bad and focus on the good, so I can smile when I look at EnYaga and think of this person. I look forward to a day when there isn’t an ounce of bitterness left in my heart (although I am one revengeful and spiteful piece of poo, so it might never happen). And for that possibility alone, it might be worth it to keep making this one exception and let this miximax be someone else’s. Especially now that I have DoYaga to call my own.

So that’s it, folks: not only do Endou and Yagami make for a sick combination in theory, but it’s also a miximax with deep sentimental value for me in so many different ways. So even if it had been someone else’s idea and the two characters were a terrible match in all senses, chances are I would have still kept it. Thank goodness it wasn’t the case. ww

And all because I didn’t finish the design fast enough on my own. May that be the lesson to learn from this: hurry the heck up, self.

#Inazuma Eleven #Endou Mamoru #miximax #mixi max #Original Raimon #Aliea Raimon #Inazuma Japan #reasons behind the miximax #sketch #info #inazuma eleven ares #inazuma eleven ares no tenbin #inazuma eleven orion #inazuma eleven orion no kokuin

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alteredphoenix · 2 years

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In Every Song A Heartbeat (WoW/ToLuminaria)(Celia/Michelle)[Tentative Prologue 2 + Chapter Notes][First Draft]

A/N: This is the second prologue meant to be included in the ZM anthology fic as a gap filler and lore/character building piece, set shortly after the first prologue and one week before the main fic kicks off. Sylvanas herself doesn’t show up until at least the fifth or sixth chapter proper (I’m going with sixth because the table of contents is still in its rudimentary stages), so I wanted to give her the spotlight as to her whereabouts and what she’s doing prior to her debut.

I made sure to include plot hooks that will serve to set the greater narrative in place: the subplot of faction soldiers (especially night elves) defecting to join Zovaal and see that he successfully activates the Machine of Origination in the Sepulcher; the divergence of the Broken Crown quest where Anduin isn’t present to offset the effects of Domination (don’t even expect him at all until the very end of the fic); the implication of dreadlord bounty hunters and establishing them as the Greater Scope Villain (whereas Xy’mox and the Xy Cartel are Disc One Bosses); the artifact that comes into play; and, probably most controversially, because this is Sylvanas we’re talking about, setting up the beginning of Sylvanas’s atonement arc. This girl is not liked by damn near everyone in Haven, so it makes sense to pretty much hammer that point home by having not only Jaina and Shandris express distrust but a night elf OC be a colossal dickhead to her and disrespect Nathanos (and perhaps hint at the possibility of his betrayal and defection to Zovaal). The idea of having adventurers, especially night elf ones in particular, might come across as villain-batting...but in all fairness, I’ve seen too many people say - or maybe joke, it’s hard for me to tell - that if given the option they would side with Zovaal and allow the Cosmic Reset to happen so everything from Legion to Shadowlands gets memory-holed. I can see the kaldorei take him up on that offer and simply not care if he’s lying or not; it writes itself.

There are also plot threads for the first six chapters set, with the inclusion of the clairvoyant artifact, Mishka the High Elf Hunter OC’s involvement, and the mention of other broker camps that were made for the purpose of this fic. I think it’s pretty obvious that while Zereth Mortis is big by itself it doesn’t quite match the scale of the canon story, which is...pretty fucking small, and kind of does indicate the possibility of story content being cut. But there isn’t any confirmation of that being the case, and it’s honestly not my place to question the devs nor make conspiracy theories about any such decisions of Shadowlands being rushed out the door. This fic is merely meant to serve as a very loose, Canon Divergent crossover adaptation of Eternity’s End, and that means not only nuking the Waystone to Oribos out of existence but messing around with the geography so that its size does reflect the setting the story takes place in because personally, for me, Zereth Mortis is just too small to scale this fic down to that size and enjoy it...but that’s the nature of theme park MMOs for you. For once, I’m not complaining about the length lol

This chapter’s a beast so click on the link under the cut. Also warning for derogatory language and implied mentions of non-con at the beginning.

“And just where do you think you’re going, Windrunner?”

Sylvanas wrestled back the urge to roll her eyes, or scoff, or suck in the air to imitate a groan and stopped short of walking into the man stepping up to block her way. His voice carried across the better part of Haven, drawing the attention of the covenant forces taking stock of their anima supplies, the adventurers that were eating on the greensward opposite the cavernous inn and those that were repairing their weapons or exchanging small talk with Vilo and the other Enlightened guardians that were off-duty. Nearly every face directed at her was wary and venomous. Some readied their staves. Other knocked back the hammers on their guns.

Magic buzzed at the back of her head, bit at the tips of her ears like a sharp, wintry wind. She did not have to reach round to touch her hood nor glance down at the wisp of hoarfrost ghosting by to recognize the threat, the promise, that would come. Jaina would not let her forget.

The night elf in front of her grinned, smug and gleeful. “Well?”

Sylvanas kept her face cool and neutral. “Hello, Threno. I’m sorry, but I have to ask you to please move out of the way. I have somewhere I need to be.”

“No,” he said, and his grin widened.

She pressed her lips together in a firm line but did not frown. “This is important, Threno. Please step aside.”

“Make me.” A few Alliance soldiers gathered underneath the pavilion of Vilo’s wagon snickered. A worgen warrior raised his right arm, flexed it, and gave her his middle finger. Threno’s eyes glowed and curled his upper lip back, showing off a pair of wicked incisors.

She pressed down harder until it became a thin line. “I’d prefer not to.”

“‘Cause you know what’s gonna happen--”

“And I don’t want that--”

“And ‘cause you know I’m right--”

“So I am going to ask you again,” Sylvanas said patiently, and though she was not much taller than him rose up to her full height and leaned forward. “Please get out of my way. The sooner I leave, the sooner I can do what needs to be done and figure out what we have to do next.”

“What’re you in such a hurry for, Windrunner?” Threno said, throwing his arms out wide away from him. “Whatcha gonna do, huh? You gonna go back to Zovaal and tweak his nipples? Suck his dick?” Harsh, raucous laughter sounded off from the group. “Yeah,” he added, nodding. “Yeah, that’s right. You’re going to suck Daddy Zovaal’s dick, aren’t you? ‘Cause Nasty Nate can’t give it to you anymore. Nasty Nate got his head chopped off and went straight to...oh. That’s right,” he cooed. “He didn’t go straight to you, now did he? No, he didn’t. Poor, nasty, little Nate,” he sang, rocking his head from back and forth from side to side. “The universe hates you so much it decided to cuck you and send him elsewhere! Damn shame, isn’t it? Such a damn shame. Oh, don’t look so glum, Windrunner! It’s not so bad! You know why? ‘Cause I just want to let you know: that wherever he is right now, at this moment, he has it better than you. Imagine the pounding he’s getting!”

Another round of laughter burst forth, louder and shameless than before. The guardians closest to them were posted at the top of the ramp leading down into the Great Veldt proper, and they regarded one another with uneasy flickers of the blue flame behind their faceplates. Most of the faction soldiers, the ones that did not jeer or have their weapons trained on her, watched the scene unfold but kept their distance. If anyone wanted to make a move and get between them, they did not so—or could not.

The murmur of chill air at the back of her head narrowed down to a fine, hardened bead. Sylvanas ignored it, the laughter, and continued to stare into Threno’s smiling, daring face. He made a show of wiggling his long, feathery eyebrows at her.

This time, she didn’t stop the frown from slipping out between the corners of her mouth. “Listen to me, Threno--”

“No.”

“Listen,” she repeated, and loathed the way the frustration colored it. “If what I heard is right, then we could all be in serious danger. I need to go out there. I need to see this for myself and confirm it. You don’t know the enemy like I do, you don’t know what they’re capable of, and you stopping me is taking time away from the opportunity I can get us to stay ahead of them and seize the advantage while it’s there.”

All the mirth and cruel triumph fell from Threno. He scowled. “Maybe I don’t want you to have us stay ahead of the enemy,” he rumbled. “Maybe I want them to succeed.”

A hush settled over the encampment, all eyes on them like a weighted blanket. The guardians turned around to face them, polearms at the ready, but still they remained at their posts. The frost magic on her skull wavered, flickered, sputtered.

Sylvanas slowly shook her head. “You don’t want that,” she said calmly. “You don’t want that at all. I’ve heard the stories from Zovaal; if it wasn’t about getting revenge on the Eternal Ones or his plans, then it was the Sepulcher. That’s all he ever talked about. And I know what lays within there, at the heart of all creation. It’s not a toy you can play with, and it’s not a game you can gamble with. All the power on Azeroth, the Twisting Nether, and the Great Dark Beyond pale in comparison to what that thing is able to do. Whatever it is you think you want to happen, whatever it is that you hope for from the bottom of your heart, I just want to let you know: it will be a helluva worse than what we have now.”

“I’d rather live in a world where we can start all over again than stay in a world with you,” Threnos growled, and he bared his fangs at her again. Faint murmurs of agreement rebounded from one corner to the other. Hatred, disgust, and unshed grief shone like a beacon, and if the touch of undeath did not linger on Sylvanas it would have burned her alive.

She shook her head again. “Take my word for it, Threno. That thing should not be touched. It’s not meant for mortal hands. It’s not meant for anyone’s hands, but that’s not going to stop Zovaal. He’s obsessed, and he won’t stop until he’s breached the entire Sepulcher and all of reality is within his grasp. That’s why I need to go. I need to do this. If I can verify the threat and take action then at the very least we can interfere with the Army’s plans and set them as far back as humanly possible. If we’re lucky, we might be able to stop them from putting any more resources into pushing deeper past the Immortal Hearth. We can destroy their teleportation networks connected to Torghast, maybe even beyond.” She paused, could not stop the dull pang that ached in her chest and made her stomach leaden. “If it’s what I think it is, then we should be able to save Anduin before Zovaal--”

“Fuck Anduin!” Threno cried, and lunged forward, snapping his teeth at her. “Fuck Anduin and fuck you!”

“Threno--”

“No! He helped make this mess happen! Let him rot!”

“Regardless of how you feel, we can’t ignore the effects Domination has on us. We need him back if we have any hope of offsetting them when we assault the Sepulcher.”

“Oh, now you talk about hope!” Threno groaned, rolling his eyes skyward. “Now you decide to play hero! Get off your fucking high horse, Windrunner! We don’t need Anduin, we don’t need your mystery prize, and we definitely don’t need you! Get lost!”

The leather of the glove on her left hand creaked into a fist, and the heightened sense of magic manifested, solidified, and held steady. The guns in her periphery clicked loudly like the crack of a dozen whips.

Sylvanas dug her nails in, smothering the curl of shadow magic that wanted to form. “Move, Threno,” she ground out, as politely as she could manage.

Threno grinned, his eyes sparkling and manic. “No.”

“Don’t make me do this. Don’t make me force my way through.”

“I’d like to see you try, cunt.” He beckoned her forth with a flex of his fingers on both hands with a smirk and winked.

Sylvanas felt her mouth twist in a snarl and let the magic, little more than an insignificant mote of fuzz in her palm, grow into a ball that smoked out between her fingers and wrap snake-like up her arm.

She moved.

“That’s enough!”

Before her left foot so much as lifted itself off the ground and her arm so much as lifted up to rear back, the man with the dark hair and blue skin rushed in between them. His pale wings struck out, startling the sharpshooters from their focus. One of his large hands, wrapped in fingerless shrouded cloth gloves, pushed the air in front of him, forcing Threno away a couple steps. Sylvanas jerked at the touch on her shoulder and looked up past the arm to the man standing beside her.

Uther the Lightbringer leveled a stern glare at the night elf. “Threno, if you will not move for Sylvanas then I will ask that you move for me. And if you cannot do that then rest assured, young man, I will make you myself. What’s it going to be?”

Threno balled his fists and growled, high and pitched to an animal whine that teetered on the brink of madness. His whole body trembled so he stomped from one foot to the other, as if to ground himself from collapsing into full paroxysms. He shook those fists up and down and, for a brief moment, lingered down to the pair of curved daggers strapped to his hips. Uther narrowed his eyes. Pinpricks of Light glowed at the fingertips of his outstretched hand.

Then, as if a plug had been pulled, Threno sagged until he was almost doubled over from an invisible weight on his back; even his long, thick ears drooped. He clenched his fists tight, veins popping out between his knuckles, and then he let them loose and fall limply to his sides. He swore in Darnassian, drew himself up straight, and turned his head aside to spit. The two Enlightened guardians regarded that with repulsive flames. “Fine!” he snarled. “Have it your way. I don’t care anymore.” He spun harshly on his heel. “Should’ve never woken up,” he grumbled, and slunk off and away, disappearing deep into Haven.

Discontent and contempt washed over them like a quiet, rolling wave. One by one the barrels lowered and fingers removed from triggers and thumbs from hammers, yet the light of the fractals that poured down from the sky past the shield glinted off their metal shells. The ice spike spell on her head eased up and with a final, warning tap let go. The air around her slowly began to warm.

When he was gone and out of earshot, Uther heaved a sigh and let go of Sylvanas. As did the sense of comfort that came from it, to which she ignored. She inclined his head at him. “Thank you, Uther,” she uttered quietly.

“Are you alright? I just got back from patrol and heard all the commotion.”

“I’m fine. But they’re not,” she said, and gave a quick sweep of the campsite. Everyone had returned to what they were doing: eating, repairing, cleaning, making small talk. The adventurers huddled close to Vilo’s wagon were browsing the wares on his fold-out shelves or bartering for augment runes. Still, they threw the occasional dark glance at her. Still they muttered under their breaths that she thought they assumed would be too low for her to hear. “How could anyone blame them? They’re only doing what they feel is right. To deny them that would be dishonest and cruel.”

His face fell. “Sylvanas….”

“Please don’t worry about it. I would have done the same thing. It’s only fair.” She looked ahead of her, past the camp, to the path that awaited her. This one was perpendicular to the north road and would lead west onto the greater rim of the Veldt, or as the covenants and factions have come to call all the areas surrounding the Forge of Afterlives, the upper level. No one was in the way now. They did not dare to. That was good. “Walk with me, Uther. There’s something I have to tell you.” She leveled a look at him.

He knew right away, and nodded. “Of course.” He gestured for her to take the lead. Sylvanas went ahead of him.

“Uther!”

Her ears twitched, and a tendril of ill dread rustled greasily in the pit of her stomach. Despite that, Sylvanas turned around. Jaina came to an abrupt stop, panting from exertion she was not accustomed to. Shandris trailed behind her a few feet away, bow still drawn, an arrow knocked on its string.

Jaina took in a breath and swallowed before she could find the words to speak. “Let me go with you,” she said, and glared at Sylvanas. “There’s no telling what she’s going to do with you. She tries anything I’ll--”

“Jaina,” Uther said, gently, and held up a hand, “that won’t be necessary. I will be alright.”

“But Uther!”

“This is important, Jaina. You know we can’t hold counsel within Haven right now—not with everything going on. It’s best we take it outside; that way if something does happen, we will not be putting the shield will not be at risk.”

“And you expect to take her word over ours?” Shandris asked, affronted, and all but raised the bow at her. “You expect Sylvanas to be truthful to you?”

“I expect Sylvanas might just have the answers we seek to our current predicament. I will not turn her away.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” the night elf woman sniffed. “You’re just as damned as she is.”

Sylvanas started to turn on her heel. “Hey--”

“Shandris!” Jaina hissed, whirling on her. She put a hand on the top curve of her bow and lowered it down; Shandris did not fight her, but her pale silver eyes glowered her disapproval. When she did not pursue it, Jaina turned back to the Lightbringer. “Please, Uther. Don’t do this alone. Let me--”

“Jaina,” Uther said, and let the word hang in the air like a knell. “I trust Sylvanas.” Her jaw dropped. Shandris stared at him, shocked and appalled. Even Sylvanas looked at him, stunned.

Uther exhaled through his nostrils. “I promise: I won’t be gone long. When we come back, we can discuss our next course of action.” He turned away from them. “Let’s go, Sylvanas,” he said to her. Words failing her, she nodded and walked slowly toward the western entrance.

This pair of Enlightened guardians, female based off their slimmer body frames and articulations, regarded them curiously. A few choice words about where they were going and what was to be discussed from Uther got them to step to the side and thin out a portion of the shield with the magic channeled from their staves. Easier this way, they had told them once, shortly after Haven’s expansion was completed. Anything more than a few people and we will have to use the generators to change the shield’s operational functions.

They went through, and for a short while they walked in companionable silence up the dirt road that cut through the hill. The joints that made up the walls of the town retreated behind them, first their hexagonal columns becoming apparent and then as lines that lost their shape and thickness the more distance was put between them. The path continued to gradually climb until it evened out in broad, sweeping sprawls of verdant green, interspersed by the occasional sphere. Tree roots emerged from their open hollows and curled up in the air toward the ones that floated and shoots of first flowers clustered at their bases of those planted firmly in the ground among a bed of soft moss that hummed a dulcet tone as they passed them by. Off in the distance on their left the mountains, saw-toothed slabs of smooth purple-blue rock that would transition to softer, earthen red further north, west of the Path of Inception and Exile’s Hollow, rose in wave-like sweeps to in a vain attempt to reach the geometric patterns blooming in the sky.

They reminded Sylvanas of Lordaeron—full of life and not the undead did not shamble, where the crops flourished under soft rains and not yet rife with plague and decay. They reminded her of the homestead in a little corner of the Eastwald, built on top of a ridge that overlooked the cobblestone road where horse-drawn carriages traveled west over the bridge into the heart of the kingdom. She recalled the fences that squared off the land, the array of shoddily put-together scarecrows placed here and there across the tilled plots where the vegetables grew their vines along the lattices, and the hounds announcing her arrival up the hill with such loud, sonorous barking as she came up the hill. She thought about him.

She pushed the thoughts, and the pain that followed, away.

“We should be far enough now,” Uther said, looking over his shoulder back at Haven. Then he came up beside her and matched pace with her. “What did you want to tell me?”

Sylvanas glanced to her right, past Uther’s inquiring gaze and past the greensward that rolled away from them to the lip of the upper level, where the vague shapes of raptoras wheeled like a solemn, aching dream. The sky had been blue, once, the camp Elders had said, a pure and vibrant blue that matched their flames: a sign, they claimed, that the First Ones had finally welcomed them upon their sacred land and would cherish them with all the love in their hearts. Now all of Zereth Mortis was covered in a near-complete scrim of overcast pink and grey smokiness shot through with the reflective golden illumination of the patterns above, but even they could not break through the taint of corruption the Mawsworn brought. Only at night, the darkfall, did its old glory return—that was, until the day, the lightrise, returned.

Anger and humiliation lanced through her unbeaten heart, made her grit her teeth at the memories of subservience, the known surety of all the pieces of the long-lain plan falling together into place, Zovaal’s constant assurances and the faint glint of triumph with each success made in his eyes and in his smile.

Zovaal.

She scowled and banished his face from sight. Uther watched her, waiting and expectant. She looked away from the horizon and returned her focus to the Veldt before them. “It’s the Army of the Endless,” she began. “The dreadlords are on the move. They’re planning to make a push past Provis Flora and into Haven.”

“What?” Uther said, and stopped. “But how? We destroyed their camp and severed their teleportation network to the Dread Portal. How could they have reclaimed it so soon?”

“It’s not just the Mawsworn they’re bringing with from the Plain. They’re bringing their absolute best to the field, and they have the entire realm between the Antecedent Isles, the Ageless Shards, and Provis Fauna, Terra, and Strata under their control. Not to mention they have the Xy Cartel out pillaging the western half of Zereth Mortis of fallen Progenitor tech in exchange for the Artificer’s cooperation in circumnavigating the Sepulcher’s defenses. It’s a wonder Pilgrim’s Grace and the other camps are still standing.”

“We have been lucky so far the shields have enough power to withstand attempts at sabotage and bombardments.”

“So far,” Sylvanas echoed, “but they’re not under constant assault like Haven is. They don’t have to worry about,” she paused, searching the right way to phrase it, “about people defecting.”

“No,” Uther agreed, somber. “Even blessings and iterations won’t be enough to hold them out.”

“If things stay the way they are, then yes, they will fall. If it’s not the attacks from outside, it will be from within.” Her eyes hardened. “But we can stop that from happening. We have time, and I have the means to make it so we’ll never want for it.”

Uther nodded. “What have you learned?”

She turned in a half-circle and pointed northeast. “The dreadlords have a camp set up in Provis Strata on the lower level, on the border between Provis Terra and the Fissured Breach. In the past week since our attack I’ve sent out three separate squads to perform reconnaissance, but they’ve been wiped out each time with only one or two survivors coming back to report the losses. However, we’ve managed to collect enough intel from to paint ourselves a picture as to what’s going on.”

Sylvanas frowned. “They’re on high alert, Uther, and it’s not just because we’re getting in their way. They’re guarding something, and we need to take it from them before they use it.”

Uther said nothing. He looked into her face, hanging onto her every word. Then he broke eye contact, chewed on his lower lip, worried at the inside of one cheek. He nodded to himself and swallowed, a quiet click in his throat. “It’s not what’s in the Sepulcher that’s dangerous,” he ventured. “It’s the answer to all their problems.”

“Exactly. But...that’s where the reports end. None of my scouts got close enough to get a good look at it, but Mawsworn presence is heavy and there’s no telling how many of those are actually dreadlords in disguise. That much manpower at such a small site, though...that could only mean one thing, and I’m willing to bet they’re feeling confident enough to take it out of confinement and prepare it for weaponization.”

“Weaponization…?” Uther paused. “It’s an artifact.”

Sylvanas nodded. “It is, and I know the one. Zovaal may have talked about the Sepulcher most of the time, but once in a while he would tell me other things. About other afterlives that hold less sway than the main four we know, the different cultural approaches to death and reincarnation across the planes, the interest the constellar and the remaining five cosmic forces have shown toward Azeroth ever since the Burning Legion was defeated at Argus. This was...after I shattered the Veil in Icecrown, and long before Anduin was Dominated. For such a single-minded god of Death, he had a vast array of knowledge at his disposal...but that’s probably because he was the former Arbiter, and perhaps the main reason why he forsook his role and became what he is today. If I wasn’t out there sowing chaos during the Fourth War, or trying to convince Anduin to willingly serve and fight for the so-called greater good, I was listening to Zovaal talk about anything and everything there was to know in and out of reality. He always went into great detail, and I held onto every word of it in case I would be sent somewhere that would require me to retain any information that might have been important to my mission.

“But there was one story he never went in-depth over; he refused to elaborate whenever I did ask him. He merely said I would know in time. If that time did come, then it had long since passed.”

“You were wrong,” said Uther.

“I was,” Sylvanas agreed. “But I did see it. In fact, he showed it to me himself. It was...right before I forced Kingsmourne onto Anduin,” she began, voice trailing off at the memory, at the ache that resonated beneath her breast. “I had just gotten out of a session with him when I saw the dreadlord come down the stairs from another layer. He had it in his hands and was presenting it to Zovaal. Zovaal never showed much emotion on his face when he was quiet, and not as much as you would think he would giving out commands; when he did, they were very simple and direct. He doesn’t like to waste words if he can help it. But when he was telling stories you could at least hear the interest in his voice, see it in his eyes and the faces he made. It was very muted, though, but there; he’s had to heard thousands upon thousands of iterations of stories for as long as he’s existed. That same interest was there when he called me over. He said it was important and, although it didn’t look like much, it would soon be very powerful and prove to be a boon to our campaign in Zereth Mortis when we prepared to open the portal to Oribos and retrieve the Arbiter’s sigil from her chassis. I asked him how it could be any of that if it was a powerless vessel, but he told me to forego semantics for the time being and asked if I wanted to see it.

“I said yes.” Her brows furrowed. “It’s an artifact, Uther, and it really did not look like much at all. But when I last looked upon it, it had the appearance of a chalice—something you’d see on a table at a fancy noble’s gathering. Except what I thought was the body of a chalice, the rim of the cup, was actually a design held together by a box frame with knops and filigree sketched with all sorts of runes on each four poles of the armature. Arcane, Fel, Void, Light, even elemental from the planes of Life. But there was not a single Domination rune on it, even though the frontal design almost looked like the Primus did when we held him captive in the Oubliette. And I thought that odd, because everything in the Maw is infused with it. It can possess an unprotected mortal mind and force that person to do things they would never think do. It’s so powerful it can control and bend fate to its will. So why wasn’t this artifact inscribed with it?

“I didn’t ask him, and I was proven wrong once again.” Uther gave her a confused, inquiring look. “He asked me if I could feel it. I thought he had meant by touching it, and I mentioned it as such. He said no and asked again if I could feel it...and I did, Uther. I could feel it—as if I was about to take a breath and go underwater.”

“What was it?”

“Magic. Pure magic. You name it, I felt it. But if I had to pick one that stood out the most, it was arcane. Arcane touched with Life. And yet, I still did not feel the bite of Domination—just Death magic and everything else carved onto the artifact. That was the first and last time I saw it in person, because Zovaal told the dreadlord to bring it back where he had it kept under surveillance and wait on standby for when the way to Zereth Mortis was opened.”

“But you’re not certain it’s that particular artifact.”

“No. I’m not convinced it’s actually it, but it was the only other object of importance Zovaal showed to me besides Kingsmourne and the only thing I can think of he’d take with across the Shadowlands. All I know is that it’s not empty or powerless. It’s waiting to be unleashed.”

Uther put a hand to his chin. “So it’s not just an artifact,” he mused. “It’s...a battery. But what would they need a battery for?”

“I’d ask the same thing, and no one would fault us for thinking that,” said Sylvanas, “but according to the reports there haven’t been any artillery delivered into the Index from Torghast or the Dread Portal. Which brings us to the crux of the problem.” She imitated a harsh sigh. “It’s not a battery. It’s as you said. It’s the answer to all their problems...and, in the right hands, the answer to ours.”

“Sylvanas…? What are you suggest--” Uther froze, eyes going wide and jaw falling slack with realization, and she nodded. “It’s an artifact that involves--”

“Time,” she confirmed. “Or rather, the ability to perceive a crossroad of timeways at a current, given standpoint. In other words, it’s clairvoyance in arcane form.” She scoffed. “Of course the dreadlords would be in possession of it. Those bastards are everywhere. It’s what they’re known for. If they open it, they’ll be untouchable and we won’t so much as take a step outside of Haven. Zovaal will waltz right into the center of the Sepulcher unopposed. And Anduin….” She clenched her jaw, closed her left hand into a fist and dug as hard as she could into the leather. The color that drained out of him as she pointed Kingsmourne at his heart, the slate grey armor of spikes and skulls that mantled over the plate of gold-white, the teal blue soulfire that blazed into his eyes as Domination took root—all of it came surging up to the forefront with bitter, shameful clarity.

Uther regarded her with pity, and she bit back the fury that rose up in her throat like bile. “That’s why you want to go,” he said, and it was not a question.

She loosened her grip on her fist finger by finger until her hand rested limply against her side, relaxed her jaw until her fangs were tucked away. There sat on her shoulders a worldly weariness, and it wanted to drag her down through the earth and into the abyssal unknown. She did not let it. She drew up to her full height and bore it. “Threno may have been crude,” she said, “but he had me thinking. If this artifact is the same one I saw in Torghast, it might show us a pathway where we rescue Anduin from the Sepulcher and break the Domination on him. That pathway,” she added, voice cracking, “it could be the one where we won’t have to kill him to save him. However, there’s a good chance it will show us another pathway where we won’t...we might not need him to overcome Domination. There might even be one more where the broken pieces of the Helm of Domination won’t have enough power to do that. There could be many ways to mitigate Domination...or none at all. The only way to know for sure is by opening it. But first we would have to know how the damn thing works. It might not even open for us.”

“What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t just magic I felt when I looked at it, Uther,” Sylvanas said, and gestured weakly at the air in front of her. “Maybe I mistook it for a spike of mana. Or maybe I was Dominated for a brief moment that I didn’t notice it was happening to me and only made to pretend I felt it. I-I don’t know how to explain it, but...something was in there, Uther. Something was looking right back at me...and I...I saw things. I looked within and was judged. For what, I don’t know, but it was just for a split second. Just like that, and it was gone. I can’t tell you what it was; it could’ve been trickery, for all I know. But I do know this: that thing, whatever is giving it clairvoyance, if there even is anything else in there other than magic, cannot be opened. It can’t even be destroyed. No matter what, we cannot let the dreadlords use it.”

“You said we have time,” Uther said. “How much do we have?”

“I don’t know. Best case scenario, they broke it out of wherever they had stored it during the jump and are just starting to power it up with the valves they’re opening and corrupting so they can infuse it with Domination. Worst case scenario, they’ve had it going for some time before we set up in Haven and they’ll use it very soon—could be any day now, could be a few. If they’ve already opened it, then we’ll know for sure in the next day or two.”

“And if they haven’t? What do you think?”

Sylvanas thought it over. “If I had to make a guess...about a week. Maybe less than that, but even that’s hard to pinpoint because we don’t know if the dreadlord assigned to it came over just recently or has been here since day one. But if he came with the rest of the nathrezim from the onset and they haven’t used it by now, then that means they’re still determining their next steps by guesswork just within the artifact’s proximity alone. Just like the bronze dragonflight, after the Dragon Soul was used to destroy Deathwing. They can only see glimpses of the timeways now. You have heard of them, haven’t you, Uther?”

“The bronze dragonflight…? Yes, I have heard of them, but most of what I know about dragons came from the Second War, and they were not being present at the same level the reds were.”

“Then you should know we really should be counting our blessings that the dreadlords are operating by hypotheticals right now and not on certainties like the bronze did years ago. Not until whoever is in charge at Provis Strata decides to give the all-clear and the go-ahead to activate the artifact.”

“Do we know who their commander is?”

“Unfortunately no, but it’s most likely another dreadlord and probably not one of the bounty hunters that have been giving us hell all over the southern half of the realm. The one I saw at Torghast was an arcanist, not much higher-up than your basic foot soldier but definitely with more executive privileges. If it’s not that, then we’re looking at one of the Mawsworn Ebon Commanders that got pulled in from Provis Flora or Provis Esper to supervise their operations. Either way, they’re going to have their base under heavy lockdown. Three attempts with three groups is too many, so they’ll be expecting a fourth incursion out of us. That’s fine by me, because then they’ll be too distracted to focus much on anything else. I can use that opportunity to sneak in there, grab the artifact, and get out before they even realize what’s going on.”

“But if they’re coordinating their offensives based on its proximity, then they should be well aware that something is going to happen at their base and they’ll take action before it does. You’ll be in their direct line of fire!”

“Guesswork is still guesswork, Uther. All that talk I heard in Northrend about ‘preserving the sanctity of the true timeline’ became bunk the moment the bronze started sending people back in time to stop the Infinite dragonflight, their corrupted kin from the future, from intervening and manipulating past events to play out the way they wanted them to for their own ends. It’s a headache to think about, I know, and a lot more to go into, but my point being is that it just goes to show that nothing is truly set in stone. You can consider the possibilities of your actions and what effects they’ll cause later on, but they won’t come into play unless you do them now.” Sylvanas looked in the direction of the Provis Strata base camp; this high up, she wouldn’t be able to see the magic pouring out of the valves nor tell how quickly the corruption process would take to override the automa following their core routines in the surrounding areas. It happened regardless. A cool wind sighed and lightly tossed her hair about, carrying with it the cloying sweetness of still freshwater—the sacred flow—over the mountaintops. “It’s now or never, Uther,” she muttered. “I’m not about to let this pass us by. Besides, if something does happen to me...then, well, that’s a win for everybody.” She smiled a smile bereft of mirth and humor. “It’ll be as if I never woke up.”

“Not if it means all our efforts will be for naught!” Uther said, heat and hurt in his voice, and his armor clinked together as he marched up and stood beside her. “Not if it means you could be the only person that stands between perseverance and eternal suffering!” He tried to lean over and look at her, but Sylvanas harrumphed and turned her back on him. Her ears twitched at the frustration in his sigh. “You are different now, Sylvanas. I may not know you as well as everyone else, but you have changed. The darkness does not hold sway over you anymore. You no longer have to let it dictate your decisions.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sylvanas said. “None of it does. I stopped being a victim a long time ago. Everything that has happened up til now, the whole reason we’re here, is because of me. No one asked for this. I made it this way.” She shuffled around on her feet until she was face to face with Uther once more, her expression hard. “You can’t overlook that,” she affirmed in a small voice. “You just don’t.”

“No,” said Uther, gently, “but do not forget: I am also to blame. I, too, was once Mawsworn. You and I deserve far more than what we have been given, but by luck or by providence we have been granted this opportunity to right the wrongs that have led us here. It may be a beginning...or it might be an end...but it might be a start. And we must not let that go to waste. That is why you have entrusted me with this information, Sylvanas, and that is why I trust you to be the one to carry out this mission.

“What happens in the next few days...our actions will be the factor that will determine the fate of the Shadowlands, and our own.” He put on a hand on her shoulder.

“I know,” Sylvanas said. “I know that all too well. But that doesn’t mean people will like that.”

“What people think about us in the past and what they think about us now, in this moment, is paltry compared to what’s at stake. This is more important.”

“You’re right, and that’s why I won’t sacrifice any more soldiers for this if I can help it. I’ve already thrown away too many lives. I want them to mean something. I don’t want them to be in vain.” Again she looked toward Provis Strata. “For all we know, they could be taking advantage of its magic and reading the timeways. They might even be looking in on us right now and we’re none the wiser. That’s too many variables to take into account to meticulously plan around that. So with the timetable laid out before us, it’s best that I leave now. At the very least I can take stock of the situation and either find an opening or force one open before I make my move. All their attention will be on me, and while that’s not going to stop the assaults from the base camps an infiltration should distract them for a little while. After that, it’s anybody’s guess. We can figure it out from there once the artifact’s under safekeeping.”

She started down the hill, and Uther followed. “If anyone asks, just tell them I’m on patrol. Not that they’re going to care, but it’s all I’ve been doing since the moment I came here. I’m not about to change that now. The less they know what I’m doing the better off they’ll be later on without me getting in the way.”

“This realm is massive, Sylvanas,” he said. “That’s almost half the day spent on foot! Let me at least go fetch you a mount--”

Sylvanas barked laughter and stopped to look back at him, mouth pulled in a sardonic smirk. “Uther,” she chuckled, not unkindly, “even the vespoids don’t want me riding them, and they hate people. It’s karma. I’m paying the price.”

“Karma nothing! You’re doing a good deed, so you’ll be rewarded in kind in the future.”

“Then it’s going to be one helluva long time before the fates even bother to make it happen.”

“Let me go back and get you a vombata. They’re gentle, they accepted the Enlightened. They’ll accept you so just--”

“No, Uther. When I said I’m not going to burn through peoples’ lives, I meant it. That includes animals. A beast will only slow me down.”

“Then how will I know what to do if something happens? How am I going to keep in touch with you?”

Sylvanas paused. She reached for a satchel on her belt, undid the snap with two fingers, and dug out a small, compact disc that she held between them. It was a burnished yellow, like the pieces of Progenitor tech adventurers and covenant troops had recovered throughout Zereth Mortis, and almost paper-thin. If not for the light of the fractals reflecting off the spheroids, it would have seemed as if she was pointing up at the sky. “This is a communicator the Enlightened used among themselves and the other broker cartels back when they were lipping prices in Tazavesh,” she said, and passed the device to him. “Vilo gave this to me in exchange for doing patrols on the down-low and bringing back any Progenitor paraphernalia I could find that the Army hasn’t desecrated. I have another like that on me, so you can hang onto that one. Both are attuned to my anima; as long as you’re holding onto it, and providing I’m not encountering any interference, you’ll be able to connect with me regardless of the distance. All you have to do is tap on it and I’ll respond. While I’m there I’ll send you updates on the base camp’s strength and numbers in the event we plan an attack. However, once I make my move I’m going dark. I won’t resume contact until I have the artifact and I’m out of their sight.

“I can’t promise you I’ll come back right away,” she told him, plainly and honestly. “If Provis Strata is this fortified, then I can only imagine how much more stacked the Plain of Actualization is. Lucky for us they kept it close by and not over there where we can’t even make it past Pilgrim’s Grace.”

“I like to think luck has always been on our side,” said Uther. “We’ve just merely taken it for granted.”

Sylvanas nodded. “Maybe it is. Maybe it has been, after all. And if it’s not, I’ll make it.” She regarded the greensward before them, rolling away into the horizon at a gentle, downward slope that was pockmarked here and there with the occasional hillocks and branch-lined floating spheroids. “I’m giving it until the end of the week—that’s four days from now. If you don’t hear back from me by then, send me a message and I’ll try to respond. If not,” she said, and leveled a stern gaze at Uther that offered no room for argument, “then send in a strike force to come get me out.”

“Sylvanas--”

“I know, but the Waystone is gone and the Light Step cyphers in the translocators are configured to only work in Zereth Mortis. The closest one is right next to where Firim’s at, and I don’t want to have to drag him into another fight with Elder Kreth and Elder Zoor again. My teams were too big and drew attention. A smaller group will do the same, but our odds will be better if you pick a select few that’ll hard-counter the dreadlords.”

“...Demon hunters, then,” Uther said. “Anyone that can keep their distance with the means to lure them out of the camp and dispose of them.”

“Exactly. Get the Slayer to loan you two or three of them: two archers to pick the enemy off, one to go into the camp. Better yet, throw in a warlock or rogue in there with them. Have Mishka lead them if she’s not out on a mission; she’s no loyalist, but she’s one of the very few people I can trust to not blow my head off first thing. If Jaina and Shandris aren’t convinced then have Taelia or Bolvar go with her. The choice is up to you, just get a small group together and point them at Provis Strata, but only do so as a last resort. Give it three days before you try to contact me. If I don’t answer by the fourth, send them in. Hopefully we won’t have to reach that point, but if we do then we’ll just have to give these bastards enough hell and pray we pull this off without anymore casualties.”

“And if we come across any defectors?”

Sylvanas heard the dismay that colored his voice. He knew. They both did. “...They don’t fight for the Shadowlands or Azeroth anymore,” she stated with cool bluntness. “They don’t care if the promises Zovaal is giving them is bait; they’ll take them for what they are. If they get in our way, then we’ll simply cut them down. I will cut them down. No matter how good or bad things get, whatever fresh hell I might have to face, I will see them through to the bitter end.”

“I...understand.”

“Good. One more thing, Uther,” Sylvanas said, before he could get the chance to speak more. “While I’m away, keep an eye out for any faces you might not recognize at Haven.”

“Saboteurs?” Sylvanas did not respond. Her brows knit together. “Sylvanas?” he asked.

“...No,” she said, slowly. “Not saboteurs. It’s more like...I don’t know. It doesn’t make any sense...unless the Army….”

“What is it?”

“Uther, do you know that camp to the west? The one on the border of the mountains that surround the Path of Inception?”

“You mean the First Song’s Repose? Yes, I know of it. We’ve been unable to establish a secure corridor with them ever since the Xy Cartel broke through our resistance at Genesis Pass and besieged the brokers there. Why?”

“Ask the Elders if they still have connections to them. If they do, try to get in touch with the leader at First Song and ask for any updates on the Cartel’s movements. We...might be fighting on two different fronts.”

“Are you saying it was a feint?”

“I’m saying they’re not a big group and wouldn’t be pushing this far south away from the Terrace unless the Army reinforced them. They wouldn’t risk a frontal assault on Haven out in the open; they’ll get slaughtered. So that means….”

Uther’s face turned grim. “They’re using their translocators. They mean to get up close and attack us through a back door. But how could you know all this? We lost contact with First Song after the siege failed. Our scouts have been getting picked off one by one each time we send them out.” He searched her, and for the first time that she could remember Sylvanas tried not to squirm beneath his heavy-lidded stare. Then it dawned on him. “The artifact,” he breathed. “You saw something.”

“I saw many things,” Sylvanas admitted.

“A timeway.”

“No.” She shook her head. “No. It was just madness. Not everything has to come true.”

“You think something’s going to happen at First Song. It’s not saboteurs I have to look out for.”

“I don’t know, and I mean it when I say that. I saw so many things when Zovaal showed it to me but I can’t tell you what they were because even I couldn’t make sense of what I was supposed to be looking at—and I still don’t. All I know is that First Song needs to be guarded and a corridor established between our camps so we can keep our supplies replenished and their worries of another assault abated. So just keep an eye out for anyone that stands out.”

“And what should I do when I see them?”

“If you see them,” Sylvanas started, paused, and considered. “If you see them,” she tried again, “then send them to me. I’ll...figure it out from there.”

Uther nodded without complaint, and for that Sylvanas was silently grateful. He gestured past her with a hand. “You should get going, while it’s still light out. I will tell the others our plan.”

“But not this,” Sylvanas interrupted, and Uther noticed the suddenness of it he showed no indication. “Not what I just told you. Just say you want to post a scout at the median leading up to First Song and set traps there, in case somebody from the Cartel or the Army tries to get wise and breaks through. It’s not too far out where they’ll be in danger but close enough to where they can make it back to Haven in one piece. Do it as soon as you get there. Mishka will do; her beasts are some of the sturdiest I’ve had to contend with. If I’m wrong about all this, then I can say it won’t be using up any essential resources.”

He inclined his head at her. “Very well. I’ll be sure she is well situated.”

“You do that.” She tilted her head back to the sky. The shadows of the raptoras were gone. The hum of the flowers at their feet crooned a sweet melody on the edge of hearing, mixed between a lullaby and droning tinnitus. The sacred flow teased her nostrils. All that would soon be replaced by hard scrub, sandy grit, and the stint of corruption. The rocks and the trees and the ponds would be drowned out by cacophonous machinery and sulfurous dark magic.

It made her sick to her stomach.

It made her soul ache.

She wanted to be struck down and never get up.

Sylvanas glanced at her shadow, took note of her bow hanging off her hips, the dagger at her belt, and the quiver strapped to her hips. All accounted for, she turned to the path before her, long and winding away into the unknown. “I’ll be back,” she said.

“Light be with you, Sylvanas,” Uther said.

She bit the inside of her cheek, hard, hard enough for the skin to break. Her chest seized painfully. Her head began to feel light and the world at her feet tilted over from one side to the other.

It hurt.

Everything hurt.

She forced it all back, squared her shoulders, clenched her fists tight and set her gaze forward. “You as well, Uther,” she answered back in as steady a voice as she could muster, and went on her way.

She did not look back, nor did she pay heed to the scenes, the faces, and the questions that played out in her mind.

#mywriting #warcraft #tales of luminaria #fanfiction #that fic where celia & michelle go to zereth mortis fic

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