Eleeria Silverwing

The Trial

Vanir’s hooves cut a strange sound on what remained of shattered roadways as his rider picked a path southwest. The Ghostlands had borne the brunt of the Scourge attack, and with the annihilation of most of those who had lived in the area, the roads had fallen to ruin. While residents kept paved areas around their scant houses well-lit at night, the woods seemed nearly a safer option even with the addition of dangerous wildlife. The road itself was perilous compared to the loam and underbrush, but was the only real way to know she was headed in the right direction, with the tree cover so thick and gnarled.

The residents of Tranquilien had warned Eleeria of as much when she had passed through. The paths be nearly as dangerous as the woods beyond, lady Knight, an undead man had informed her, looking a bit overawed to have a lone Blood Knight approaching the tiny hamlet. Make sure to take a light with you. The roads hold dark people and dark things these days.

He kept staring at her until she was made almost uncomfortable by it. Eleeria knew that occasionally Blood Knight units would come to the Ghostlands to train. But she wondered how long it had been since any had been stationed here, if ever. How long had it been since a Knight had asked after them? Or anyone in Quel’thalas? How often did people hope to forget about the tiny, struggling town in the midst of such greater suffering across the globe? The thought softened her sharp features, and she had hopped down from the saddle there in the center of the ruined courtyard and asked if they needed help. Give me and my horse lodging for the evening and I’ll help you with any tasks that need a strong arm or a sharp sword, hm? Eleeria had spent the remainder of the day and evening in Tranquillien — carrying wood and stone for the continuing reconstruction of the surrounding areas, and culling overly aggressive wildlife. She had left the next morning significantly more dirty and tired than she had been the day before, but infinitely more settled. But by the evening, the Adept had not yet left the eastern road, stretching towards the old Amani territory. By all accounts, the building she searched for should have been spotted hours ago. And yet the further she went into the Ghostlands, the most lost she felt.

Dahliria had agreed to meet with her a week ago regarding the hilt that had so recently come into her possession. An astute member of the Sunreavers, Dahliria certainly had some experience with identifying powerful magical artifacts. The older woman had taken the hilt into her hands and examined it carefully, pulling out a magnifying glass and other strange magical instruments.

“You said it came from the Ghostlands?” Dahliria was a sharp woman, every inch the professional Magistrix. Her eyes did not waver from examining the hilt she held in her hands as she spoke, as if looking for clues otherwise unfound as of yet.

“Yes, I think -- the crest on the hilt there? It’s an old family sigil of a house that used to reside in what’s now the Ghostlands. Star-something.” Eleeria had leaned forward to point out the design to her magister friend, and the older woman frowned thoughtfully. “The family itself isn’t that important to me, however. I’m just looking for the rest of the sword.”

“And you are certain it is a sword of some importance? That its loss would have been recorded? Or shall I put scrying as a backup endeavor?”

Eleeria had shrugged sheepishly. “Maybe save it for last?”

It had been of enough importance to be noted. Dahliria had been able to trace the sword back to its original owner; apparently it had been broken during the Third War, its owner a spellblade of some middling renown. He had been known mostly for his single-handed defeat of a band of trolls that raided his home village. But the sword itself had been a product of one of the best runesmiths of the age: a proper spellblade, rare now that the spellbreakers had largely perished, gifted by the State only to its most talented students. The blade had been severed and its owner killed, his entire family perishing during the Fall. The Runesmith had died as well, and his swords had become rare indeed. Imbued with magic during the forging, an intensely difficult process, he had only produced one or two that remained whole after the Fall. But the few villagers who had survived mostly due to luck had preserved the pieces of this sword, believing it to be sacred. How Ashideena had come by the hilt, Eleeria would never know.

The research had been the easy part. She had spent hours searching for the remnants of this village and the ruins they supposedly kept the sword in. There was no good way to find what had been lost -- with so few people living in the Ghostlands, Dahliria’s instructions were remarkably unhelpful. Near to the troll encampments of Zul’Aman, close to the mountains that separated Quel’thalas from the Plaguelands. It should have been easy, and yet...all Eleeria seemed to find was corrupted wildlife and decaying flora. As Vanir continued to trek down the road, light glinting from her fingertips so that both she and her destrier could see before them, Eleeria realized somewhat belatedly that she had walked this road before.

Her head swiveled to the left -- staring up the nearby hill as if she could see the crumbling set of ruins beyond. She had made so many errors over the course of the past year. It was here in these lands that she had convinced so many people to kill an entire human city for her own selfishness, and agreed to raise them from the dead. Where she had condemned so many elves into fates far worse than they could have imagined. There had been no honor in what she had become in those months after Waraylon’s death. She had acted on her own desires, and so many people had paid for it; perhaps that was where her doubt stemmed from, that had kept her from embarking on this journey for so long.

I was a monster. I could become one again.

But it was the Order, in some ways, that had pulled her from those dark hours. The Order, and the Sunwell. The flood of power and light into her life had been a lifeline; Eleeria had gripped onto that power and followed it instinctively. It had led her to the Kestrel Company -- to those faces both stern and grinning that welcomed her every day. It led her to Ashideena, who recognized that she could do more than simply wallow and wait for something to happen to her.

Eleeria took a deep breath, pushing the doubts from her mind. “I can do this.” Vanir whickered in response, eking a smile out of the knight. Her horse was always so vocal that it made her happy simply to be about him. “I’m really glad I found you after Lordaeron. I was really worried about you, you know.” Another sigh, and the two of them pressed onward, into the dark.

It was dawn before she finally stumbled across the sleepy village she had been searching for. One of the only remaining settlements in the Ghostlands aside from Tranquillien, it was barely more than a cluster of four or five houses, all carefully guarded. Men and women peeked from their windows at the sound of approaching hooves. When assured that it was no Ren’dorei or other threat to their livelihood -- likely cheered by the sign of the blood phoenix across Eleeria’s chest -- they exited their homes and swarmed towards the Adept. And yet -- despite the cheerfulness of the mood upon her arrival, something felt innately wrong to Eleeria’s magical senses. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she shivered. Vanir shied slightly as well, certainly sensing something in the air.

“Easy…” She murmured to her destrier, hopping down from her saddle to greet those who came to welcome her. “Let’s not scare these poor villagers away, hm?”

“A lady knight!” It was the shriek of a child that brought her back to the physical present. Eleeria grinned as she saw a girl no older than ten come careening out of her house towards the small woman and her horse. With an ‘oof!’ Eleeria fought to maintain balance as the little girl’s arms wrapped around her legs. “Minn’da told me there was no way I could be a lady knight like Liadrin, and now you’re here in our town!”

Eleeria laughed, gently easing the girl’s death grip on her knees so that she could stand upright. Vanir glanced down at the child, and both he and his rider’s gaze turned towards the rest of the town. While the younger residents seemed delighted, the oldest of them seemed worried. Perhaps they, too, had sensed the strange magic in the air; more likely, Eleeria assumed, they had suffered some ill effects from the magical haze. She glanced back down at the little girl with a smile, hiding her worry for the moment. “Aye, I’m no Liadrin, but I’m both a lady and a knight. What can I do for you?”

At the question, the few older villagers moved forth to speak to her, a woman about Eleeria’s age putting a hand on the little girl’s head to still her slew of questions about magic and swords and boys. Eleeria let the child hold onto her hand and inspect her black and crimson armor carefully while she heard the more pressing concerns. Many of the villagers reported a sickness creeping through the town: on top of the normal colds and bouts of influenza, there was a strange lethargy rising in many of the older citizens. Eleeria surmised that it was likely due to the magic she could feel about the place. Though she yearned to see her way to the nearby church and finish her trial, it was hard for her to find any good reason to simply walk away from their troubles.

“Well you’re in luck then, as I’m a mender for the Order. Show me to your injured, hm?” She let herself be led from house to house. Some of the remedies were easy -- warm, herbal tea for those with congestion and recommendations of rest for those with colds. She checked for signs of deterioration of existing conditions; checked for symptoms of pneumonia in those who had seem their symptoms and kept working despite them. The warm touch of the Light set bones and scourged away infection. Eleeria had noticed that her magic had grown softer towards those she considered friends over the past few months; now it was a soothing thing to be healed by her, rather than something to be feared.

But as her light brushed against this lethargic sickness, Eleeria made a face of dismay. This was nothing natural -- her suspicions were confirmed. The same magic that hung over the village appeared to be infecting its citizens as well. And as she cast her magical awareness farther afield, she discovered it curling into even the healthiest of people. “What…” She reached further -- grasping for the magic harming the elderly man in front of her, trying to ease it from his chest.

The sudden touch of the void against her magical net made her recoil. Eleeria stopped, down at her hands. Quickly, she released the strange magic, light soothing the cough that had risen to her patient’s lips. “Who has been out here tampering with the void…?” Immediately, her thoughts went to the Ren’dorei; was it possible that a few of them had been left here in the Ghostlands, and were now causing mischief? Perhaps. Eleeria frowned, casting her magic out again. The feel of the void covered all of these little homes. It was as if the very village had been contaminated, throwing the entire thing into discord and lethargy.

That’s not good. Let’s hope there’s a source to all of this. Eleeria had been unable to sense even the faintest shadow magic prior to her connection with the Sunwell; now it pressed on her mind, an uncomfortable sensation, as she began to trace the spell back to its origin. Standing, she glanced to the few villagers who remained -- among them, the small child who was so enamored with her -- and offered a reassuring smile. No need to alarm them, just reassure them. “I think the source of this may be magical in origin. Don’t worry; I’ll go check it out, myself.” The villagers seemed to breathe a sigh of relief that the knight would help them -- one that did not reach Eleeria’s lips. As one of the local farmers agreed to watch over Vanir while she was gone, Eleeria stepped forth from the tiny hamlet, feeling the weight of responsibility settle onto her shoulders like an unfamiliar mantle.

The dirt trails through the woods had been long since abandoned. Covered in brambles and other detritus, Eleeria could only go so fast without tripping over her own plated feet and falling straight into the briars. She used the brunt of her hammer to clear some of it away in the worst parts, but it was still difficult to traverse as it wound out and away. The magic’s trail led her towards a building in the distance; Eleeria altered her steps to head there, brushing aside the forest’s natural debris as she did so.

The building was older than the Fall by some several years, but had since fallen into deep disrepair. Although it had once been a grand thing, glass domed with several towering columns, the dome itself had shattered some time ago. A few of the columns had fallen as well, leaving the entire building structurally unstable and certainly abandoned. A layer of debris and weeds coated the interior and exterior both. It had been a long time since anyone in Quel’thalas had followed the church of the Light -- and even if they had, Eleeria was fairly certain that it would have fallen out of disuse purely because its parishioners had died in the Fall. As it stood, it was a testament to the times long past, a monument to the sword that stood within and nothing more than that. The building seemed to radiate with the arcane and void both, likely the source of the spell that lay over the town. Eleeria frowned -- Dahliria’s notes hadn’t mentioned anything about the sword being void corrupted, and from the look of the building this was certainly where she had meant to go all along -- and made her way to the chipped and broken stairs, ascending into the temple.

The interior was like every other temple she had entered into these past few years: cracking and sagged, the frescos that had covered the interior walls and ceilings had long since begun to chip and fade. The elven faces that stared down at Eleeria as she examined the space with a moment’s pause seemed to almost judge her, azure eyes unblinking as they stared into her soul. She remembered the first time her mothers had taken her to a church of the Light: she had been young, clutching to their hands anxiously. The frescos had terrified her then, too. They had seemed so angry, the light a forbidden thing for people of their class and rank. It was something handed to those with privilege, those people able to come to churches like this and stand at the altar, praying to Belore. Though the light had long since faded from this church, the memory remained; Eleeria looked away from the pictures still remaining, unsettled and vaguely judged by their constant vigil.

The adept prowled towards the front of the church, ignoring the stares of the frescos and the overwhelming void aura that seemed to permeate the building for the time being. The origin of the spell had to be around the building somewhere; Eleeria was more concerned with finding the remains of the sword at the moment before she located the source of the magic. Plate footsteps reverberated in the empty space as she checked the side alcoves, finding them bereft of the weapon, and moved up towards the scattered remains of the altar. As her feet hit the stone stairs separating the dias from the nave, she stopped only for a moment on the second-highest stair. Hesitation limned her features, alone as she was in the darkness, and she stared at the top of the sanctuary that had always felt so removed from her.

Not any more. With an audible breath, she took the final stair onto the dais, ascending to the most sacred of places within the church itself. The empty and broken windows would have been full of light in better days. Now, vines crawled across the ceiling and walls, intruding into the space and nearly covering a tarnished reliquary against the wall. Eleeria paused for a moment, an ear twitching -- was that the sound of footsteps? She swore someone else had to be in the building with her, from the sharp sound that came from the surrounding foliage. It was as if something had wanted to catch her attention, and the small woman turned, surveying the nearly collapsing building. Nothing -- in the gloom she could see absolutely nothing amiss. And yet, something tugged at the edge of her awareness, sliding away as she reached out to grasp it. If something was following her, it was magical in origin; her eyes roved the rest of the church for signs of life and found none.

Eleeria…

She frowned, ignoring the sound of her name for the moment. Surely it was the whisper of the vines and nothing more; Eleeria would not hedge suspicion on something she couldn’t see. Turning around, she strode for the reliquary, pulling vines off of the gilded lid to peer inside. Thankfully, the box had survived the ruin of this place. From the now-depleted sigils on the stone plinth it stood upon, it seemed some creative mage had hidden the box from Scourge detection — likely paying for it with their life. The lock itself was imbued with sigils still active, and yet...upon further inspection, there appeared to be another spell layered over the sigils. Her fingers hovered above the lock, trying to discern the spell and yet -- it was no arcane rune that she could easily understand, and no work of the light to be felt by intuition. That she could sense the magic at all narrowed down the options, but she stalled for a moment before deciding to simply touch her hand to the spell to see what happened.

Eleeria!

The force of the void hit her in the chest, knocking her to the ground with a sharp clang of plate on marble. Eleeria gasped for air, clutching at the place where she’d been hit. The world seemed to shift around her, shadows creeping across the empty space. It was as if she had been struck with sudden vertigo; moving became difficult, her head spinning as she pushed to her knees. Pictures and images flashed before her mind’s eye, borne by the void as it coalesced into something more tangible: Waraylon, telling her about selling his soul for the power of an old god. Her father, glancing down at a child in his arms. Herself -- flashes of her, thousands of glimpses through the eyes of others. They did not seem to have a set timeline, nor did they seem to put forth any particularly interesting set of circumstances. Eleeria closed her eyes as the flashes of light and color became too much, rubbing at them with her free hand.

When she opened them, the shadows had taken the vague form of a man: seated in a chair of shifting void, the creature seemed to cross its legs, staring with features she couldn’t discern but nonetheless felt the intensity of. Eleeria pulled herself to a knee

The little spark has become a sun in her own right. And here she stands, on the cusp of greatness. But I would speak with you before you make your decision, little one.

The voice seemed to come from nowhere, and yet, everywhere at once. It was just as she remembered from her dreams; just as she remembered from their momentary connection the moment she held Waraylon’s daggers. The thing, the...void creature from her memories was in front of her. And judging by its tone, it seemed interested to speak with her. Pulling herself to her feet, she gripped her hammer in her hands, placing it between herself and the creature. “What do you want with me? Did you put that spell on the lock? How did you know I would come here?”

I have been watching you. This discussion is long since due. With every word, the shadows seemed to shift. They swallowed the cathedral whole with their slow expansion. No more could she see the deteriorating columns or the vines breaking through the upper windows. All that surrounded Eleeria was darkness, the shadows so deep she could barely see her own hammer, the faint golden sheen of lightforged metal clouded in the gloom. There is a bargain between your family and I. So far, you are the only one who has not willingly come to my side. And yet, it intrigues me where it should irritate. Not one of your kin has ever embraced the light before, and I daresay it’s fascinating. Where do you draw it from? By right, you should be one of mine, and yet…

The creature shifted forward, extending an arm. Dark fingers curled under Eleeria’s chin despite the distance between them, turning her head this way and that. Though she yearned to cut them away from her, she seemed unable to move at the moment. Seeping cold spread from the place where the Creature’s void spell had hit her in the chest, muscles locking and forcing her to stand still. And yet...you are a precious, small light in the abyss. One defiant fledgling. And the tide grows ever stronger in the rising of the void.

Eleeria gasped as the cold hit her lungs, making it almost a struggle to breathe. With a futile motion, she attempting to pull her head back from its strange embrace. “Whatever it is you’re planning, I want no part in it! I know you’ve been following me since the day I picked up those daggers--”

It laughed. Oh, much longer than that. Did you think I would let such a fascinating member of the Silverwing family escape our blood debt?

“--but I am not for sale!” The sudden crack as she yanked her body back was as the breaking of ice in the warmth of summer; the pieces of the void’s hold shattered with the sudden infusion of light, rendering it unstable and useless. Eleeria stumbled back several paces, weapon at the ready as she dropped into a fighting stance. “I don’t know what my family did to wrap you up in their lives so thoroughly. But I don’t care. You took Waraylon away from me, and I will never forgive you!”

Oh, my sunlight. The thing stood; Eleeria watched it shift, the form expanding to become so much taller than she that it nearly hurt to look at. It stepped closer to her and she eased backwards, step by step, until her back hit the sudden stone of a nearby pillar. The thing leaned its ever-shifting features pressing into a cruel smile. For a moment, it reminded Eleeria so much of Waraylon’s devious grin that it hurt. She took a breath, staring it in the eye. Everywhere the thing touched, more tendrils of cold enveloped her, cracking slightly but persisting despite her warmth. Did your father never tell you about the bargain between myself and your family? Did no one ever tell you what a foolish endeavor it was to turn your face to the sun-kissed light of day?

A series of images passed between them as the thing pressed its finger to her forehead, the cold slipping behind her eyes. A man so similar in feature to herself and her father, receiving eerily familiar daggers from the creature that now stood in front of her. The smile of his son as she ripped the daggers from his dying father’s hands. One and on, the chain of violence went -- to the last, her father taking the daggers from her grandfather--

And then, handing them painlessly to her. A chain, unfulfilled, the gap stretching ever onwards as her father had decided in that moment to pass them to her out of some feeling other than anger and revenge. “Siren’s Reach. They came from you.” She could feel her pair of daggers growing cold against her thighs from where she’d always strapped them for easy access, just in case her hammer was ever lost to her. Now she felt foolish for bringing her family’s treasured weapons, though she knew she could not blame herself for not knowing the truth.

Yes. And when you chose not to kill your father, you broke a long line of power stretching back for generations. It would be easy, you know, to change that. To become what you were meant to. Those shadowed lips grazed her jaw and suddenly the small adept found it hard to move at all. Her fingers locked around the shaft of her hammer, breathing slowing to a shallow gasp. Eleeria’s eyes stared into the blankness of the void as time seemed to still around her. So many have told you the light is the easiest path, and yet -- surely they have not tasted the embrace of the void. The creature’s voice was enticing, smooth and pleasant to her ears. The light requires much of you. These vows would require things you know you are not yet ready to give. You have seen the dangers of weighing too heavily on yourself in the name of that which you hold most righteous. How far will that honor take you, little sun?

She could still feel Weleria’s fingers around her neck, strangling the life from her. It was as if she had watched a woman crack under the weight of her own honor’s expectations and could do nothing to help but take it as a cautionary tale. Ashideena and Amren, too, had learned to simply mask their feelings in public for the sake of the greater good -- and sometimes in their private lives as well. Perpetually retreating into a barrier of their own making for the sake of honor. It reminded Eleeria so much of her time as an assassin: though the terms of the game had changed, the rules remained the same. Give everything, from her time to her morality to her very life. And even then that was never enough: Lanrec and Siildore were proof enough of that. Everything for state and country. Everything for Quel’thalas and a people who so rarely had believed in her, had given nothing for her. Honor would take her to an early grave at best -- and into the clutches of undeath at the worst.

Eleeria could feel her hold on her weapon growing weaker as the cold spread through her veins, leaving her numb. And yet she could not find the strength to pull away once more, instead closing her eyes with a pained sigh. “I’m so tired of all these expectations.” Her voice was a whisper.

You have every right to be. I would never ask so much of you. Cold arms wrapped around her and ever so gently eased her off of her feet and into its embrace. They felt like Waraylon’s arms -- reassuring and strong, carrying her to their bedroom. With her eyes closed, Eleeria could almost will it to be so. You know what you could become, with my help.

“Yes...” She did not need the creature’s aid to see what would befall her -- after all, Eleeria had already lived it. She could feel the weight of caring for so many lost souls and uncaring citizens slip from her shoulders. Eleeria had been a monster: seflish and vicious, prone to acts of violence that furthered her own means. With the power of the void, she knew she could be all that and more. From merely a conqueror to an empress. To a queen. The darkness had wrapped itself around her, she knew; and yet her body was so heavy that it was difficult to want to care. Thoughts unspooled from her mind and filtered into the dark as she let the weight of the past several months ease from her memory. Gone were the feelings of inadequacy; gone were the doubts about her ability. Gone too, the strange and heavy sensation of having someone’s life in her hands as she worked with magic and medical skill; gone were the sleepless nights worrying over the Kestrel Company...on and on the burdens went, until the last: a final night with her fiance. A conversation, played over in her mind so many times.

“You can be so cruel when you want to be, Eleeria.” His words. She remembered them like they were said just moments before, as he curled into a ball on the floor. And yet strangely...Eleeria felt resistance upon reaching the next part of the memory. Some force, pressing into her mind -- trying to stop her from reliving that moment. As if it were afraid of that moment, that convergence point between then and the now. Eleeria frowned, finding the will within her to shove that suppressive force out of her mind. She would let the memory play out; she wanted to remember it once more before giving in. One more recitation of the words she had sent her lover off to die with.

“But I know that you don’t mean them. I know you lash out when you’re scared.” He had cried in front of her -- bared his vulnerability, and she had not taken it for the gift it was until he was dead and beneath the sea. “I hope one day you can love yourself like I love you.”

Of course.

That was when everything had changed, for her. The conversation that had sent her down this long path to begin with.

Of course it didn’t want her to see what happened next. It was afraid of what she was becoming.

Eleeria realized with a start that she was being tricked into giving up, falling back into those dark depths. It had been so easy to be manipulated by those honeyed words that she hadn’t realized it was attempting to lull her into complacency to complete the transaction it felt it was owed. And she had nearly let it win and given up, fooled into a false sense of comfort at its familiar touch. Gripping her memories with a mental force of will, she pulled them back into her body, gathering them back into the very parts of her that made her a living thing.

And then the cold evaporated in a rush of sun and heat and will -- and blindly, Eleeria Silverwing reached out to grab the spectral hand of the void creature whose fingers were mere centimeters from her soul, and dragged it out from her mind in an onslaught of Light. “I am not your tool to be used or deceived!”

Void lanced down her hand in painful, cold spears. She could feel her hand cracking into pieces, the slow trickle of blood down her forearm as the void seemed to break it from the inside out -- and yet she did not give up, even as the creature hissed and writhed in her grasp. Slowly, she pulled those icy claws out of her skin and her mind. In its wake rushed the warmth of the Light she had grown to love this past year and a half, filling her with a sense of purpose stronger than the void could ever give her.

“I am not yours.” She ground the words out through clenched teeth as her bones felt near to cracking in her hand. The thing struggled as her gloved palm heated with holy fire, trying to escape her hold. “I will never belong to the void. I am not my father, and I refuse to be part of his and yours and my family’s stupid bargain. I am a fucking Blood Knight of Quel’thalas, and so help me if it’s the last thing I do in my life I will put you and and all your kin into the ground for the plague you’ve spread on me, my family, and the people of this town you’ve enslaved in your lust for power!” The creature’s hand disintegrated under the sheer force of Light magic pressed into its skin, and with a cry it dragged itself backwards, furious shrieks echoing off of the church walls. The shadows spread and shrieked around her: claws lengthened from remaining fingers, limbs stretched wide and poised to shred flesh. The creature bared its teeth at Eleeria and she bared hers in turn.

No! This wasn’t supposed to happen!

“Yeah well, I do a lot of things that aren’t supposed to happen, so get fucking used to it you creepy shit!” She picked up her hammer once more with a soft grunt, ignoring the violent pain in her right hand. She could feel her skin cracking away like plaster, but ignored it for the moment, attention focused on the creature in front of her. “If you want me then you’ll have to kill me first. And I’m telling you now, motherfucker: this is not how I die!”

She did not wait for its response. Light flared in the darkness as Eleeria lunged for the thing and its many limbs and teeth. Swinging her hammer upwards, she brought the large weapon straight down into the creature’s shoulder. Light radiated from where she struck, and the void split into several smaller monsters to protect itself. Claws and teeth raked at her legs and arms as Eleeria slammed the butt of the hammer into one and spun to crack another in two. They seemed to amplify as she tore into them. For every one she killed, two more stepped to take its place -- until they were grabbing at her hammer, pulling it and her to the ground. Eleeria screeched in frustration; the hammer itself rippled with angry fire as the void sought to tear it from her hands. Holy light rippled from her fingers into the weapon, at odds with the void pulsing around her. The bulky hammer was dragged from her hands with a start; as cold fingers gripped at her arms and dragged her to her knees, her weapon fell from her hands and into the void beneath her feet. Instability rippled through the church as the lightforged weapon met the pure void. She wrenched her arms away from the voidlings to throw up a holy barrier just in time. The hammer shattered with the sudden infusion of void magic, hitting her barrier and rebounding straight into her enemies. The things shrieked as the light-suffused projectiles embedded in their spectral flesh, melting them into an oozing puddle on the floor. And yet, still more came. They appeared to be endless, crawling forth from the summoned darkness with no pause. Eleeria’s hastily erected shield slowly faded, but she refused to fear. As the final shimmer of protective light dimmed from view, Eleeria grabbed for her connection with the Sunwell, drawing deep from that endless source of magic.

She remembered the first time she had reached out and touched its power. Eleeria had been terrified at the time — to hold something so infinitely powerful in her hands was to know her own mortality. How easy it would be, to burn herself alive with her own doubts and hesitations. She could only touch such power for a few moments before feeling it necessary to let it go.

But she was an initiate no longer. That fire surged through her veins, and Eleeria did not shy away from it, as she had in the past; she maintained a firm hold on it with a mental hand, unwavering. There were so many things to be afraid of in her life — so many uncertainties even her new path could not rid her of. But one thing she was absolutely certain of was that she could control the Sunwell’s power with an iron will to save herself as those in need. Fire rippled across her form as she pulled, and pulled, feeling flames in their wake across her skin, bursting from her back in a wing-like arc. And when she was certain she could hold no longer — some folly of mortality at last, birb of actual necessity to let all of that magic go somewhere — Eleeria opened that mental hand and forced the magic out of her in a blinding aura.

The shadow that had curled around the church was dispersed in an instant, banished by radiant light. The void creatures shrieked and dissipated under the force; the strongest of them, injured but not completely destroyed, sank back into the depths. One by one the creatures were destroyed or dissipated; only the Creature itself remained, shrieking and clawing at the floor. Eleeria stepped forward, holy energy still radiating from her in waves. Stooping to grab the sharp pieces of what once had been her warhammer, she ducked forward, jamming the pieces into its shoulders. She threw the rest of her magic into its form, allowing the lightforged pieces of her weapon to amplify her strength.

You can’t kill me! Though it was screaming in pain, spectral noises that made the Adept’s ears pin back, her nose beginning to bleed, it did not seem close to dying. You will regret this day that you did not join me! I will tear your heart from your chest and claim your soul as mine if I must!

She did not care about the threats to her person. Leaning in, she bared her teeth at the creature in elven shape as it seemed to dissipate beneath her. “Get out of Quel’thalas. Remove your curse from this village and leave these people’s lives. Or I will show you the meaning of fear, void abomination. And I will tear your heart out and burn it to ash!”

She could feel the sudden shift in the atmosphere as the curse over the town began to pull away. The void creature opened its mouth, baring elongated and sharpened teeth at her; Eleeria merely bared her own, unafraid. She did not relent until the last scrap of void magic had ebbed away: back into the Creature struggling beneath lightforged fragments and the magnitude of magic running through Eleeria’s veins. I will return...mark my words, Eleeria Silverwing… It struggled to maintain shape, now. Eleeria leaned in one last time, close to those teeth -- ignoring the surging pain in her injured hand, and the lingering feeling of exhaustion ebbing closer to reality.

“The next time you return, I will kill you. And I will have my revenge for what you did to my father. And what you did to Waraylon.”

With a final twist of the broken hammer, the Creature disappeared with one final shriek.

And Eleeria let the pieces go, sinking to the floor. The sounds of the Ghostlands resumed after a long moment. No longer did the area feel so oppressive with the weight of the void. The last of the Sunwell’s strength slipped through her fingertips, until it was no more than the normal stream of light she normally managed. Picking herself up off of the ground with a groan, she tucked the pieces of her hammer she could find into her belt. For a moment, she paused, before stumbling to the door. The sword she had come for could wait -- the village, she decided, was more important than some old relic. As Eleeria stepped outside, however, the faintest hint of light in the pre-dawn morning revealed that the village was...sleeping peacefully. It was as if the villagers had never noticed the Creature that had been lurking here for who knew how long. Eleeria sighed, slumping against the doorframe. With one long, last look at the houses in the distance, she turned and walked back up that long aisle, vaulting the stairs of the dais and finally putting her injured right hand to the lock.

Compared to the Creature that had come before it, the lock was so easy to parse that it nearly brought her to tears of relief. Every movement in her right hand had become an agony. As the arcane spell met her fingers, she cringed in pain, though she knew the spell was not meant to harm her. It was a brush of feather-light magic against her soul; for once, Eleeria bared herself to it, letting it search her heart. What will you do with it? The lock seemed to ask, gently turning Eleeria’s emotions over in its magical sight. What do you wish to do with the sword?

“I want to use it.” She had used up her anger on the void that had inhabited this place. All that remained was exhaustion -- and determination. Eleeria closed her eyes, Light already stitching up the scrapes and gashes along her arms and legs. “I want to use it to protect Quel’thalas. I want to keep my people safe from the Alliance at our doorstep. I want to protect them from the threat of the void that lurks so close and threatens to destroy us and our Sunwell with us. But...more importantly, I want to be a leader for our people. I will banish the nightmares from our shores, both known and unknown. And when everything seems bleak, I will be the light in the darkness, to lead them home again.”

She could feel the truth in those words. Though once she had hated that her people had left so many by the wayside -- so many lost and abandoned children like herself -- she had found it in her heart to forgive them. Eleeria stared down at the lock in her hand and allowed a smile to creep across her sharp features. What would she do with the weapon? She would fight -- of course she would fight. But she would do just as much to help the people she was meant to protect. Eleeria wanted to make a better Quel’thalas; becoming a Knight would allow her to do that. And perhaps, in time, there would be no more abandoned and neglected children. Perhaps those who had starved and scraped for a life in the country of her birth would be raised to equal footing with those who had not. She could only try her best to ease the disparity and the anger. And it was a task that she took upon herself with a glad heart.

...that will do.

It felt as if the people who had led her to this moment stood next to her as the lock slowly unclasped, falling into her outstretched hands. Ethalarian, Ashideena, Amren, Weleria -- the list went on. So many people had offered her their own hands outstretched, to bring her from assassin to this, and she would not let them down. Eleeria opened the box, gathering the pieces of the sword in her hands. It thrummed with welcome power, and she gathered it close to her, making sure no parts were left behind.

With a heavier step, but an infinitely lighter heart, she left to go check up on the village properly.