Magister Luminash Dawnwing

Shared Words

“Any news from the field, Magister?”

The voice of Luminash’s Ren’dorei prisoner was muffled by the folds of space that kept Lithendras contained within a corner of the magister’s ruined spire. Further distorting his voice was the soft hum of runic wards surrounding the makeshift cell.

As Luminash entered through the open arch, the sun just beginning to set as it had days ago when Lithendras had first made his presence in Nazjatar known, he grimaced.

“You are still awake? I had hoped you had nodded off again so I would not have to hear you prattle on,” Luminash said dismissively, setting a few scrolls carried under his arm on his desk.

Ignoring the jab, Lithendras continued, “Are your friends well, the small ones, those Kelfin? They seem a helpful sort. A shame they made contact with the Horde first, hmm?” The Ren’dorei laughed, an empty sound.

Luminash tensed, and took a deep breath, “They are well enough. They constantly poke and prod, practically begging to provide more and more aid. Much like you, in fact, but far, far more bearable.” He grimaced again as he made his rounds, touching a hand to each magelight orb in the chamber and bringing their light to life.

“Hm,” the Rift Warden uttered, leaning back against the cold stone wall of his prison and touching a hand to his cheek. The wounds he had sustained in Luminash’s assault had healed, but the marks yet remained.

Nearly an hour passed, and the sun fell the rest of the way under the wall of water, the shadows stretching across the salt-sprayed ground outside, but held at bay within. Luminash had set to work long before, scrolls unrolled on his desk, his curious naga runestone beside them. So absorbed was he in his work that he visibly started when Lithendras broke the silence.

“I have a proposal, Magister.”

Clenching his jaw, Luminash turned over his shoulder to look at his prisoner, “Do you? Must you interrupt my work with this?”

“I am surely to be put to death, yes, once all is said and done here, and you drag me back to Silvermoon?”

Luminash nodded assent as he stood, soft footsteps carrying him across the ever-damp marble to the bent space walling off his captive, “Unless you believe a tribunal of the Sin’dorei would let a Ren’dorei war criminal walk free, yes.”

Lithendras, too, stood, “My proposal, then?”

“You truly have come to speak. It seems it is all you do.” Luminash sighed, “Fine, then.”

“Information for information. I am cut off from all aid, both my allies and my magic, beaten and bruised and held captive. Satisfy my curiosity, and I will satisfy yours.”

Luminash’s eyes went wide, and then he laughed, deeply, richly, echoing in the nearly empty ruin, “You expect me to spill my secrets! For what? So you can run back to the Alliance with them? Do not think me a fool. The Unshackled now watch these roads, these hills, these crags, for any sign of Ren’dorei. You will not be escaping this place.”

The Rift Warden’s face was flat, serious, as he replied, “I know. No one else knows I am here. How many, I suspect, know exactly where you are, either?”

Taken aback by the frankness of the Ren’dorei’s speech, Luminash’s mirth evaporated.

“You came here for the same reason I did, Magister, I suspect. The nightmares, no?”

The magister’s eyes went wide once more, not out of surprised amusement, but a twinge of fear.

“Staring out over the Nazmir swamp, choked with corpses, watching as they are dragged below, swallowed up by something unknown, something unknowable. And there you are, watching me. Though, I predict…”

Luminash interjected, “I saw you, watching me.” He shook his head, eyes narrowing, “How. Did you send these dreams?” He raised his right hand, pulling off the ever-present glove to reveal the blue-black scars spider-webbed across his hand and forearm, voice rising in anger, “What, precisely, did this do to me?”

“No,” Lithendras replied, shaking his head, “I did nothing. Your scars are only scars. I came following a call, as did you. It has led us here, to that,” the Rift Warden raised a finger, pointing at the runestone on Luminash’s desk, “Knowledge.”

“It led me to the Tidestone, Rift Warden. The disturbance I felt, the power of the Titans abused. Not this naga relic, though there is undoubtedly…” He shook his head, as if dispelling some unwanted thought, “It seems we are playing your game after all, as I have answered your question. Answer mine, then: What is your interest in it?”

“As I said before, Magister: Knowledge. Power and knowledge unending.” He quirked a smile, its cast strangely familiar to Luminash, though he could not place his finger on it, “Early Shirakess, or at least once in their possession. The ability with the Void surpasses most practitioners, and it is of continuing importance to us that we expand our knowledge of its capabilities. It could even spread the gift of true clarity that we have received.”

Luminash recoiled slightly in disgust, a grimace on his lips, “I suspected as much, when you said it could free Silvermoon from its so-called servitude. It is fortunate that you will never lay a finger on it, you or any other of your kind.”

“Would it truly be so atrocious, Magister? To be whole again, part of a unified Quel’Thalas, the great High Kingdom, joined to all your kin once more? Was that not your vision once, too?”

He narrowed his eyes, voice growing cold, “Cut off from the Light of the Sun, starved for the Arcane without our Sunwell, and forced to battle the whispers in our heads? No, not like that. It was my vision once, yes, you are right, but that was…”

“Before the Purge, wasn’t it? Much changed that day.”

Luminash sighed heavily. He remained silent for a long moment before speaking, his voice softer, almost shaky, “You said before, in Nazmir, that you were there. On Pandaria. When you saw the Horde as a force of destruction. What happened to make you turn your back on your people, Lithendras?”

“I never turned my back on them.” The Rift Warden hesitated as well before continuing, “Luminash. I would ask how you could stomach watching them become what they have, party to great crimes and great evil.”

“Simply? We must survive. Divided, we cannot stand against our enemies.”

“And so you cut the Quel’dorei away, a limb, lopped off from its body, and tell yourself you are whole. And so you cut away the Ren’dorei, too, merely for taking a different approach to the same end. I agree. We must survive. But splintered?”

“I am loathe to admit, but you are not wrong. I believe that is where the similarity ends, however. Your methods are repugnant, and our - my - people will not accept it,” Luminash answered, quickly correcting his slip, “You avoided my question, though. I will answer one of yours in return.”

“Ah, yes. Pandaria, the Purge. As I said, I was there during the Pandaria campaign. In fact, I was there in Dalaran.”

Though his voice and manner had grown softer, Luminash tensed, hands curling into fists in spite of himself as Lithendras spoke.

“I watched as Sin’dorei and Quel’dorei warred in the streets, watched as the Quel’dorei went too far in sending their message, but also watched as the Sin’dorei rejected it as a message needing to be sent, and continuing to harbor darkness within their ranks in the name of unity.”

“And which were you? Do not think I haven’t noticed your deflection any time that bloodbath has come up,” the magister interjected, voice continuing to shake as memories came flooding up unbidden.

“Does it matter, truly? Would you be satisfied one way or another if you knew, or is your mind already made up? A hypocrite or a murderer, which would you prefer?” Lithendras’ voice grew distant, his tone resigned.

Gritting his teeth, Luminash took a breath in an attempt to still the shaking of his hands, “What is done, I suppose, cannot be undone. You have made your point, loathsome as it still is.”

“In time, there would be a third way forward, one that has already bound Sin’dorei to Quel’dorei in a mutual pursuit of knowledge. One that I had hoped you would be more sympathetic to.”

“Sympathetic? I understand, Lithendras, what the Ren’dorei sought, but to have followed in the footsteps of the great traitor, to threaten the very Sunwell, it is too much to simply let go. And Nazmir, what you have done…” He shook his head, “They died for me, Lithendras. And you are the one who killed them. Innocents, just like in Dalaran. And yet you claim I serve Death. That makes you a hypocrite as well a murderer, does it not?” Luminash’s tone remained measured, calm, even civil, but it had once more grown cool, rage simmering just below the surface.

“I understand, Luminash. Do you think I feel nothing for them? No regret, no wishing it could have been different? No, do not answer, I already know. All the same…” Lithendras continued, “My intelligence indicated a military encampment. Many were civilians, though, I will concede that now. But innocents? What were your goals in the swamp, Magister?”

Luminash drew his lips tight, foreseeing the trap being laid, “Seeking Titan technology for research and cataloging.” He measured his words well, saying no more than needed.

“To what end?”

“We aimed to keep it out of Nazmani hands.”

“Only the Nazmani? Why bring a contingent of skilled fighters for a threat almost entirely neutralized?”

“Fine, Alliance hands as well. Are you quite finished? Pleased?”

Lithendras shook his head, “What, then, would you have done? Cataloged and moved on to the next site, with no further goals?”

“Knowledge is its own reward, Lithendras.”

“Now you are dodging my questions. I told you my goals for the runestone - or whatever it leads to, or whatever larger whole it is a part of. Why not indulge me? The expedition is, after all, over and done with.”

Luminash sighed heavily, admitting defeat, “It could have been weaponized, in some way. An advantage, any advantage. The facility was containment, research, designed to purge Void corruption. It could have helped us against…”

“The Ren’dorei.”

The magister nodded in silence.

“Innocents, then?”

“They still died for me, Lithendras,” Luminash snapped, “I painted a target on their backs with my work, whatever its potential outcomes, knowledge for its own sake, defense, whatever it may have been!”

The Rift Warden crossed his arms and leaned back, more relaxed, against the wall, “We both have blood on our hands. Whether here and now, or in Dalaran, or in one of the many other wars our broken people have fought. It will not wash away, Luminash. But we may be able to cover it up, to find a new way forward.”

Luminash turned away from the Ren’dorei, once again finding his mannerisms oddly familiar, “I do not believe we can, Lithendras. I admire that vision, that you can still have that vision even after everything, but…” He shook his head, “We must survive, that above all else. If it is broken, fractured, then so be it. At least we will survive.”

“An understandable viewpoint, though you may find those fractures are less severe than you think, should you care to look deeper.”

The magister raised a brow, half-turning back to his captive, “And I suppose you expect me to, here and now? No, I believe we are done for the night. I am…” He sighed heavily, his breath still a bit shaky, “I am tired.”

“So be it, then.” Lithendras shrugged and pushed himself off the wall, moving towards the stone bench he used as a bed, “So, that was a no on news?”

Luminash could not help but laugh, which he immediately stifled. As he walked away, back towards his makeshift study, he replied, “The Palace is breached. This will all be over soon.”