I'm back again. Our good computer broke in march, so now I'm here with the computer from 2008 that doesn't like anyone or anything. It especially doesn't like me. As I write this, it's opening and closing folders that I forgot I tried to open (and gave up on) 3 hours ago. Playing WoW has been a special treat (I've been trapped on Argus for four days with Jaerim and every time I try to portal to Dalaran it disconnects me RIP), but somehow runs better than most web-pages on this computer? God forbid I open steam.

Anyway, I'm here now and hopefully I can get things going again now that I'm not restricted to my (also slightly broken) phone for most internet-related things. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I own only my OCs, etc.

Reviews:

Ihsan997: He could definitely use a mental break... And a break from the book, but don't worry, he'll be reading it again soon.

July 8th, year 25.

It is morning. I slept terribly last night and found myself awake with only the night shift guards for company, but the fel orcs mostly ignore me and none of the blood knights know me. I miss my friends. I miss Anriem. I miss being able to walk, to slay demons, to train. I even miss the grey and green sky of Shadowmoon. I am stuck here in the barracks on my cot, I have been for days and days now. I have only left to use the latrine with the help of attendants who carry me there.

I spent most of last night mourning things. My leg, the future I had planned for myself, my past, the comradery that is forever tarnished by what has happened. I am also afraid. What happens to me now that I can no longer fight? Lord Illidan never released me from service, but neither did he give me directions as to what to do now. What next?

Everything has changed, but no one seems to see that. Yes, Illidan acknowledged me and my friends are sorrowful, but all around me life continues on and I remain in limbo. People pass by and their looks of pity are beginning to fade to indifference and I haven't even been awake for a full week yet. I cannot help but feel as though I'm fading.

Maybe I'm just tired.

...

July 9th, year 25.

Nothing happened yesterday. I slept for half the day and awoke for dinner but that was all. After that I just laid there and stared. I haven't felt such gloom since the Scourge swept through. In the weeks afterwards there were only gloom and fear, nothing else. What I feel now is eerily similar.

At least I was able to sleep through the night and admittedly I feel better than I did yesterday, but still… off. Sadness and anxiousness edge their way along my thoughts and plague the moments when I am alone. I am trying to keep hope in my heart, but it's hard when you've nothing left to pin your hopes on. For now I wait for my friends to return and try to focus on them. Waiting is all I seem to do these days.

...

July 10th, year 25.

Last night a group of demon hunters returned to the temple. I had only seen the members of this branch in passing and a few times during training, but had never spoken to them. They are often sent away on smaller, quieter missions, though sometimes they join the main force. At least, that is what Thaonaar tells me.

Thaonaar is my newest acquaintance, one of the higher ranking members of that group, and the first person to truly speak to me in nearly three days. He is Kaldorei, one of the few I've had any real conversations with so far. Most of the higher ranking Kaldorei ignore the trainees and most of the trainees are Sin'dorei. Almost all of the Kaldorei among the Illidari had come before us and though we fight for the same cause, the tension between our two races has never completely disappeared. It was refreshing to have casual conversations with one of them at last, something not entirely pertaining to training and the slaying of demons.

He is certainly interesting. Witty and sarcastic with an intelligence that reminds me of a boy from my village who left to study as an apprentice under a powerful sorcerer in Silvermoon. When he told me that he was once a druid, it caught me off guard. I had thought that perhaps he was one of the highborne that had hidden themselves away from the rest of the Kaldorei. He gives off that sorcerer's vibe very much, but no, he was a druid from the mountains of Ashenvale, a place I have only ever heard of in stories. To finally meet and have a conversation with someone from there was like a dream to the curious part of me, my younger self shining through.

I am amazed by his patience. He answered all of my questions about his homeland without ever once seeming annoyed with me. It was nice not to feel like a burden with him and not to be looked at with eyes full of pity. He came and simply talked to me, no wishing me a speedy recovery, no 'I'm sorry for what happened to you,' just an introduction and a pleasant conversation, one that unfortunately ended too soon as he was called away.

He did promise to visit me later, though, and I cannot match his patience in the slightest as I wait for him.

...

July 11th, year 25.

They're finally back! I awoke to Anriem's smiling face as he told me excitedly that the mission was a success and that Merhen and Lero have been deemed ready for their personal test and transformation, which they requested to undergo together. I am happy for them, as bittersweet as everything is now, I am. I am excited, too, at the idea of watching my friends grow in their success and become fully fledged demon hunters, having missed Nerath's ceremony.

After bringing me the news, he checked over my wound and told me that it has finally entirely healed. Ah, but it hasn't, has it? The leg is still missing and it will never truly be healed again. Some cruel part of me wanted to say this to him, to watch his face fall and make him feel what I felt. Some awful, horrible part of me…

I am ashamed of my thoughts, of my weakness and bitterness, of my urge to hurt my own friend's heart. But I held my tongue and just smiled at him the way he smiles at me, bright as I could to mask the dark thoughts I'd just had. I wonder if he saw through it in the same way Lord Illidan did, if I'm surrounded by men with too much intuition for their own good, because even though I smiled at him, he held me close and told me that he missed me. There was a sadness to him that I had never seen before, that marred his brightness and warmth, that I hope to never see in him again. It was a reminder that I am not the only one who suffers here, that everyone in the temple, every last one of us, has known darkness in ways no one should ever have to.

For the first time in in days I have felt something close to determination. I have found something of a new cause, a new purpose. I want to ease the pain and sorrow of my comrades as much as I can. If I cannot fight in battle alongside them as I did before, then I will aid them in the small, unseen battles within us all where instead of the Legion, we fight our personal demons. I will do whatever I can for them, and maybe if I can help them, then I can help myself.

This time, he placed the book in his desk drawer, ready for him when he returned. He would not be bringing the journal with him to the shore. He couldn't, for its pages consumed him. His life now revolved around the little, black book. He couldn't sleep because of it, couldn't eat, couldn't face reality. His mind was always lost within its pages and the words scrawled over them in neat, achingly familiar handwriting. He was caged by it, imprisoned by it, nearly possessed with the need to read it if it was anywhere near him. He was missing out on his own life as he vigorously reviewed the life of his daughter. He lived vicariously through her journal and she through him as he read it. He had to get away for awhile.

He turned to gather his bags and had to grit his teeth so hard his gums bled just to stop himself from turning around. No, he scolded himself, you need time away.

Somehow, he was able to force himself from the room and hurried to meet his wife by their carriage. She held their granddaughter in her arms, the baby still unnamed. Again he stopped to observe his wife, watching her brush the wispy blue-black hair away from the baby's gold eyes. How many times had he seen her this way with Ahrani? How many times had he done that himself? Again he had to stop himself from turning around, running back to his room and bringing the book. Again he scolded himself. Again he forced himself forward and placed his bags beside the others.

"Are you ready?" His own voice was foreign to him as he addressed the two girls he loved so dearly. He sounded far too put together for how haggard he felt inwardly. He was falling apart, but forced himself together, like a child haphazardly gluing a priceless vase back together after having shattered it.

He focused on his wife's smiling face, on the skin beneath her eyes and the way it crinkled as she grinned at the baby and then at him. "More than ready," she said excitedly, "I can hardly wait to get away from this place for a while." Her face fell a little at those last words, betraying the grief he knew she still felt. He was caught off guard when she suddenly placed the baby in his arms, having been so caught up in watching her. "Hold her for a moment, please. I need to get something."

He watched her dart back inside the house and once more resisted the urge to run in there himself for the journal. He brought his gaze down to the infant in his arms instead and pulled her closer. Guilt bit at him as he watched her little hands open and close, tiny fingers wiggling. He had hardly held her since they brought her home, the journal consumed him so. This is why you're leaving it behind, he reminded himself, she needs this, you need this.

He ran his fingers through the dark hair atop her head and stroked a thumb over her cheek, smiling faintly as she turned her face into his hand and tried to suck at his palm. Gods, he had never imagined himself doing this again. Ahrani had never expressed a desire to marry and have a family, she had been too young to be thinking about such things when the invasion had swept through, barely fourty. It wasn't that he thought she would never have a family. Simply that she'd been so young.

He remembered her having crises over what to do with her life, she'd been so uncertain. She'd always been social, but never overly so, and had hardly left Goldenmist while growing up. She was caring and determined, but so, so young. His heart clenched as he remembered her not-so-distant childhood. Only a few decades ago he'd been holding her the same way he held his granddaughter now. With a sigh he pushed the memories from his thoughts, his tears could wait.

His wife appeared from the house, shutting and locking the door behind her. In her hands she held a picture of their family, a magically painted portrait done years ago. "I want her to come with us," she said quietly, and the thickness of her voice revealed to him that she'd been crying, "even if it's only in spirit. I want her to know that- that…"

He pulled her close, the baby sandwiched between them just like that morning in Shattrath. "Shh… You don't want to give the neighbors something to gossip about do you?" He half teased, baby in one arm, his free hand stroking through her short hair.

"To fel with the neighbors," she whispered back and looked up at him with a wobbly smile, "let's get out of here."