Disclaimer: Blizzard Entertainment owns World of Warcraft and all related names, characters, etc. I make no profit from any part of this story.

NEW Author's Note:
I'm back! Obviously, my old plans for this story no longer apply, since Illidan is coming back in Legion (THANK YOU BLIZZARD!). Whether you've been following the story since '11 or only just discovering it, thank you so much for reading and reviewing!

Old Author's Note:
This story starts roughly one month after the events of Sunwell Plateau (patch 2.4.0) and before the Wrath of the Lich King expansion. Light AU, will probably diverge more from canon as the events progress.

SHADOW OF SHADOWMOON II

THE MASTER'S RETURN

CHAPTER 1

1.

The sky was bleeding red towards the west, the giant disc of the sun already starting to dip beneath the distant horizon. A cool breeze swept through the dying trees of Quel'danas, and the rustling of fading leaves sounded from one end of the small island to the other, mingling with the faint, rhythmic hum of waves crashing against the shore. The air smelled of sea, moss, and freshly upturned earth.

A solitary leaf began to drift towards the ground in a lazy circling motion. It spun faster as it caught momentum, nearing the ground...

A blade flashed through the air, almost too quickly for the eye to see – and then, one leaf became two near-perfect halves that settled gently on the ground a small distance from each other.

The blade continued its movement for a moment still, then suddenly came down in a vicious slash as its wielder changed her stance in one sinuous motion. The weapon she held in her other hand mirrored the path of the first, and the two oddly-shaped swords scraped briefly against each other with a grinding noise. The lone Blood Elf woman moved with a speed and grace that was befitting of her race. She wore simple leather armor, made to protect rather than entice or impress, and a closer look might have revealed the tell-tale signs that its wearer had seen her fair share of battles. Her long, raven-black hair was caught back in a tightly-wound tail, and her fel-green eyes were closed in concentration. This seemed to hinder her not at all as she continued her practice, blades moving in intricate patterns that only she could predict.

The swordswoman kept at her practice for a while still. It was almost like an intricate dance of sorts, as gracious as it was deadly. Abruptly, she turned on one heel and threw one of her swords at a blackened tree stump some twenty paces away. Upon it, someone had carved a clumsy imitation of a practice target, such as those that could be seen by the dozen in any archery range. The sword embedded itself deep in the wood, still a considerable distance away from its intended mark.

Vaala Dawnstrike straightened up with a weary sigh. She didn't have to turn or look to know that she'd missed.

How infuriating.

She plucked out the sword with little effort, then replaced it in its sheath along with its twin. There'd been hardly any fighting to be had since the Shattered Sun Offensive's resounding victory at the Sunwell Plateau, and so Vaala had taken to practicing her stances every day. This particular style of combat was almost second nature to her by now, but going through the familiar motions did its part in keeping her mind off other things. Her technique was as well-refined as was to be expected – all save for the final throw, which for some inexplicable reason never struck true.

She took a few deep, calming breaths. This never quite managed to put her mind at ease, but her body, at least, responded almost immediately. She sat down on the ground, legs crossed, and closed her eyes once more.

This was the trickiest part of her daily routine, and she'd never quite managed to accomplish it fully in the past. She kept her breathing steady as she opened her mind, envisioning her surroundings not as they were, but as they would appear in size and shape if they were made of magic and magic alone.

This manner of 'seeing' was highly uncommon among the sin'dorei, and nigh unheard of by any of the other races. Some magisters spent decades trying to school themselves to perceiving the flows of the arcane. Others, blinded in battle or by the unsightly ravages of old age, directed themselves solely by what they could glimpse with their altered senses. And yet others – outcasts even among their own people, to say nothing of the world at large – chose to discard their worldly sight altogether to gain a much more purposeful gift in return...

A sudden chill shook her body for a few moments before she concentrated enough to bring it in check. It happened sometimes, when the pangs of her racial addiction threatened to spiral out of control, but she had long since learned to draw power from other places. The amulet she wore underneath her armor at all times – a heavy silver frame encasing a jewel from Draenor – was an excellent focus of arcane energies. It had been gifted to her by one who had shown her the path to a power she'd never truly wanted…

Illidan. She hardly thought about him these days, despite the fact that one chance encounter with him and the many months of harsh training and trying ordeals after had left her forever changed. In the end, Illidan's lack of foresight had been his undoing. His legacy, however, still endured; Vaala had intricate tattoos marking her chest and arms, and she could conjure magics even the warlocks would have been wary of... but usually, she chose not to. Her blades were far a more reliable alternative when she had to fight.

The world was murky, as though she were looking at it through a shard of soot-stained glass. Most inanimate objects possessed little magic, if any at all. But here on Quel'danas, the latent energies emanating from the northern part of the island made everything stand out against a dazzling background of gold and white light. Or rather, would have done so if Vaala's second sight had fully developed. As it were, she saw most things as little more than twisted shapes of uncertain origins.

A presence flared suddenly among the shadows, its energies appearing almost blinding in comparison. Vaala turned her full attention to it, and immediately saw that it was moving towards her at a steady pace. A spellcaster, it had to be; only they possessed enough knowledge of the arcane to draw magic around themselves like a shield. The presence, likely sensing it were being watched, winked out abruptly, like a candle snuffed by the wind.

Vaala opened her eyes. The Shattered Sun Offensive, of which she counted herself as one, thought the threat of Kael'thas and his followers eradicated almost completely, but those who'd actually set foot inside the Sunwell Plateau knew that some felbloods had escaped the purging and likely still roamed the island in search for ways to sate their addiction. She stood up and slowly drew her blades. One could never be too careful, around these parts and always.

It was some time before she heard the intruder, his footsteps on the carpet of dead leaves that covered the ground growing increasingly audible in the near-silence that surrounded her. Finally he stepped out in the open, and Vaala relaxed almost immediately upon seeing who he was. "Hello, brother," she said pleasantly, sheathing her swords once more.

Reevan Dawnstrike bowed his head in a stiff greeting. Brother and sister though they were, they had been growing increasingly distant as of late. Reevan held a rather tenuous position with the Shattered Sun Offensive at the moment. His firm belief that a sin'dorei should never be forced to raise his or her blade against another sin'dorei had made him withdraw from the assault on the Magisters' Terrace at the last moment, along with a few others who openly shared his views. This, in turn, had lead to some – particularly the draenei, many of which still had the memory of Bloodymist Isle fresh in their minds – to question the dedication of all blood elves to their cause.

More than a month had passed since the ultimate defeat of Kael'thas at the hands of the Shattered Sun Offensive and the mercenaries who'd pledged their aid in return for copious amounts of gold, but some of that doubt lingered still. The fighting had yielded its fair share of prisoners, many of whom had been well-known figures even before the Third War. Their fate was still uncertain; some, particularly the draenei, had made clear in no uncertain terms their wish that any and all who had followed Kael'thas had to die. Any but the most zealous of the blood elves opposed such barbaric measures, of course. As a result, tensions were already mounting on both sides.

"Something troubles you?" Vaala asked idly. She was toying with one of her curved throwing daggers now, tossing and catching it with expert precision. Reevan watched the blade for a few seconds, mesmerized, then moved his gaze to meet hers. Her expression was guarded – and yet, there was the smallest of hints, in the way her eyes darted away for an instant and her lips twitched almost imperceptibly, that some unwanted thought had crept into her own mind as well.

"Now that the war is over, politics begin," Reevan answered, a dark frown creasing his brow. He moved to sit down on a fallen log not too far away, not caring in the least that the soot covering it would stain his magisterial robes.

Vaala joined him and put a small hand over his. "The killing has ended," she answered after a few moments. "What more could you want?"

Reevan sighed. As one of the lower-ranking members of the Offensive, Vaala could hardly glimpse the true shape of what was at stake. "It has... and yet, it hasn't," he said, his voice bitter. "There is still the issue of those who surrendered themselves to us before we claimed the Magisters' Terrace. The draenei are hell-bent on seeing every last one of them executed for crimes against the races. What could they possibly know about our plight? What right do they think themselves to possess, to try and persuade us into slaughtering yet more of our people?"

"Surely the Regent Lord would have a word to say in all this! With Kael'thas gone-"

"The Regent Lord? A would-be monarch incapable of commanding respect even among his own men, and with a second-in-command too cowed to advise what he must." Reevan turned to the side and spat in disgust. "I see no help coming from Lor'themar, nor from Halduron or that scheming bastard, Rommath. But I know this much..." He took a deep breath. "I will die before I see any more sin'dorei put to the sword. I swear it."

Vaala rolled her eyes. "Oh, would you stop being so dramatic. Our people, at least, will not support so harsh a penalty, not when it comes at the risk of setting such a dangerous precedent. The Burning Legion are well-known for addling the thoughts of even the strongest of us. And now that there are no more demons to hold sway over those prisoners, I'm sure they're just as sane as you and I."

When Reevan next spoke, his voice was pensive. "Even the strongest of us... yes, even Kael'thas himself was swayed by Kil'jaeden's and his ilk. Had he not been so rapt on fel magic, he might have seen reason in the end. If only..." His voice trailed off, and his expression darkened once more as he looked his sister over.

Vaala held his gaze for a few moments, then looked away, annoyed. She knew what he was getting at, and the fact that he'd stopped himself in time didn't make the unspoken accusation any less irritating. If only Kael'thas hadn't struck a bargain with a half-demon lord who happened to serve Kil'jaeden at the time. If only Illidan had kept his end of the deal before the Sunfury had turned to the Burning Legion in desperation. If only Vaala herself hadn't chosen to lend her strength to the Illidari. Chances within chances within chances...

"I do not blame you for doing what you did," Reevan said at length.

He'd guessed her thoughts to an extent. Vaala was not surprised. Then again, she knew he didn't mean it. Not entirely. His eyes pinned her with an accusing stare even as his words offered supposed forgiveness. She could still feel his anger, directed both at her and at himself for having sent her on the one ill-fated mission that had changed everything.

"You said yourself that fel magic corrupts," Reevan went on, his voice suddenly distant, as though he were considering some sort of new and alien concept. "During your service you were exposed to far more of it than even the Sunfury. It's not a stretch to assume that played a large part in your... misguided choices."

Vaala's eyes narrowed down to slits. This was hardly about forgiveness, then. Rather than choosing to live with what had happened as it were, he was offering her an easier way out by pretending she'd been seduced by Illidan's magics enough to disregard her own free will. She shook her head once. She would have none of it. "What I did, I did of my own free will," she said quietly, but firmly.

Reevan couldn't have looked more offended if she'd struck him. "How can you still defend him? After everything-"

"After everything he did for me? For both of us?" Vaala jumped to her feet. "He spared my life. He spared your life, and more than once! What business was it of you and yours to attack him in the first place? He was quite content with being left alone!"

"What about Shattrath? Was that just a misunderstanding, then?"

Vaala said nothing. She knew little about the assault on Shattrath, other than it had lead to a large portion of Kael'thas's finest deserting to the enemy. Illidan may or may not have had any say in it to begin with, but after that near-crushing defeat Kael'thas had taken what remained of his forces and fled north, eventually laying claim to one of the Naaru's own strongholds, the dimensional fortress known as Tempest Keep. The rest, of course, was history. "I wouldn't know," she said finally, her voice softening a little. "I wasn't there."

"I was there," Reevan said sharply, then he stood up as well. "I heard our prince order Voren'thal to purge the city in the name of Illidan Stormrage with my own ears. What say you to that?"

"I say that I can't speak for one who has already atoned for his sins in death."

The answer was met with heavy silence, which in itself spoke more about where Reevan stood than a thousand words could have done. There was to be no reconciliation, then... at least, not until both would become willing to put the past behind -

With a start, Vaala realized that there was something odd about the silence. It wasn't just between them. The wind had ceased. The birds, few as they were, had stopped their chirping and were perking on their branches motionless, as though petrified. Even the waves were oddly still.

Reevan turned to look south, towards the mainland. "Do... did you feel that?" he murmured, his earlier animosity replaced by sudden apprehension.

Vaala reached out, opening herself once more to the ebbs and flows of magic around her. She barely noticed anything out of place, at first; a moment later, though, she gasped as she felt what her brother had already picked up– a faint, but unmistakable surge of raw arcane power, the likes of which she'd never encountered before. The magic was weak, but unbelievably pure. She could feel traces of it lingering on her skin, her lips, everywhere... and even the briefest taste of it left her craving for more.

With a small shudder, Vaala pushed the hunger to the back of her mind. "What is it?" she whispered.

Reevan combed a hand through his hair. He was shaking a little, likely sharing her want. "I don't... It almost feels like – no, but that would not be possible! And yet, I could swear it is…"

"What?" Vaala cut in impatiently. "You could swear it's what?"

"It... arcane residue, I think, but – but no-one, not even the strongest of our casters, could ever achieve such purity, such power, such perfection... If the aftershocks can carry all the way out here, then whatever it is, it must be enormous at the source!"

"Could it have come from Silvermoon? There are many-"

"No," Reevan said pointedly. "If Rommath or any other magister were to attempt anything like this, I would have known." Suddenly, he straightened up. "I must bring this news to the others. You should come as well. Your expertise with the more... unusual... schools of magic could be of some use."

2.

Grand Magister Ilastar felt a strong urge to roll his eyes in hopeless frustration. He resisted it, for now. "For the second time, Vindicator, there is no way to assess whether or not there is a threat based on this surge alone. We must send out scouting parties to find the source. Only then, we can decide what course of action would be best to take."

On the opposite side of the small, round table that Ilastar currently employed as a makeshift working desk, Vindicator Kaalan stiffened slightly, although his expression remained unchanged. The only other thing that betrayed his irritation was a slight twitch in a muscle next to his left eye. "And for the second time, Grand Magister," the draenei said icily, "I cannot give my consent to putting anyone at risk until we know with some certainty at least that it is safe to proceed."

Ilastar considered this for a few moments. "I take it you speak for the rest of your people as well?" he asked finally, his tone and demeanor mirroring the other man's.

Kaalan nodded his head gravely. "I do, yes."

Ilastar sighed. There were ways to dance around this draenei's objections, despite his high rank and considerable influence; after all, when it came to diplomacy, blood elves were second to no other race. However, doing so right now would amount to wasting precious time. The surge had been weak to begin with, and it was getting weaker still. Soon, it would be untraceable, and whatever had caused it would remain unknown. Such a loss would be unacceptable.

"Grand Magister...?"

Ilastar gave a small start, then quickly composed himself. He clasped his hands over the table and leaned slightly towards the other man. "I believe I speak for all blood elves, then, when I say that we are willing to pursue this new development whatever the risks. Your people are free to keep out of this venture altogether."

Ilastar was skilled enough in the intricate ways of politics not to miss the fleeting shadow that passed over Kaalan's features. Underneath the Vindicator's would-be amiable expression, he saw suspicion. Now that their common enemy was no more, the deeply-seated mistrust between their two peoples was beginning to surface once again. This was but the latest of several such interludes since the victory at Sunwell Plateau, and the dissensions were fast moving from important matters to trivial ones.

"I appreciate your taking the time to inform us of your intentions," Kaalan said at length. "In return for your courtesy, I will allow those who wish to aid you to do so – should this not interfere with their other duties, of course."

"Of course," Ilastar said pointedly. He would have preferred to keep the draenei out of this altogether, but Kaalan had requested a meeting before Ilastar's own officers could be summoned and consulted. As it were, he had no choice but to act grateful for this unneeded - and unwanted - offer. "We are most thankful, I assure you," he added with a small nod.

They exchanged the courteous parting words that were common in such situations, and shortly after Kaalan took his leave. As soon as he had gone, Ilastar brought his fist down on the table, hard enough to wince at the pain. Some of the draenei were skilled with magic, that much was true. However, any clumsy interference on their part could have disastrous consequences. He had no choice now but to act quickly, before Kaalan could fully apprise the other draenei of the situation. Politics be damned.

"Seradane!" Ilastar bellowed, loud enough that his voice would carry to the antechamber. "Attend me!"

A moment later, Seradane Dustweaver walked in, then sat down in the chair Vindicator Kaalan had vacated without waiting for an invitation. "At your call," he said with just enough deference to make the words sound flat and not in the least sincere.

Ilastar hadn't known Seradane for very long, but the man's skills, knowledge and, above all, discretion, made him useful enough to be trusted. For reasons that Ilastar neither knew nor cared to divine, Seradane had given up his position as a captain of the Farstriders to engage in more nefarious pursuits. These days, he served as an agent for the Shattered Sun Offensive and, more often than not, as Ilastar's personal assistant in the more... delicate affairs that war would sometimes require.

"You are aware of the current situation, I presume," Ilastar said bluntly. There was no need to mince words here. Seradane had likely been listening in on his conversation with the Vindicator and caught up on a dozen things at least that Ilastar himself might have missed.

"I am, yes." A pause, then, "The draenei lies. He will handpick several of his own scouts to shadow ours and report back as soon-"

"Yes, yes," Ilastar cut in, waving a hand impatiently. "I will deal with Kaalan on my own time. For now, I want you to act as my liaison. Tell Ayren Cloudbreaker to have his dragonhawks ready to take wing on a moment's notice. Then, find Captain Dawnhearth, apprise him of the situation, and instruct him to send ten of his best skirmishers to comb the mainland, starting with the coast. I will contact Battlemage Arynna and have her supply whatever casters she can do without, as well."

Seradane listened to all this in silence, nodding once or twice. "Anything else?" he said when the magister was through.

"One more thing," Ilastar answered. "Advise both Cloudbreaker and Dawnhearth to act as quickly and discreetly as they can. The draenei must not know what is happening until they see our search parties fly overhead. With any luck, those lumbering oafs will be too slow to follow and whatever caused this surge will fall solely in our hands."

"What makes you think it would be something and not someone?"

Ilastar frowned. He didn't like being questioned, particularly by someone whose only job was to obey and who was getting paid more than enough to not ask any damned questions. Before he could reprimand his troublesome liaison, however, there was a loud knock, then the twin doors to his office flew wide open.

Ilastar stood up and drew his magic around him in a protective shield. Assassins were few and far-between these days, but one could never be too careful. On the other side of the table, Seradane shifted only slightly in his seat, one hand moving to rest on the hilt of the curved sword he carried.

"Ah, Spymaster Dawnstrike," Ilastar said testily upon seeing who it was that disturbed him this time. Here was another troublesome man, one who failed to see necessity even when it stared him in the face. To say nothing of his questionable conduct during the Shadowmoon campaign, when he'd even been suspected of consorting with the enemy at one point. "I'll thank you to not barge in like that next time. And who is this?" he added with a glance towards Reevan's companion, a woman he'd never seen before.

Reevan didn't seem to be moved by Ilastar's obvious irritation. "My sister, Vaala," he answered with an absent nod towards her. "I apologize for the interruption, but there has been a-"

"A magical disturbance, yes. It is being investigated as we speak." Ilastar turned to Seradane, who was still studying the new arrivals with a curious look on his face. "You have your orders. Go."

Seradane scowled a little at being dismissed with such little ceremony, but bowed – an actual bow this time, not his usual mocking one – and obeyed nevertheless. When he had gone, Ilastar turned his attention to his newest visitors. "You are to refrain from mentioning this to anyone until we can ascertain what has happened on the mainland," he said firmly. "Is that understood?"

Reevan inclined his head in a reluctant nod. "I am certain you best know how to handle this affair, Grand Magister. However, I must ask whether your plans include a course of action should we find whatever caused this. Should there be a new threat-"

"Then we will deal with it swiftly and decisively, as we have done before. This matter is of no concern to you."

Reevan looked taken aback by such a pointed response but, to his credit, he kept himself in check. Ilastar smirked. It was gratifying, in a way, seeing a man who'd once been held in high regard by the revered Voren'thal the Seer struggle to keep his composure at such a crude dismissal. Ilastar himself had looked up to Reevan once, before the whole Magisters' Terrace affair.

"Is there anything else I can be of assistance with?" the Grand Magister asked, though his tone implied his clear lack of desire to have anything further to do with either Dawnstrike.

A few moments passed in tense silence, then Reevan answered, "That is all. With your permission, then, we will both return to our respective duties."

Ilastar breathed a sigh of relief when he saw himself alone once again. He had his doubts he'd seen the last of Reevan Dawnstrike, and he almost regretted not having ordered Seradane to keep an eye on him, too. For now, however, there were other matters to be seen to. If he knew Seradane at all, the crafty agent was already seeing to it that his other orders were obeyed, and it didn't pay to delay matters any more if he could help it.

3.

"He didn't seem to like you much," Vaala noted casually as brother and sister made their way through the recently reclaimed Dawnstar Village.

Despite the early hour, many of the Shattered Sun Offensive conscripts had retired for the evening. The main square was deserted save for the sentinels assigned to guard the village at night. They were mostly blood elves, standing in small groups and conversing among themselves in hushed voices. A few saluted as they passed, but some ostensibly looked the other way.

Reevan made a derisive sound. "Hardly surprising. What concerns me more is that Ilastar has removed me from the search altogether. It would seem that my presence is even less tolerated than I feared."

Vaala tapped her lips with the tip of one finger, deep in thought. "Ilastar did no such thing," she said eventually.

"Not in so many words, no, but he has made it painfully obvious that that my assistance was neither wanted nor required. He counts on the fact that I will keep out of the way lest I give him one more reason to shun me." Reevan shook his head wryly. "Not that he needed much reason to begin with."

"Politics," Vaala muttered. "Why do you even bother?"

Reevan shrugged his shoulders once, and said nothing. That in itself was answer enough; with their former estate in ruins and hardly anything left of their old lives, neither sibling had any choice but to move forward and let life take them where it may.

"I have an idea," Vaala said suddenly. "Come with me."

Reevan arched an eyebrow as she grabbed his arm and half-forced him to turn, leading them along a different path. "Where are we going?" he asked as she quickened her pace.

"The mercenary camp," came the answer, her cheerful tone entirely inappropriate under the circumstances.

Reevan stopped dead in his tracks. Most of the mercenaries who had aided in the raid on Sunwell Plateau had since returned to their respective factions, and a large part of the Offensive had no further interest in dealing with those who'd either chosen to stay behind or had nothing to return to. They were a nasty lot, violent, obnoxious, and prone to causing unsightly trouble. "What business could we possibly have there?" he demanded, wrenching his arm from her grip.

Vaala crossed her arms and tsk-ed. "You still want to take part in the search, don't you?"

Reevan stared at her incredulously. "Yes, but-"

"Two things," Vaala said in a voice that left no room for argument. "One, Ilastar probably requisitioned every dragonhawk he could get his hands on, so we'll need another mount. And two -" She paused for a few seconds, then rolled her eyes. "Never mind. You'll see."

Her logic was sound, but Reevan still felt uneasy as they left the comforting glow of Dawnstar Village and came upon the shabby tents and rickety barracks that housed the mercenaries. Unlike the village, whose inhabitants carried themselves with discretion and dignity, the mercenaries were a loud and lively lot. There was noise all around them, and a drunken rendition of what was probably an orcish war song could be heard from the other end of the camp.

An enormous bonfire roared between two of the larger tents, and over it several orcs and a troll were roasting a gigantic boar. Where or how they'd found such game on such a small island was a puzzling to Reevan, but when one of the orcs shot him a dirty look he quickly averted his eyes. For all he knew, these people were more than willing to settle their brawls with a knife to the back. It wouldn't pay to cross any of them now.

Soon, Vaala stopped in front of a surprisingly sturdy-looking wooden shack. There was no door, but a curtain of furs hung over the entrance, billowing slightly in the wind. "Stay here," she under her breath in Thalassian. "And don't do anything stupid." She waited until Reevan gave a small and rather reluctant nod, then pushed the furs out of the way and stepped inside, letting them fall back into place behind her.

Reevan watched her disappear with a frown. A moment later, the sounds of a muffled conversation reached his ears, too faint for him to distinguish what was being said. He shuffled his feet uneasily and felt for the enchanted dagger at his belt. Of course, if anything unpleasant were to happen, magic would be his weapon of choice. Then again, it never hurt to be prepared for every eventuality.

The conversation inside the shack went on for several long minutes, then finally Reevan heard the unmistakable sound of coins being passed from one hand to another. Moments later, Vaala emerged from the shack. Reevan caught a glimpse of a small vial, which she hurriedly tucked away in a pouch. He knew better than to ask what it was for.

"Well, that takes care of the other thing," Vaala said, rubbing her hands and looking very pleased with herself.

"Good," Reevan muttered with considerably more enthusiasm than he felt. Ilastar's search parties were probably well on their way by now, and even with a swift mount there was no guarantee they'd catch up to them in time, especially if they wanted to keep out of sight as well. They were wasting time here.

"Better than you think," Vaala replied with a grin he could only describe as mischievous. "This way."

Much to his chagrin, Reevan found himself led back towards the bonfire they'd passed earlier. "You plan to get a mount from... from them?" he hissed, not bothering to hide his irritation.

"Don't be ridiculous," Vaala answered with a quiet chuckle. "Those guys don't own anything but the clothes on their backs and whatever weapons they pilfered from Orgrimmar before they ran away."

"Then why-"

"You'll see. Stop talking."

Reevan pursed his lips. "I hope you know what you are doing," he whispered as they rounded a tent that looked on the brink of collapsing and came to a stop directly in front of the orcs.

There were four of them, all feasting on various parts of the boar he'd seen them roast earlier. The troll had gone somewhere, likely to enjoy his share of the bounty alone. Reevan couldn't help but wrinkle his nose in disgust. Apparently, orcs didn't bother with tables, dishes or cutlery. They sat or lounged directly on the ground and ate with ravenous abandon. Such a crude display made his stomach lurch.

"Throm-ka," Vaala said loudly, thumping her chest in a salute that looked ridiculously out of place.

Reevan tensed, expecting the orcs to take offense. Instead, the one sitting closest to them – an enormous one wearing a wicked-looking battle harness and with a bloodied axe strapped to his back – jumped to his feet and offered a clumsy bow. "Throm-ka, sister," he boomed. He then looked Reevan up and down, and gave him a curt nod. Reevan responded in the same way, still baffled at the orc's attempt to emulate sin'dorei manners. "Come! Feast!" the orc beckoned after, gesturing towards the half-eaten boar.

"Another time, Brogan," Vaala said with a wave of her hand. "I'm here on business tonight. Where's Dokra?"

Brogan, shrugged his massive shoulders once, then turned to the other orcs and repeated the question in their own tongue. A brief conversation ensued, and then one of the other orcs stood up with a grumble and disappeared among the tents.

"Morg says he saw her with Yazdak the Rippler earlier tonight," Brogan offered after the orc in question had gone. The look on his face made it plain that he had no sympathy for this other orc. "I sent him to find her. Could be some time." He sat back down with a sullen look.

"We have time. How goes the hunt?" Vaala asked leisurely, moving to sit down cross-legged next to the orc and looking perfectly at ease with it. She motioned for Reevan to do the same. He crossed his arms, glaring and thinking, We don't have time, not in the slightest. What was his sister thinking?

Brogan snorted. "Not much left to hunt here. We will seek battle elsewhere soon."

"May your enemies be strong and many," Vaala said solemnly.

Brogan tossed his head back and laughed. "I'd wish you the same, but I know that is not what your people seek. Speaking of which... who is this man you bring? And why does he wear a woman's dress?"

Reevan stiffened with outrage. This was entirely too much. "I am Reevan Dawnstrike, Spymaster of the Shattered Sun Offensive, and these are not-"

"He's my brother," Vaala cut in loudly. "And I'll have you know his deeds speak of his strength far more eloquently than the robes he wears."

Brogan had the decency to look slightly abashed at the not-so-subtle rebuke. "Your kind can be stronger than they look. Throm-ka, Reevan Dawnstrike. May you live to see the dawn of many battles."

Reevan hadn't the first clue how to respond to that. Fortunately, Morg chose that moment to return to the bonfire, accompanied by a female orc clad in black leather from head to toe. This was Dokra, then. Despite himself, Reevan found himself staring. It was hard to guess her age, but she appeared younger than either Brogan or Morg, and far more delicate than other orc women he'd seen. Nonetheless, she carried herself in a manner that immediately made it clear she was used to commanding both obedience and respect from those around her.

Vaala stood up quickly and the two women clasped each other's forearms in greeting. Dokra barely spared a glance towards Reevan, and he was perfectly at ease with that. He wasn't sure he wanted her attention either way.

When Dokra spoke, her voice was far less gruff than Reevan had expected. It sounded almost… human. "What brings you here, osh'khazil?"

"I need Cloudsting," Vaala answered after a moment. "Also, dried meat to last me for three days, and bandages if you have any to spare."

Dokra pondered the request in silence, and Reevan began to fidget. This was no proper way to ask for anything, even when it came to orcs! Or... was it? He had no idea. "You will have your just compensation, of course," he said after a moment's hesitation.

Dokra drew up to her full height, towering over the smaller sin'dorei despite her lithe frame. "Gold has no place between sisters of the blood," the orc woman snarled. "Be silent or go away."

"My brother meant no disrespect," Vaala said quickly.

"Hmph," Dokra said, and crossed her arms. "You will have your request, osh'khazil. So long as you promise to return my mount to me unharmed once three days have passed."

"You have my word. And his," Vaala added after a moment. "In case I won't be coming back."

4.

Several miles away, on the northernmost coast of the Eastern Kingdoms, Theraise Starshine stared across the open sea with an almost nostalgic look. It had been weeks since she'd last come here, caught in the complicated affairs she was forced to deal with day by day. Though of noble birth, Theraise was but a lowly clerk at the court of Lor'themar Theron, and that, it seemed, made her the perfect candidate for the small, menial tasks that no other courtiers would deign to bother themselves with.

With a heavy sigh, Theraise turned to where the many lights of Silvermoon colored the sky a bright orange. In a way, the city never slept. Even now, parts of it were being rebuilt or modified to accommodate the steady flow of pilgrims and refugees coming back from Outland. The thought of those returning from their once-promised haven made Theraise's lips curl in a bitter smile. Some of the refugees loudly opposed the new leadership of the sin'dorei. It was all the city guards could do to keep public unrest from spreading to the point where disgruntled citizens would storm Sunfury Spire and cry for Lor'themar's head.

She began to idly walk along the coast as she let her thoughts drift where they may. It couldn't be said that Lor'themar and his ilk did much to justify their current position. Most of the city was ran by clerks, like Theraise herself, who saw to it that things ran smoothly and litigations were settled swiftly and with as little hassle as possible. Things weren't much different from when the Sunstrider dynasty had governed Quel'thalas – but then, the Sunstriders, at least, were kings by right of birth, and nobody had ever questioned that.

However, Theraise had no regrets for the demise of the late Kael'thas. The memory of him still permeated the city, from the golden statues that nobody had thought to tear down even after the prince's betrayal, to the way the arcane constructs designed to keep the peace sometimes erred and pronounced his name. If she had her way, Theraise would have ordered every single one of them destroyed. Let those who still lamented the Sunstriders cry their misery elsewhere. Now was the time to look forward, not back.

"Oh..." Theraise said quietly, and stopped.

Another corpse had washed up on the beach. This sort of incident still happened every now and then, despite the fighting on Quel'danas having officially ceased some weeks ago. This one was laying face-down in the sand, and judging by its appearance it hadn't been there for long. Theraise hesitated, caught between wanting to take a closer look and continuing her walk as though she'd seen nothing. In the end, she decided for the first option. It was possible that this corpse carried with it something of value, something that she could either trade or use herself. After all, the dead had no more need for worldly possessions.

Upon a closer look, the dead body turned out to be that of a male sin'dorei. There was no blood, so he'd either drowned or – far more plausibly – he'd been killed by a spell. His robes, which had once belonged to a high-ranking magister, by the looks of them, were tattered, charred, and stained with blood, but the skin Theraise could see through the tears was a pristine ivory. And then, the magic surrounding him was a most curious thing. He must have carried an artefact of power, something that would definitely benefit her. Theraise smiled to herself as she crouched down next to the body. Time to see-

Suddenly, the 'corpse' turned to the side and coughed. Theraise leaped back in surprise, lost her balance, and fell on her back with a startled yelp. "I'm s-sorry!" she stammered, struggling to get back to her feet. "I – I didn't think... that..."

Her voice trailed off as her eyes told her what her mind refused to comprehend. The man she beheld was one she'd seen in effigy dozens, perhaps hundreds of times. "But... they said you were dead..." she said in a near-whisper, bringing a shaking hand up to her chest to still the thundering beats of her heart.

Kael'thas Sunstrider, once self-proclaimed king of all blood elves, offered her a pained smile as he slowly got to his feet. "I was," he said in an oddly composed voice. "And now, it seems, I am not."