Prologue

Scars are naught but the tracks of pain, left across the body or heart,

All these tracks lead back to you, for every moment we are apart.

- excerpt from the 3,000 year old Thalassian poem, The Lost and the Lone.

"Reconsider, at the very least. A day, no more. You'll see that…"

" I have considered, and reconsidered, and considered again. Can you say the same? "

" You think my decision was any easier reached than your own? Do you think that little of me now?"

Crys'annadath looked up from his task with a start and a sharp glace at his sister. She stood rigid, slender hands curled into fists. There was much pain in her sky blue eyes, so much so that it hurt Crys deeply to even meet her gaze. He awkwardly looked back down to his meager possessions laid out on the neatly made bed. They should not part ways with hurt feelings between them, they should not even be parting ways at all….

" No, I do not question your integrity or your determination, only the ways you wish to express them. To remain behind…" Crys began, but found he couldn't form the words on his lips, which curled ever-so-slightly in response. They tasted too sour to his sensibilities to attempt it again.

Rhell'sardessa's arms slid up her body until she was hugging her sides, as if suffering from some internal malady.

" You can't even say the words. Destroyed. Gone. Ravaged. Do they sound better coming from me? Knowing it is about our homeland and our family that I speak? You weren't there Crys. You didn't see them…see them… " Rhell sobbed, turning away from her brother with crystal tears once again streaking down her pale cheeks.

" You were not there either, " Crys responded with some anger in his voice, " you weren't there when Dalaran came crashing down like a sand castle before the waves. No matter where we were, neither of us could have changed what happened. Jaina calls us to gather together and head to the west. Our duties are finished here, there is no sense in remaining to salvage what cannot be regained. Come with me, now. The last ships cast off tomorrow whether we be on them or not. "

Rhell said nothing, her shoulders shaking as she quietly wept, still turned away from him.

Crys methodically began to pack again, amazed by both how little he still retained from his former life and how long it was taking to pack when each item was like a stab at his heart. The lifting of each article was one step closer to walking out the door of the simple cottage they had lived in for the past week, and never coming back.

Finally red robes rustled as she turned about, arms once again at her sides. Crys didn't like her in red, it was like she was wallowing in spilt blood, rather than wearing the colors of the sky like she used to. The strawberry-blonde hair piled atop her head was the same still, one of the many similarities between them that marked them as siblings. A more intangible shared trait was stubbornness.

" I disagree. To abandon our homeland is dereliction of duty. We have to rally the remaining forces and expunge the undead, face the very thing that vexes us. Running away across the ocean solves nothing, they will simply follow you and lay waste to whatever you have done there as well. We have to draw the line here. "

Crys couldn't believe it, but he was finished packing, and finished arguing. The two siblings, most likely the only blood relation each of them had left, were about to part ways, the finality of that event crystallized in the form of his fully packed rucksack. Reaching down with almost ceremonious care, Crys buckled on his sword belt, the familiar weight of the blade now seeming like an anchor pinning him in place. The elven siblings looked at each other silently for a long moment, an eternity compressed into a fragment of time. Seeing there was nothing that could sway her to come or him to remain, Crys took up the modest weight of his life and slung it over his shoulder, walking to the door. Through the round glass window in the door the elf could see the rest of the refugee shanty town, the mark of a people now without a home. Turning his head back slightly towards her he uttered those words that would haunt him for every day afterwards;

" I hope you can live with your choice. "

To which she responded evenly; " And I hope you can live with yours. "

Crys'annadath Skychaser grasped the handle of the cottage's door…and walked out of his sister's life forever.

I can live with my choice, sister, but only just.

Only just.