A sound resonated through the bowels of the Undercity, heard by all of its denizens, or at least those who were still capable of hearing. The sound bellowed in waves within the hallways and tunnels connecting one chamber to the next, the confining spaces amplifying the sound itself.

The sound was horrendous, loud enough to level mountains and shatter glass. Had they not already becomes so in the past, the many members of the Forsaken would have likely fallen victim to the sheer power of this sound.

And though none could have foreseen this sounds sudden onslaught, the forsaken each considered the likely source of the noise. Many had learned of it and its effects upon the living, but very few among them have ever witness it.

The shriek of a banshee.

Finally, at its most unbearable pitch, the shriek finally ceased, replaced by an unsettling, and almost awkward, silence. None knew what would prompt the infamous banshee shriek. Their leader and self-proclaimed Banshee Queen, Sylvanas Windrunner, must be facing some dire peril to elicit a cry of such destructive force.

Many of the more vigilant of the forsaken forces swiftly made their way to the Royal Quarter, arriving just before the main entrance. The shriek definitely came from within the winding tunnel to the central base of the Forsaken's operations. It was agreed that Sylvanas had become distress by an unknown threat or hazard.

Finally arriving to meet the awaiting soldiers was the secondary commander before the Banshee Queen herself, Nathanos. He stepped towards the entrance and demanded "What's happened? Speak". The captain simple shrugged and answered "None know, Commander. Few have approached the Dark Lady in the passing hours and she has remained unprotected".

"She could be in danger! Captain, you and your men with me!" Nathanos ordered, to which the soldiers saluted in unison and prepared to enter the Queens's royal chambers. The forces pressed onwards into the hallways and cautiously scanned the environment for potential danger, whether in one form or another.

Finally, the royal chamber was in their sights. Nathanos drew his blade and entered first, prepared for any sign of an ambush. Whatever threat that may have challenged their queen is now trapped within the chamber, the only entrance now guarded by those faithful to her. As he prepared for combat, Nathanos was momentarily distracted by the state of the chamber.

Ever since her promotion to the Warchief of the Horde, her chambers have been vastly reorganised to compliment her position of power. Various tables and maps has been arranged throughout the chamber, each sporting different materials for strategic purposes. As of now, much of the furniture had been tarnished beyond repair and several maps presented slash marks and tears in the fabric.

"What the hell happened in here?!" Nathanos muttered to himself. He turned to the captain and signalled them to proceed deeper into the chamber, searching cautiously for their beloved leader. They circled around the throne and approached the section opposite to the entrance, where an unexpected sight awaited them.

A black figure lay before the soldiers, partially hidden within the shadows the surrounding pillars cast. A fine cloak stretched around the figure and climbed its form towards a bowed hood. The hooded figure remained kneeled, unmoving from its stance as the soldiers carefully approached.

"Leave me…" A harsh voice whispered, a faint and haunting echo enveloping the cold air within the chamber. The figure suddenly rose upright and stood to match the soldiers, the voice repeating "Leave the chambers… now!"

Immediately, recognising the instructions of their highest commander, the captain answered "Yes, Dark Lady!" He turned to his man and commanded to evacuate the chamber as soon as possible. The marches of the obedient soldiers resounded through the halls and soon began to fade in the distance.

However, despite Sylvanas' expectations, one man remained in her presence. Nathanos folded his arms in expectation as Sylvanas turned her head and snarled "That was an order, Nathanos". The advisor, for his part, said nothing, but remained unswayed from his position.

"You did… And I respectfully decline them" He mocked smugly. He could see her tense with frustration from beneath the cloak before she growled "As my advisor, it is your duty to follow my Instructions". "Correction: My duty is to support you" Nathanos retorted, "And I have much reason to comply".

Sylvanas said nothing, so Nathanos continued "Look… something's obviously pissed you off. The entire Undercity is wondering what the hell is going on in here". From this, Sylvanas turned to face the nearby table and staggered beside it. Her arms emerged from beneath her cloak as she leaned wearily against the wooden frame.

"I'm just… stressed out. There is nothing to concern yourself over". "Pah!" Nathanos spat, "You screamed loud enough to bring an army to their knees because you are stressed". "Enough! Leave, Nathanos!" Sylvanas ordered threateningly, though her enforcer had not been swayed as he firmly stood his ground.

The silence that followed was truly uncomfortable for the pair, each of them offered more time to consider the situation than they possibly should've. With every silent second that passed, Sylvanas felt her defences crumble from the sheer weight of her conflicting thoughts. Her mind grew heavy and she felt like she could go mad any second now. A sigh escaped her lips as she leaned forward over the table.

"I became him".

Nathanos had been awaiting an explanation for this behaviour, and was vastly disappointed by this vague answer. "Became who? What are you talking about?" he questioned with confusion, the puzzled expression on his face doomed to be lost on the unobservant elven queen. Soon, Nathanos noticed Sylvanas' arms, shivering uncontrollably from weight applied against the table.

"Stormhiem… the assault upon the Halls of Valor… the entire operation" Sylvanas muttered, her breath becoming hastened from her welling emotions. The elf's claws scraped violently into the splintering woodwork as she grimaced "In that moment… I felt it… I understood it…". Nathanos was entirely puzzled by this time, completely unaware of where this series of disjointed memoirs.

"I became Arthas" escaped from the elven queen's cold lips, almost of their own volition. Finally, things began to make sense to Nathanos, his eyes widening as he stared towards his queen in shock. Sylvanas was unmoving, paralysed to the core by her own words and the pain they brought to her pride. She gently shut her eyes as her breath ceased.

After all of these years. Forming the forsaken to stand against the tyrannical wrath of the Lich King, their freedom from his enslavement as mindless fodder. The Banshee Queen had devoted her life to defending her brethren from the controlling grasp of this impudent ruler. She had vowed that none would be slaves to the scourge and refused to allow such atrocities to come to pass since then.

But so much had changed in the time that passed since Arthas' downfall, and with it had Sylvanas' attitude. She was exposed to her destiny, the future of herself and her people. The knowledge that she would suffer in torment for all eternity were she to abandon her forsaken. Without the aid of her new allies, the Val'kyr, she would have surely succumbed to the madness within the void by this time.

She was scared now, frightened for her life and her future. With her fear had come desperation, the desire to find any alternative possible and escape her cruel fate. She had panicked and begun disregarding her own morals in favour for her survival. Were it not for her position of power and the support from her undead followers, she may have crumbled beneath her own paranoia in the past. The thought of a cowering undead elf running in fear for the rest of her miserable existence elicited a cringe from the Banshee Queen.

"Leave me…" she whispered faintly, unaware that her own voice would sound as hoarse as it did, "I must ponder…". Nathanos had been left in a trance from the realisation he had made, before he was snapped back to reality and quickly obliged his Queen's instructions. Sylvanas could hear the sound of his footsteps as they began to fade into silence. Once again, the darkness of her chamber had returned to compliment her loneliness.

She lowered her head as several droplets fell upon the wooden table, soaking slowly into the splintered surface upon impact. A weakness had begun to spread through her body, crippling her legs as they threatened to collapse under her weight. She fell forward against the table as her claws pierced into the wood once again. The cold of her sorrow had been challenged once again by her rage, the pain that both brought wearing upon the Banshee Queen's will.

She remembered the last time she had ever cried in her life, how she vowed never to do so again. She was in shambles in those moments, her world crumbling and her madness threatening to overpower her common sense. She promised herself that she would never consider anyone with such regard again, as all would mean nothing but a convenience to the elven queen. This moment had possibly marked the beginning of her descent into tyranny.

She raised her hand to her cheek and felt the moist skin beneath her fingers, further fuelling her conflicting emotions. Her rage beckoned her to abandon her pity and to continue her plight to escape from the void, while her sorrow twisted her to despise herself and all of her recent deeds. Her heinous acts to escape her judgement has left nothing but pain in her wake, and her anguish clarified how far her goal has become.

She stepped away from the table and made her way along the path towards the entrance, before turning to face the ascending stairway to her throne. As she climbed to the upper platform and approached her throne, her strength had finally surrendered to the torment and sent her collapsing to her knees.

She did not deserve this. She was not worthy of the power she had been granted. There are others who would be better suited for the role of Warchief. How could one as despised and hopeless as her possibly mend the broken ties between these cultures? Under the advice of Thrall or perhaps the tauren, there was a chance. But in the hands of a selfish and opportunistic witch, the fate of the horde would be inevitable.

"Damn you Vol'jin…" she spat bitterly into the cold air, "Why me?"

She rose her leg and shifted into a kneeling position, attempting to regain her upright stance. She stumbled weakly to her throne, her eyes shining with hope as she approached her seat of power. Before her was this source of control, the fate of her people and the many cultures that must follow under her guiding hand. Whatever she would decide, it decided the fate of Azeroth itself. To know that she would represent the courage and the spirit of Azeroth disgusted her.

"I can't do it".

With these words, she toppled to her prior stance, kneeling lowly before her own power. She couldn't have it, and she shouldn't have it. It belonged to another. Someone with the heart and the mind to lead the world and its denizens to a brighter future and a better life. She was tired. She felt the wear infest within her soul. She was world weary and no longer had the will to stand against fate. Her rage had faded and left only her anguish. Her sorrow.

She wanted to die.

"My mistress" a voice whispered from the darkness. Sylvanas hadn't the will nor the need to glance towards the source of the voice, welcoming the loving melody that was the voice of the Val'kyr. From the shadows emitted almost a heavenly light, a deceptive display considering the nature of the source. From all directions, Sylvanas felt herself surrounded by the tender grace of her most vital allies.

"You are troubled, mistress…" a Val'kyr spoke as she stared down upon the broken form of their leader. "We have sensed your struggle… confusion spawned from the unknown future" another Val'kyr whispered. "The past hunts you… and the future has turned away…" a third explained. Sylvanas' defences had begun to weaken in the presence of the Val'kyr, finding trust and reassurance in their presence.

"Fear not, Windrunner… The pain you now feel shall be quelled… the Val'kyr shall end your anguish, however possible".

Sylvanas wanted to smile, to feel the comfort that her allies were offering, or at least to find some glimmer of light in her hollow and lifeless world. But there was none. She felt empty, as if all that had necessitated her existence had been expended. She felt the last of her defiance fracture, leaving her as a submissive and undesirable waste of life. Not even the support of her own Val'kyr could sway her thoughts.

"I am not the Warchief…" she explained, "I am not even a leader".

The Val'kyr were confused by this, but nevertheless inquisitive of their queen's philosophy. "My whole life, I have been taking orders. As a huntress for Quel'thalas, I was just a pawn to much larger powers" she described, her voice beginning to break from her welling misery. Her clenched fists relented and withdrew to her sides as she continued "I was nothing but a fool to be used by others… I didn't have power… I didn't deserve it".

Suddenly, she gathered her strength and lifted herself from the floor, standing as upright as possible with the pain welling within her chest. "But in death, I sought power for myself among the forsaken… because I knew Arthas the best and hated him the most…" she continued, "Since then, I have been leader of the forsaken for all the wrong reasons…". She raised her arms to either side of her body, emphasising the chamber in which they stood.

"The forsaken, the Undercity, everything since the third war… None of it should have happened".

She staggered forward and turned to face away from her thrown, before promptly seating herself. She cringed violently from what this action implied, how she had granted herself the power to control so much of the world. She slid against the backrest and leaned harshly against the armrest, supported only by her left arm. Her tears returned as she pondered to herself.

"I wish I had died that day" she muttered, "I wish I had been granted the peace of death… before that bastard decided he wasn't finished tormenting me". The Val'kyr were becoming agitated by their leader's decent into heartache, but were afraid to approach her in such a vulnerable state. "I was almost gone… removed from the world… The world was almost free of me… and my continuing Arthas' reign".

From this moment, the familiar but uncomfortable silence returned to envelop the chamber. A Val'kyr vigilantly stood before her broken mistress and said "You have suffered many hardships, from friend and foe alike. This, however, does not mean that you are destined for ruin!" Sylvanas rose her head to meet the Val'kyr's gaze, finally allowing the latter to see the fear and torture in them.

"The title of Warchief was bestowed upon you... and your allies look to you for guidance" the Val'kyr reminded her superior, "Are you to abandon them at their hour of need?"

Sylvanas gathered herself as she rose from her throne, stepping towards the Val'kyr with sluggish movements. The Val'kyr raised her hand and cupped her queen's cheek, a tear running along the length of her index finger. "I have had you and yours to guide me for many years now" Sylvanas sighed, "I have always taken your advice and followed your instructions". The Val'kyr's smile dropped as she realised what was to come.

"So tell me… Who is the real servant?"

Sylvanas' eyes shut tightly from her own words as she turned and regain her place on the throne. Her breath was ragged and unorganised, mirroring her reign of power. "Leave me now, ladies" she ordered, though she lacked the sense of dominance as she often did. "Dark Lady, I insist you-".

"Please… Just go…" Sylvanas quickly interrupted, her command only further failing to carry the majesty of her position. They're invited presence expended, the Val'kyr withdrew into the surrounding darkness, the light fading from whence they once stood. Once again, much like with Nathanos, Sylvanas was at the mercy of her isolation. The darkness was her tool in many ways for combat, but was used for an alternate purpose.

To remind her of how alone in the world she truly was.

Meanwhile, whilst the Banshee Queen was left alone with her thoughts, elsewhere was gathered the Val'kyr to discuss the matter of their allegiance to the Forsaken.

"This was not supposed to happen…" one Val'kyr explained, while another added "We had expected a defiant and unrelenting commander". A third Val'kyr shook her head and remarked "To think she would crumble so easily in the face of disaster". "It does not matter… We'll have to find some way to motivate her in the meantime. We must assure that she will do everything we need her to" announced the lead Val'kyr, to which the others nodded in agreement.

Despite the unexpected turn of events, the lead Val'kyr couldn't help but smile from the spectacle that their 'mistress' had provided. "Her anguish… that loss of hope in her eyes… I had never believed it could extend to such extremes". The lead Val'kyr tutted and held her hands together, "The master will delight in her torment greatly… much more than any other that it has claimed in the past". "Indeed! So much hardship and a lifetime of mistakes has withered her spirit… made it easy to twist and bend to another's will".

The lead Val'kyr turned away from her brethren and pondered in silence, before stating "Despite that, we will have to be cautious from now on… She has begun questioning our loyalty, so we will have to prove ourselves when the time comes". She then raised her hand and demanded "Until then, we shall return to the Undercity and await further requests from Windrunner". With a nod from each of her fellows, they disappeared into the darkness.

Only the lead Val'kyr remained, revelling in the sanctity of her solitude, she smiled as she thought about Sylvanas, grinning as she mocked "Foolish elven bitch… The master craves for your soul above any other… for the hopelessness and submission it holds". She then shrugged and continued "Until then… you will be of great use to us in the times yet to come". She smiled as she wondered what anarchy and misery the poor decisions of this elven woman would bring.

"The Old God of Anguish looks upon you... and he laughs".