The Strangled Dove

by Lilith-Hoshi

She was adopted as a young child by a man who had turned his back on the Light. But one day he corrupts her with demonic magic. A chance encounter with a familiar man gives her the means to break both her bonds and her father's, and grant them both peace.

This story is the result of five months' hard work. It was written with three characters in mind, one of them being my own, and two others being the invention of a good friend of mine in the guild. Shout out to Knights of Gray Citadel on Thorium Brotherhood!

I hope you enjoy the lengthy story I've written.

Disclaimer: World of Warcraft is owned by Blizzard Entertainment. I and my guildmembers have simply come up with characters to populate this world.

The Strangled Dove

Sixteen years before our story begins…

A chill hung in the air, the sign that Winter had arrived to the land, bringing about snow with her arrival. The trees held up the slush with their strong limbs, though gravity eventually shoved the snow off, piling onto the ground in a heap of white. Houses and buildings also were adorned with the chilly white, strangely a suiting decoration for the season. The sun had not shown through the gray clouds for days, the world gone cold for many.

A town, in the heart of the wooded region there, enjoyed the seasonal weather, even the farmers, who normally loathed the cold for fear of their crops freezing over. Their children scuffled about in the show, building and crafting snowmen with their freezing fingers, chilled blue without proper clothing for the season. Some stretched their tongues out to catch a lone snowflake, melting upon contact. Others pelted each other merrily with compact balls of snow, chilling the target and yet undoubtedly fun.

South of the town, where the children played and the adults sat by their fires, sat a small house, tucked away by the southern exit of the town. It had been vacant for some time, though nobody ever moved into it. Why, the townsfolk were never sure, but they had never bothered to uncover why. Which is why there was a stir when a man with brown hair, slightly grayed, and a bit of an eerie aura about him, purchased the small home. There was brief discussion as to who this mysterious man was, but he had never bothered to answer their questions. This turned to curiosity, though this was never properly quenched. Soon, people learned to leave the man alone, though they still sometimes referred to him as the mysterious hermit.

One evening, during the peak of this winter, the man was finally setting furniture into his home, a log slowly burning away in the stone fireplace. A brown table and two chairs were set by the fireplace, taking advantage of the warmth that spread from the flames, which were merrily licking away at the wood. The man took a chair and sat down, reflecting on what he would do next. But slow, slightly weak knocking cut through this activity, much like a knife through butter. He jolted up and walked to the door, wondering exactly who would dare bother him now. The townspeople appeared to have overcome their fascination with him, after all. A moment's hesitation made him wonder if it wasn't some foolish child, playing a prank on 'the hermit'. Sighing, he pulled open the knob, figuring he was already a fool in the eyes of the town, and that this prank wouldn't make much difference to his reputation anyway.

With that in mind, though, he did not expect to see a woman, tall and clad in a hooded white robe, clutching a bundle of white blankets in her hand. The robes fluttered as the cold wind snapped at them, letting the man peer at the face beneath the hood, curious as to whom this stranger was. Reddish-brown hair, pinned up into an odd style resembling the thin petals of a flower, framed her pale, sorrowful face. Brown eyes gazed at the bundle of blankets, an aged look to her. Remnants of tears lingered on her face.

"Sir," she began, her voice high-pitched, almost musical, "please take this child. Recent events have driven her father out, and I…" A sniffle escaped the woman, and with it, a tear spilled from her eye. "I cannot bear to raise her." She looked up at the man, as if in hope that he would find some kindness in his heart to take up her offer. It was clear to him that she had suffered much, and took a moment to pause. Silently, he reflected on the situation, wondering if he was prepared to raise a child by himself.

The moment concluded, and he nodded, not about to let a poor, young child suffer in the biting cold winds. He took the small blanket-wrapped figure from the mysterious woman, and looked down at the babe, inspecting his new-found charge. It was a girl, with red hair and brown eyes, much like the woman in white robes, but yet, something different about them, so different from the woman who had presumably birthed her. He looked back up to the woman, but she had gone, disappearing with the wind. He sighed and closed the door, wondering exactly what more was to happen on this strange night.

An hour later, the man had thrown himself onto the saddle of a black stallion. Braving the cold winds, he went on his way westward. Nobody dared brave the cold, as the frozen fangs of the wind and snow were too much for any common townsfolk. He passed by the cemetery in a blur, colors and shapes mixing into each other. But he thought he spied something odd in the cemetery, something that had not been there before. He urged his horse to turn direction and trod slower. There, he saw a familiar sight, though it was to be his last time seeing it.

The woman's white robes were stained with blood, the long and cruel blade penetrating her heart. Her dead eyes looked up to the sky; her body slumped over the marker of a grave. Snow had begun to pile in clumps on her body, a sign the corpse had been there for a while. The man leapt off his horse then, trotting silently to the cadaver. The silence then was perhaps the eeriest he had ever encountered, the wind the only sound besides his steps crunching in the snow.

Inspecting the woman's body, he felt some pity and sorrow. After all, she had given to him a child- her child, he suspected- and found it a shame she had killed herself. He was a priest no longer, but even he uttered a small prayer for the woman. After the last syllable escaped his lips, his eyes strayed to a hole in the snow by the corpse, strangely out of place with the melancholy scene. He kneeled over the hole, and pulled out a note, made of thin, white parchment.

"Please take good care of Lilith Sahl, daughter of Aegle Conte and Shade Argenteus." The woman's writing, small but still finely written, continued on, describing to the man the story behind the young child's birth, so that she may one day know what had happened to her parents. With this note, the man learned that the child was two years old, and her mother wished her to one day be entered into the Cathedral of Light's service, not too far from Stormwind, one of the capitals of the human race.

He grasped the note in his hand and walked back to his steed, throwing himself onto the saddle, urging the beast home with a gentle kick. With that signal, the stallion charged away, the snow blowing gently onto horse and rider. The man wished to go home- to his daughter.

Present Day-

Shadows. They were everywhere in the forests. From the shadows, came wolves, with sharp, blood-stained fangs and mud-flanked coats. Spiders, giant in size from dark magic, their poisons threatening to kill crawled in the shade of the trees and brush. The undead lumbered through the trees, refusing to stay dead.

Chill winds blasted through the town of Darkshire, surrounded by the sinister woods. All who took refuge in their homes peered outside their windows when they woke, wondering if they would perhaps perish today. To them, sleep and wake were the same concept- both were continuous nightmares. When they woke to the day, they were scared to look into even their own shadow; for fear that something might be there. When they slept, spirits of the dead assaulted them; Death knocking at the door and finally taking them away…Only to wake up, still alive, drenched in cold sweat. Despair reigned in the village. And yet, some had hope. They prayed to the Light for a better situation, hoping for salvation. That was all some people ever did.

Which is why Lilith Sahl was accepted with great enthusiasm.

The priestess, clad in white robes, rode into the forsaken town on her brown steed. The cold wind blew her fiery red hair, a dark, dull red in the darkness, normally swept out of her face and cut before it could grow beyond the tips of her shoulders. From the wind, the strands hit the sides of her alabaster face, nearly as white as a ghost. Her brown eyes, warm as only a priestess' could be, strained to look for any sign of human life.

Almost right then, an old crone, with a dark brown robe wrapped about her huddled figure, turned her crooked nose to the priestess, away from the dead flowers she plucked from the garden, which had starved to death. The limp stems and petals dropped from the long, curved hands of the old woman, her face lit with surprise, the few teeth she had left sticking out from her gums like a fence in disrepair. "A priestess!" she cried out in a nasal tone, her voice shuddering from her old age.

Others nearby looked up from their work, their hands dropping tools, their eyes taken from their previous task. Grim stony expressions turned into surprised smiles. One by one, men, women and young children surrounded the priestess, who at this time was greatly flattered by the crowd that had gathered around her. She had come into this village before, but she didn't have this imposing of a reception. A woman, holding a babe in her arms, both mother and child wrapped in rags, shoved her way to the front.

"Priestess," began the desperate mother, her hair astray, ragged strands of silver among the dull brown, "bless this child so he may survive the oncoming winter yet."

Lilith looked at the babe, sleeping peacefully in the ragged cloth, full of holes and loose strings. She had always a soft spot for children, their innocence shining bright against the darkest hours of humanity. Yes, she would give the babe the blessing, she decided, though she would have given anyone else a blessing unless she saw otherwise. Such was the way of the Light.

The priestess closed her eyes and called to her bond with the universe, from which she drew her power. The philosophy of the Light, not a theistic religion, dictated that one's bond with the universe would grow stronger, thus would their power. Happiness increased this bond, and this happiness could be obtained in helping people. Her fingers glowed with soft light, growing ever so stronger as Lilith tugged on her bond, drawing power. She placed her hand to the child's forehead, the pads of her fingers gently touching the soft skin. The power escaped quickly and silently from her fingers, the glow disappearing with the transfer of energy.

Lilith opened her eyes and pulled her lips into a smile, her eyes soft, and only slightly weary from the blessing. "It is done, ma'am. May the Light bless you, as well." The mother's eyes shimmered with awe and gratitude at Lilith's kindness to her son.

"Thank you, priestess!" the mother said, and retreated to the back of the crowd, which was murmuring with awe at the power Lilith had demonstrated. A large man forced his way to the front, his large hands shoving aside women and children alike. Lilith winced slightly as to how the man forced his way to her, but she silently understood that he was likely desperate for a blessing as well.

"Priestess," he began, his tone low, ragged, and pained, as if wishing for salvation, "would you bless this weary worker?" Lilith inspected the man's choice of clothes curiously, wondering exactly what he did. Blue denim overalls, well-worn and seemingly aged, with a grimy white undershirt, the white stained with black dirt. A farmer, she thought, her observation stopped to a conclusion. She nodded slowly at the man, her hand making a motion to come closer to her horse. The man did as he was commanded, though he limped on his left leg. Lilith's eyebrows arched, wondering exactly how he had gotten the limp, but dismissed the thought and held her hand up to the farmer's forehead. Another soft glow escaped her fingers, though this time it was a bit stronger, in an attempt to possibly heal the man's limp.

"Sir," she said, her eyes fluttering open, "try to walk on your leg now." The farmer looked at her, slightly puzzled and suspicious. He flexed his leg carefully, and then put it out forward in a test of the priestess's magic. His foot wobbled slightly as it came down to the ground, followed by his more steady foot. His eyes following his foot, he took another step with the foot, this time landing more fluidly and more stable.

"My limp is gone!" he cried out, a look of awe and surprise on his face. He fell to the ground on his knees, his hands outstretched in praise. "Thank you, priestess! Thank you!"

Lilith smiled warmly again, having expected this result and the reaction. "It is not me you should thank. The Holy Light healed your wound," she stated almost monotonous, having said this many times to many a wounded stranger. The farmer got up and went about his way. The crowd murmured in awe, but this was abruptly interrupted by a new arrival. Wearing the uniform of the town's guard, the Night Watch, a man rode in from the north entrance of the town. Urgency ruled his expression, panicked.

"To your homes!" he cried. "There is something foul in the woods!" Frightened mothers and children cried out, afraid that their time had come. Lilith watched the town scramble into their shoddy wooden buildings. Some fell on the ground, stumbling as they got up, only to be stepped on during the madness. There were even people running about, murmuring the end had come. But all was quiet when the last and slowest finally retreated into their homes, leaving the priestess out in the town by her lonesome.

She looked out at the town, which had only been so full of life moments ago. Rabbits, hopping back into their holes at any sign of danger, she realized, a chuckle stifled at the mental image. Likely the Night Watch guard had only seen a wolf pack and mistook them for a squad of demonic hounds. Lilith sighed, and kicked the side of her steed gently, urging the brown mare to go on. She would have hated to keep her dear old father waiting any longer.

--

Lilith sat on the polished wood, the steps of the darkened little house sagging into the infertile ground. The woods surrounded the house, the inky black of the shadows casting a sort of gloomy feel to the night. Waiting patiently, she looked around, her brown eyes examining the darkness. She could see the yellow eyes of creatures, who knows what they were, examining her every move. The clashing song of crickets echoed throughout the chilly air. Quivering from the cold, she pulled about a blanket about her, trying to keep warm.

She had been waiting here for an hour at most. Her father had not answered the door, so he was likely out, going about his own agenda, or had taken to a very deep sleep. She knew he couldn't be dead in the cabin, as the stench of death wasn't present, and as old as her father was, he was rather healthy for a man of his age. So those theories were right out. She sighed as she slumped into her blanket, her lips becoming blue from the cold. Briefly, she entertained the idea of calling upon the Light for a sort of magical fire to keep her warm, but decided against it. It would only bring undesirables to her, and nothing of the human sort. The undead would lumber toward any sign of human life, after all…

Distantly, a vague thump of road could be heard, the sound muddy from the distance. Lilith sat up, trying to train her ears onto the sound. As she did so, the sound grew closer and sharper, revealing it to be the sound of hooves. She smiled as she put two and two together, thinking that the rider of this beast was likely her father. But her smile disappeared as the steed rode into view.

A black nightmare, only vaguely resembling a horse, with flaming hooves and tail, carried a silver-haired man. The woods seemed doubly more menacing with the arrival of horse and rider. Lilith stared down the man that rode the dark steed. Dark rings were around his hazel eyes, a black headband encircling his head. Deep lines were set in his face, showing his age, and silver mustache with a neatly-trimmed beard adorned his face. His long hair, also silver, was pulled back in a ponytail, taking most of it out of his face.

Her father, Jordril Flinteye. And yet, it wasn't.

Lilith could tell that there was an even more sinister aspect to the man she called 'Papa' so warmly when she visited. His eyes looked dead, as if the life had left them long ago. But he was alive, a smile curling upwards on his line-set face. Lilith then realized the smile was a wicked perversion of a father's loving smile toward a daughter. Something was definitely wrong here…

"Hello, Lilith," Jordril greeted, his voice crackling with evil. His voice sent a cold, venomous chill down Lilith's spine, as if the mere greeting was the harshest of winter winds. She visibly shuddered, violently shaking from the cold. Fear gripped her, fear of what this creature was, and why it was wearing the skin of her father. Surely this wasn't her own father! Jordril merely smiled the same wicked smile, growing wider across his as he chuckled darkly. The laugh was low, and sounded as if it came from the plane of death itself.

"Why so quiet, daughter?" He cupped Lilith's face in one gloved hand, taking the pale chin between his fingers. He touched her as if she were an inanimate object, his fingers roughly taking her chin. Another deathly chill ran down her spine, and she began to quiver underneath his touch. Her mouth opened to speak, but found herself unable to find the words. A sheep, cornered by the wolf that just shed its sheepskin disguise, to be devoured as an evening meal.

"I-I-I…" she managed to stammer. The words caught in her throat, unable to escape. Her body was rigid, cold from fright. Jordril partially closed his eyes, looking as if he were to sleep. Of course, looking into his eyes, Lilith knew this was not the case. Jordril's fingers left her chin, a temporary relief from the chill that infected her.

"Silly child…Am I scaring you? I'm sorry…" Jordril's voice hissed, almost soothingly, though it failed to calm her. He wasn't sorry, he couldn't be sorry! What was he doing?! She had no conception of what was going on. Suddenly, she felt elated, as if taking flight into the sky, leaving behind some earthly burden...Vision distorted, everything blurring into another.

To her horror, she hovered in the air, looking down at her body. The color began to leave her body, as if she had died already. A nightmare, she thought. She wanted it, wished it, willed it to be only a nightmare. She wanted to open her eyes and scream, to have her papa comfort her, running a hand through her hair, shushing her to sleep, as he had always done. But she did not wake up, did not wake up in her bed with her protective father towering over her. Instead, Jordril seemed to stare at her, sickly green energy surrounding his hands. "This part will be over soon…"

Lilith stared in shock as she witnessed with ghostly eyes her body twisted to become even paler than before, and the blood of her mortal coil became tainted with shadow magic. She could see that he had invited the shadows to inhabit the body, as well, witnessing the black, wispy spirits surround her…corpse, dare she say? The body became a vessel for destruction, and she felt the power, the pure evil, emanate from it.

Jordril smiled, the edges of his lips curled up into a wicked grin. "Now for the best part…After all, the body is so easy to corrupt. It's the soul that takes effort to change to will…"

She stared into the shadowy orbs that Jordril conjured in his hands. The shackles he had imposed on her threatened imprisonment. She had people to heal, people to save from early, undeserved deaths. Trying not to slip into death, trying not to let her father change her will, she screamed for freedom, for the Light to help her. But she could feel the shadowy hands of dark magic seize the matter of her being. A burning sensation spread throughout her.

"The Light helps no one…It saves not even those most faithful to it…"

"Open your eyes, daughter…See the truth…"

"You cannot save everyone…"

"Through fire, this world can be saved…"

"…Why…Jera…Why…?"

Voice, filled with sorrow and anger…The voice of her father.

The voice…of reason.

The voice…of truth.

Why didn't she see it before? It was all so obvious…The Light helped no one. It failed to save those who were supposed to be saved. A farce. A joke. A cruel, twisted joke…

Lilith opened her eyes, seeing only pitch black at first, but then her father's face came into view, set with many lines of grief- grief from losing everything he had ever known and loved. A loss that he set out to avenge with flames and darkness. She reached out for his face, her fingers resting on his cheek. "Father…You are right."

--

He had smashed innocence. Turning back was impossible now for them both. The corruption could not be reversed, just like he could not take up the power of the Light.

Lilith Sahl, Priestess of the Light, daughter of Jordril Flinteye, was no more.

His own hands crippled that image within his own daughter. But the world was cruel. All he did was open his daughter's eyes to that. And she was thankful for that, ever since the corruption. Every day, she came back bathed in blood, carrying a corpse or two and apologizing that she couldn't bring the rest of the bodies, for they were already reduced to bone by the time she was done with them. Then she'd kiss him on the cheek, asking how his day was, wiping the bloodstain her lips had left with a handkerchief.

He was climbing up there in age, and although he was quite fit, he wished to have time for when he had his elderly pains. Lilith would take care of him and would slaughter those that he wanted dead, whenever that happened. And on the days he wasn't succumbing to his age, he brought his daughter along with him to fun games. After all, most fathers took their daughters to games, and the one they loved playing was a rousing game of slaughter. They'd laugh together as the bodies hit the ground, their bodies melting away from purely evil dark magic.

"Look papa! We got the same one," Lilith would remark if their magic had twisted the same unfortunate soul. Jordril's lips would pull upward in a wicked grin, chuckling darkly.

"Indeed we did, Lilith. Come along, I think there's another one hiding in the bushes." Moments later, the escapee could be heard screaming as Lilith distorted the poor boy's head. Jordril watched on with glee, fatherly pride exhibiting from every corner of his face.

One night, when the moons were shining brightly in the sky, Jordril and Lilith walked away from the remains of a Syndicate camp. The thieves, much like the Defias Brotherhood, had been a thorn in the side of many people. Thus it was politically favorable for Jordril and Lilith to dispose of them. Nobody would ever wonder or care where justice was to be served. Soon enough, though, Jordril mused, he would have Lilith take on targets that were more difficult to sweep under the carpet of politics.

Father wrapped an arm around his daughter affectionately, smiling. "Lilith, you've been doing a wonderful job so far. However…" He glanced at the robes Lilith had been wearing ever since her corruption. Once white, now they were stained crimson and had quite a few tears and rips. The dead often did not go without a struggle, of course, and they would tear at her robes, pleading for mercy. She would grant them their last wish, ending their miserable existence. Jordril looked back up at Lilith. "I think it's time I got you some new robes, Lilith. Something much less easy to stain…And increase your power. Wouldn't you like that?"

Lilith smiled warmly at her father, the blood of innocents caked on her face. "Of course, papa! These robes are far too worn out."

Jordril smiled back at his daughter, though she did not see the wickedness to his smile. His eyes shined with a cruel gleam, as if he were up to no good. "I knew you would accept."

--

Lilith sat in the chair, looking on as the needle between Jordril's fingers slipped in and out of the dark blue clothing, crafting it into the shape of a robe. She knew her father was a tailor, but he didn't know he was that adept at sewing- typically a job reserved for a female. Then again, he did make all of his own armor, so she figured he would have masterful ability in crafting armor and robes. He had already made the gloves with great speed, the dark blue material lying in wait on the table. The gloves pulsed with dark energy, begging to be slipped on by a person of great power. Lilith knew they waited for her, as she could hear faint whispers of the captured souls from the material, speaking of their future mistress.

Jordril held up the finished robe, scrutinizing his creation. His eyes spent a while examining all aspects of the robe for his approval, not letting any wayward seam stick out or a possible tearing point. Finally, he walked to Lilith, eyes still fixed on the robe. "It will fit..." After his absentminded statement, he glanced up at Lilith, analyzing his daughter. "Yes. It will fit," he confirmed.

Lilith nodded. "Good…I suppose you'll need another ten souls for this one, then?" The gloves had required ten, five for each glove. Ripping souls was an easy matter for Lilith. She could slaughter any ten people, reaching into the core of their being and pulling out their matter. Terribly easy, though it was a time-taking process, especially when the soul resisted her grasp. They would always break in the end, though. Most humans were easy to break.

Jordril seemed to think to himself for a moment, his eyes clouded in thought. Finally he responded: "No. Twenty souls. And make sure they've been tortured sufficiently."

Lilith snatched the robe from her father's hands, placing it gently on the table in a single swooshing motion. She turned to face her father, brown eyes meeting hazel. "I'll take care of the souls, papa. You rest for a while, okay?" She smiled warmly at her father, a sense of false innocence to her face.

Jordril smiled wearily in return, realizing now he was, in fact, tired. "If you insist." He knew Lilith was concerned for him, proof that the obedience and loyalty he had forced into her being was in full force. And yet, he knew she would have acted the same way uncorrupted, as that was her nature. The priestesses of the Cathedral of Light were practically forced to be kind, especially to the elderly, though he hardly considered himself a codger yet.

Lilith took the gloves up in her hands and positioned one to slip her hand into. Jordril's eyes widened, and he started up from his seat. "No!" He quickly snatched the glove she meant to put on out of her hand. Lilith's eyes darted to him in surprise.

"What's the matter, papa? Is there something wrong?"

"No," Jordril stated, putting the glove on the table. Its sibling still lay limp in Lilith's hand, the souls inhabiting the material quietly begging to be put on. He whisked away the other glove before Lilith could respond, tossing it onto the table. A sigh escaped his lips, the worry vanished. "It's…The gloves, robes, shoulder plating, boots and hood should be put on only when all of the pieces are made and imbued with tortured souls."

Lilith tapped her chin, a common notion for the girl. "But why?" Curiosity was reflected in both her eyes and face, her eyebrows furrowed in thought. Jordril placed a hand on the table, his own hands free from his imprisoning dark gloves he normally wore. One couldn't handle a needle with thick material enveloping your fingers.

"Please, just go and get the souls for the robe," he growled, his irritation coming across in one sound. Lilith nodded slightly, turning away from her father and walked to the door. She twisted the knob and pushed, giving way into the world outside - the world she would slaughter with her father.

--

Twenty souls wasn't a whole lot. The ten she had killed for the gloves were pathetic members of the Defias, not even high-ranking thieves. Their deaths would be swift, Lilith knew. Her hands already pulsed with shadow energy as she looked over the five tents and the petite campfire that the thieves made. Her first order in her operations was to find one and torture him to death, and then have the others find his corpse. As soon the shout rose up, she'd put the campfire out and start slaughtering, torturing each sufficiently. A good plan, she thought.

Lilith ran along the edge of the cliff, not wishing to jump roughly five feet from the ledge and into the camp, only to risk a broken leg or otherwise. She looked about, searching the area for any of her unfortunate victims-to-be. Her eyes spotted one, walking about as if he were on patrol, as his movements were rigid and semi-alert. The energy in her hands shifted into sky-blue lightning, which shot at the man's face, obscured by the trademark red mask of the Defias. She smelled flesh burning, and heard the man's agony in his wail for support. Of course, the others would arrive soon, but she strengthened the bolt of shadow lightning, determined to have him dead.

Finally he dropped onto the ground, his body falling into the dark-brown dirt. She jogged to the corpse, grinning wickedly as she placed a hand on the cadaver's torso. She could feel the soul writhing in resistance as she began to pry it from the body, but death had made the soul very susceptible to her magic. Finally she forced it out, the essence warm and ethereal in her hand. Pulling out a large glass container, Lilith pushed the soul into the bottle, closing it shut before it could escape to the afterlife.

She waited for his comrades to discover the body, taking refuge behind a nearby bush. A wicked grin spread across her face at the thought of so many people, dying as their faces distorted into ways that most men would have thought impossible. They would fall to the ground, praying silently for their pitiful religion to save them. No one would answer their call, as the Light would save none. What does not exist cannot save, after all.

"Hey! Where'd Porter go?" called out a nearby figure, a red mask hiding away his face like his dead ally. Lilith stood still in her crouched form, listening for his foolishly loud feet. He came closer to his dead comrade, the steps crunching in the dry grass. Lilith's wicked grin widened when she heard him gasp, then the shocked silence as the man tried to figure out what to do. Finally, he ran to his comrades, calling for assistance.

Lilith pounced from her hiding spot and unleashed a storm of blue lightning towards her prey. She cackled grandly in the chaos, watching her bolts reduce the faces of her opponents to clay. The shrieks rang through the night, the bodies flailing about as they all hit the ground. She could feel their spirits break as they lost the will to live. The campfire illuminated the bodies, painting their deathly pale bodies orange and yellow. She made note to extinguish the fire later, as she didn't want passerby viewing her handiwork.

The rest of the camp exploded into action at the sight of their men going down in combat. Five thieves rushed towards her, all duel-wielding sharpened blades. Cold steel would not protect them, but it gave them courage, Lilith supposed. Two of them fell as their feet tangled together in their own idiocy, making them her first target. She hissed a word of power at them, shadow power lacing her words. They screamed in pain and agony as Lilith sent more bolts of lightning at the other three thieves that tried to kill her.

After the five fell, two more thieves came from the side, wildly swinging their swords. Their swings were too wide, too varied in size and power, so Lilith knew they were fresh recruits, fresh apples picked from the tree. Effort on killing them she need not waste, so she only hissed another shadowy word of pain at the two. They writhed in pain, their deaths slow.

Cold steel was pointed at her back, the tip grazing the cloth on her back. A rogue, she knew, as only a rogue would be a coward enough to attack from the back like the rest of his brethren. She taught him his first and only lesson in assaulting a shadow priestess as she spun around and unleashed a powerful blast of dark energy. The shot crippled his mind and disabled his thought. The poor bastard never knew what hit him, and Lilith smirked as he fell to the ground.

Lilith spun around quickly, just in time to see four mages, eyebrows furrowed in determination, readying their spells. With the time they took to cast their spells, she concluded that they were novices. With a quick battle cry, just to heighten the excitement of the moment, her hands created a shield of power that the mages couldn't hope to penetrate with their spells. As the shield was up, Lilith swiftly tapped into one of the mages' reserve of mana, burning it away from him. She relished the surprised look on his face when the spell in his hands vanished without a source of power, then sent a blast of dark, ethereal energy at the four. They died quickly but painfully, their bodies writhing with the utmost despair.

With the last of the Defias dead, the camp grew deathly silent. The trees swayed gently in the lonesome wind, whispering in its own language to the trees. Lilith crossed her arms as she looked at the landscape, and then at the bodies. She sighed sadly as she looked out at the campfire. The game was over- everyone living at the camp was dead. She hadn't seen anyone flee into the forest, which saved her the process of playing cat and mouse. Silently she begun the process of extracting the souls of all she had slaughtered.

--

She had brought back the exact amount he needed for the robe, Jordril mused. Lilith always did good work for him. She took care in what she did and tried to do it to the best of her abilities. That hadn't changed in her, and he wasn't about to change what was infinitely useful to him. Lilith smiled at her father, as she always did. Despite the blood on her robes, she managed to play the part of the happy, innocent daughter. He had to keep himself from laughing from the irony of it all. Jordril put down the glass bottle containing the thirty spirits onto the table and yawned, the day's events having taken their toll on him. "I'm going to take a nap. I've been up for a while."

His daughter nodded in understanding, still smiling. Of course she would understand, Jordril mused with some sense of smugness. "Okay, papa. I'll go out into the wilds and try to kill something for us to eat after you wake up." Lilith had been a good cook before she was corrupted, but she had never willfully killed anything for meat. Jordril was glad he had changed her, as that meant he now had a cook that wasn't stingy about killing for supplies.

"That sounds good," Jordril confirmed, smiling sleepily at the idea of food after his nap. Lilith left soundlessly, getting better at stealth each day. Jordril yawned profoundly, stretching his tired old muscles as he did so. Silently, he took to his bed, lingering thoughts of the next part of his ultimate plan stirring in motion.

--

Lilith had been searching for nearly an hour. Frustration set in, causing her to grip the dagger at her belt. The wolves in the woods had moved from their usual hangout, oddly enough, and there really was nothing else to hunt. A growl escaped her lips as she looked about. No damned wolves, no trace of their steps in the dead soil. Not even droppings or their markings of territory. Where in all of Darkshire were they?

She wrinkled her nose in irritation. How would she explain to her dear father that the wolves were nowhere to be found? He would certainly be disappointed in her, something she hated to make him be. After all, he was irritated for the rest of the day, and he would scowl at her, making her do more chores than necessary, and sometimes he would even discipline her with a board. Only once, though, was she ever subject to punishment by dark--

Crack. Her head spun around at the sudden sound, piercing the cloud of thoughts in her mind. At instinct, she fired up shadow energy in her palms, willing to bring death to whatever made the sound. Her muscles tensed up, her nostrils flared, and her heart began a war beat. The battle would be hers…

Then he came out of the brush.

Lilith blinked, registering the unexpected arrival. A well-armored man, with wound-riddled skin and clean, black hair swept out of his face in a ponytail. His beard was well-trimmed, lining his face and arching above his mouth. His gentle brown eyes scanned the area, as if searching for some menace. It was then she sensed the holy aura – the bane of her existence – surrounding the man. Paladin! She wondered exactly who this man was, curiosity taking its throne. He did bear an uncanny resemblance to her father, after all.

Carelessly, she stepped on a branch, resulting in a sharp, cracking noise. The man swiftly pulled out his warhammer, clutching it to do deadly combat with his threat. "Who's there!?" his voice rang, a deep sense of authority to it. It was then Lilith realized this man to be a threat to all she held dear. He would attack her, kill her, then go on to Jordril and strike him down, as well! Then what would happen?

Gritting her teeth, she struck out with a bolt of shadow lightning, leaping out of her hiding spot with vigor. The man's face furrowed into concentration as the lightning clashed with his holy aura, and, to Lilith's surprise, had no effect on the paladin at all. She cursed wildly, so used to everything crumbling beneath her vicious spells and attacks. What manner of man was this paladin?

Since he had the heavier weapon, he had allowed Lilith to strike first, thus it was his turn to engage in combat. Sounding a ferocious battle cry, he ran towards Lilith with surprising speed for one so fully armored, as the metal he bore would have been enough to decrease a mortal man's speed by half. He swung at her, the heavy steel hammer bringing its force down onto her. She barely dodged it in time, the metal hitting the ground where she had been. The man lifted it up with a grunt, more time spent lifting it than he would have preferred. Lilith spotted the brief weak point, and used the opening to assault the man with her dark power, attempting to fry his body like she had done only hours earlier to the thieves.

The shadow energies bounced off the holy aura, which left Lilith again with a deep grimace on her face. How could he be so powerful? The paladin raised a free hand, the other clutching the warhammer, and brought down a blast of light, searing Lilith with its power. She shrieked, searing pain flowing through her, and flew to the ground, despite the fact she had no actual wounds. Frantically, she tried to tap into the darkness within her, only to discover her powers were gone! She attempted to move her legs to stand, but they would not respond, stunned by the blow the paladin had delivered. Tears came to her eyes as she was utterly trapped.

The paladin stood over her, his shadow encasing her stunned form. He analyzed her like a scholar with a new specimen, every detail examined meticulously. "You wear the robes of a Priestess of the Holy Light. And yet you wield the unholy Shadow…What is your name, girl?" He took a moment of more watchful examination. "And where are your parents? You don't look old enough to be on your own."

She opened her mouth, and found she had the freedom to speak, as her throat wasn't stilled by the holy magic. "I…I am Lilith Sahl. Jordril Flinteye's my father." Despite her freedom to speak, her words came out in a stutter, her paralysis stinging at her. It was as if she was unused to speaking.

The man's eyes widened in surprise at this revelation, as if encountering one of the great wonders of the world. "Jordril!? He's…Alive? I never thought…" He muttered to himself in self-reflection. Lilith arched her eyebrows at the paladin, wondering how he recognized the name. There was no way he could know her father. After all, they lived alone in a shack that slumped into the darkened soil. But maybe there was a way…

"How do you know papa- I mean, my father?" Lilith demanded, figuring she'd better ask right off the bat. If he was a stranger, meaning to do harm to her father, she'd be obligated to destroy him right away. But she recalled how easily he had bested her in combat, and knew that the odds of that were slim.

"I'm his brother. Rotheb Flinteye is my name…I'm a paladin of the Holy Light, and Master Sergeant of the Stormwind Army," the man stated, his identity revealed. Lilith blinked in some amusement and surprise. A man of a poorly-commanded army and of a laughable faith? He was the opposite of Jordril, to be sure…And therefore, the enemy. Though first she'd have to tell Jordril about his brother. If this man truly was his brother.

But the similarity between the two in appearance was remarkable. One thing was odd, though…

"If you're Jordril's brother…Why do you look so young?" she asked, puzzled. Rotheb let out a hearty chuckle, the first display of humor and of real emotion for the man, which surprised her. After all, up until now, he had been displaying excellent battle prowess for one who belonged to such stupid, lying organizations.

"Jordril was sixteen when I was born. Imagine I came as a shock to him, especially at that age…But he still took care of me, as an older brother, like he should have." He smiled grandly, beaming at memories in his mind, and Lilith wondered why Jordril never smiled like that. He would only smile weakly whenever she tried doing something for him. The only time he would ever truly grin was when he was slaughtering the weak and foolish. Lilith tried to move a hand, but again, nothing would move. Rotheb seemed to notice this, and he crouched down, slinging his warhammer around his back.

"Still…I sense great evil coming from you. You're not just Jordril's daughter…"

He placed a plated hand on Lilith's forehead, the holy aura coming too close for her liking. The energy sent a searing sensation twitching through her body as he got closer and closer. A feral hiss escaped her lips, warning Rotheb of the danger she would put him in if he got any closer. He ignored the warning, his plated fingers making contact with her forehead.

Colors, searing pain, and images and words assaulted her vision until she saw nothing of reality. Exploding pain all within her, she tried to scream out, to her father, to anyone who could help her, but she heard nothing out of her mouth, nor any help to save her. She still could not access her powers, still ever so lost to her. Furthermore, she was sinking into a reality she could not comprehend.

A dark room, damp and miserable. The sound of an infant crying, warped and distorting into clarity, then warping again. Wails became the sound of a woman's voice, ever so familiar…Ever so strange. The memories, the nightmares, the pains she had gone through. The mother who she never knew, and the father who had disappeared. Snow, a cold winter wind, blew on her face, freezing her to the bone.

Voices she heard, a choir of ethereal voices, surrounding her in mysterious song, high-pitched and low, all at once. A light appeared in front of her, in the freezing darkness that enveloped her. She reached for it, but it seemed to be far away from her reach. Her legs would not move toward the light, only her arms would move.

"Who are you?" the light called, two voices coming together, one masculine, the other feminine. The light faded out and in, disappearing and reappearing…A flicker. She knew not how to respond to its question. The choir had ceased to sing as the light sounded its question.

"Who are you?" it called again, the same way it had done before.

A moment of time, if it could be described that, passed.

She knew how to answer.

Lilith Sahl. Priestess of the Light, sworn healer of the people. Her identity, her allegiance, lay before her to see. She heard the sound of shackles breaking, eyes darting to her arms. Shadowy bonds had kept her true self locked into herself, deep where she could not even access it. Her true self seemed so alien…But yet, like home. She knew where she belonged, all along.

Her eyes flickered open, the plated glove leaving her forehead. Rotheb seemed relieved and yet grave, his face becoming heavy with lines of sorrow. He sighed a deep sigh, one of those sighs a man makes when he encounters horrid news about a loved one. A lonely sigh, echoing in Lilith's ears, his years of lonesomeness hitting her at once. But it also seemed that there was anger behind it, too, rising from within him.

"So my brother is a demon worshipper now…And he corrupted his own daughter." His voice was shaking from fury, his face visibly tensing. His eyebrows narrowed as he grimaced, his teeth grinding together. Rotheb's face twisted in pure anger. "He will pay dearly…For all of the innocents he's killed and for the heinous crime of killing innocence."

Lilith blinked. Here was a man, who she only knew was a paladin and bore the name of Rotheb Flinteye, threatening to kill the person that had been the only father figure she had during her life, though short it was. The paladin must have thrown off the shackles to her memory. She looked at Rotheb, an absent look on her face. She visibly quivered a little, unusually shy, for which she had no reason for. "Umm…sir Rotheb…"

Rotheb blinked as his rage quelled, at least for the moment. "Yes…Lilith?" Her name was said as if he were tasting a wine, deciding whether it was good or not. Lilith shyly smiled at Rotheb, though it was weak, as she had no real cause for joy.

"I…I wanted to thank you for helping me remember," she said, a subtle blush creeping onto her face. Her eyes averted from Rotheb, humbled in combat by the superior fighter. She had no idea why this embarrassed her, but it did.

The paladin smiled in return. "You're welcome, Lilith."

--

Jordril was in a field. A field of tall golden grass, tickling his feet and lower legs, and the sun beat down gently with its rays. The light was bright, as bright as it seemed to have been…back in those days long gone. The sky was a light blue, the white clouds coolly gliding on the blue. A cool breeze passed through the grass, which flashed in the sunlight as the wind rolled the strands in a wave.

And standing in front of him was his blessed Jera, draped in only a white robe, the sun illuminating her beautiful golden hair, created the shine on her moderately pale skin, and gave a boost to the already wonderful sparkle in her eyes. Jordril immediately took her into his warm, loving embrace, tears of joy flowing freely. "Jera…Oh, Jera…"

Jera did not respond, silence meeting his words of delight. This did not discourage Jordril, as in his joy, he kissed his wife tenderly. He reveled in the moment, taking back what he thought had been lost forever. It had all been a dream. Those years of pain, without his Jera, without the light of his life, were all just a simple fancy that danced in his mind like a puppet play. He had finally woken up from the nightmare, back to the heaven that was being with his beloved Jera.

His eyes opened to see a rotted corpse. The skin, a papery substance, was gone in many areas, crumbling like dust in his touch. Her beautiful eyes were gone, leaving only gaping wide eye sockets, the parts of the eye having decayed away long ago. The sky turned an ominous gray, and the grass died beneath his feet, shriveling away. He opened his mouth to scream as lightning crashed in the sky, as everything was taken from him. It could not be. It would not be…

"No!" he yelled. He sat up in his bed, to find that sheets covered him, and as always, the other side of the bed was empty. The side where Jera was supposed to be sleeping soundly, her beautiful face at peace with the world as she danced in the world of dreams. She was supposed to be alive…

Oh, if only he could dance with her now, to see her happy face. If only for a moment. He was supposed to be there for her, to take care of her, in sickness and in health. He had made that vow at the altar, promising that he would be a caring husband. But he failed to do that. He was only gone in Stormwind for a few days…He brought back flowers. He remembered their aroma as he walked into their simple home, calling out, "Jera, I'm home!"

He remembered the silence that met him, just like it did in his dream. He remembered finding her on the floor in a crumpled heap. He remembered taking her into his arms, thinking her to be asleep. "Jera? Jera? Wake up…I brought you flowers…Jera, please, wake up. I'm home…I brought you…"

Oh, how he remembered the sound of the flowers dropping to the floor, their petals scattering. He remembered…

…Why wasn't I there? Why didn't the Light save her? Why…Why? Why…

"Why?" The tears rolled down his face. He gripped the sheets and hunched over, only the sound of tears to keep him company as he sobbed, just as he had done almost every other night since he found her body, cold and dead on the floor. He could still see her face before she died…She was always so happy, so cheerful. He was overflowed with joy simply seeing her smile.

She always had the most beautiful smile in the world. And that beauty, that precious strand of mortal life, so different, so unique, so gentle, innocent and precious, was wrestled away in the days he was gone. The pale, deathly still face he came back to when he took the body into his arms was not the same Jera he had known and loved so dearly. It couldn't have been her. She loved life, and her face embodied that aspect to the fullest. This corpse, frozen forever in stiff, cold death, was not Jera Flinteye…His wife, his love, his life.

And yet, it was.

Jordril straightened upwards in his bed, wiping the tears from his face, lest Lilith see them. Then he realized that she had not come back home in days, and he had gone hungry. Yes, there was a lack of food, no pungent aroma chasing the air in his home. She had left, or had been captured. No doubt of that was in his mind.

This simply would not do. He focused his magic to find his daughter, wherever she may be…

--

Lilith stared in awe as she looked at the beautiful marble structure that surrounded her. The walls were a pristine white, and the windows captured the light of the sun, the rays shining down gently on all beings of creation. She raised her hands, looking into the light, where everything blurred together.

The Light embodied everything truly dear to her. It was what her mother took up as her shield and her halberd. It was what her father – her true birth father – left behind, decided to leave behind, delving further into dark magic. She thought of the story Jordril had told her, long ago, of her birth father and mother. It was an unhappy story that ended on a hopeful note, as Jordril would always conclude it by saying "You're my daughter now, Lilith, and I love you as much as a father should", then wrapping his arms around her.

Lilith wiped a tear from her eyes. Rotheb silently stood in the corner, gazing at Lilith like a shepherd with his flock. She had been standing there for an hour in the rays of the sun, filtered by the tall glass windows. He had taken her here to reconcile with the Holy Light, sensing that she needed to reunite with the faith that she believed in so strongly before. During the week they had spent in Stormwind to recover from her corruption at the hands of Shadow, she had grown stronger, less sickly and pale as she was before. She looked almost peaceful, her newly exchanged white robes that gently covered her lithe figure giving her the air of virgin purity. It was cut a bit low, though, for robes of a righteous priestess. He realized he was staring at her, analyzing various aspects of her body, and felt a hot blush rise in his cheeks. Quickly he turned away, despite the fact she had not noticed his gaze. She was the daughter of his older brother, for the sake of the Light! Not only that, but he absolutely refused to look at women in such a way. It was wrong and lewd, and he wished that some of his fellow paladins would do the same, as well. Then he noticed her beginning to pray.

She raised her hands in the air, her arms sweeping into the rays of the sun. The long white sleeves at her wrists fell backwards slightly with the sudden motion, but she took no real notice. Her eyes became a copper color with the light upon her face, the red in her hair set ablaze, the color of dancing flames. Her lips opened, forming them around words Rotheb could not catch. He realized then this was her way of praying- grace incarnated on mortal ground, he thought. He tried to dismiss it, but somehow his mind couldn't get off the image of the young woman, standing in the light as if she were an angel written of in the oldest scriptures of the Holy Light.

Finally, Lilith let her arms drop down to her side, sighing as she finished her prayer. The hum of her soft but powerful words seemed to linger in the hall, every whispered syllable that had left her lips having made an impact. Lilith finally stepped out of the light, turning to Rotheb. "I feel…As though the whole of creation burns within me," she began, her voice adjusting to normal speaking level. Rotheb smiled, hoping that the hot flush on his face wasn't noticeable.

"That's wonderful, Lilith. Do you feel the taint of demon's magic still?" He had to make sure she was free of the darkness his brother had implanted in her. How he had managed to twist a living, breathing human being, with a will and mind of her own, to mere putty in his hands, Rotheb didn't know. Nor did he know how Jordril, originally the more devout and pious of the two, stooped to the lowest of lows, a 'demon worshipper', as he called warlocks. Looking at Lilith, seeing her calm and peaceful face, he couldn't believe the monster had tried to destroy this flower of innocence.

"No," she stated after a moment, as if searching herself. "The taint is no more. The Holy Light has prevailed." Lilith smiled widely at the paladin. "It's all thanks to you, uncle."

Uncle. He almost scowled at the word, a verbal reminder he was not to develop feelings for the young woman. Though she had only just been leaping at him days ago, growling like a feral beast and trying to assault him with shadow energy, it was hard to not like the girl. But it was definitely a fortunate thing his own faith in the Holy Light was strong, otherwise he might have not lasted under her vicious assault. He managed to return Lilith's smile. "I'm rather thankful, myself. If I didn't make you see the Light, I would have been dead."

Lilith chuckled. Her laugh is like the sound of music, Rotheb thought suddenly, the thought running through his mind, gone as soon as it came. He felt another hot flush on his face, but thankfully, it was the priestess' turn to answer. "Nonsense. Your belief in the Light is enough to overcome many, many obstacles. I just wish I had a stronger will when…"

She trailed off, as if something suddenly ceased her train of thought. Her muscles became rigid, and her eyes became devoid of human emotion or recognition. She was frozen still, petrified by some unknown force. Her breath seemed to stop, the last sign something was horribly wrong with the girl. Everything else seemed deathly still in the room. Rotheb frowned gravely, concentration and confusion settling in. Exactly what was going on?

"Lilith?" he asked, his voice involuntarily wavering, though from confusion or fear, he did not know. Dead silence met him for a moment, then finally, an answer came. A dark mass of swiftly-moving energy hit his chest like a train, blasting him backwards. The shadow energy crackled, lingering among his muscles, tearing at him internally. Searing pain assaulted him, calling for help- any help.

"Fool," came the verbal reply, the acidic word rolling off Lilith's tongue. Her eyes, sharp and cold, an odd glint to them, analyzed Rotheb while he struggled to get up from the ground. The shadowbolt, or so he guessed the projectile was named, had disabled his arm and leg muscles, leaving the paladin unable to move. A dark, wicked smile had curved on her face, clearly enjoying the show of feebleness at the might warrior of the Light.

"Brother, so sorry we had to reunite like this, but it just so happens to be you're a thorn in my side…" The voice that came from Lilith's voice was hardly her own, sounding too much like Jordril's. Or at least, what Rotheb hastily concluded to be Jordril's voice, afflicted by years of age and madness. He had no time to analyze it, as he was trying to figure out how he could get up. Blasted shadowbolt…

"But-" A swift bolt of shadowy lightning struck Rotheb, electrocuting him and burning within. He screamed out again, hoping to the Light someone would hear him! "-I suppose you'll try and arrange for another meeting? South of Darkshire then, my brother. And don't waste time…"

Rotheb Flinteye could hardly hear the rest of the words, the deafening cackle slicing through the air, as he slipped into darkness, the last refuge from the pain. His last thoughts were of saving Lilith from his own brother…

--

Jordril smiled wickedly as the girl wandered into the doorway as he commanded of her, only an hour later after he had initially taken control of her body. A shame she had recovered her memory, but it was a good thing he had taken her back before Rotheb installed defense mechanisms in her mind against his magic. And what a surprise it was, to see that his younger brother did live! He had thought him dead along with nearly the rest of the family. No time for family reunions, though, as Rotheb had interfered with his plans. There was a world of fools to punish, the world that had taken away his innocent wife. Lilith was simply his tool, a tool he needed dearly for his plans. Silently, he let go of his influence, letting Lilith return to control of her own body.

"Lilith!" he barked at her, his plans stirring in his mind. The robe, boots, shoulder pads, and hood were all imbued with souls; the garments ready to be worn by the one Jordril had made them for. "I've finished the clothes…Worn together, they make up the Absolution Regalia," he toned, the formal name for the dark blue set of evil clothing spilling off of his tongue as if speaking of a grave fate for a loved one. A smile spread across his face as he watched his adopted daughter, who he had fed, clothed, and taken care of for nearly sixteen years, slowly slip on the clothes.

The gloves were first, the fingers crawling into place. Lilith tore off her white priestess' robes, letting the formless cloth fall to the ground. Jordril averted his eyes, not wishing to see his daughter's nude form, but he let his eyes set on her when she heard the ruffling of cloth being worn. She kicked off her shoes, which flew a good two feet from her toes. She grabbed a boot and held it in place, stabilizing it long enough for her foot to pass into. She did the same with the other boot, silently. She then scooped the shoulder pads in place, taking a moment to analyze them. They had the image of a human face, the eyes covered by a purple cloth, tied in through holes in the plating, with flowing hair etched in the silver plating, affixed to the cloth for ornamentation. Silently she snapped them on her shoulders, their weight, although heavy for most people, somehow lessened for her. She turned to Jordril experimentally.

Jordril's smile took on a wicked curve, the shadows seeming to dance on his face. "Are you ready for the hood, now, Lilith?" She nodded silently, the movement stiff and disjointed, a wooden puppet not yet finished. Jordril mused, in his own glee, that his wooden puppet would be finished soon. Lilith simply had no idea how soon that would be. He took the hood, crafted of dark blue material that pulsed with shadow energy, as did the rest of the set, and walked to her. He placed it onto the hole of the robe, where his tool's head poked out of. He began to magically seal the hood to the robe, so that it would never come off, no matter how hard his puppet would have tried. Suddenly, he stopped before the sealing was finished.

"Know now, Lilith Sahl, that you are the puppet of Darkcaster Jordril Flinteye. Forget your memories and all you hold dear, except the memory that I am your master. From now on, you are my tool, my puppet, and nothing else. You will agree."

Lilith nodded, the light in her eyes gone, no emotion playing in them. Jordril grinned sinisterly. "Good." And so, he finished the seal.

Immediately, the effect of sealing took place. Lilith began to glow with an unholy aura, the hood obscuring her face, casting an unnatural shadow on her alabaster skin. Her fingers flexed with the surge of power coursing through her, dark magic polluting her blood. Truly, the dove of innocence had been strangled, a fact proven by Jordril's next command:

"Go on, my puppet. Destroy this chair." He pointed at the chair he had been sitting on, the wooden seat a polished wood. It would have been difficult to destroy it, as Jordril had long ago tested his dark powers on it. He had imbued it with dark powers, preventing it from easy destruction from whatever sort of creatures might lumber into his house when he was away. It was a test to see if his puppet was truly powerful.

Lilith wordlessly lifted a hand, and a blast of dark magic flowed from it, immolating the chair in dark flames. The chair crumbled to ashes in mere seconds, more powerful then anything Lilith had ever conjured. Jordril smiled wickedly, knowing that the time of reckoning was at hand.

The Light would crumble. Death itself would bow to him. Nothing, absolutely nothing, stood in his way.

--

The sound of frantic hooves clapping on the darkened road, surrounded by gloomy forests with Light knows what sort of creatures, only pushed Rotheb Flinteye on. He urged his mail-plated horse onward, his teeth grinding in determination. Thoughts raged through his mind, wondering how he would even attempt to defeat his older brother.

How did he become such a ruthless bastard? How did he come to play with demons and shadow magic? For that matter, how skilled was he with those foul beings and magics? Rotheb thought for a moment, considering all he had heard from his brother in older times. He remembered hearing his older brother had married, but Rotheb was at a military academy in fallen Lordaeron, trained for battle at the young age of twelve. He had a wife! Rotheb mused foully, wondering if Jordril had killed her with dark magic.

He set his mind back on the path, his vision bobbing up and down with the gallop of the stallion. Wolves howled in the woods, as if heralding his swift journey through the woods. Night had set, though it made almost a minimal difference against the already-dark woods. His eyes strained to see against the dark, as if hoping to see Lilith, safe and sound from the clutches of her father. But alas, she was not along the darkened road, though there was no sane reason for her to be.

Tugging on the reins, Rotheb urged his horse on, ignoring the fact it was a mortal beast and could only go so far at the fast speed. Despite this, the stallion obeyed, doubling his speed.

Silently, Rotheb prayed to the Light. If only she could hang on longer…

--

Lilith stood guard outside of the home. Her hands pulsing with shadow energy, she had been strategically positioned outside of the small shack. Nothing could stand within her way, unless Jordril stated otherwise. No thoughts coursed through her head, as she was completely under control of the elder man.

She was told to kill anything that had strayed onto her land with any method necessary. He encouraged her to burn any corpses that might result of this duty- and 'encouragement' was an order. After all, he had raised the girl for sixteen years before he corrupted her. Her birth father would have wanted the same, but he was dead- Jordril had sent him to the clutches of Death long ago.

Her emotionless eyes scanned the horizon, the infertile, grainy soil turning into shabby road. Nothing had dared to come up to the house yet, though she would not have been impatient then. Jordril had taken away all emotion from her, deeming it an unnecessary function of the human mind. The Master, as Lilith dubbed him after her total corruption, was correct in all he did.

Lilith remembered briefly that her master had an access to his puppet's mind, rather like a man reading a book. The only difference between the book and the mind was that the Master could change what was in his servant's mind, like an author rewriting his work to be something of better quality.

He had shut her outside as a guard because he was working and did not want to be interrupted by petty fools. So she stood vigilant, emotionless eyes scanning the night. A stale wind briefly made the trees dance, the leaves clattering against each other. But she did not move, her feet frozen to the stone steps beneath her feet. The moon was the only light her eyes had, but it was a clear, full white, illuminating the area just enough for a person to see.

Then galloping hooves hit pavement, their sound ringing throughout the night. She recognized this as the critical moment, shadow energy pulsing in her hands. A moment passed - the galloping getting louder and louder - then the horse came into view, and shadow energy blasted out of Lilith's hands. Frenzied whinnying rang out in the night, and a holy aura blazed up around the horse, lighting the immediate area in a brilliant display of holy energy. She gazed calmly for the source of the aura, realizing that the horse had a rider. She peered closer at the figure on the horse, trying to discern his features.

Pale man. Black hair. Holy aura. Armor. Paladin!

--

Rotheb grimaced as the dark mass ricocheted off of the holy aura, making its presence known by lighting up the immediate area in a luminous white. A figure was there, dressed in strange blue robes, on the steps of the house. It was this person who had fired the foul magic at him, or so Rotheb guessed swiftly. Daringly, he leapt off the armored stallion, the beast galloping away in its fear. He heard the hooves clattering on the road, the neighs of the horse echoing in the night. Gripping the handle of the warhammer, his quick steps took him to the blue-clad figure, trying to eliminate the threat before it got worse.

Cold shadow hit him, throwing him back from his target. Hitting the ground, he cried out, old bruises relived. The clank of steel meeting dirt rang loud, the ground having long hardened. He strained to get up, to get a closer look at his attacker's face.

A white face, red hair framing it from the depths of the hood. Lilith? He wondered in bewilderment what could have been done to her to make her into this fearsome being. "Lilith!" he cried out, hoping for some recognition from the girl. She did not respond, instead only answering with blue shadow lightning, crackling from her hands.

His muscles were ablaze with searing pain, and he screamed out into the night, as if crying out to the Holy Light itself to help him. No holy salvation came, no angels descended from the sky to defeat his foes and heal his wounds. He writhed on the ground, shuddering in the coursing pain throughout him. It was as if he was on fire, as if daggers were swiping at him, pricking him all over. "Lilith!" he cried out again, the only thing he could bring to his lips.

But she continued on, the lightning still flowing from her hands. Rotheb struggled to stand, but his muscles would not obey him. It felt as though he were being destroyed from within. The pain seemed to get worse and worse, running through him as the lightning from her hands surged through him. His shrieks for life and help became more desperate with each moment of pain. This was not the time for him to be on the ground, writhing in pain!

The lightning stopped, Lilith closing her hands into fists. Her fingers then shot back out into outstretched palms, shadow energy beginning to crackle in between the two hands. She hissed something intelligible, but then Rotheb realized what it was she said when he felt his vision darken.

Death, she had declared. One of the shadow words, different from their normal counterparts. Laced with dark magic, the words, when spoken with power, were powerful tools. Suddenly, he found himself swimming in a great ocean. The waves were powerful, rocking him to and fro, like two tennis rackets with a ball. Two waves crashed into one, and his head bobbed beneath the waves, sinking. He tried to hold onto his air, tried to keep from opening his mouth, but in the end he sucked in water. He felt reality slipping away as the fluid filled his lungs, a watery grave awaiting him.

This cannot be my end!

Opening his eyes, he saw through the salty water, feeling a brief surge of hope. This was not reality. This was not the truth of things, not the world he really was in. This was a foul illusion crafted by Lilith, to convince him he was truly dead! No more!

He screamed in the water, finding his breath to return to him. He felt the Light pulse through him, breaking the false vision Lilith had thrust him into. That reality shattered, and he returned to his body.

He opened his eyes to reality, once more seeing the dark blue robes, Lilith wielding dark magic. She let out a shriek as her own dark magic worked against her, the dark energy crackling and surging through her. He remembered the nature of the shadow word Death- if it did not kill the foe, then horrendous pain would be delivered to the wielder. He felt almost sorry for her, but she recovered soon enough, although she seemed weaker than before.

A dark mass, a black cloud of death, swirled around her fingers, weaving about the tips of her dark blue gloves. Rotheb strained to reach into his bond with the universe, tugging at it like he once tugged at his mother's dress as a child. He called to it silently, feeling the warmth of the Light flowing through his veins. It empowered him, spreading throughout him. His breaths grew less ragged, less strained for life, becoming steadier, easier to take in air. Fresh air cooled him internally, and he stood up, feeling the power of the Holy Light still.

The warhammer slipped his grasp, and he let it fall to the ground with a thud. The black mass still was weaving, the gloved hand gathering the ethereal death matter. Rotheb looked into the dark blue hood, looking at the alabaster face. He raised his hand, shining with the mighty power of the Light. There was one thing left to do- one he had never put into practice, but had fervently studied.

"By the might of the Holy Light, I break the demons that struggle within you, the dark bonds that bind you…"

She raised her hand, death living in her fingers. Rotheb continued his commandment, his eyes locking on her, the girl he had known as his niece, the daughter of his older brother. She, locked in a prison, and he, who held the key…

"I release you from your prison, Lilith Sahl!"

Light shot from his fingers, bursting up around the girl. She shrieked out in pain and horror, the high pitched scream echoing in the night. It rang in his ears, drowning out his thoughts. Luminous white closed in on her, forming around her figure, then shattering as if it were glass. She fell to her knees, her head bowed in pain. Her arms held her up, weakly, shaking as though they threatened to collapse. He could hear her ragged breaths, the dark muttering, the whispers and prayers to the Master.

Finally she fell onto the wooden steps of the house in a crumpled heap. She looked as though she had fallen down them, her body arranged so. Worry shot through Rotheb. He picked up the girl, pulling back her hood to see her whole face.

She had somehow grown paler than he remembered. The red hair, fiery and full of life, was just a dark red, almost brown, stiff mess. He felt the warmth slip away, heat turning to frost. Her eyes were shut, and seemed as though they would never again open. She had changed so much, so much in such a short period of time. He cradled her body in his arms.

Then he knew the truth. He shed a tear, rolling down his face, the skin bruised from battles past, every last one having left a mark on him, spiritually and physically. The teardrop was caught in his beard, resting in black, rugged hair. His hold on Lilith grew tighter, pulling her body closer to him. Never again would she breathe, never again would he see that warm face, that smile. Never to hear her voice, in prayer and out. Never again would he see Lilith Sahl…

He sobbed, for the dove that had been strangled.

---

The world lay before him, and Death was before his feet.

That was his belief then, that he was a god. No, not even Jera mattered now. The woman he had known in his younger years was just a passing memory in the earlier years of his life. She had made him happy, but he experienced a greater joy now, the joy of knowing victory over a world that had cheated him of everything. His homeland was overrun with the Scourge, the undead having claimed the broken kingdom of Lordaeron. The remaining human kingdom of Stormwind had a child king for a puppet ruler, and a black dragon in disguise as his 'advisor'. Ah, the world gone insane. He was sure of this!

Jordril Flinteye was no longer a mortal man. He admired his black armor with red, pulsing veins of demons' blood. Long, slender spikes sprouted from the shoulder armor, and a mask of dark magic enveloped his face and head, with only two glowing red eyes in the wavering dark to symbolize his gaze. A long, flowing robe, adorned with glowing red runes that wavered in energy, covered him, offering better protection than blessed steel.

His smile took on a wicked curve as he looked to the ebony blade, also inscribed with the spidery red runes, clasped in his hands. The blade was sharp enough to cut clean through a well-armored man, so he estimated, but what was the use of physical action when he had an almost limitless supply of demonic energy to use in his spells? Then again, most of the spells were time-consuming, and took far more effort than simply swinging the blade about. He brought the blade and put it into the long sheath designed for it, ruby jewels dotting the dark, tempered leather.

A shriek pierced through the air, coming from outside. He recognized it as that of his daughter, having heard her scream many times as a child. His ears caught the dull sound of her body hitting the floor. Inside his mind, he felt his puppet die.

He had known fully well that Rotheb was there. He had felt the holy aura long ago, and now he had killed his daughter, acting as a mere watchdog while Jordril prepared the demonic armor. Sacrifices must be made, after all. Lilith was one, just merely a puppet…

Then he reminded himself that he had a brother to chastise, just as he had done years ago.

---

Rotheb placed Lilith's body gently on the ground, as if he were carrying her to her bed. His tears had dried, and now he was determined to give Lilith a proper funeral and burial. He stroked back her hair, looking at the pale, cold face of his niece – again he grimaced at the word – wondering what could have been.

He closed his eyes, allowing his imagination to wander. What could he have done to save her? If he hadn't used the exorcism technique, would she be alive still? If he had used another method, would he have died, as well? Maybe there was even an outcome that could have killed them both…

Nevertheless, she was gone, and Rotheb should have been trying to come up with an idea to avenge her death. Now was not a time to think of alternate battle scenarios, not with her dead in his arms, never to breathe again because of her. He opened his eyes to see her, lifeless and still. His finger traced the line of her chin, brushing the soft skin. What could have been, what he had known, lay still, to be undisturbed forevermore.

His hand left her face, and he closed his eyes, shutting out the image. His mouth opened to speak the prayer for the dead, but he found himself struggling with the first syllable, caught in his throat like a fish hopping in a fisherman's net. He paused before trying to speak again, only to fail again, the sounds suffocating before they even left his lips.

Then he realized the source of his inability as he felt the surge of shadow lightning through his system, the familiar pain jolting him. But this had a more demonic feel to it, a truly destructive feel to it, rather than a method of urging submission, like most demon-fueled attacks. His teeth ground together at the pain, feeling the bane of life bite away at his soul. Then he recognized the sender of the searing pain when he heard a voice, so familiar, and yet so strange:

"Good evening, brother."

---

Blackened ghosts, voices and memories. They formed a vortex around her, spinning forever and into the abyss. Recycled images danced around her eyes, fading in and out before she could truly see them. She tried to reach out to them, only to find she had no arms, no corporeal form with which to touch.

Then the dark came to her, the ink-like figure penetrating from the wall of images and words. Tattered robes swallowed a figure, the hood covering its face – if it had one. An unreal wind made the robes move, as if it was caught between the planes of life and death, the wind a souvenir of life, brushing the black against wrinkled skin. Then she realized the skin was not wrinkled- it was simply old, cracked bones, somehow stable.

What was death? She did not know, nor did she think she would ever remember once she passed through it.

Then it raised a finger at her. "You." The word rang like the widest of cathedral bells, the one syllable tolling through the air, a wave rolling through reality. She felt the time at hand, the time to let go of all things, to pass on into whatever was next for her in the order of what should be.

The pointing hand turned into an open palm, not for her- but her soul. "Come."

---

Jordril Flinteye walked slowly toward his brother, who writhed on the infertile ground, pain assaulting him. Rotheb glared at him while his teeth ground together from the pain, wishing for some sort of relief from the pain that assaulted him. Yet at the same time he wondered how his older brother could have taken on such an evil, demon's-black form? The demonic armor, pulsing with red, angered him as much as it frightened him. There was no way that Jordril could have donned this armor…

Not the Jordril he knew.

"Brother," Rotheb croaked, his voice strained from the pain. Jordril continued walking, leaving demonfire licking at the ground behind his steps. Finally, the dark figure towered over the paladin, chuckling darkly as he came to a stop. Rotheb looked at the dark figure, at the dark mask that obscured his brother's face. Burning red eyes stared back from the inky depths, with a power that terrified Rotheb.

"Rotheb…So young. So stupid. So scared…" Within Jordril's hands sparked shadow energy, crackling in his hands like lightning. Rotheb felt the heat of it, already threatening to burn him alive- so intense was the heat! He quivered in fear of what his older brother would do to him, scared of this monster that had taken up his brother's name…

"My daughter…You killed her. You killed her, remember? I know you did…I can still hear her calling out for me," Jordril boomed, power in his voice, without any lament for his lost daughter.

"You didn't help her," Rotheb accused, some courage gathering in his voice, though he still felt the pain coursing through his system.

"Sacrifices must be made for a great cause. Sad, but true," Jordril responded, his voice warped by the mask. A hideous groan escaped the darkness, causing Rotheb to recoil. He could still feel the heat from the shadow lightning crackling in between Jordril's hands, threatening to rob him of his life. Thoughts ran through his head, trying to remember something – anything – that would help him.

Then he remembered her. Standing in the light, all of the world's graces in her lithe figure, he recalled. His vision clouded, and he could only see her – her eyes closed, silently whispering to the Holy Light, her words echoing in the marble hallways. The beautiful priestess, the strangled dove, the girl who was his niece, his brother's daughter.

"Lilith," he whispered.

---

Defiance was all she felt now. She willed herself against the ink figure, wishing him away with all of the might of her mind. She would not follow this creature, clad in tattered, midnight robes, black as the truest night, into whatever accursed realm he ruled over. She would not go to it, would not take its skin-crusted bony hand to the realm of Death.

"No," she stated quietly, her desire to resist burning in her heart. The robed figure seemed to quiver in anger, the power behind the shaking resulting in a quake that rolled through reality. She felt its fury pulsing through the power that emanated from the quake, but still her defiance would not break. She was determined to return…

But to where? Her mind went blank.

"Foolish one!" the figure boomed, rage dripping from its words. "All life must come to an end! This is where your kind come to pass from Life and into Death!" Its hand pointed to her again, accusing her. "You will pass through the gates, mortal, mark my words…"

She closed herself from the dooming words, focusing herself now on her power- the power she had used so frequently, the power she was familiar with. She could not remember where she learned to harness it, but she still recalled how. Tugging at her connection with the universe, she called out to the realm of Life. She felt power well up within her, warm, flowing power coursing throughout her ethereal form. Now that the power was achieved, it was begging to be released.

"I," she began, her word spilling with the warmth of the power, almost burning her mouth with the intensity of the magic. The words, displaced memories and images of her life seamed together, making one past, one memory. She remembered! "I, Lilith Sahl, daughter of Aegle Conte and Shade Argenteus, Priestess of the Light, suffered an early death. And it is from this border I retreat, back into the realm of Life."

The ink figure shivered violently at the display of power, as if it had not expected such coming from this mortal spirit. "Damn you!" it bellowed, shaken to its core. "Damn you!" it cried again, extending into a wail as she felt herself expelled from the border between life and death. Her essence propelled into the air, rushing backward at a blinding speed.

It was then that Lilith Sahl came home.

---

Her eyes fluttered open to see her body draped in dark blue garments that shimmered with foul dark magic. Her skin was a pure ghostly white, the color of untainted cow's milk. She narrowed her eyes and flexed her fingers, wondering exactly what had happened to her. Her eyes met the infertile ground beneath her sprawled-out body, and pushed against the coarse dirt, rising slowly. Her first real breath came in a gasp as she looked at the world about her.

A man, clad in black with red veins that seemed to pulse, stood in front of her. He towered over another man, dressed in heavy armor plating. She sensed the faint holy aura emanating from the armored one. Memory returned to her, and she recalled the holy aura's signature from another place, another time. Then his name flashed through her mind…

"Rotheb!" she called out, worry suddenly filling her mind. The dark figure turned slowly toward her, the repulsive scent of dark magic filling her nostrils. She wrinkled her nose, then silently started to tug at her bond with the universe, retreating into herself. Almost immediately, holy power flushed from her palms, the yellow-white energy weaving itself about her hands. She peered into the darkness of the man's face, discovering his eyes were obscured by red flames.

"Ah, Lilith," the dark figure began. Its voice was low-key, growling and rumbling - reminiscent of her father's, except warped, more sinister than his voice had ever been. He cocked her head at her visage, and Lilith got the sense it - he, rather - was smiling at her beneath the darkness that obscured his face. "So you live! Come to my side, my daughter. We have a whelp to reprimand."

Lilith quivered angrily, her eyes narrowed, and her eyebrows came down in a look of almost godlike rage. Her teeth ground together, a growl escaping her throat. Her feet pressed into the earth, pressuring the dirt beneath her feet. "I will not join you! Your scheme ends here!"

She pressed her hands together and let the holy energy surrounding them explode into a beam of light, aimed straight at her father. To her amazement, however, the beam dissolved as it neared him. It was as if he absorbed her holy power, using it for his own means. A dark chuckle filled the air, rumbling from within the dark-clad figure. Shadow energy began to swarm around him, like a plague of locusts.

"Silly child," Jordril boomed, a cruel parody of a father's love. He seemed to enjoy this irony, and Lilith suspected he wore a sinister grin underneath the dark mass of his mask. "You still don't understand, not even after I washed your mind of the influence of the Light—"

The black swarm shot out at Lilith, encasing her in its dark tomb. She felt a cold chill freezing her from within, playing up her spine and stiffening her body. It beckoned to her, calling her to the frosty embrace of the Shadow, to the black magic both her fathers played with- to her destiny…

Rotheb launched a well-aimed kick at Jordril's robes with a smug smile on his face. He had been waiting for the opportunity to rid himself of the evil, and Lilith presented it to him! The sound of his boot making contact with perhaps the most sensitive part of his older brother's body, a rather painful thud-crunch sort of sound, was strangely satisfying. The howl that came from within the demon-consorting man was even more so, and Rotheb rolled away expertly, having done this many times on the battlefield. He launched into the air and landed gracefully on his feet, pulling his warhammer in front of him, at the ready.

Jordril was done writhing in pain from his crushed manhood, and now he was growling with pure anger. He shook in his rage, shadow energy forming swiftly around his hands. "You insolent fool! You'll pay dearly for that!" And he tried to make good of his word, sending out the dark power at his younger brother. Rotheb managed to tug at his connection with the universe to draw just enough warm holy power to send up a shield in front of him. The swarm of black dissipated when it met the shield, though it shattered as soon as the power was nullified. He would have to draw more energy- and have the time to do so without being harmed. He didn't waste his effort on making another shield, nor did he try to attack his older brother again. Instead, he turned his attention onto Lilith, frozen within the shadow fog that Jordril had conjured. He summoned more holy power again, gathering it all in his left hand, shifting his warhammer to his right hand. With a loud shout, worthy of a war cry, he unleashed the holy power, shooting it from his hand. Holy power collided with the fog, which ceased to be as the light overpowered it, darkness evaporating into nothing. She collapsed onto the ground, taking in breath much like a thirsting traveler with a generously-offered waterskin. Rotheb smiled at her sudden freedom, only to be interrupted by a large Shadowbolt, colliding with his form. He flew to the ground from the demonic power, his pained cry ringing out.

"That's one payment, brother. Now I want you to give me the rest of the payment…Your life, nothing more." Jordril lumbered forth, the darkness that enveloped him quivering. Lilith glared at the man she had called 'father' for sixteen years of her young life, her teeth ground together in anger. This was not the man she had loved as the only parent she had ever known. This was a perversion of that dear person, a monster born out of wickedness…

And so, she released a bolt of holy fire at her father, suddenly drawing the warm energy from the universe with the anger raging in her heart like a violent storm. Jordril cried out in anguish, a terrible howl that filled the night air with its echoes. The holy flames ate away at the dark figure, purging the darkness from him at a painfully slow rate. Lilith stared at the sight, her eyes widened in wonder, and in fear at what she had done. She had never used holy power in this sort of regard before; never had she known what it was like to use the Holy Light for punishing the wicked who walked on Azeroth's terrain, or swam in its waters, or had embraced the skies with the wings of birds. She looked down at her alabaster hands, trembling violently. Rotheb rose from his fall, struggling to his feet. He smiled at Lilith, and she weakly smiled back, still somewhat shaken by her power. With that exchanged grin, she suddenly knew his plan and stepped aside to let Rotheb accomplish his own destiny.

The paladin turned to face his brother, who still suffered the effects of the holy fire. He let his warhammer fall to the ground, hitting the earth with a loud sound. He closed his eyes and felt the wind pass by his face, feeling the world around him. Flexing his fingers, he felt the blood within his body, his heart beating swiftly from the adrenaline of the fight and of the upcoming power. The sound seemed to drown out, enabling him to calm himself. Then he felt the holy energy well up within him, warmth enveloping him. It continued to flow, blessing him with the full power of the Holy Light. Finally he couldn't contain the power any longer.

He opened his eyes and saw the shadow of his brother, Jordril Flinteye. The sight of his brother, fallen from grace to this level of madness, gave Rotheb the most powerful sorrow he had ever known. He knew that his brother was better than the power he had succumbed to. Jordril was a strong man who believed in the Light, who believed in himself. More importantly, he believed life was a blessed gift, and he tried to teach this to his younger brother to guide him onto the right path. Rotheb had scorned him at first, but as the years passed he finally understood what his older brother had tried to teach to him. He only wished he had listened the first time, rather than turn away with a closed mind.

Rotheb thrust his hands out in front of him. All the holy power he had gathered within him went to his hands, gathering in his fingers. He focused his sight onto Jordril and breathed in deeply. Silently, he said a prayer to the Light- for Lilith, so she may be purged of the darkness; for himself, so he may be victorious; and for his beloved brother, Jordril, so he may be at peace.

"Brother," he toned. Jordril still writhed within the holy power, groaning at the pain that pestered him. Rotheb felt tears stinging at his eyes, flowing down his face. The moment had finally come to free him from the darkness that clawed at him ever since the day everything had gone wrong for him. The key to his brother's chains was within his hands. "You have walked down the ways of darkness where no man should ever walk. You have danced with demons and have slaughtered the innocent. You have wielded the most unholy of powers and have corrupted your own daughter. A normal man would have you die like the ones who you killed. But I am a just paladin of the Holy Light. Moreover, I am your younger brother. I stand now to release you from the cage you have built around your soul..."

Rotheb shut his eyes as he unleashed the holy power from his hands. He felt the warmth leave him, then a second later, he felt the explosion of the power in front of him. Had he opened his eyes, he would have been blinded by the intense light. Five minutes later, the light faded, and he felt normality. He opened his eyes then, and saw his brother kneel on the ground, breathing heavily. Rotheb ran to him, holding him up as he struggled to breath, his chest heaving beneath Rotheb's armored hand.

"Rotheb," he whispered, his voice weak. Rotheb tore off Jordril's mask, and saw his brother's face for the first time in years. His face was gravely lined from grief and age, the beard that decorated his upper lip and chin a dulled silver. Rotheb couldn't help but shed tears for his older brother, as it hit him now how soon he would part from the world. "I...I want to thank you..."

"No, Jordril," Rotheb pleaded. It was as if he was a child again, begging for company. "You don't need to thank me. It'll be okay. You'll recover. You can spend the rest of your life in peace, with the Light, like you said you would. You can see your grandchildren...I'll visit you, okay? Just don't go..."

Jordril looked at Rotheb with weary hazel eyes, wisdom in his gaze. "No, brother. My time here is up. Jera waits for me...She's been waiting for me for a long, long time. Please take care of Lilith, alright? She's the only daughter I ever had..."

Rotheb grit his teeth together in frustration. "No! You're not going to die...Listen, I can heal you. Let me heal you, please...Lilith needs you still! She..." He tried to call onto the Light for power once more, only to find himself weak from his earlier burst of energy. He gripped Jordril's chest, bowing his head in sorrow.

"Don't worry," Jordril chuckled softly. "Lilith's a strong woman. She doesn't need an old man like me around anymore. I just want to see Jera again...Now that I can spend eternity with her. You can live without me around, trust me..."

"I..." Rotheb couldn't find the words to express his feelings. He didn't want him to go, not after they just reunited. And yet, a voice in the back of his mind told Rotheb to let his brother pass on. Jordril had a place in paradise, and everything would be okay. He just had to believe...

"Stay strong, Rotheb. Don't make me twist in my grave, okay, brother?" He smiled at Rotheb. Rotheb nodded, tears still flowing down his face. There wasn't anything else he could do. Jordril sighed, but it was a sigh of content.

"Listen to me. Don't ever stray from the path you have chosen. Stick to your beliefs even when you've had everything you've ever known stripped from you. If you believe in yourself and in the Light, you will find the answer...That's all I have left to say."

Rotheb hugged his brother tightly. "Farewell, Jordril."

"Farewell." And Jordril closed his eyes, finally at peace with the world.

---

Epilogue-

Time has a tendency to pass before you expect it to, nor do you ever suspect that the things that happen to you can occur at all. Rotheb never expected to fall in love with his deceased brother's daughter, nor did he expect her to have actually been adopted. He also didn't expect for Lilith to return his feelings, and over the course of a year he courted her until he had fallen deep enough in the snare of love to decide that it was time to tie the knot.

Two years after their marriage, Lilith gave birth to their first child, whom they named Abiel Jordril Flinteye. Three years after that, Lilith birthed another child, this one a girl, named Salome Jera Flinteye. Both children lived on to have fulfilling lives.

Lilith later pledged her services to a kingdom that was nestled in the Alterac Mountains – the Gray Citadel. Rotheb was reassigned from the Army to the Guard, though he went of his own will to icy continent of Northrend. He returned triumphant, having been one of the many involved to destroy the terrible Lich King. Abiel became a priest, and Salome became a mage to defy her parents' wishes.

All ended well in Azeroth, as many stories do.