Shadows in the Moonlight
The moons still come out each night. Elune casts her light down upon us. But we're still shadows. Doomed to fade into the darkness, where not even the light of the White Lady can find us.
On the surface, we seem vibrant. Healthy. Strong and firm, triumphant heroes, those who defeated the Burning Legion not once but twice. Archimonde's corpse stands as testament to our might. As does the withered husk of the World Tree.
Archimonde's grave will be unmarked. If our grave is marked, Nordrassil is the headstone.
Malfurion seems unbothered by the turn of events. I can understand why. He and the druids slept for centuries, only interacting with the world of the awake briefly. They did not truly live this last ten thousand years. They dreamt, in a state some say is what awaits all living creatures in the Hereafter. How can they be afraid to lose their lives when they never lived them?
I do not say these things. Perhaps I do not truly feel them in the first place. Malfurion is alive. I'm alive. The kaldorei, even the outlanders are still alive. I cannot mourn the loss of immortality, not when so many have lost their lives already. Yet still I feel this way. I look to the future, and wonder what can be saved? Whether we will want to save it if we cannot experience it ourselves?
Elune's light still fills me, but it feels dimmer. The light fades more each night.
Someday, I fear, we will all be shadows…