Stormwind was asleep.

Dusk was drawing along the horizon. Slowly but surely, the city was retreating on itself. Lanterns were lit as each person stumbled into their small houses packed together within the great white walls. Among the dying crowds, a youngster shuffled through. Citizens grunted and glared as he shoved passed them, dark brown eyes narrowed in determination.

Master kept me late again. He eyed the setting sun warily. Mum is going lecture me. Damn it.

He ran around lampposts, skirting corners and stumbling over one of the canal bridges. He panted, recognizing the chirping of birds and the large trees as his home, the Park District. The green above the houses was a welcome sight to the tired youth.

I hope dinners still warm. He smiled eagerly. Dad will love to hear how my classes are going.

Rydin was thirteen when it happened.

He froze as a shadow, much too large to be a bird, passed over him. For a moment, he was dumfounded by the sound of wings flapping loudly in his ears. A gust of wind hit him, nearly sending him tumbling to his feet. He managed to gain his bearings, only to gape at the black creature that took up the sky.

He was mesmerized, watching the large wings and the fire that engulfed the creature. He could see the details of the armor and red glow like fire. Before he could comprehend what on Azeroth was happening, an explosion shook the ground. He watched, hanging onto a lamppost just across the canal leading to his home, as said home was suddenly a lit with raging fire. He watched, his stomach sinking in horror as the land crumbled and with it went the houses, the people, his parents! And the black creature was sneering at him, coming forward and raising its large talon and-

Rydin woke up with a start, covered in sweat.

It took him a moment for his sight to register that he wasn't thirteen and about to be eaten by an insane dragon. He recognized the walls of his tent and exhaled, leaning back and wiping his brow. He glanced down, realizing his other hand had found his weapon, clutching the mighty black sword with white knuckled strength. He released it with a sigh, running a hand through his unruly black hair.

He was twenty one and alone. He wasn't sure if that was an improvement or not. Every night the same dream of how his parents died haunted him and there was nothing he could do. He looked outside his tent. The sun was already high in the sky.

He got up lazily, stretching and warming up for the day. He sleepily got dressed in his armor, the black metal gleaming harshly in the sparse light. He strapped his sword Oblivion to his back. He walked outside, wincing slightly at the light. The quiet rustle of trees and chirping birds greeted him. A waterfall rumbled nearby as a river ran slowly by his camp. He shivered, the mountain coldness biting underneath his armor.

Breakfast was slow business, since the fire had died out overnight and took some time reviving. He got the pot ready and started the broth, wondering idly when he'd find something more suitable to eat other then soup. His hand dipped in to test the heat. He remembered doing something similar at the beginning of his training, only to yell from the burn. Now he didn't even flinch.

Perhaps going to hell and back can change someone. He mused. Just as Master always said, the journey changes the man, not the man himself.

The flapping of wings brought a grimace to his face. Speak of the devil. The bird landed, a cry escaping its large yellow beak. Its eagle like front was ruffled with feathers, while it hind was a golden lion.

He recognized the gryphon's rider and fought the smile on his face.

"Young Rydin." The old man that dismounted eyed the campsite with wary distain, "Up late again I see."

"Master." Rydin stood, bowing his head.

Edwin Redman sniffed at his apprentice, bringing a wrinkled hand to tighten the gauntlet on his other. Rydin watched his trainer stoop towards the fire, the silver armor looking much too big on the frail and wizened man.

"Soup again?" Edwin snorted, his grey beard jerking at the movement, "I know I taught you better…"

"Cooking's useless against a dragon, Master." Rydin confessed, slightly amused and somewhat exasperated. The elder man merely huffed.

"Kids these days." He muttered before waving over towards the clearing, "Well, what are you standing around for? The soups almost done and you know what battling on a full stomach does…"

Rydin rolled his eyes, "You've only told me for the past decade."

"And whether you're the vanquisher of a dragon or the killer of the king of the dead, you still have to train before you eat." Edwin smirked at his apprentice's dry look, "C'mon then. Hop to it."

The younger sighed fondly, unsheathing his sword as he wandered off the campsite. He watched his Master strain to pick up his own broadsword, the old man huffing as he made his way over. Is this what we hero's have to look forward to? He thought darkly. Sitting around and waiting for something that'll never come?

"Stop daydreaming and focus." Edwin called, raising his sword, "Let's begin."

Rydin charged, feeling adrenaline kick in as his master parried the strike. Even though he has learned all there is to know he always wanted to keep himself in top physical condition. For what or why was not something he liked dwelled on. It kept his mind off his dreams and his past.

Training passed as did breakfast, the two men enjoying the quiet loneliness of the camp. Somehow, though, they'd always end up talking about battle and improvement.

"It's all about knowing what attack your enemy is doing, Young Rydin." Edwin sat crossed legged before the fire. Rydin sat across from him, staring listlessly at Oblivion.

"But what if it's an opponent you've never faced before master?"

"You have conquered everything that has been thrown at you Rydin. Just follow your instincts and you will prevail. The Light makes it so." Edwin stroked his beard before standing with aged slowness, "And the light of day seems to be fading. I must return to Stormwind. You'd do yourself some good to actually come home one day."

Rydin rolled his eyes but remained silent. Edwin took that as an answer and approached his grazing gryphon. He paused halfway to crane his head back, "The citizens miss having a face to associate with the title 'Vanquisher of Deathwing'."

"Hm." The swordsman turned his head away, watching the waterfall. His master sighed and shook his head, staring up at the sky.

"Looks like we've got company."

Rydin noticed two gryphon's coming toward them. But he noticed there was only one rider. As they landed, a short, skinny man with a mud soaked cloak stumbling towards them. He shakily retrieved a letter from his messenger bag before bowing.

"Young Lords." The courier started breathlessly, "A missive from the capital. It's addressed to a Lord Edwin Redman."

"I am he." The elder took the letter, ripping it open and scanning the contents. Whatever he saw made a thoughtful frown crawl onto his face. Rydin perked up curiously.

"What is it, Master?"

"The king has asked me to bring you immediately to the battle room." The courier answered, shuffling nervously at Edwin's penetrating gaze.

"A mission Rydin. You must go. I'm getting too old to do these things." He said, tossing the letter to him flippantly. Rydin caught it easily, eyes raking over the neatly scrawled words.

"As you wish, Master. You will accompany me, though, right?"

The courier coughed awkwardly, "The king wishes for you to be alone as it's a mission he does not want known throughout the kingdom yet."

Edwin raised a thin grey eyebrow. The courier shrunk at the motion, gazing helplessly at Rydin. The apprentice slowly nodded, furrowing his eyebrows at the new information.

"As the king wishes. Let us not keep him waiting".

"Be wary." His master whispered as he passed, "I suspect it'll be a long one. The king has personally summoned you."

Rydin pursed his lips but nodded, "I'll accept anything to get away from this hole in the planet."

Edwin shot him a warning glance before patting his shoulder, "I expect a letter carrying the time you will return and your condition. Don't think one little mission can separate teacher from student. You tried that last time."

Rydin smirked, "And I almost got away with it too."

"Cheeky demon." Edwin grunted before giving his apprentice a final pat on the shoulder.

As Rydin climbed on top of the gryphon he remembered how much he hates riding these things. He much preferred his feet on the ground. After battling on the back of a dragon thousands of meters off the ground, one gains an appreciation for solid unmoving ground.

Half an hour later and clinging to the beasts back, the city spires came into view. The courier led the two swiftly over the walls. Rydin breathed out in relief as they steered towards the castle, away from that place.

He shoved memories away as the courier led him briskly through the golden blue halls of royalty. The guards eyed his black armor, both wary and fascinated. Rydin felt himself hunch a bit, tensing at the attention he was receiving. It wasn't long before they passed through a pair of doors, leading into a room framed with weapons and maps.

A large man stood rigidly in front of Azeroth's map, covered in red lines. His armor was bold and large, a long cloak unable to hide the rippling muscle that dwarfed Rydin's. A few others stood nearby, pointing to a map on a table and murmuring. They glanced up at his arrival but gave him little mind.

The courier bowed as the King turned. Rydin remained frozen in place.

"King." Rydin inclined his head warily, "You asked for me?"

Varian Wrynn grunted, turning back to the map he was facing, eye narrowed in silent rage. The courier fled before he spoke.

"Yes." He voice was deep and commanding, but sounded strained and irritated all at once, "I have an urgent mission for you, Vanquisher of Deathwing. Listen carefully and abandon all protocol you've been taught. You've proven to be loyal to the Alliance, but this is more…personal."

Those nearby had gone silent. Rydin straightened, alert and watchful as the king unsheathed a dagger and gazed into the metal.

"The ship that was carrying my son has gone missing between us and Kalimdor. I want you to go in search of him. The code name is 'The White Pawn'." King Varian slams his knife onto the southern part of the map."We lost communication there. Please find my son Rydin. The 7th Fleet is ready to depart at the harbor."

It wasn't a question. It was an order, a demand. Rydin exhaled and nodded.

"At once my King. Is there anything else I need to know?"

Varian's eyes flashed dangerously, "if the Horde have him, show them no mercy."

"Yes sir. I will go at once." He bowed slightly, steeping back to leave. Varian withdrew the knife.

"Rydin."

The swordsman paused at the door, blinking rapidly, "Your majesty?"

"I have a partner for you to go with."

Rydin slumped in exsasperation, wanting to groan at the prospect of teamwork. "Please not a gnome this time."

The king ignored the comment, "An envoy of the Cenarion Circle will join the expedition. I want you to look after them as I know your violent ways in diplomatic solutions." He stared hard at the young warrior, who grimaced as memories of failed negotiations revived in his mind. "They are well versed in pacifism, a solution we must use over violence. When you get to the Harbor, look for Admiral Clifft. He will pair you with your partner and a suitable back up team. Remember, your mission is to find Prince Anduin. May the Light guide you Rydin."

Rydin left shortly afterward, making his way out of the keep while lost in thought. The idea of babysitting a tree hugger made him wince. Not only that, but he was going to be kept in line by said tree hugger. What a mess.

He took the long way to the harbor, avoiding that place as far as to take the path through the graveyard. The sight of large, intimidating battleships brought a nostalgic smile to his face. It faded as his search for one man began.

An hour of asking clueless workers later, he approached a heavily armored man. Admiral Clifft turned stiffly to him as he approached, crossing his gauntlets over his chest and huffing.

"Vanquisher of Deathwing, I take it? You're fashionably late."

Rydin narrowed his eyes, hunching his shoulders, "Reporting for duty, Admiral."

The admiral snorted, waving over a guard, "Go get the deer." As the guard left he muttered, "Honestly, just what is the king thinking sending all these lunatics with us…"

Rydin's lip curled into a snarl, ready to lash out verbally, when the clip clopping of hooves silenced him. For a moment, he mistook it as a horse, but it was too light to be their heavy footfalls. He craned his head around, eyebrows shooting up at the sight.

A Dryad.

She was smaller than most he'd seen, hiding in the forests. She had short green hair, tangled with flowers and large golden eyes that stared curiously at him. Her skin was a pale purple, standing out outlandishly among all the humans around her. Not only that, but from the waist down, she had the body of a brown deer. Around her middle, he noticed a sash. He idly wondered what a Dryad was doing in such a place as Stormwind before paling.

She couldn't be…

"Let me introduce you to Nymya. You're partner." The admiral sounded smug as the girl beamed shyly at him, "She's been waiting for you. Now let's go. We got the prince to rescue." And with that, the man walked away, barking orders to an unfortunate group of workers. Rydin swallowed and looked at the Dryad. She was rubbing her arms and glancing around anxiously.

"Hi." She said, "I'm Nymya, but he already said that, uh…" She winced, "You're Rydin, right?

He stared at her as she shuffled around. Young, inexperienced, and downright awkward. He wanted to groan. Instead, he said lowly "Let's go. We'll talk when we're on board."

Nymya jolted, looking alarmed, before smiling uneasily, "Right. The guard said there'd be an escort coming to taking us to the aircraft-"

"Wait." His eyebrow twitched. "We're flying there?"

She blinked, smiling obliviously, "Yeah, why?"

He growled, crossing his arms and snapping, "Nothing. Let's get out of here before I change my mind."

He stalked forward, and after a second's hesitance, the Dryad trotted after him. He wanted to rip his hair out in frustration. Things just seemed to be getting worse and worse for him.


Rydin belongs to Trickeynick. Nymya belongs to me. We do not own World of Warcraft.

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