"It's going to be all right."
And you remember the first time you heard those words. The first time they really mattered. Vivid, even after all the years, like a still-wet painting.
That fog-shrouded morning. The ships with blue sails embanked on the southern shores. From coast to coast without end and to horizon's edge.
"It's going to be all right," Ma said. She and Pa and you and everyone went to help.
You'd never seen so many frowns before. Adults, kids your age, people older than Ma and Pa. At the time you thought they'd simply forgotten how to smile. But you'd learn, first-hand, what that lose was.
You helped, with everyone in your family and beyond, you helped. From those that could walk, to those that had to stay on the boats, to those that took them apart for shelter and materials. You played with the crying children, helped the tired peasants and looked in awe at the grim, blue-clad soldiers on guard.
When the recruiters came, you enlisted. Too young to, but tall enough to lie through. You learned and you sparred and you became ready.
On a shore not far from home you stood in your gleaming white armor, spear in hand, ready to make due.
"It's going to be all right," the red-maned sergeant said, and rose your spirits with a mighty yell, and you and so many others yelled back. White, purple, orange, black, green and red.
But not the blue, like the one next to you. They knew what was to come.
Orcs.
You fought them from Southshore to Arathi, to the Hinterlands to Quel'thalas. Capital City and the high seas. To Azeroth, Blackrock Spire and finally, the Dark Portal itself.
"It's going to be all right," you whispered to your exhausted self as you watched the archmage Khadgar unleash the full fury of his magics and obliterate the great gate. It was going to be all right.
You stayed, like so many others, to help secure the reclaimed lands of Azeroth. The broken orc clans still raided and fought when they could. You watched New Stormwind City rise up. The most magnificent thing you ever saw.
You saw it brought low once more, when Teron Gorefiend and his death knight's raided the Royal Library for dark incantations..
You were marshalled to find the blackheart's ingress, and stood in awe at the new portal.
And fear.
When General Turalyon marched the legions of eight nations through the portal you were not among them. Even as you watched friends and family go towards uncertain doom.
You were married now. The same blue-clad soldier that had stood at your side years ago.
Stormwind still needed defenders, and you'd both be among them.
The Horde's trailblaze of destruction was ended by the Dark Portal's second demise and the vigil of Nethergarde maintained over the Blasted Lands.
"It's going to be all right."
The words hung in Stormwind's air as victory was declared.
And no portal reappeared.
And the family grew. And all those frowns you once saw set as a statue were now smiles.
You wondered how Ma and Pa and everyone else was. Letters were so slow. And as the years went on the news of Lordaeron darkened. But they were strong, always so strong.
When the first refugees from Lordaeron came, bringing news of the Undead Scourge and the traitor prince you gave them your practiced answer, "It's going to be all right." You helped them settle. When Dalaran came, you helped them settle. When Stromgarde came you helped them settle.
Ma and Pa never came. More stubborn than mules they remained in Southshore.
You readied your armor, still white after all these years. Hefted your spear, sharp as ever. White-and-blue, ready to ride once again. A debt to be repaid.
But as the king readied the army to war, everything stopped, slammed into a wall.
The prince was now king, the highlord now reagent. An army without orders. Dark rumors flew like arrows. Each one finding their mark.
You had no coin to spare to travel across the world. A world so vast and huge. Beyond the gates of mighty Stormwind, a world of honor, of mystery. A world of danger.
"It's going to be all right," they tried to placate you.
It did not work.
When the gnomes came, with their tale of lost city you could not muster the proper response. They worked, hand-in-hand with dwarves and humans to build that tram.
Ironforge was closer, yet still so far from your old home.
The Horde struck bargain with the undead who'd brought it to ruin and yet still there was no march to liberation. The call to arms that sounded was never for your home. Alterac Valley, Warsong Gulch, Arathi Basin, Silithus. Going so far as to even work with the Horde.
Times had changed.
Your hair among them. White as the armor you once wore. White too early, worrying about Ma and Pa.
Perhaps this was for the best. When the horns of war sounded once more. The Dark Portal had risen for a third time and a tide of demons bursted out like a broken dam. Alliance, Horde and those between marched and fought back. You, back in white among them.
On the red world you found friends in red and white and blue and green and purple again. Tears and truths shared in equal misery.
At Honor Hold you stood watch until the Sons of Lothar returned home. Their old homes and new.
And through Stormwind's streets truth came. The long lost king and the unveiled masquerade. No longer would Stormwind stand idly by!
But the dread call of the Scourge was heralded across the land. Arthas, has returned.
Armies of undead, the traitor prince and butcher of Lordaeron. Righteous fury howled as the full forces of the world ascended to challenge the fiend. You among them. Your spear an implement of virtue as it tore through undead ranks.
At the Wrathgate you stood. "For Lordaeron!" One of many in a blue-clad crowd.
Alliance blue and Horde red in unison to combat the greatest foe. And terrible betrayal reaped its scythe. The hour of the forsaken. Green fog and the death of even the dead. Horde turning on Alliance, Horde turning on Horde.
Luck or foul fortune kept you alive and saw you back to Stormwind. An embrace of tears, "It's going to be all right."
A lie.
A call to battle.
Lordaeron.
Body aching and scarred. Lungs on fire, every breath a trial. You still went to Capital City. The the Forsaken. In the putrid undercroft vengeance was delivered upon the traitorous apothecary that butchered across the lines. And in his nest of evil they laid. The piles of bodies could only have one source… and one cause.
And through the twisted, butchered remains came a face. Drown long in horror and pain, a mirror to the one you made on sight.
Pa.
And the Horde were here. And no matter how they tried they could not lie their way through this! Only one more betrayal kept justice from being meted
And no more justice could be.
Wounds that never healed only worsened in Undercity rot. Lucky to be alive at all.
A spear-arm could no longer hold spear.
"It's going to be all right."
Nothing more than a meaningless platitude.
Victory came against the traitor prince, but the Forsaken marched onwards. They claimed the cowards of Gilneas… and the Hillsbrad Foothills.
You never found Ma among the corpses in Undercity.
Now you were certain to.
Waiting on news was maddening. The world broke, the wars, the hidden content and the Dark Portal once again. All past. All a blur.
The trust between Alliance and Horde mended.
Pa's face never left your nightmares.
Demons filled the sky. In numbers so great you first recalled the blue-sail ships on the coast. Never without end.
Against all sense you held a weapon again. Painful and unwieldy in your off but every hand that could was needed. White-and-blue side-by-side again.
Two more soldiers among the blue-and-red legions sent to the Broken Shore. Death and broken bodies. A new Road of Glory.
At victory's zenith their betrayal struck again. No geen fog (there was enough fel-green as was). But simple retreat. A horn that howled king's demise. A majesty so you and so many others could escape.
As eyes peered down to where Horde was now stood an army of Legion.
So much for lok'tar ogar.
Every member of the Sons of Lothar had faced the same choice and held firm to their convictions. But not you. But not you.
Your head hung.
Far from the only soldier spurned. The old wolf of Gilneas howled for vengeance. The last king of the old Alliance lashing out. Broken bodies could not join him.
It was the end of the world. Not the time for vengeance.
You sat out the rest of the invasion. Old bodies healed slow.
When the end of the war rose high above the planet you held your family close and lied, "It's going to be all right."
Then the sword. So massive its damning gaze could be seen even in Stormwind. Even as the prince-turned-king-for-true gave his speech to cheers you could not join them.
A letter came. Packaged with the royal seal, and inside were those words once more with feeling: It's going to be all right.
That familiar handwriting: Ma!
You wept as you read. Her tale of woe. Her enslavement, and liberation. She was Forsaken.
New king and Forsaken queen come to terms to reunite lost families.
Fire was hot; water was wet. You could not trust the Forsaken.
You went anyway.
To Stromgarde with its wrong-tiled roofs—they should be red! Why did Danath not insist?
On the fields of Arathi you saw her. Her portly skin rotted and putrefied and sloughing off. Her once-full cheeks punctured and torn. But her eyes, still her eyes and witty and kind as ever.
She could not cry.
You cried enough for the both of you.
"It's going to be all right."
But a name rose: Calia Menethil.
And the Forsaken ran, this way and that. And you begged Ma to come and she came and you looked into those kind and witty eyes as they lost their light for the last time as Banshee Queen's arrow stole their light.
The dead and one more died that day, much as boy-king tried otherwise.
And one more face joined your nightmares.
You snap back to the present as you repeat those words: "It's going to be all right."
The night elf child snuggles her panther plushy even deeper as you help her off the ship. So many, just like before. Night elf vessels carrying their whole population as refugees to the harbor of Stormwind. Among them the double-displaced Gilneans, worgen and human. First they spilled out from the portal places, a living mass out of broken dam. Then they came on ships, night elven and human. An endless tide. A familiar tide.
The people of Stormwind go about helping the refugees settle. They'd all become practiced at this. You went through the familiar motions.
The mighty Ancients rumble down the streets carrying waves of injured. Blood trails covered every street in the city. Those few unaffected by wounds or fatigue were as listless as those that were.
You kept your lie going in public and private. Never letting it show. Always a restrained smile to keep spirits up. One you learned with those words.
The night elves and worgen camp on streets, in the open. There just weren't enough buildings. But they weren't the only ones. The streets grew cramped, even a city as large as Stormwind had its limits.
But they were not the only ones to walk the roads.
Army infantry began to patrol the streets. The Keep, the Valley of Heroes. The city guards had always proven up to the task of protecting the city. They were not here to defend.
They were readying for war.
At the Harbor, now clear of fleeing ships, was anchored an armada. The fleet devastated in the war remade and bolstered. Humans practiced their sword swings. Dwarfs readied their guns. Gnomes prepped their flying machines. Night elf sentinels mounted their sabercats. Ancients of war gathered on massive galleon. Draenei and their lightforged kin practiced their holy arts. Gilneans of both stripes went about their tasks with coordinated precision. The huushi pandaren, rare as they were, showed off their skills. The void elves and their shadowy powers marshalled their force.
This was an army going to war.
And you were not going to be left behind.
From the forgotten trunk, older than your children, you pulled free your first armor. Your first spear. Adorned once more in white of your homeland you marched into the harbor, onto the ships with blue sails. The blue sails that would set sail for Lordaeron once more.
"It's going to be all right." You clutched your spear, knuckles going white as armor. "It's going to be all right."