Quel'Thalas. The land of eternal spring. A sanctuary to the elves that reside there. A land so powerful that you can almost feel the magic infused air caress your skin. A land so strong that even after the Scourge came and destroyed everything, the people were able to take it back as their own.

Though in the end, the land and it's people still suffered . Many have lost family and loved ones, not only in the invasion but all the horrible events that followed.

Rydlen had returned to the room he spent the last couple of years in. He remembered every distinct detail and pattern of the walls that surrounded him. He tried to put on his armor as he struggled with his inner demons.

He had also lost some of his family. His brother Hunter was a fierce fighter, though perished protecting the enchanted elf gates. Meanwhile his little sister Maestra was said to linger in the Ghostlands in the ruins of his old home, softly singing a child's song. Though when the rangers found her remains, it confirmed that she no longer drew breath.

His brother Hayden hasn't visited home since before the invasion. He was out on Alliance business when the Scourge attacked, and was probably too scared to even consider the thought of home anymore. Rydlen didn't know if he is angry at his brother for abandoning his home, or jelouse because he was lucky enough to escape.

During the invasion his mother hid in Silvermoon, tending to the injured and protecting him and his aunt. He was still young then, even by elven standards. If it wasn't for her he was sure many more would have been lost.

The heaviest blow at the time was learning of his fathers death. His mother wasn't the same since, and neither was he.

So when Prince Kael'thas bestowed the gift of a Naruu to his people, he was quick to join the ranks of the newly formed Blood Knights. From then he learned to wield the light as a weapon, rather than just for healing. His father would have been proud, having had been a paladin himself before his demise.

He left home to fight for the Horde, finally being able to see Azeroth for what it is, and hating the Alliance for what it has become. He slowly gained a name for himself as he traveled and carried out his duties. He struggled with his abilities but kept pushing forward, believing that the only way he could master them is just to keep putting them to the test.

He met an orc one fateful day, who saved him from having his flesh turned to a husk by felhounds. Trigdakh quickly became a close friend of his during his adventures in Outland, and where the orc was lacking brute strength, he redeemed himself in wisdom and understanding of the elements.

Rydlen hugged himself a bit, memories of the orc filled his head. Their accomplishments, the times they had to heavily urge their mounts to flee from Alliance camps they would've stumbled upon. Shivering in a tent, soaked to the bone. Laughing, and their first kiss…

He grasped his head, trying to prevent more thoughts from entering his head. Each thought of the orc was nothing but a burning hot blade that seared deep into his heart.

Rydlen pulled his hair up as he dressed before burying his face to his hands. Memories of Northrend plagued him, and thoughts of his lover burned his mind. How he distinctly saw a Valkyr cleave his ax through him, and how he couldn't help him. He had to run like a coward from fear of being overwhelmed. He had failed that day, and couldn't protect what meant most to him. He damned the Light for everything that was happening to him, and his powers grew weak.

What is a paladin without the Light?

He recalled seeing his Trigdakh another battle, and thinking he was just a hallucination before he ran him through. He didn't bleed, though he could see the life leaving his eyes as they dimmed. Rydlen collapsed and held him, ignoring the chaos of the battle around him. Trig was just a pawn in the Lich Kings game, and Rydlen was a pawn of the horde, but the fury he felt that day was devastating. He attacked any scourge that stood before him, and assured victory. But inside he only felt misery. Not pride.

He vowed to kill any scourge from that day on. He was weary of the Forsaken, especially after what he heard of the Wrath Gate incident. When he and the rest of the horde faced the Lich King in Icecrown, he was struck with a lethal blow to the chest, and incapacitating him. He had to be taken out of the fight in Ice Crown as a healer tried desperately to save his life.

Yet somehow he survived. Somehow he was still alive, able to draw breath. Everything of that time was a blur. He recalled various colours of healing spells and bandages before he was released to return home to Quel'thalas. He brought a hand to his chest as he changed to a heavier shirt, still able to distinctly feel the scar that remained. He clearly remembered the crushing pain and the struggle to breathe.

How a horrifyingly distinctly familiar man was there the remaining time, though Rydlen never saw him again after that. Not until recently.

Rydlen felt angry now, getting up and tearing his overly pump pillows off his bed and throwing them around his room and crying out in frustration.

He sat through the destruction of the world, having to be coddled by his mother and aunt. His world crumbled yet there was nothing he could do to stop it. He had enough. He had enough of being treated like a pariah because he had loved a savage. He had enough of hearing whispers of his father, a more exhalted member of the Ebon Blade.

He had to leave home, even if that meant that he may have to grovel to the Warchief. There are rumours of a far land among the mists. If he tried, he could be one of the first to go explore it. He knew it was the perfect opportunity to leave all of this behind. This life. This land. All of it. Even if it was just for a few weeks.

He had to prove himself. Not just to the Horde, nor his people, but to the Light. And as he tightened the straps of his armor, all he could think of is him being able to wield the light and the dream of feeling hope again. He picked up his sword and shield, and looked back at his mess of a room he hoped he wouldn't have to see for some time.

Maybe this would finally be his chance.