It's been an interesting time of things lately. Thankfully I have managed to work in a decent amount of "Mists of Pandaria" into my schedule, which keeps this story fresh and alive in my head.

I have always treated "World of Warcraft" as less of a game, although it certainly still is one, and more of a creative canvas. I can't play a character in a game without giving it…well, character.

The more I work with Sythius on paper, the more interesting he is to play. I suppose that's one reason I'm doing this. The other is to finally hammer out his story for anyone who might be interested in seeing it.

Yet again I feel obligated to thank those of you who are reading this.

Let's begin the next leg of the journey, shall we?

Sylvanne marveled at the scene that unraveled before her.

She had been trained in the formal workings of her family; her father and teacher, the patriarch of her house, had always insisted on poise and dignity, on keeping to appearances and never permitting oneself to dip below one's standards of conduct. Norothain Sil'nathin was a man who referred to his own wife as "my lady," and never by her name; had it not been for Sythius and Anathala, Sylvanne wondered if she would haveeven been given a name at all, or whether her lord father might have simply named her "Daughter of Sil'nathin."

Sylvanne loved the man, respected him and his legacy, and strove in all ways to live up to his pride in her. But here, in this glorious forest, just as Sythius was preparing to ask his mother for a favor that might well shatter her reputation without any regard for what it might mean to her personally, socially, politically—a promise that Sylvanne would never dream to ask her father—he did not bother to present himself with humility, nor formality, nor poise nor dignity.

In this moment, Sythius was a boy. Just a dirty, sweaty, radiant boy, like any other.

Anathala's heart melted in her eyes, and Sylvanne couldn't help but smile.

"S-S…" she stammered. "…Sythius! Is it—is it truly…?"

The druid gave a decisive nod. Then, frowning as though confused, he looked around himself. Olrec, who seemed to have an almost telepathic understanding of his huge companion's thoughts, reached out his big arms and took Kin from him. The shaman set the boy down onto the clearing, and set about preparations with the speed and precision of a learned, seasoned field medic.

Sythius grinned toothily and gathered his mother in a smothering embrace. "Min'da!" he repeated happily, and Sylvanne felt tears in her eyes. Anathala, for her part, laughed. It was a crystalline sound, like wind-chimes in a summer breeze.

When he let her go, and she collected herself, Anathala ran her bright golden eyes over her son as though convincing herself that he was real.

There had never been any question that this regal druidess, though she loved her children equally, had always favored her firstborn with her attention. It was only natural. He had followed in her path, had taken up the mantle of nature. Just as Norothain had always favored Sylvanne, whose eyes lifted to the stars.

"My boy," Anathala whispered. "My baby. Look at you. Look at you!"

Sythius, ever obedient, looked at himself. "I am me," he murmured thoughtfully.

"Your son has made a name for himself," Sylvanne said. Then, awkwardly, self-consciously, she added: "…Min'da." At this, Anathala beamed at her, which caused Sylvanne to blush. "You know the sigil on his chest?"

Anathala studied the tabard. "The Dawn. You fight the Scourge?"

Sythius nodded.

Olrec glanced over. "Speakin' o' fightin' the Scourge, M'lady, hopin' ye don't take offense fer interruptin', but we come on a, ah, sensitive mission more 'n reunion, sorry ter say."

Torn from her memories made manifest in front of her eyes, Anathala turned her attention to the dwarf, and the bundle to which he tended. "Of course. What mission brings you here, good shaman?"

Olrec blinked, then shook his head. "Ah…" he cleared his throat. Then, he decided it was the best course of action to be straight with this woman. He said, "The laddie's c'rrupted by plague, 'n the foul magicks o' the blood elves. We been seekin' a healer fer him. I done th' best I kin do. Yer boy brought us here. 'E thinks ye kin do more, if ye would."

Anathala stiffened. "Sin'dorei," she said, the warmth evaporating from her face and voice.

Olrec nodded. "Aye."

"He is only a child, Min'da," Sylvanne said, placating. "You are our last hope for him."

"His name is Kin," Kayli put in sheepishly, and yelped when the druidess gave her a deep, searching look.

Anathala stood again, and the dwarf stared up at her, apprehensive. Would she order them to leave? Would she stalk off without a word? Would she slap her son across the face for daring to bring such a blasphemous piece of work before her?

She turned to regard Sythius. "Son," she said, icily. "Do you know what you are asking me to do?"

Sythius looked not only clueless, but almost unconcerned. "You are a healer. I am asking you to heal this little one." He gestured, as if he thought his mother didn't know where Kin was. "We do not allow children to die."

He said these things with clinical detachment; he was reciting rhetoric, parroting things that he had heard before. He seemed to believe that these things were universal truths, and he was perplexed that Anathala, clearly wiser and more experienced than he, would ask him such questions.

Sylvanne and Kayli looked like the children their people considered them, ashamed and nervous, waiting for the druidess to reprimand and punish them.

Sythius stood as stolid as a brick wall. His gaze was clean, clear, and steady.

Fearless.

"Do you know the promises I had to make, the favors I had to call in, to reduce your sentence to exile?" Anathala hissed. "Do you know what it would mean for me, if our people knew that I had done yet another favor for you?" All warmth had vanished from her, but it hadn't been replaced by anger; rather, fear. "Do you know what your father would do, if he found out I was helping you?!"

"Why would you help me?" Sythius asked, honestly mystified. "I am not sick. Kin is sick. Help Kin." Anathala blinked, leaned back as though she'd been struck by something. Sythius glanced fleetingly down at the pathetic bundle on the grass. "…Please."

Big Olrec almost laughed. The logic was so simple, so ungodly basic, that only a boy would have had the temerity and the courage to use it. He was a child asking his parents to let a friend's family live with them because their house had burned down—but Min'da, we have room! They can sleep on the floor!—without understanding the embarrassment or the inconvenience, because such things simply didn't occur to him.

Sythius honestly had no idea why this was so confusing to everyone. For the first time, he believed himself to have come to the proper answer, and everyone else was too slow to catch on. The look he gave to the group around him was almost hilarious.

Kayli looked thunderstruck; Sylvanne wanted to smile.

Anathala sighed heavily. "Sythius, you don't understand. I cannot cure the taint of fel magic."

"Fel magic did not make Kin sick," Sythius said. "Plague did. Can you cure plague?"

Anathala frowned thoughtfully; it looked like she wasn't certain of the answer to that question. She knelt down again, shifted the blankets covering Kin's body, and examined him. She hissed in a sharp breath as she took in the full extent of the boy's corruption. He gasped in pitiful little breaths that came out as whimpers of quiet agony; his body shook spasmodically.

"Kin ye help 'im, M'lady?" Olrec asked quietly.

Anathala sighed, shook her head, muttered, "I'm going to regret this," and rested her hands upon the elfling's chest.