Author's notes:
Hey, here's the 4th chapter of the story. I'm still thinking about rewriting it, at least partially. Anyways, I hope you'll like what I've come up with. As always, thanks for everything, and see you next time :) PS. Sorry that it took so long. I had to do a couple of things related to my uni. Changelog: Schedule for the nearest future: *bonuses will be worked on when I don't feel like writing the chapters pointed out in the schedule :D
[2021-04-13]: The preview was posted.
[2021-04-16]: The whole chapter was released.
(bonus): Sometimes it's just better not to know (possibly rewrite).
4. Exiled you say (next chapter).
5. Kiss the rain (next chapter).
6. Whispers in the Dark (new chapter)/(possibly extending beyond just 2 part story).
7. Story of one lost soul (2 next chapters)/(The war call|The heart not so cold).
8. Prisoner of Your Eyes (next chapter).
9. Black Diamond (2 next chapters)/(possibly finishing the story).
10. The rise of the Blood Moons' servants (2 next chapters).
11. Alone (2 next chapters)/(possibly rewrite).
12. Last Christmas (finishing up the story).
13. My home is where my heart lies (a long, possibly 10k + words chapter).
End of author's notes.
Analylah Moonblade did not dare to stop before getting to the High Priestess. The weight of the fainted girl – held close to her breastplate – could be entirely disregarded. It was possible due to the adrenaline that was still being pumped into her veins. The sentinel wanted to reach her destination already. There was no telling how severely she had wounded the priestess' daughter.
She passed many people throughout her running session. All of them – without exception – was watching her with horror printed on top of their faces. In their eyes, she was a monster. Truth be told, it was not that far from reality, at least partially.
Finally, after Goddess-know how long of the run, she reached the temple. The guards immediately approached her, stopping her from entering the construction. There was two of them. Both relatively young, strong, muscular, yet devoted, already past the foolishness of the youth.
"Moonblade!" the first of them called her. "What you've done? Dear Goddess!"
She needed a couple of prolonged moments to calm down her breathlessness. Even if the sentinel opted to ignore her exhaustion, she could not hide it forever.
"Let me through, Nadil!" the sentinel demanded. "I need to get that child to her mother. I need to see to it myself," she added, narrowing her sight.
"Let her go, Nadil," the second guard said. "It's so clear that she was the one who had caused these wounds. It's better to leave the decision to the High Priestess."
"You must have lost your mind, Enaeleas!" the violet-haired man called Nadil spoke up with risen tone. "She shouldn't be allowed to enter the sacred ground of the temple. That's what I think."
"It's not our duty to decide who's worthy of punishment. Must I remind you that?" the silver-haired man thundered.
"No, you're right, obviously," the violet-haired elf replied, lowering his sight.
"Go ahead, Analylah," Enaeleas uttered in a cold tone. "I hope you're prepared to pay for what you've done."
"There's only one way to find out," the sentinel responded as cooly as she could. "For… what it's worth, I'm glad that you're the one in service of the temple, Enaeleas Sunsinger."
"Go, someone's waiting for you," the silver-haired temple guard uttered.
The sentinel was not the person who needed to be reminded about her duties or chores. With a slight bow toward the man, she moved forward.
As always, the sacred construction dedicated to the Goddess was filled with bright light. Another aspect that Analylah associated with the building was the sound of water flowing from a fountain. The fountain was located in the very middle of the circular hall. It was the monument of the first High Priestess – Haidene. For her deeds, she had been carved into a stone, making her immortal. The water was pouring down from the marble bowl that the statue held over its head. On the grassy ground, many young priestesses were sitting. They must have been chatting or relaxing prior to her entrance. However, as it was to be expected, the fainted girl inside her arms caught their attention in no time.
"Goddess!" one of them gasped loudly. "What happened?" she asked the sentinel.
"It's the matter I must discuss with her Highness," the violet-haired sentinel replied. "Please, bring some bandages and ointments to the High Priestess' chamber."
Without wasting any time more, she ran forward. In a matter of moments, she reached the spiral approach leading toward the higher levels of the temple. The woman knew that she was close to reaching the destination. All she needed to do was to press forward for a bit longer.
Tyrande's aura preceded her. As soon as the sentinel reached the very top level of the holy place, she could sense it everywhere. It could be described as if the powerful magical pressure was wrapping itself around her form. The sensation would be disturbing if the violet-haired woman did not know who its owner was. Or, to be more precise, who was the source of it.
The clicking of heeled boots sounded from a distance. Tyrande must have been informed already. To some extent, the veteran was content with the events unfolding like that. Still, the fear of paying the price for her acts remained. These couple of seconds saved would not make her more confident during the inevitable talk.
Just a couple of moment later, at the end of the corridor, the well-known figure appeared. The High Priestess of Elune spotted her in a matter of fractions of a second. The woman allowed herself to forget about whom she was for her people. She chose to act just like any other mother would have done.
It was evident that Tyrande was pissed off. Her aura began fluctuating as if trying to mimic her emotions. Analylah swallowed a thick gulp of something that appeared inside her throat. The sentinel was nervous. Some might even name that feeling fear. To some extent, she could already feel that she would be punished.
When Night Elves' leader got closer, the violet-haired woman noticed that her initial observation was wrong. Or at least to some extent. Tyrande Whisperwind's facial expression consisted of a mixture of terrified, concern, anger.
"What happened?" the priestess demanded as soon as she reached them. "What happened to Samara?" she added the next question, allowing her voice to show off her concern.
"I've failed you, High Priestess," Analylah uttered in a low, sad tone. "I've failed to control some parts of me during my session with Fyrerenna. I don't really know what happened. One moment I was perfectly myself, in control. And, yet, in the very next, I was lost in a fury, blood rage," she added in a slightly hoarse voice. "To some extent, I felt like I was not myself. As if something primal awoke inside of me," the sentinel confessed.
"You wanted to hear her screams, the sound of her bones crushed, didn't you?" the Night Elves' leader asked with her eyes wide open.
"Yes," the violet-haired woman simply replied. "I wanted to see her blood soaking the ground. I desired for her to beg for her life. To plead for mercy," the woman added, closing her eyes and enforcing her grip on the girl. "What happened? I'd want to know."
"The blood curse," the priestess sighed the answer. "Some of us have some sort of defect planted inside ourselves," she explained briefly.
"I've never experienced such a situation," the sentinel nearly instantly countered. "How can such defect hide throughout my entire existence?" she wanted to know.
"It's difficult, Analylah," Tyrande replied. "Come with me to my office. Whilst I tend to the damage you inflicted on my daughter, I'll try to answer your questions," the aqua-green-haired said before turning around. "Follow me," she uttered, then headed toward her chambers.
The veteran huntress followed her leader. It was so easy for her to just follow the orders. To just disable the thinking process for a couple of moments.
Analylah did not even notice when they reached the office. It must have been a brief walk, yet, she could not say that with certainty. In front of her, there was a spacious open area. The sentinel had been there a couple of times – if she remembered correctly. Still, she found it intriguing and quite surprising that the hall was mostly empty. The furnishings consisted of a solid desk with a throne-like armchair, that was all.
"Put her on my desk," the priestess's order reached her as if from a distance. "Analylah put her down on the desk," she repeated with a slightly risen tone when the command was not fulfilled.
"Yes… of course," the violet-haired woman responded, shaking her head. "Forgive me, High Priestess, I was lost in my thoughts," she offered a brief explanation.
"Please, put her down. I need to see to her wounds."
Without uttering another word, the sentinel proceeded with the given order. The fainted girl was carefully put on top of her broad desk. Fyrerenna looked terrible. Only slight rises of her chest indicated that she was still breathing. It was the only sign of life given by the priestess's daughter.
"I'm sorry," the sentinel uttered quietly, falling to her knees. "I didn't want to hurt her. I was just touting her to forced her to get to the training. I wanted her to put her 100% into these sessions," she continued to mumble.
"It's not your fault, Analylah," Tyrande sounded. "As much as I'd want to place the blame on you, you're no the one to blame. It'd be much easier, but it wouldn't be fair for you. What I really blame is that cursed blood that runs through your veins," the priestess offered an explanation whilst checking the state of her girl.
"How's that I didn't know about this defect?" the veteran asked, hiding her face insider the hands. "How much will it affect me? Will I be able to continue serving our people? Or… I'm to leave and never return?" she asked additional questions, stuttering.
"I'll not banish you," the aqua-green-haired woman replied after a moment of pause. "I've lost a couple of dear friends due to this 'defect'. I'll not allow another life to be taken by this 'curse'," she stated confidently. "I'll help you find the cure."
"What about my training with her?" Analylah asked, pointing out at the barely breathing teenager.
"I… I'm unable to say with certainty that you could fulfil that duty," the priestess carefully picked her words. "After all, she might be a reason why your cursed blood awoke. It won't change, ever."
"I see," the sentinel sighed heavily. "Still, I'd want to try to repay her for my actions. And… frankly, I can only do so by teaching her how to survive outside of the bubble you're creating for her," she added, murmuring.
"And… I wouldn't want to see her in such a state ever again," High Priestess uttered slowly. "How can I be certain that the history doesn't repeat itself?" she asked.
"Assign another person to her training. This person will be watching over me," the violet-haired woman responded after a few moments of thinking. "I'd suggest assigning someone capable of defeating me in a fair fight," she added.
"That's manageable," the Night Elves' leader commented. "Let's settle that down in such a manner. We'll focus on treating Samara right now. After a couple of days, maybe longer, when she's ready to return to her chores, she'll decide if she can trust you. Would you accept such conditions?" she asked, eyeing the huntress.
"I'll honour her decision," the sentinel replied without hesitation. "All I'm asking is for another chance. If… Fyrerenna… Samara won't grant it to me; I'll respect that. After all, I'm the fucking reason why she's here," she pointed out.
"It'd be difficult to disagree with that," Tyrande replied, lowering her tone. "So… it's settled. Stand up. I'll need your help with Samara," the priestess exclaimed.
As if there was no time to waste, the huntress rose up immediately. She focused her sole attention on the priestess, awaiting the orders.
"Don't look at me," Tyrande reminded the sentinel. "You're about to treat my daughter, not me. So, your attention should be placed at her."
"Both of her arms are twisted," Analylah pointed out aloud.
"You can start by readjusting them. Just wait a moment. I'll give her a potion to soften the pain. She should be sleeping for a couple of hours after such a doze," the aqua-green-haired woman informed.
"Fair enough. I'll do as you command, High Priestess," the huntress responded more out of habit than necessity.
Tyrande bent slightly to reach the bottom drawer of her desk. For a couple of seconds, the priestess searched for the mentioned potion, uttering single words from time to time. It tuned out that the mentioned medicine was contained in a small flacon of Rubin colour.
Within the next 2 or so seconds, the aqua-green-haired woman unbuttoned the container and poured a few drops through Samara's lips. I did not escape the sentinel's notice that the pools of dried blood were visible at the tips of the girl's mouth.
Without much thinking, the veteran reached out for the carafe filled with water. A small piece of fabric was cut off of her shirt with little to no hesitation. The fabric was quickly moistened with the water before the violet-haired woman wiped the blood from her protégé's face. Within such a casual act, there was so much caress, gentleness, regret, sadness.
In the meantime, the priestess began casting healing spells onto her fainted, broken daughter. The greenish aura was brightly glowing, wrapping around the unconscious frame. To Analylah's relief, it quickly turned out that the magic was working wonders. Samara's shallow breath vanished, replaced with deep and steady breathing.
The seasoned huntress allowed herself to flash a small smile. It seemed that the girl would have another chance, so to speak, just like her. The violet-haired woman got her chance for redemption. She would be damned if she allowed it to be wasted. She allowed herself to be carried out by her senses. Without hesitation, she grabbed the girl's left arm. It was in very bad shape. In at least a couple of places, the bones had been broken, changing their positions.
Feeling the smoothness and warmth of the skin beneath her fingers, she got to work. With precision, she began readjusting the broken bones, crushing them once again.
In a matter of moments, the priestess's office was filled with the sounds of cracking bones.