Gilneas. 10 years ago.

Perpetually gloomy, the sprawling city-scape of Gilneas was always a hard one to truly get a grasp on. It was as if she were alive, this grand monstrosity of stone and rain, as each time Ulren stepped foot forward something had changed. Months prior to his current visit, he met up with one Lord Godfrey to discuss some inane nonsense about the effect Ulren's people had on the populace, with Godfrey strictly warning Ulren of the consequences if 'His madness spread'. They met in this very square, which was now ripe with the smell of bread and cheese. It was supposedly a military square. To say that the change piqued this man's curiosity was… honestly an overstatement. Ulren cared little which changed within the city, only that it did. Gilneas changed. That was just a fact.

Nevertheless, when he felt his stomach protest just slightly at the idea of leaving such a delectable scent behind, the man made a choice that would change his life and so many others forever. Such little choices could have great effects, this he knew, as his faith was surrounded by the imagery of water and rain. A single cloud in the sky could be the symbol of a great storm. A single droplet in a pond could cause ripples much greater in size than itself. One single, simple, little action could create waves that could engulf the horizon. This was the tempest created by choice, a tempest he quite well enjoyed. A tempest that so many on this singular Gilnean road would likely never understand. They were a people of a single mind, his people, so to see them deviate from their paths is something he'd rarely notion. He himself was not one to typically differ from his own goals, but he at least tended to be more… flexible than his kinfolk.

This singular Gilnean road was straight and narrow. It did not wind nor did it bend, it had no flourishes. It was grey. It was stone. It was as it appeared, nothing more, nothing less. That was, of course, if you ignored the rain that always pooled in the cracks and crevices, wearing down the stone. The presence of moss and ivy that added a little green to the drab and gloomy grey. And the story of the road's creation, although unlikely to stir much in a man's heart, was likely still a task of many ardors. It was not as simple, not as straightforward, as it seemed. Nothing ever was, not even the people of Gilneas who often dedicated themselves to a simple way of life. If it was single-minded, it must be simple, mustn't it?

The smell wafted down that pathway and made Ulren snap back to reality, his eyes now focused on the storefront. It had just opened, how lucky! It was a fairly well-designed establishment, with a focus on a fairly rustic and humble feeling, something to make you feel warm and cozy in this rain-drenched graveyard of a city. He went to read the sign. And then he stopped dead in his tracks.

Through a window he saw the face of a man he hated.

Aerick Dagon. What was there to say about that loathsome man? That he had attempted to bury Ulren's way of life out of weak-willed paranoia? That he cared little for his children outside of his firstborn? Or that he kept making himself a nuisance, treating people like trade-goods, every interaction he took was for the sake of commerce? Aerick had no morals. Aerick had no loyalties. And yet, people loved him. Mister Dagon had spent years building his brand, building his core follower base. He basically bought love and adoration. And now, Ulren had the misfortune of realizing that this fairly cozy and good-smelling eatery was funded by that very sniveling merchant. That dreadful man who bought himself into Greymane's court, who turned the Dagon Clan into House Dagon of Gilneas.

It's a shame, since Ulren respected some of the Dagons. At least, he respected some of the older names. Artessa was a personal favorite of his, being one of many reasons his Storm Covenant even existed. They were a stalwart folk chosen by the Grey Sky, born with the blessing of the Light. Even standing here he could see the glint of gold in Aerick's eye, the holy golden glow of the divine. The very same glint that now focused on him.

"Look who it is! I didn't think you'd come back to this city, Lord Ethewick." Lord Dagon feigned respect, bowing his head just slightly. It made Ulren clench his fists in anger when he saw that once again, Aerick's family was nowhere to be seen. None but his eldest son, Santo.

"...Honestly, I didn't think I'd return to this hovel, myself. I've never been an urban man, and I rather find the gloomy atmosphere upsetting. Alas, my hand was forced." He lifted his hand, his slick seal-skin poncho moved out of the way. What was likely a harmless gesture to most revealed the longsword always attached to Ulren's belt, a reminder to Aerick that he was not friendly company.

"I always find your disdain for the gloomy atmosphere of Gilneas proper to be so… peculiar." Aerick's face twitched when he saw Ulren's sword. "Isn't your little club based around the rain and whatnot? Is it not your thing to be gloomy?"

"We're not brooding old men, Lord Dagon. The Covenant has no time to sit around and mope in the rain, nay, we quite enjoy the climate. The gloom of the city is its own doing, and I cannot see why any would willingly subject themselves to it." He looked around, clear disdain painted across his face. He watched the other Lord nervously stroke his thin beard, a petulant look on his face. Neither man liked each other, so it was entirely baffling why Aerick would even bother. "Let us not dance around the issue any further, Dagon. Why are you even speaking to me? I would rather stick you like the pig you are than speak to you as equals."

"The thought is mutual, Ethewick. I'm merely concerned why you'd leave your den to come and mingle with the people you hate." Aerick's frown deepened.

Ulren laughed. "Oh, how narrow-minded of you. I don't hate the people, I hate the city. And, fair enough, I do suppose I do hate some of you. But why I am here? It truly is nothing that should concern a man of your standing. Very little that which I do is beholden to the greater populace."

"Oh, so you're here on behalf of your cult? So then why was your hand forced? You cannot have me believe that you've finally started to fold to that little rat's demands." Aerick snorted at the thought of Ulren bending to "that rat".

"Oh, what? You think Gyre's managed to break me? That's cute, even for you, Dagon. No. Karth is still utterly useless. No, I'm here to meet with a person of great esteem who reached out to me." Then Ulren's face broke from its deepening scowl, a grin now breaking across his face.

"...By the looks of things, this person's involvement with you would cause me great stress. More stress than I need." He shook his head, brushing back a few locks of wet hair. "Have fun with your club, Ethewick. Maybe one day you'll do something worthwhile with your father's inheritance."

The sound of steel being freed from its scabbard and a yelp were all that told the people around the men that Aerick had overstepped his bounds. Cool metal now rested against Lord Dagon's neck as his son scrambled to his defense, a warmaul clutched tightly in the younger Dagon's hands. "Light above, Ulren! You dare draw steel against House Dagon?"

Lord Ulren Ethewick only glared at the son of Dagon. "Mayhaps this will serve as a reminder for your father that his time is limited. That this world tolerates men like him for only so long, before they are washed away. Lightning and Fury, Santo Dagon. Remember that."

For some reason, his words were enough to convince Santo to lower his guard. Just a few seconds passed and Ulren lowered his own weapon, sheathing it much to the befuddlement of Aerick. He brought his hands to his throat, now glaring daggers at his rival. "You scum." Was all he spoke.

Ulren stepped away, his appetite lost. Truly, his inheritance was always what the other nobles threw into his face. Lord Yorick Ethewick, his father, had been a fairly prolific figure. His humanitarian efforts were highly renowned. The Ethewick Officer's Academy and the Greymane Home for Gilneas' Children were just a few establishments his father helped fund and promote. When he died just five years ago, many expected Ulren to use his father's fortune to carry on his work. For a moment, it seemed like he was going to. He donated much of his inheritance to the organizations that mattered. Then, nothing. Ulren was the last heir to House Ethewick, and practically the last member of the family. He had vassals and servants, but the Ethewick estate was mostly treated as a meeting place for his father's many business partners and friends. Friends and partners that did not transfer to Ulren, nor did Ulren particularly wish for that.

All who paid any mind knew what Ulren was interested in. It was a pipe dream that he'd carry on his father's legacy of promoting the Gilnean way of life, because all knew that Yorick's son hated the state of Gilneas. They also knew he was a member of a strange religion, a religion named the Storm Covenant. So it came to no surprise that Ulren turned his estate into a meeting place for the Covenant. Indeed, it appeared that Ulren used his remaining fortune as a way to maintain the Covenant and transform his family home into a monastery. Gyre called him a heretic. Walden and Ashbury paid no attention to him. Godfrey worried only about the effect the Covenant had on Gilnean thought. And Dagon? Dagon saw him as a disappointment. Why? Because Dagon couldn't use him for his own gain.

Now that Ulren thought about it, he realized how much more Dagon would be disappointed by the end of the day. With some newfound spring to his step, the Judge of the Storm Covenant was out to meet with Aara Dathos, once Lady Aara Dagon. The letter came to some surprise to Ulren, as he didn't expect to both hear that Aara left Aerick, and that Aara was willing to speak to him. The last they spoke, Ulren was in a drunken haze and said things he probably didn't mean. It angered her, nonetheless, so when awoke with a black eye he respected her decision and hadn't reached out since. Aara was a respectable woman. Her family quite literally came from nothing, as she was an orphan who made her own name. A peerless singer, a shrewd mother, and a disciplined soldier were just a few of the things Aara could claim.

And now, she wanted to talk to Ulren over tea.

At the same place Aerick Dagon chose to spend his morning. She told him to meet her in this very place, as now he could read the sign. "Ellana's Den." He'd have to ask who Ellana was. The thought passed when he saw her turn the corner. Aara Dathos was a striking figure, even so many long years after the last they spoke. She was nearly as pale-skinned as moonlight in a clear night, her hair glowing like the sun. And her eyes, a stormy grey, like the sky above. She was, by all means, a person of extreme duality by her appearance alone. She was his age and yet appeared the same as she had over a decade ago, proving that some were immovable by the flow of time. Where Ulren had a great black beard years ago, he had shaved the thing down because he hated the flecks of white that had started to appear just a few years prior. And now? His trimmed mustache and goatee were the bone white. It bothered him to no end, considering he wasn't even that old. Maybe old for a soldier, but nobody lived like soldiers in today's Gilneas.

She dressed in a nice coat, just as any self-respecting Gilnean would. And so did the person who accompanied her. Or, the child that did. This child was many opposites to Aara. Skin dark and rich. Hair black as the midnight sky. And eyes of shimmering gold. This came as a surprise to Ulren, as if not for the girl's face, he could've mistaken her as a stranger in Aara's company. But no, this was Aara's only daughter. The reclusive daughter that had rarely been allowed to see the light of day under Aerick's attention. Blind and sickly Sint Dagon stood in front of him, brow furrowed just like her father's.

He could see Aerick blanch and run off in a hurry at the sight of his ex-wife. It made him snicker like a man twenty years younger. Aara saw him after he began to laugh, a look of honest surprise on her face. "Well, that explains why you've not made yourself common in these parts. You've gotten old!"

"So I have. Making trips from the hills has gotten harder as my bones have grown weaker. Alas, I can barely walk by myself! Woe for an old soul…" He shook his head. "A soul as old as you."

"Oh, come off it, Ullie. I'm still in my prime!" She put a hand to her chest, an easy smile crossing her face. The smile did not reach her eyes.

"...What's this about, Aara? We haven't shared a single letter in over ten years, and yet you are standing here as if we're still close. Let's not forget to mention that you've brought the daughter that half of Gilneas swears isn't even real." He strums his fingers against the hilt of his sword.

"Cutting to the chase already, eh? I guess tea's not in the picture for today." The diva shook her head. "Well, I was going to invite you to my last performance. I know we didn't exactly leave off on the best terms, but I wanted you to be there. You were there for the first, you supported me the entire way."

"My father's money did much more than my words ever could. It's a shame that our work was turned against us, so that pig could see you and force you into wedding him." He shook his head. "Honestly, Aara, what were you thinking?"

"You were too slow to open my eyes and Aerick was a better man when he was younger. Then we had Santo, he brought home Dengarl, and then Sint came. What was I to do? Abandon my children?" There was a bitter note in her voice. "It's not like I could leave, anyways. You know how he is."

Quietly, Ulren took Aara's hands into his. "So I do. More than most, embarrassingly enough. I still haven't congratulated you on getting out of there. Strong, brave Aara Dathos. You spat in the face of the entire noble court and sang the entire way out. And it seems you've freed more than yourself." He looked over to Sint, the small and slight girl entirely quiet as he spoke to her mother. "Hey, Sint! I'm talking to you now."

She jumped when he spoke her name. It bothered Ulren that when she looked in the direction of his voice, nothing shifted on her face. No emotion seemed to escape the girl, even though she clearly jumped at the mention of her name. What life had she lived that she needed to hide herself so well? "...Good morrow to you, Lord Ethewick." She gave a curtsy. Who the hell teaches a blind girl to curtsy?

The look on Aara's face was a pained one. A mother's regret, most likely. "And a good morning to you too, Lady Dagon. I'm sorry to have never made your acquaintance. Your Lord father has never seen eye to eye with me, see, so I've just never had the opportunity." He knelt down so that he'd be easier to hear. Aara stifled a sound of protest as he knelt easily into the mud, forgetting for a moment that her old friend was not a man who much cared for appearances. "Your mother and I are old friends, though I've not spoken much to her since she wed your father. Our last conversation must have been before you were born."

"Is that so?" The girl's voice was even and practiced. Much too mature for someone her age, much too practiced for someone supposedly born of the Dagon Clan. "My mother has spoken little of you, my Lord. Do forgive me for being ignorant of you."

"Don't fret, little Lady. I doubt there's much to say about me, I'm not a man of much importance. Well, at least to Gilneas proper." He gave a warm chuckle, unbothered by his friend's choice to not teach her children about him. "The places I go are places the nobility of this place don't care for."

"My father has spoken about you, however." There was a hard edge in her voice when she mentioned Aerick. "He told me to avoid your… cult." The girl spent a moment trying to find the right word for it. The air she put on would've been cute if not for what he knew of House Dagon. So prim and proper. So… sad.

"Oh, the Storm Covenant? I can only wonder why he'd tell you to stay away. We spend much too much time in the rain, throwing mud at one another. Too much fun for stuffy old Aerick." He put a mocking tone to his voice, a tone that made the girl smile. Just a little smile. It was enough for him to keep pushing. "Ho-hum, says the Lord of Dagon in his great black tower, frowning each and every time he saw my lads enjoying themselves. It's not like we cared! We were too busy with revelry to care what such an angry little man thought of us."

"It's improper to say these things." Little Sint Dagon said, her flat and even voice barely able to hide brimming mirth. "Though, it sounds fun. I do see why father forbade me from it, even though my explorations of the city were already so limited."

"Not much to see." He said, waiting for her reaction to his fairly crude joke. Her mask cracked, and she giggled like a girl her age should.

The girl laughed for quite some time, even though his joke wasn't all that good. It was as if it were the best joke she had ever heard, and it was at the expense of her own disability. Wiping her eyes, her eyes slightly widened at the realization that she broke form in front of a noble Lord and her mother. "...My apologies. That was wrong of me."

"Don't be a stick in the mud, little Lady. I doubt your Lord father allowed you to speak to anyone who spoke to you like a normal human being. Such a shame! I hope your mother is doing her best to let you live an actual life!" He stood and swept the mud from his legs. It was good that he wore such a water-resilient outfit. "We all have great potential within us, granted by the Light. It's shameful to stifle any single person's ability to grow for your own sake! What would the Grey have to say about that!? Nothing! The Grey is a storm! But it would at least hit the bloke with lightning for daring to shirk the glory of the Light."

A noble lord came this far and knelt in the mud for her. And he told her that every single person had potential. Each person had power. These were words she had never heard, words that always seemed so far away from her.

Lord Ethewick spent the rest of the morning with her, even going so far to buy her some sweets and a pair of pants. It was an odd thing, but it was something he could tell. Maybe nobody else could see it, but there was something within Sint. A fighter. And a natural born fighter hated frilly skirts, just as little Sint Dagon did.

Ulren accidentally told Sint that hating her father was okay. And that living her life was right.

"Lightning and Fury, little lady. Defy the future laid out before you by man, for only the Light can see your destiny. You alone define the path you take, as the Grey gave you the power to choose. Choice, Lady Dagon. Choice is your greatest weapon. Fight for it."

Those were the words he left Sint with.

Words that she still carried to this day.

The Land of the Goddess, Stonetalon. Today.

"Lightning and Fury…" Sint muttered beneath her breath as she climbed a hill, following a path laid out for her by Elune's Chosen.

"What was that?" The voice of Ludrasa Shieza broke through the silence. "Lightnin' and Fury? Whas' that supposed to mean?"

"I forget that your people's hearing is that good. I suppose it cannot hurt to say. Those words come from the Storm Covenant." Sint's voice was not as flat as it tended to be with Ludra, the elf noting the slight twinge of nostalgia seeping into her words.

"The Storm Covenant, eh? That some sort of group?" The elf now focused on Sint as they climbed up the hill, more than she already had been.

"That's the simplest answer I could give, certainly. But the Storm Covenant possesses much more than being a group. It's a way of life. It's a promise." Sint stopped, closing her eyes. It took her a few moments to search her scattered memories for the words she had long ago put to memory. "...The storm approaching is clad grey in hatred. Be it by heaven or sea, or by heart and soul- War shall ride unbidden with the reigns of devastation. Lightning and Fury. We shall prevail."

"...Strong words. What do they mean?" The elf had taken an earnest interest in this, much to Sint's surprise.

The warrior's sword hand twitched as she thought about it. "Truly, the Covenant has a different meaning for most. But, I always believed it to be a promise that no matter the obstacle, no matter what might stand against an individual, they will forever be able to find a way. It was helpful for me when I was younger."

"And now you're war. Unstoppable and ridin'..." She smirked. "Didn't think you to be the type to think about things like this. Always hit me that you did things mostly… on instinct?"

"Instinct, huh? That's what you think of me?" Sint started to climb the hill again, hiking slowly up its side. "I did not think that you thought me so reckless."

"It's not recklessness. It's just that you always look so confident. I've known this version of you for just what, a handful of hours? And look at you. Everythin' you've said and done has been instant, without doubt." The elf looked up to the sky, a pensive look on her face. "I suppose it makes some sense that it comes from a human. You live for such short times, you don't got time to think things through like we do. And honestly, we probably make a fool of ourselves with the choices we do make. To us, we've got an eternity. Why rush things?"

"These days, that kind of thinking gets you killed." Sint's retort came easy.

The elf didn't bother to fight against that, because Sint was right. "Took my words right outta my mouth, huh. We've got so much longer than you and yours. So maybe forcin' choices to almost look like instinct makes sense, to me."

"It's not instinct." The warrior reached the top of the hill. "Every choice I make is one I take for my path. I am confident in my goals, thus my decisions are made with confidence."

"Even when they're wrong? Like, sendin' Aranor and Ora out as a team. I may not be in charge here, though I certainly think us lookin' to you fer guidance is a smart thing, but I don't think that was smart. They don't know each other. Hell, Aranor clearly don't even like us Horde." The elf began to pester Sint. "Moment he gets the chance, he'll ditch her."

"For an elf, you are rather short-sighted. Ironic, coming from someone who used to be blind." Her words were like steel. "I am willing to put aside my hatred for your people, because I trust that our current adversary is far worse than my feud with you. It is foolish to put yourself before the world, especially when you are out here to defend people. I came to defend my loved ones and my people. For perhaps a selfish mercenary, I can see why such a thought process is absurd."

"...It's like that, then?" Ludrasa grimaced. "Thought you were here to kill more Horde."

"I am." Such a matter-of-fact answer, though it sent a piercing chill through the nightborne's body. Praising Sint as she did, it had little effect. Her heart was already set on a goal and nothing could change that.

Naught but death could, and even death seemed to have a tenuous relationship with her. She watched Sint's grip on her sword tense, though, and looked forward to see what War was watching. Indeed, not far ahead, was exactly what they were looking for. Crouched and barely making an attempt to obscure themselves were a small group of night elves, each of them clad in armor that set them apart from each other. But they weren't what Sint was looking at, at least not now. She was watching the battlefield, just as they were. And Sint's eyes were trained on a figure far in the back.

The battlefield was a horrifying one for Ludrasa, as she saw Ora-Ur and what probably was Ko'hea facing off against a dreadful enemy. Ora fell to the ground and just barely managed to fend the monstrosity off. "Sint, don't you think we should get down there? Sint?"

Whatever she said wasn't getting to Sint. Neither did the tallest and most elegant of the group of night elves, who had called Sint's name the moment Ludrasa did. Both the nightborne and the night elf looked at each other in surprise, and both collected a look of concern. The night elf ran forward, closing the gap quickly.

Where Ludrasa was the opposite of graceful, this elf was the embodiment of it. Clad in sleek and form-fitting silver armament, she carried the elegance of Elune as clearly as she carried its wrath. A pair of black eyes looked down at Sint, the dark hallmarks of the Night Warrior crossing the sentinel. The sentinel quirked a snowy brow in concern, placing a slender hand on the human's shoulder. She was then thrown back a few inches by a stroke of magic. She lifted her blade, pointing it at the figure pacing in the back of the army. "I recognize that one. That one is the one that killed Thuller."

"Thuller?" Ludrasa glared at Sint. Such a strange thing to expect her to know what that means.

The kaldorei apparently did. "So Thuller is dead, and Toth'arg is confirmed destroyed. The first of many to fall, thanks to you." Her words did not reach Sint.

Sint's body began to shake like a leaf in the wind. Her grip continued to tighten, the leather grip of her sword protesting against the force. Then a small shimmer started to glow around her. "I see him and I see red. What is his name?"

"We only know him as Malad." The night elf looked on, confusion evident in her face.

The answer they both got was a growl, as the typically so composed Shadow of War's face contorted into a snarl. It was unlike anything Ludrasa had ever seen. Anger. Rage. These things were known to her, of course, but to see them affect someone so rapidly was frightening. At first the shimmer was bronze, then gold… then it started to gather white flames. It was as if Sint was burning in front of them, hot with maddening rage. The ground began to melt. The air grew hot and unbearable. This heat. This sweltering heat. Oppressive, world-shattering. It was War's hatred. Ludrasa looked back to the night elf. "What do you know about Malad?"

"It has a masculine Gilnean accent. It, however, does not consider itself male or female. Nor does it consider itself human. My battalion has encountered it a few times, as it is the First Blade of the Dark Lord's army. It thinks itself a death god." The sentinel bowed her head to Ludrasa. "Apologies for the strange meeting, shal'dorei. I am Sentinel-Captain Tarro Stardew, master of the Silver Battalion."

"Yer the chick Aranor's been tryin' to get us to meet! Good to meet, I guess! Surprised you ain't tryin' to skewer me." Ludrasa threw up her hands in mock surrender.

"We have no quarrel, child of Suramar. I can tell your hands are not stained with ashes, and for that, I shall spare you. Prove otherwise, however, and you shall join the many who painted the Horde crimson with my people's blood." She was polite, at the very least, when she threatened people.

"What do we do about her? She's losin' it." Ludrasa jerked her thumb at Sint.

Tarro stepped back. "For now, we watch. We will intervene if necessary. I do not know what troubles her, and this power she displays tells me to not concern myself about it. Such things shall only give my Battalion hardship."

"Convenient excuse to stay out of her way." The nightborne snorted, attempting to put some levity into a dangerous situation. She found herself retreating further back, each time a new pulse of magic left Sint's body. It genuinely looked extremely painful, the veins in her neck and on her forehead evident as she bared her teeth in a deep snarl. The gold in her eyes was flickering white, just like the flames around her, until they simply changed color. The moment they did, Ludrasa swore the world was going to shake apart. The pressure that had mounted shattered, causing the ground beneath them to rumble and break. Sint fell to a knee, but she never once started to yell. Her eyes never averted. This infinite fury was targeted towards one thing, and it made her surrender all else. No tears. No cries in pain. Just a word ending anger, beyond any anger she'd seen.

She didn't know why, and it didn't seem that Sint did either. She couldn't be that mad that that ghost stole her kill, could she?

Such musing was broken as she watched Sint rise from her kneeling position, practically covered in a raging inferno. She lifted her sword upwards, angling it as if she were about to throw it. There was a point when that blade no longer represented a mortal instrument, turning into a pure white javelin of Light. For some reason, as Sint held this near divine weapon in hand, she swore she heard a man laughing. As she tracked Malad's movements, he grew closer to the fight between the other 'Blade' and Ko'hea, Ora-ur, and Aranor who had just grappled the monstrosity. "Sint, wait! What about the others! If you throw that thing, they'd be in the impact!"

"Silence, child of Suramar. Just watch." Tarro's voice was reverent.

Ludrasa couldn't do much else, it seemed, so she complied. It was an awe-inspiring sight, even if it was terrifying. A human, a mere human, grasped the power of the divine. The potential of mortals was beyond anything she could comprehend.

Then she flung that sword so hard that it rended open the dark clouds above. The black moon loomed above them as a white streak was as a comet through the air, striking the ground with the force of a groundquake. Then Ludrasa watched, wordlessly, as Sint dove from the edge of the cliff, her magical power carrying her body to the crater where her sword now struck from. "Damn… she'd make Sargeras blush."

Said remark did not reach Sint, just like all the words before. For some inexplicable reason, she had felt a rage like no other fill her body. The last she felt such a thing was when she awoke from the stupor that was Warrior, hearing her wife call her name. Such things, love and rage, they were not familiar to Sint. Thus, they always burned far more passionately when they came on strong. Her love was exaggerated. Her anger was blown far out of proportion. But today? It was real. She didn't feel as detached from this rage as she had from all emotion she felt before.

And she didn't know why. Perhaps that confusion is what truly broke her composure, why she now rose from a crater of her own making with a blade pointed at a servant of the Dark Lord. The battle no longer raged around them, as each and every fighter within the Horde and the Black legion stopped to see what happened. Even the four who quarreled in the center of the battlefield stopped their desperate struggle. Lightning struck. Fury arose. War rode unbidden with the reigns of devastation.

Sint came by heaven and sea. Her heart and soul now were laid bare.

With white fury, she looked Malad in its masked face, the wraith taken aback by her sudden arrival. "Who are you?"

"My daughter! What a surprise."