Chapter Two

"This is very good!" she said, her mouth full and her words barely distinguishable. Varassil had never tasted Kaldorei cooking before, and she was beginning to like it.
"You should try it when I remember to remove it from the stove in time" said Isólia, sitting in front of Varassil in her small home.
They were inside the small tree in which Isólia lived. The tree was young, and so not very big, but to Varassil it seemed like a city. She looked around in awe and saw a small bed, much like hers, fire burning in a stove, and a desk on which lay many wands and stones, faintly glowing as if their energies were almost exhausted. Behind her was a doorless doorway which led to another room, decorated with green and purple leaves. A stairway going upwards was to her left, while the desk and stove were to her right. In front of her was the door through which she entered the tree. In the center was a table, with two opposite chairs where she and her aunt sat.
"I never knew An had any children. She never wrote..." Isólia said and looked down. "Do you have any brothers or sisters, Varassil?" she interrogated.
"No, just me..." Varassil answered. "I didn't know my mother had a sister, now I wonder what else was hidden from me."
"All shall be revealed in time, child. Either way, enjoy your pie. I'm going to take a quick shower."
"Alright, thank you"
"You're most welcome! Well, how could I not let my last remaining family member have a taste of my world famous pie?"
Isólia stood up and walked upstairs. Varassil waited a few moments and then went to the desk to examine the glowing stones. There was a book, titleless.
She picked it up and opened it to the last page. As the page was empty, she turned some pages until she saw a written one.
The page read, in soft handwriting:

Dear Anquen,
As I come to realize the horrible fate of Quel'thalas, I also realize that my little sister, which I have not seen for many years, will remain unseen for eternity.
I shall never forget the moment you passed your first examination and started on your way to priesthood, as I was standing behind you to guide you. Nor will I forget watching you from the bushes as you had your first kiss. There are many moments I cannot forget, for they are burned forever in my mind.
I ache that in the worst of moments I was not there to guide and save you, little one.
Now that you have left this world, I must let go of my disappointment and allow your eternal rest be peaceful.
Despite your betrayal of me and our people and despite the fact that you never wrote even a single letter to let me know how was life in the High Elven kingdom, I bear no grudge against you.
I forgive you, sister.
I pray that when it is time for you to become one with the Moon and meet the evergraceful Elune, she will forgive you and embrace your soul.
Loving, Isólia.

Varassil shut the book slowly as tears began flowing from her eyes. She heard footsteps coming back down, and she returned to the task of eating her pie.

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Varassil never expected the book's title to mean anything to her. She never expected her mother's long lost book to set her, even though unknowingly, on the path of the moon.
At first she carried the book as the last piece of her mother's essence. Then she opened it to see Anquen's familiar handwriting again.
Little did she know that an old note made by a young priestess at the side of the page would send her on a journey from one cover to the other.
For two weeks she lived with her aunt in her small tree home, but only now the back of the last page was revealed to her.

Disappointed, she closed the book and put it aside. There was nothing more it could teach her. She looked up at the great statue in the center of the pool and closed her eyes.
Her thirst for magic was long since gone and now she was standing in the great temple of the moon.
Varassil lifted her hands up as if she was holding a bowl of water. She stood there like the statue of Elune. The statue had little waterfalls surrounded by tiny streams of tranquil blue energy. She felt the water pouring out of her non-existent bowl and the energy surrounding her body, spreading purple mist around her.
Footsteps disturbed her concentration. Many footsteps.
A group of sentinels entered the building, wearing their usual armor and weapons. In the middle walked a fair Night Elven woman, wearing a glittering white dress and a weapon much like the sentinels had.
She stopped walking when she saw Varassil standing in the temple. The sentinels stopped as well and moved to allow the woman some space.
They began whispering among themselves and the woman eventually said: "Silence! Let us ask the woman."
Then she turned to Varassil and asked: "Greetings, I am High Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind. Do my eyes fool me, or are you one of the Quel'dorei?".
Varassil stood in front of the majestic priestess speechless. She became nervous and began breathing heavily, nearly fainting. Unable to move even a single muscle, she remained standing, looking down, afraid to look at Tyrande's face.

"How dare you come to this sacred place, traitor?" said Tyrande with visible contempt, reaching for her blade.

"Well? Answer!"

The sentinels all drew their weapons as if they were commanded to, looking at Varassil like she was a hated enemy. "Shall we deal with her, mistress?" one of them asked.

"Wait a minute" she replied. "What is this?"

She circled Varassil and picked up the book. She looked at it and said: "Does this belong to you?"

Varassil barely managed to move her head far enough to nod.

A shout came from outside: "Var, where are you? By Elune, you better be in one piece when I find you!"

Isólia entered the building. She gasped when she saw an army of sentinels gathered in one spot. Something was clearly wrong and much to her misfortune, she knew what it was.

She made her way through the crowd of sentinels, pushing them. "Excuse me, this is urgent!" she cried.

When she was finally beyond the barrier of elven protectors and standing in the circle they formed, she darted to stand between Tyrande and Varassil.

"Please, noble priestess, do not harm this girl."

"Quel'dorei are to be killed on sight, you know that!"

"She is kin. Please, I have lost too many members of my family to this stupid war."

Tyrande felt her sorrow. She showed her the book and asked: "How did she get this, and why is she here?"

"I gave it to her. It belonged to Anquen, my sister." Isólia replied, hoping that the priestess would leave them be.

"And what is she doing with it?" asked Tyrande.

"She was a mage until two weeks ago."

"What is she now, a priest?"

"Yes. And quite a good one."

"Oh, I remember Anquen... But what does she have to do with the poor priestess?" she said, pointing at Varassil.

"Varassil is Anquen's daughter... The only one we know of, anyway..." said Isólia.

Tyrande paused for a few seconds in amazement, then sheathed her weapon. The sentinels noticed her blade being removed, and removed theirs as well. Isólia sighed with relief and stepped aside.

Tyrande reached to shake Varassil's hand, but by the time she came closer and said: "I apologize for judging so quickly. You are most welcome to stay in the Temple.", Varassil had already fainted.

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In her fear-induced slumber she saw her home. Silvermoon was in spring and the sun was high above the grassy field in which she played. A young girl at the time, she was surrounded by her fellow Elves. They tossed balls around and chased each other about. Trees were casting their shades and the nearby forest was full of wildlife sounds.

There, beyond the mighty Elfgate of Quel'thalas, the Elves could play in the blissful ignorance of the events yet to follow.

Her mother, Anquen, was there as well. She stood in the distance, spreading a great white sheet over the grass. Out of a big woven basket she took plates stacked with food for the children, along with four glass jugs, reflecting the bright sunlight in a dance of twinkles.

She placed the food and drinks over the sheet and called for young Varassil.

When she came near, her mother told her: "Var, sweetheart, call the other children please. Lunch is served."

She smiled, and a smile on Varassil's faced followed. "Yes, mother" she said, and immediately ran off to deliver her message.

The children consumed their meal rather quickly, and promptly returned to their games.

Varassil, however, preferred to stay with her mother. She didn't know that her beautiful childhood would last not but a few decades.

She was sitting on the white sheet when her mother came closer and sat behind her. Anquen had a brush in her hand, and she started brushing Varassil's hair. She hugged her daughter and pulled her to sit on her lap. Varassil leaned her head back and placed it on her mother's shoulder.

She noticed her mother was wearing an earring. The earring was made of a purple gem with a golden lining around it. In the center a piece of gold was embedded, displaying a strange symbol.

"What is that earring, mother? I've never seen it before" asked Varassil.

"That was given to me a long time ago by a very loving person. It is very dear to me" her mother answered.

"Did father give it to you?" Varassil explored further.

"No, not your father."

"Who, then?"

"Some things in the past are better forgotten, Varassil. Leave it be."

Disappointed by her mother's reluctance to answer, Varassil fell silent. She stared at the earring, trying to decipher the meaning of the strange symbol. Unsuccessful, she eventually fell asleep in her mother's arms.

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She regained consciousness in her aunt's home in Darnassus. She lay on her bed, her book resting on her nightstand.

She opened it to look at the comments made by her mother about Elune and the path of worshipping her. The content was not important, she merely wanted to examine the last memory she had left of her mother.

The door slid open and Isólia entered the room carrying a tray loaded with homemade food and drinks.

"Don't worry, you won't be harmed here" she soothed Varassil, who seemed about to burst in tears.

"I should go back to Stormwind" she cried, clearly unhappy with her decision.

"Why would you want to do that? Please don't leave" Isólia tried to persuade her. She continued: "I spoke to priestess Whisperwind. You are most welcome to stay and she will personally see that you receive proper training."

"Really? That is... I would love that." said Varassil, a smile spreading slowly across her face.

Isólia smiled too, and hugged Varassil with love.

"Your official training only begins next week." she informed Varassil. "And don't you dare run off once it is complete!"

"I won't" Varassil reassured Isólia.

Three days later, in the beginning of the following week, Varassil entered the Temple again.

Isólia sat there, waiting. When she entered, Isólia stood up and greeted her: "Priestess Whisperwind is not here, unfortunately."

Smiling, she said: "This does not delay your training though. Follow me."

Varassil followed, knowing what was about to happen. She has read about it in her book. She was scared and nervous of what was about to happen, but prepared. Thousands of priestesses have done it before her, and so she can too.

The walk seemed to last an eternity, going up the spiral stairway inside the Temple. They walked more until they reached a large opening on the other side. The opening lead to a long path hanging over the temple gardens, leading to a building on the other side of the garden. Many plants grew in that garden, but she was not yet skilled enough to tell which were for healing and which for beauty.

In the center of the garden rested a moonwell, a magical pool of sacred energy stored in glowing blue water. Here her thirst for magic was non-existant and she clearly felt the effect of the moonwell on her. It inspired hope and replenished her energies. Energies she could use for either healing or killing. The same energy that inspired wounds to close and portals to open. The same energy that brought doom upon her people, and peace upon the Children of the Stars.

Finally reaching the other side, they entered the building. Eager to begin her training, but at the same time terrified of what she is about to see, Varassil shook in both excitement and fear.