"You're going to have to pay taxes. You know that right?"

Liila Dragonlily stands in front of a multistory home near the heart of Zuldazar. It's one of the nicer areas in the city, and the fact that it is mysteriously up for grabs is something Liila doesn't bother asking about. She knows the Amani troll beside her has connections—she shares half of them with him—and that he has likely used those to pull a few strings.

Haa'aji, however, entertains her question, rhetorical as it is, as though it is a legitimate worry. "I got the funds. Even if they hike shit up. And worse comes to worst, I just mug you."

He reaches out as he speaks and tousles her hair, knocking her bun loose and leaving it an utter mess before he's done. With an eye roll, Liila simply combs her fingers through her dark red locks and then twists them back up and into place. After years with Haa'aji, she knows better than to try anything fancy with her hair. Even if he's not the one to mess it up, things have a way of going wrong or simply happening, and it is better to be able to roll with the punches.

Despite being Amani, Haa'aji is a little sinewy—and hunched—compared to other forest trolls, though he is still bigger than any Darkspear. Over a year of nearly starving and having to try to make himself as small as possible while evading the Scourge has had lasting ramifications.

Liila has suffered the same. She, too, is a bit more wiry than most elves thanks to over a year of torture and starvation and being on the run, but at least here in the Zandalari capital, all elves look tiny. Haa'aji, though, he stands out.

On their walk over to this fancy house that has fallen into only mild disrepair, they get more than a few judgmental looks. Liila is still tempted to sic some shadows on a few nearby Zandalari who are watching them suspiciously, but she refrains.

The last thing Haa'aji needs here is to be seen as some weakling who needs someone else to protect him.

Anyway, he can handle himself.

And perhaps they are simply staring not because they don't want some stranger moving into their neighborhood, but because they are not used to seeing a high elf and Amani troll be the best of friends.

Or it could be that the onlookers are surprised because they are a trio, rounded out with a fairly young Zandalari child.

Chi'rhi.

She idly wonders if any of the people they've passed think that Chi'rhi is kidnapped. If they do, they've done a miserable job of looking out for the young one, though perhaps they can tell that she is far too delighted in their company to have been stolen away from a loving home.

So far there has been one person in the neighborhood to recognize Chi'rhi, one of her father's coworkers, so to speak.

When the Horde had first made its appearance in Zandalar and the city inns were full of newcomers, Chi'rhi's parents—a fairly prominent witch doctor and a member of the city guard—had opened up their home to allow Liila and Haa'aji to stay, room and board covered all for the simple exchange of stories because of how much their daughter longed to hear of the outside world.

So the duo had come back to that same home, even when there was room in the inns, so that they could tell a little girl the harrowing tales of all their adventures. The witchdoctor and his mate had enjoyed the stories, too, as well as being kept in the loop with what was happening within Zandalar.

And then the attack had happened. The witchdoctor had fallen attempting to defend his emperor and the city guard had fallen defending their house and the neighborhood children and invalids who had tried to hide there from the Alliance as they swept through.

Haa'aji and Liila had arrived in time to help put out the flames and save those trapped inside, but not to save one of the bravest mothers they had ever known.

Chi'rhi had been taken to an aunt, and Liila and Haa'aji had gone back to saving the world.

And then, when they had shown up to see how the little one was handling her grief, they had learned that her aunt had dumped her at an orphanage.

Well.

Haa'aji had nearly burned down the aunt's house, but Liila convinced him that there were better ways to deal with this. After all, a fire could jump from one house to another, spread far out of their control. Slowly whittling down the aunt's reputation and bleeding her of the wealth she had accrued until she lost the house, however…

That was far more fitting.

Matters had been set in motion to handle the aunt, and they had gone to find Chi'rhi.

It had taken some time, as there were so many new orphanages popping up around Zulduzar, as the ones already present were so filled that they couldn't handle all the new children who had been left homeless in wake of the Alliance's attack. Records had been burned and new attempts to keep track of who was where were abysmal.

Finally, they had decided to call on Jani, the keeper of the discarded, to see if the Loa could help them find the missing child.

The Loa had taken them down dozens of back alleys until they ended up on an obscure little street. There, they had found Chi'rhi, next to a pile of trash that she had gathered, trying to build a proper offering to Jani all by herself, anything she could so that she wouldn't be lonely anymore.

When she'd seen Haa'aji and Liila, she'd burst into tears, running to them and gripping Haa'aji's legs so tightly he had winced.

Liila had been pleased that, when they turned to leave, Jani had been watching them, that typical grin in place before the Loa darted off to tend to other precious and lost creatures in his city.

They had found a better place for Chi'rhi to stay, but she was miserable. Her caretakers told them that she waited for them to come back, and she had nightmares that they fell to enemies, just like her parents had. She had borne witness to her mother's demise, which only made the fears and dreams worse.

Both Haa'aji and Liila had wanted to do something more for the child, to be able to calm her fears, to guide her through the pains of loss that they were intimately familiar with.

So when the dust had settled after fighting N'zoth, Haa'aji had decided. He would not leave Chi'rhi alone anymore. He would take her in and see to it that she gets the life she deserves, one with peace and happiness replacing her anxieties.

Liila is happy to help him and their newfound friend to find a place they can call their own.

Chi'rhi skips ahead of them and back, so many times that Liila is sure the child has gone four times the distance they have.

Now, as she returns from her latest loop ahead, Haa'aji squats down and motions her over. When she's next to him, he takes her hand in his. "Let's go, hmm?"

The little troll seems confused a moment, before Haa'aji hoists her up onto his shoulder and starts toward the house. He looks even thinner when he's not hunched over.

Liila follows after them, as Haa'aji explores the house room by room. There is ample space for more than a dozen creatures to live here comfortably, the rooms spacious, with a walled in courtyard in the back and an overgrown garden to one side and plenty of room for play. In the center is a broken fountain. There are a few places that will require repair, but for the most part, the house is perfect, if not a little big.

Haa'aji sets Chi'rhi down to explore on her own and lets himself drop back into the hunch he's grown so accustomed to.

Liila never saw him during his Amani warrior days, but she can imagine the sight he must have been, fearsome and strong. Though, as he's told her many a time, he always wanted to be a rogue anyway, so fate just helped him with a few nudges here and there.

He lightly hits her on the shoulder and motions with his chin. They go back into the house and stop at a decently sized room that has a small window to overlook the overgrown garden. "I figure this'll be your spot."

For the first time in a long time, Liila is surprised. She blinks, looking up at him to make sure she's heard right, and he gives her a scowl.

"Ya got no damned reason to look like that, and ya know it."

What she knows is that he knows very well that she has a home in Orgrimmar, a little house and an alchemy shop she shares and runs with the help of her guild mates—former guild mates. He has mentioned it to her several times, about how she'll be leaving him and Chi'rhi, and she'll have to make regular trips to visit. How she'll be spending more time in between places than at either.

She's been surprised by how lonely the notion is that she will not be able to see him so often. Twice, she's nearly fallen to tears because of it.

"Ya don't really think I was gonna ditch ya just because I'm settlin' down, did ya?" He fakes like he might smack her on the head, his hand swooshing by far enough that there was never any danger. "Ya supposed to be the smart one…" Shaking his head, he points to the window. "I never had a green thumb, so ya can do what ya want with that, and train the kids to help or not. And if ya need more to do, like a shop, I'm sure we can find something here. Whisper's got the one in Orgrimmar covered so it's not like ya be leavin' you're clientele high and dry."

Liila arches her brow, pausing to brush back some hair that's come loose from her bun. She peers out the window, at the small strip of a flower bed, mind automatically assessing and deciding what plants could best go there, based on the light it's likely to get due to the high walls around it.

The idea that Haa'aji has all but decided she will be here with him…

N'zoth was easily the worst thing they have ever fought. They have battled other old gods, but none that were free of their shackles. None that could get so easily into their minds, see so easily all the past traumas they have struggled to come to terms with and seen exactly how to reopen those old wounds and leave them raw and bare as though they have just happened.

Haa'aji has never talked about all that went on before he met Liila, but she knows that he was exiled and that he spent months alone and struggling to survive.

With the way N'zoth was able to pick apart Liila's own defenses, she doesn't doubt that Haa'aji is feeling alone, that if she leaves him now, it will play into something that the wicked God has been whispering in his ear for months.

Even if she doesn't know what the god has said, she can guess well enough.

If she goes back to Orgrimmar, she will struggle with her own ghosts, but she will have so many familiar faces to help her. Haa'aji will be alone, a stone's throw away from where the Amani representatives reside. She knows he knows at least two of those who are here—he's cursed both their names several times as he avoids the place.

He wants to do good, to do right by Chi'rhi and not remove her from the places that have warm memories of her parents, but the cost to his own well-being will be high.

And anyway, Liila will miss him terribly if she goes. Chi'rhi, too.

"Haa'aji, are you adopting me?"

"Woman, I adopted ya fifteen years ago, or did ya forget?"

As though she could.

They met during the darkest days of both of their lives, when the Scourge had run rampant and freely across Lordaeron and Quel'thalas. Through all the madness, it was Haa'aji who had kept them together, kept them going. Liila had given up hope before she'd met him, had surrendered herself to a miserable fate. Haa'aji, though, he had never stopped fighting, and he had helped to rekindle the fight inside of her.

He was her best friend in all of Azeroth and beyond. Something they both liked to say, considering they had been beyond. Many times.

He was her rock, something sure that she knew she could fall back on no matter what happened.

With their guild, Impervious, they had fought scores of enemies who had threatened to destroy Azeroth, stopped apocalypse after apocalypse. They had lost friends along the way, but somehow they had both made it through everything to stand where they were now.

Ragnaros, C'thun, Yogg'saron, Deathwing… It was a long list of foes that they had conquered, ending most recently, of course, with N'zoth.

Even if that last fight didn't quite feel like a victory.

Liila wasn't sure if the fight against the old god had actually been worse than the others, if his mind games had really been on some new level they hadn't been ready for, or if the whole lot of them had simply been burnt out after going through crisis after crisis after crisis. After answering the call to save the world Every. Single. Time.

N'zoth had barely been dead an hour—assuming an old god can truly die—when the messages had started coming in. Help was needed.

Help with the hunt for Sylvanas. Help with reconstruction. Help with the giant sword sticking out of the planet that was still very much there.

They had all fought so long, so hard for this world—given up so much—and it was never enough. Most of them didn't even feel like they were still members of the world, instead like they were some sort of guardians that existed outside of it, able to watch it go by but never participate in the simple things that made the world worth saving.

Impervious had decided, collectively, to retire. The few newer members who didn't feel the weight of years of expectations had gone off to search for other guilds, but most of the original members—those still standing—had decided to go carve out places for themselves. Many of them wanted to go back to the places they'd already had before the crises had started compounding and coming faster and faster, forcing them to give up their day jobs in order to champion their other causes more directly.

Surely there would be others who could answer the call. And as an older goblin in their guild had muttered, most of them were getting too old for this shit.

With that settled, their days of righting all the wrongs of the world behind them, Haa'aji had come back for Chi'rhi, with Liila in tow.

She had been so glad to see them, so happy to run around with them and tell them of her own small adventures. As the day had come to an end, though, she had grown subdued, and both had been able to tell it was more than simple wear from a long day.

"When will you be back next?" She had asked, as though she was already saying goodbye.

"Well, gotta go first," Haa'aji had told her. Even as Chi'rhi had perked up a little, unsure if she wanted to put all her hope into them staying for a while, Haa'aji had sat on the ground and beckoned her over. "I was thinkin' of staying here for a bit. Wonderin' if you'd like to stay with me—us." He'd motioned to Liila and her nod had been the fuel to feed the hope in Chi'rhi's fragile heart.

Liila and Haa'aji had stayed with Chi'rhi's caretakers for almost a week as they smoothed out plans and discussed what they could do about housing and the like. Empress Talanji was thrilled to have them stay, of course, and that had helped substantially.

However, even as they had looked at houses, Haa'aji had always found something wrong with them. Though his reasons were always different, Liila came to the conclusion that the real problem was that they were too small. Even the ones that were more than enough room for three or five people.

"You want to help others, don't you?"

And he had confessed that he had.

Haa'aji had been appalled by the orphanage system, by the people taking in children just to use them, indifferent if they traumatized them more. Liila had suggested he adopt a couple others, that Chi'rhi would likely enjoy having others to play with.

They had consulted Chi'rhi of course.

She had been so excited to help, telling them quickly of other children she had met who were scared and lonely just like she had been, who she hadn't wanted to leave behind. Together they had made a list. When she was done there were eleven names, and as she had looked at it, she had deflated a little when one of her caretakers had softly told her that Haa'aji and Liila could not adopt every orphan in Zandalar.

Well.

Haa'aji had taken that as a challenge, and Liila had never seen him fail one of those yet.

As of now, he had located nine of the eleven children that Chi'rhi had suggested, directed them to places they could go to while they waited for the home situation to be sorted out. Liila didn't doubt he'd find the other two before the end of the week.

This home was going to be filled to the top with little lost souls, and despite the chaos that seemed to follow both Haa'aji and Liila, she could think of no better shepherd, even if a few former guild leaders were likely rolling over in their graves at the idea of Haa'aji looking after kids.

When Liila looks at Haa'aji now, he is inspecting a small crack in the wall, pressing near it to see if it shakes to assure himself that the foundation is sound. She knows he is still waiting for an answer, though he hasn't pressed her. He can be quite patient when he wants to be, and he usually does when it comes to her.

"You know I don't cook," Liila says.

"The point is to save the children, not poison them." Haa'aji cackles. "Me 'n the kids will take care of that. Ya can be a good influence, teach 'em stuff. Like magic, if they've got it."

"I'm a priestess."

"The Light's magic, ain't it?" Haa'aji shrugs. "Or not. Ya can help with learning letters and languages and all that. You taught me well enough." His last words are in fluent thalassian, without a hint of an accent.

For the first time since they've come here, Haa'aji seems a little nervous, as though he is suddenly realizing that surprising his best friend with a place in his new house with his new gaggle of children might not be the sort of thing one springs as a surprise.

Before Liila can reply, Chi'rhi comes running in.

"Ya left me!"

"I did not!" Haa'aji cries, mock horrified. He kneels and rustles Chi'rhi's hair, though she bats his hand away and combs her fingers through it to try to fix it. Her ponytail is a little crooked, and he helps her take it down so that they can straighten it out. "I be right here, showing Auntie Elf where she can stay, if she wants to."

He looks back up at Liila, in time with Chi'rhi, who is trying very hard to stay still so that her hair can be fixed, though there is clear excitement in her eyes. What Haa'aji has said is processing. "We're gonna live here." Liila nods. Hope feels her little features. "All of us?"

"We are," Liila replies. She motions to Haa'aji who is holding a list of familiar names. "All of us."

With a happy shriek, Chi'rhi starts jumping up and down, twirling and hugging Haa'aji, who narrowly lifts his chin in time to prevent the little troll from impaling herself on his large tusks. Then, not listening as Haa'aji warns her to be careful, she runs over and flings her arms around Liila, gripping her in a tight hug.

As she lets go, she goes back to her hopping. "I gotta pick my room!"

Haa'aji rises up, still holding Chi'rhi's hair tie, and sighs. "Now she's leaving us."

Liila stands there. Her ear twitches as she hears Chi'rhi running up the stairs. Already, she is thinking about the reasons this won't work. Her night terrors are the main reason. She's been doing better, even after N'zoth's mind games, but she still has bad days. They are infrequent, but she doesn't doubt that it will be terrifying for children to wake up in the dead of night to shrieking—especially after the attack on the city. She already knows that they will be afraid when Haa'aji tells them to stay away from Liila until she can ground herself and realize she's in the present and not still trapped by the Scourge.

She is afraid of what will happen if Chi'rhi or any other child wakes her during a bad night, and she doesn't recognize them, if she instead sees the man who tormented her for so long.

She is afraid of coming to her senses to see a twisted and broken body, mangled by her own hands as she tries to defend herself from a long dead threat.

Liila is still ashamed of how unstable she was when she and Haa'aji had joined the Forsaken, so many years ago. In one of her worst flashbacks, she strangled someone in her present. The only reason she hadn't killed them then and there was because he was already dead. It had taken a considerable amount of magic to restore his vocal cords enough so that he could gripe at her for her 'panic attack'. As though that was all it had been.

"We put a lock on ya door," Haa'aji offers. "Sound proof the walls."

The fact that he has already thought of this…

"You glorious, meticulous madman," she whispers, lightly thwacking the back of her knuckles against his arm. She looks toward Haa'aji, the skin around her eyes crinkling as she smiles.

He flexes.

"I found it!" Chi'rhi yells from somewhere overhead. "There's already somebody here though."

Even as Liila's brow pinches, Haa'aji steeples his fingers, pointing to her briefly before starting out into the hall and toward the stairs. "I meant to ask earlier, but how good are ya at exorcisms?"

Liila dashes after him.

Of course this place would be haunted.

No wonder it's available.


Haa'aji has a suitor.

There is a very handsome Zandalari guard who likes to swing by and talk, help look after the kids on his down time, and help with house repairs. Liila has caught him fixing his hair twice before coming over to the house to ask after Haa'aji, and Liila can't help but think that they are an adorable pair.

By now, all of the kids have picked up on the attempts made at flirting, as have pretty much anyone who can overhear any of Haa'aji and Zen'taki's conversations. It helps that the guard was a friend of Chi'rhi's mother.

Haa'aji, however, seems to have the awareness of a dull rock.

At least, that is what Liila has thought for these last few weeks.

Until she overhears Chi'rhi and a few other children talking just outside her window. They seem to have come to the conclusion that the soundproofing works both ways for her room, and she has not yet corrected them. She likes to hear their conversations, the way they are growing more confident, more secure. It brings her peace, even if it is eavesdropping.

"Ya gotta be gentle with Auntie Elf," Chi'rhi is telling another child, and it is all Liila can do to not reveal herself and ask just why Chi'rhi thinks she is so frail. "She got hurt real bad, abandoned and left behind."

"But it ain't abandoning her if Papa Haa'aji marries Papa Zen'taki," one of the boys protests. Hezzak. "Then she got more friends."

"But she'll be reminded she lost her own tribe," Chi'rhi says, her voice soft and sad.

"We be her tribe now."

"It's not the same," Chi'rhi insists. "She even had a mate, yeah? But he didn't want her anymore after she got hurt. If Papa Haa'aji gets married, she'll be a wheel."

"Why a wheel?" Hezzak asks.

"I don't know, it's what they call it," Chi'rhi explains with the confidence that only a child can have.

Liila's throat clenches and her eyes unfocus. While a part of her whispers that this is the inevitability that eavesdropping leads to, that it is her own fault she has been wounded here, more of her is angry. She has set aside her past, moved on from it, even resisted most of N'zoth's whispers about it.

And yet…

For Chi'rhi to know about her 'mate', her former fiancé, someone had to tell her.

And Haa'aji is the only one who could have. And if he's told Chi'rhi, who else has he told?

All this time, she has thought that her staying was a way to help him—help them both.

Now, though, for the first time it occurs to her that maybe Haa'aji just didn't think she would be okay without him.

She slips out of her room and up to his. She is ready to knock, despite the door being ajar, when she sees through that sliver of an opening that Haa'aji is very much preoccupied.

With Zen'taki.

They are in the far corner, wrapped up in each other and the shadows, and completely oblivious to the world beyond.

She quickly turns and goes back downstairs.

It doesn't make sense. She has asked Haa'aji about Zen'taki, about if he thinks there could be something there, and Haa'aji has always blown her off, assured her that he's not looking for anything. That he thinks he'll go to his grave a handsome bachelor, unbound by anyone.

Well, aside from her and the kids, of course.

It has never occurred to her that maybe she is in the way.

In the past, others have told her that they are too codependent, that their friendship borders on unhealthy. That just because they had to be unerringly loyal to one another in the past does not mean that such a thing is the way for the future. Loyalty can be blind, and that can lead to injury on both sides.

For the first time in a long time, N'zoth's words come to mind, almost as clearly as if he were still there, whispering in her head.

There is no place for you here.

"Auntie Elf?" Hezzak's small voice draws her from her thoughts and she blinks, schooling her expression quickly to one of mild curiosity.

"Yes?"

"Can you show me how to draw those runes again?"

"Of course," she says, smiling gently and doing all she can to pretend she does not want to curl up and sob. "Where do you want to settle down to practice?"


It has been almost a week since she saw Haa'aji and Zen'taki together. If Haa'aji knows that she knows, he is waiting for her to bring it up, and she hasn't had the courage to. Not yet.

And considering the fact that Haa'aji always knows everything, there's no way he doesn't.

He's leaving things up to her, and she wishes he wouldn't. She wishes that, if she is really the one standing between himself and a happy relationship, that he would just tell her.

As it is, she has no idea how to breach the subject herself.

When Liila hears the knock on the door, they are about halfway through dinner. Two of the boys are badgering Haa'aji to tell them again about the time he and Liila befriended the great Bwonsamdi, and Haa'aji is pretending not to remember the story. He's such a ham. Once he starts telling the tale, Liila will have to shoot him looks occasionally to make sure he doesn't accidentally let his details get too gruesome.

She catches Chi'rhi's attention and gives her a knowing look. The little troll will make sure to distract Haa'aji before he begins the tale, so that he doesn't get started without Liila there to censor him.

Liila slips away from the table, patting Hezzak on the head to assure him all is well, and goes to the door. When she opens it, the figure standing on the other side almost blends into the night. A heavy cloak covers dark plate armor. She can see a bit of a glow on the blade resting against the orc's back—his broad shoulders are unmistakable.

As is the skull-like helm he wears.

"Liila."

"Blood." She offers him a hand.

He takes it, grasping her forearm as she does his, his whole hand engulfing her limb. When she pulls back, gently tugging to let him come in, he doesn't budge. This is the first time Blood has come by, and Liila is surprised he's there at all.

It was days after his death before Blood was raised to be a death knight, and his face suffers the consequences. His flesh is rotted and one side hangs loose against his skull, so he hides his twisted visage beneath a helmet that Liila half thinks has probably melded to his head at this point. If it has, he won't ever admit it.

"Better we talk out here," He says as he hears peels of laughter from inside, and takes a step back into the night. "Haa'aji, too."

Liila frowns.

"It's bad, Liila."

She doesn't have to ask what he's talking about.

She felt it, three nights before. A ripple. At first, she thought there had been some kind of explosion. Another attack on Zandalar or…something. Something physical. However, the world had been still, calm as ever even as she felt that strange wrongness flooding out around her, like an invisible wave that wouldn't crest.

Hezzak had woken up sobbing, as had two of the other children, and they had been inconsolable for most of the night. In the end, they had all stayed up in the living room, piled together and talking through the night about light hearted stories to distract from whatever has happened.

Liila has assured the children several times that everything will be fine, Haa'aji has told them that no one is going anywhere. They are a family and they will get through this together. It has been seven short months since they have moved in, cleansed the house, and made their little haven in this hard cruel world.

Things are good.

And Haa'aji is determined that they will stay that way.

But Liila has been waiting for news since that night, known that something is going on, and that someone will be coming for both she and Haa'aji. The world still feels wrong, even if Hezzak and the others can't seem to feel it anymore. Those with magic throughout the city are on edge, especially those with connections to spirits.

Attempts to communicate with the dead are patchy, when they can be made to work at all.

Something is very wrong, and the living are all stuck waiting, wondering.

Liila has known that she and Haa'aji will be some of the first to find out what's happened.

Haa'aji's information network alone makes him one of the most desirable heroes this world has ever seen. Not that many call him a hero. He's always walked the line between good and bad a bit too closely for people to lump much praise on him.

And now that he has finally settled more firmly on the side of good, she doesn't want him to slide back into old ways. He has been setting a fine example for the children. He's not pickpocketed anyone in months, not made any shady deals in back alleys, not accepted any assassination contracts.

He is becoming the best version of himself, and it is thanks to these little lives he has taken responsibility for. She knows this. He is not the Ghost he was, and will not be the fighter they need, whoever they may be.

Liila will be wanted because of her 'gift', not that she has ever thought of it that way. She knows it's a damned curse, and so do the bastards who call it otherwise.

Liila steps outside and closes the door behind her. "What's happened?"

Though she can tell Blood is not pleased that she has not gathered Haa'aji, he does not say anything about it.

Instead, he tells her what he knows. Blood's details are thin, but they're enough to make her stomach drop.

The Veil between the realms of the living and the dead has been breached. The Scourge is unleashed. It's sweeping the continents, and it's a matter of time before it finds its way to the island nations. There is more, and it all compounds together to be worse than anything they have ever faced before.

Azeroth is once again on the brink of collapse.

Liila wants to throw something.

She had hoped…

The Scourge was under control. The Legion was stopped. The old gods silenced.

She had wondered what else there might be. She had begun to think that perhaps nothing else would have need of them. The sword would be removed by others, and Slyvanas would be found and executed for her crimes, and then Azeroth would finally be able to settle into peace.

There would be no more enemies to fight.

She had finally been thinking that perhaps her certainty that she would be called back into the fray of things was just paranoia, that after fifteen years of nonstop fighting, she just didn't understand that there could be anything other than bloodshed and danger.

And she had been learning that there could be something else. Something kind and gentle and right.

Now, though…

"They're bringing back the dead," Blood says. Even as Liila's starts to say she understands, he adds, "The dead we killed. In Icecrown and Northrend. The Plaguebringer, the Blood Queen, it's a long list. We fight them off, send them back, and they're back here by the end of the day. Our forces don't come back. Theirs do. With frightening efficiency."

"Have you tried dismemberment?"

"Doesn't even slow them down."

"Imprisonment, then?"

"We've captured a few. The ones that bring them back break them out." Blood takes a moment to growl at the memories. "They're like evil spirit healers hopped up on fel magic."

Liila stares at him, unblinking.

"Not actual fel magic," Blood corrects. He shifts his weight, lowers his head, looks around. "I didn't want to come to you, but Fordragon is insistent."

"Have you told him to be that insistent toward the Scourge?"

"He can't," Blood says. She can hear his grimace. "The helm of domination has been destroyed. There is no controlling the Scourge. It's free."

The words hit hard.

"That ain't our problem." Haa'aji's voice interrupts Liila's thoughts before they can spiral into places she has tucked away and almost forgotten, and she turns to see him climb out the nearest window. Even in the dark, she can see the anger flickering like fire in his eyes. "Go get some new recruits."

"We're gathering everyone," Blood replies. "Everyone who can answer the call."

"We can't." The words are snapped with such venom that both Liila and Blood startle.

Haa'aji reaches out and catches Liila's arm, pulling her toward the door, opening it and heading back inside. A dozen little faces are watching from the other room, silent.

"If we can find out where these things are coming from, or just how to close the veil, we can stop this before it goes too far!"

Half of Blood's words are muffled through the door as it slams shut in his face. When he moves to the window, Haa'aji is there, his large body filling it so that Liila can't even see past him. "Leave."

There is a moment of terse quiet, a silent battle of wills, before the sound of clicking armor retreats into the night.

Haa'aji stands there, blocking the window for a moment longer before he manages to rein in his anger. When he turns around, his expression is light, and if she and the children hadn't seen him only moments ago, there would be no hint that he was ever upset.

"Ya know what? I think we got some fresh fruits for dessert. Sound good?"

It takes a few prompts before the kids finally begin to relax. Liila trails after them into the dining room, watching as Haa'aji assures them that no one who comes to visit after sunset is worth talking to. Two of the boys offer increasingly outlandish guests who might be acceptable.

When they get to Bwonsamdi, Haa'aji laughs. "Alright, alright. He can come whenever he wants. Him and Jani. No one else though." He holds up a finger, feigning seriousness. "If Rezan be showin' up, ya tell him to come back in the morning, ya here?"

The giggles tell Liila that his antics have worked, and she sits quietly at the end of the table to help one of the smallest trolls peel their orange.


Liila freezes as the smell of decay overwhelms her senses. She is sitting with her back against a brittle wooden wall that leaves splinters in her if she brushes against it too hard, and the floor is just as rotten, though somehow it never caves.

Lifting her head, she can see past a bloodied table covered in cruel instruments and a slab in the center of the room with shackles on it to the open doorway. There is no door.

It's a joke.

That there's no door.

He took it off when he found her trying to pick the lock, not that she knew how. He thought it was funny to take the obstacle away, thought it would be fun to see what she did with so clear a view of freedom. There's no door on the front of the house, either. Or the back.

That's the joke.

That she can get up and walk right out, down the stairs at the end of the hall, outside into the rotted woods filled with rotting corpses that will tear at any living flesh they find.

There's no door because it doesn't matter if there's a door because there is nowhere she can go.

No matter how far she runs—and he's told her she's gotten pretty far before—she will never be free. He will always find her, always drag her back. From across the map or across the veil, she will never be safe.

It's a promise that he works so very hard to keep.

Liila can remember her latest dream, of a happy house, full of kids and a friend who would crumble mountains to keep her safe. A part of her whispers that this is the dream, that she did make it out, that she did find safety, but she's woken from those dreams so many times in the past.

One even had rolling, golden fields that had never been walked by a single wicked creature, filled with kind hearts and gentle smiles and chiming bells. A place where she knew, even if she never saw her loved ones again, everything would be okay.

It was the hardest to wake up from that one.

She covets those dreams. They're her only escape from this room without a door.

Because the truth of it is that she will never escape. She will never know freedom again.

She looks down, and her arms are skeletal, her clothes tattered and so dirty that she can't tell the colors they were supposed to be. Can't remember the colors they were supposed to be.

The floor creaks and her gaze snaps up. She knows better. She knows better than to show her fear. He feeds on it, relishes it. It encourages him to do worse.

She is about to lower her gaze, to try not to think of the good places and the nice people and all the things her mind makes up that don't really exist.

But then she hears a sniffle.

That in itself is not uncommon.

She is not the only one kept here, not the only one of her tormentor's playthings.

There are so many faces who come and go, usually in pieces. She has learned not to react.

And yet…

She knows this sniffle. She knows the owner.

Liila rises on shaky legs that shouldn't hold her and staggers over to the slab in the center of the room.

Chi'rhi sits there, crying. She's unharmed now, but the fact that she's here at all means there is no hope because there is no way out. What will come will be brutal and wicked and—

And Liila won't let this happen.

Not to Chi'rhi. She deserves better. She deserves sunlight and soft smiles and a future as bright as her innocent eyes.

Liila gathers the girl in her arms, barely able to pick her up, and turns.

And he is there, waiting with that same sadistic smile as always because she has messed up, and she has shown him that she is not broken.

Not yet.

He still has more work to do.

He walks across the room, the floor creaking under his heavy boots, just as it always does. It is a sound she has memorized, a sound she thinks she could go an eternity without hearing and still know the second she hears it. He stops in front of her. He makes no attempt to take Chi'rhi. Not yet. They both know there will be time for that later.

"Did you miss me, Miss Lightswill?"

Liila's body twists as she shrieks, kicking and clawing at the chains that hold her down, desperate to be free. She cannot let him hurt Chi'rhi. She won't. She can save her, she knows it. If she just breaks free, she can do something. If it's the last thing she does, she will not let him take that little girl, that sweet and innocent soul.

She doesn't know what pulls her back to the present so quickly at first, but even as she kicks as hard as she can, she sees torn bedsheets falling away from her instead of manacles.

She stares at the edge of the bed, at her toes. They have meat on them, a healthy shape, a healthy hue. She is not there, not in that wicked, rotting house.

She is home, home with a gaggle of children who smile and play and a best friend who has seen her through her darkest days and back into the light.

She did get away.

That was the dream and this is real.

And even if it isn't, this is where she prefers to be.

A flicker of something catchers her eyes, and her head snaps up, focus toward the center of her room.

At first, she thinks Haa'aji is standing there, watching her, but the shape is too big for that. And there is a glimmer where the eyes are that is unearthly.

And there are bones. Too many bones.

She conjures light. It hurts to call this much, to fill the room so that there are no shadows for anyone to hide in. Her curse protests her connection to the Light, or perhaps the Light protests the curse, but either way, it hurts. She doesn't care.

The shadows disappear.

Bwonsamdi does not.


"He's not coming," Liila says.

The two death knights who have stopped to stand with her exchange a glance. Blood lets out a grunt, as the larger knight, a tauren named Shadow, nods, though he doesn't seem particularly happy about it. "Staying with the kids?" When Liila nods, he does so too. Again, his tone is grimmer than his words. "Good."

In truth, she did not talk to Haa'aji before she came. Bwonsamdi has made her an offer, that if she can set things right herself, he will not call on Haa'aji to come champion him in the lands of the dead. After all, they made a pact with him to get his aid to fight G'huun and according to him, they have not sent him nearly enough souls.

Liila tried pointing out that he never specified what kind of souls, and so they sent him rats. Thousands and thousands of rats. From the gutters of Stormwind—nettling the Alliance guards for a few the duration of their stay there had been an added bonus.

It was with amusement that Bwonsamdi told her that he never got them.

And thus she still owes the death Loa, and he has come to collect.

If she can do this, restore order quickly, he will wipe both their slates clean.

Haa'aji will not need to know that the deal he thought he has completed still hangs over his head. He can still have his family, his freedom.

So she did not say goodbye, but instead left a note, where he would find it quickest.

You can't go. I have to. I'll come home when I can.

He has gotten it by now, and she does not doubt that he is furious. But she's right, and, as much as it will piss him off, he will know this. He can't leave those children, not after all they have been through, not after all the promises he has made. And he will not be alone taking care of them. Zen'taki will be there to fill Liila's shoes, perhaps better than she ever has.

Haa'aji will make up a lie about where she has gone, and he will deflect when the children ask why she is not back yet, should she take too long. But he will not leave them. They need him, and he needs them.

And when this is all over, she'll go back to them, she thinks.

Even if she dies a couple times along the way.

Shadow is another guildmate—former guildmate. He is another of her personal heroes, like Haa'aji, though neither of them talk about it.

There is no time for reminiscing, anyway.

They have been called to venture where no mortal has gone before, called because the lot of them barely count as mortals anymore. The death knights have been raised and bound to their rotten bodies.

Liila has been raised and bound in a similar way, though her tormentor had wanted to make sure she was brought back to full life, so that when she died from his many abuses, she'd 'get the full effect'.

Her soul is bound to her body, through any death. It is miserable and torturous, but most importantly, the leaders of her world find it convenient. Not that they would ever say that to her face. No, if the topic comes up between her and someone oh-so-important, they are all good at feigning sympathy for her plight.

Right before they ask her to do things that will cause the curse to trigger.

Because to ask another to do this would be to ask them to die, to give up everything they are, but to ask Liila… Well, she will come back, so it is alright to ask her to do these suicidal missions, because there will be no loss in the end.

Never mind that dying hurts. Never mind that little pieces of her slip away each time it happens. That more and more there are pains inside of her, deeper than any healing spell can reach, that ache and expand with each death. She sometimes thinks she is being pulled apart from the inside out.

Dying and being held back causes damage, just not to anything that can be seen.

And so it's easy to call on her to do what others cannot. To die and come back. Again and again.

Worse, she knows that it's the truth. She can do what others cannot.

So it makes sense objectively that she would be one of the first ones sent through to the realms of death.

Blood jokes that at least this way she'll get to see the afterlife after all.

Shadow nearly throws him off the spire.

Liila just stares ahead and waits.

She is not the only one who has been afflicted with this curse. Just the only one that important people know of.

She keeps the others' secrets safe so that they can live their lives in relative peace. It is the least she can do, and what she wishes could have been done for her.

But there is no changing history without the Bronze flight's permission, and no matter how many of them she's befriended, they still won't let her tweak the timeline. She is too entrenched in the more important moments in recent history and letting her slip into obscurity in the past will ruin far too many fates.

"Liila!"

Plate armor pinches at Liila's robes and nips her skin as arms encircle her and lift her up. She waits until she is set back down to look up in bewilderment.

"Whisper?"

Another former guildmate and housemate, Whisper Windsong. The tauren shrugs and smiles, a glowing blue in her eyes that should not be there. Whisper never fell to the Scourge, Liila knows this. She is a healer, a shaman. She was engaged to Shadow, before his untimely death, and she has longed for him ever since finding out that he was raised, but she…

She is a newly raised death knight. Liila looks past her to wonder just how many of the faces here she might actually recognize.

When Liila turns to Shadow and Blood, Shadow curses and looks away. Blood simply shrugs.

"Why?" is the only word that she can manage, looking back up at Whisper.

The tauren's long, pale tail swishes back and forth. "There's nothing I can say that will make you understand."

It's such a non-explanation.

Liila knows that Shadow must be outraged. It's no wonder he won't look at Whisper right now, no wonder he's in such a foul mood.

Before Liila can try to force more of the story from someone, Bolvar finally calls everyone's attention, and the briefing begins in proper. It's different from the usual meetings she's been to. Grimmer.

And apparently in addition to the dead coming back, and the Scourge running rampant, and evil spirit healers, now world leaders have been stolen away, too.

No wonder the others want things to move so fast. They must figure they're next.

And of course, none of them are coming along.

Or so it seems at first.

When the talking is done, as the portal stretches out to claim those who are heading off into the realms of death, Tyrande Whisperwind surprises everyone by jumping in herself, on the hunt to avenge the massacre of her people.

As the spell finally pulls Liila through, all she can think is, good for her.


When Liila first gets to Bastion, she is overwhelmed with the worst sense of déjà vu she has ever had in her life.

The afterlife is bright. The air itself feels light, and there is the pleasant scent of blooming flowers and fresh rain on winds that caress her with such gentleness. She feels like if she just stands there, listening to the soft chimes of distant bells, that she will be mended, that every ache inside of her that her healing spells cannot reach will disappear. That the nightmares that plague her will wash away into nothingness.

She knows they will, or at least that they can. Painful things can be unburdened here.

The fact that she knows this ruins the serenity that tries so hard to claim her.

How does she know this?

That comforting spell is still there, still urging her to relax and let go, but she is aware enough now not to trust it. She takes in her surroundings carefully.

Bastion is the polar opposite of the Maw. The sky is clear and beautiful, the pillars lining the platform she is on stand tall and proud, not cracked and crumbling, and there are substantially less maw rats.

She tries very hard not to acknowledge that the sheer number of maw rats in the Maw is likely her and Haa'aji's fault. It's no wonder Bwonsamdi was amused—perhaps he knew she was going to face the consequences for her actions sooner than later.

It can be hard to tell with gods.

Not that she has time to dwell on such things now.

She stands out against this bright, luminous land like a dark splotch. Her black robes had helped her blend into her surroundings in the Maw, but here, she is like a detached shadow, drawing attention simply by existing.

And she has drawn attention already.

Before she can fully get her bearings, a creature—clearly female—is standing before her, smile radiant as she looks down upon and welcomes Liila enthusiastically. The creature is muscular and tall, and reminds Liila a little of a vrykul.

"You are like no soul I've seen before! No matter…"

And just like that, before Liila can say a word, she is being escorted down a long platform toward the mainland of the realm.

Everything about this place beckons her in, and all but demands she let down her defenses. As they pass small owl-like creatures who are cleaning the area, the creatures stop to watch them go by, and one or two run ahead. She can see the excitement building around her, feel it like a hum in the air.

But then one of the little creatures looks at her and shivers. There is no bright widening of the eyes, but instead, it shrinks away.

It gets up and runs ahead, too.

This has the potential to go very badly for her.

Kleia, her guide, ushers her to participate in a few stations around a wide-open welcome area, to help her get acclimated to the realm, or in the very least understand it.

Liila almost misses the instructions, looking for the owl—steward, as Kleia explains—who has run in fear. Most of the denizens are friendly enough, but she can see that there is clear dissonance. More than a few seem disturbed by her arrival, and the longer she's there, the more she can see the gazes upon her shift from excitement to concern.

Especially when she declines to sign the scrolls that list all the great souls who have come here. Her "I'll get back to it," is met with a notable frown, and as she turns to go, she sees someone duck up to the man beside the scrolls and whisper in his ear.

More than that, Liila's sense that she has been here before is getting worse with damned near every step. It's all she can do not to scour the scrolls of the souls who have come here for her own name, just to see.

That would be ridiculous, though, and it would likely raise a few eyebrows.

That aside, she's pretty sure she's committed enough chaos in her life that she won't be sent somewhere so peaceful in death, if she ever even makes it to an afterlife.

And anyway, they will be happy—after they learn the truth about her—that she did not sign their sacred scrolls, that they do not have to cross her name off. Because how awkward would that be for whoever comes to the realm after her to have to sign under some blacked out name, some proof that mistakes were made in the past, even in so perfect a place?

Cleansing in the water conjures an image of one of the winged creatures she's here to find out about, a corrupted spirit healer. There are a few gasps from those around who see, and Kleia is most definitely shaken.

Good. Liila can use that as a lead into why she's there.

"Meet me back at the Mnemis unit," Kleia murmurs, turning and hurrying away.

Liila steps out of the water, wringing the bottom of her robes and offering a small nod to one of the creatures—kyrian—sitting near the pool. The woman nods back, for lack of what else to do.

Liila pauses to slip her shoes back on and then follows after Kleia. Kleia had assured her as she took off her shoes and readied to remove a few layers before stepping in the pool that, as a new soul, she would not be soaked if she simply walked into the waters, and, not interested in arguing and getting on her hostess's bad side, Liila obliged.

She regrets this now, very much, as she trods soggily back to where Kleia is waiting for her.

Finally, her hostess is ready to listen. Liila notes that quite a few of the other kyrian and stewards have gathered close enough to hear what is going on, as well.

Kleia seems torn between letting them stay or shooing them away, but ultimately decides against it. Perhaps she figures that everyone will find out rather quickly, anyway. "You told Mnemis that you are living."

"I did," Liila motions to herself, "because I am." She pauses, and motions over her shoulder toward the gateway she has just come through. "The attendants in Oribos thought someone here could help me. We're—Azeroth is having trouble with some winged creatures bringing back the dead." She points toward the pool. "Like you saw."

As she starts to ask if the image from the waters can be brought back so that they can examine it, a great flapping of wings overtakes them, and in a breath, five creatures that Liila is almost certain are spirit healers descend.

Unlike the spirit healers she has caught glimpses of during her many deaths on Azeroth, these ones are armed, and they do not look patient or gentle or pleased at all.

She will need to tread carefully here, if she does not want to show off her curse early in her new adventures.

Even as she considers how best to look unassuming or harmless so that she can avoid the pointy ends of those spears, she looks up at the leader of these winged creatures and her mind blanks.

The name Kalisthene comes unbidden, before Kleia can say it.

In an instant, Liila is somewhere else. A small village, bright and airy and peaceful. Kalisthene stands a short way off, relaxed, wings tucked against her back as she talks to another with wings—another ascended. His hood covers the upper half of his face, but as he speaks, he lets his gaze wander, and when it alights on Liila, there is a gentle smile and a faint nod before his attention is back on Kalisthene. She does not seem to mind at all, and there is a friendly quirk to her lips as she offers a farewell to the man she is speaking with. As she takes to the sky, he looks at Liila and motions for her to come over. To see him. Her heart swells with something she almost feels guilty about because she shouldn't be feeling this way for someone so soon. Not when she's enga—

"—an audience with the Archon, you must do as all who come to Bastion," Kalisthene is saying as Liila snaps out of whatever has just happened. "She must walk the Path. Kleia, you can show her. You know it better than most."

With that, Kalisthene takes to the skies.

Liila stands there, staring after her, knots twisting inside of her.

What just happened?

This place is going to be the end of her. She can feel it, in the way something has stirred in the back of her mind and the way it won't settle, not even after Kalisthene is gone.

Kleia's hand on her shoulder nearly makes her jump. She manages to school her emotions and look to the kyrian beside her—towering over her. In a friendly manner, at least. As she appraises Kleia, she considers that Shadow and Haa'aji—when he rises from his hunch—are both about her height, if not a little taller.

"Come, you can tell me more about what you have seen."

The others who were gathered around have already dispersed, and it takes Liila a moment to realize that during Kleia and Kalisthene's missed dialogue, she has been dismissed.

A mortal coming all the way to the realms of the dead for help, and she has been dismissed like she is nothing.

It's almost refreshing.

After being unwillingly appointed as the High Priestess of Azeroth's combined priesthood to fight the Burning Legion, people have given her words a bit too much weight, and it's oddly nice to be some nobody who can be ignored again, even if it is only for a little while, and also a mite bit detrimental to her mission to stop her world from being destroyed. Again.

Still, as much fun as it would be to go back to Bolvar and tell him that the afterlives said they could get fucked—the look on his face alone would be worth it—Liila knows that is not an option. At best it would be a waste of time.

And there is no time to waste. There never is.

Instead, she walks with Kleia, who apologizes for having Liila cleanse in the pools. "Souls don't get wet. I should have realized…" She sighs and trails off as they start toward the far end of the welcome pavilion. "Once we get to Aspirant's Rest, we can get you some dry clothes."

Beyond this welcome center, a path wanders gently down to golden fields in the distance. Kleia laments what has been lost, though Liila can't imagine that it could ever be more beautiful. Everything about the world that stretches out before them calls to her, like a homecoming. For a breath, she forgets to be suspicious, and leans into that heavenly breeze.

Kleia sets a quick pace, quick for Liila anyway. She wishes she had a mount, but then, there wasn't really a way to bring one from the land of the living, and she doubts she can just buy one here. Borrow, maybe, though she's not even certain that the denizens of the afterlives use the same currency she has brought with her.

As they walk the path leading further into the realm, Liila explains about what is going on in Azeroth, about the evil Bearers—she does not know how she knows to call them that, but Kleia doesn't seem to notice anything amiss. Kleia fills her in on what she missed during her…vision or whatever it was, on the Path she must follow to gain an audience with the Archon.

It sounds so damned familiar, as though she has had this talk before, somewhere.

Liila dismisses the notion. She read a few quick excerpts around the welcome center, so she must be thinking of those. She ignores the whisper in her head that tells herself she knows that's not it.

Kleia, is a good traveling companion. Their walk takes almost an hour, and she keeps the conversation going the whole time. From Azeroth's current plight to the Path to the Archon to what she knows about the Maw—which isn't much.

Regardless, it is good information, and Liila is hopeful that perhaps this Archon can set things straight. If not directly, maybe she can send some of the ascended to put a stop to whatever is going on with the evil spirit healers.

If not…

She tries not to think about it.


Pelagos falls to the floor, though he doesn't hit hard, thanks to the shield Liila throws around him before he can land. He lays there a moment, groaning.

She glances around to make sure there are no more rampant memories ready to attack, and then moves next to him, inspecting him for any injuries.

"Why did you—" his voice stops as he opens his eyes and sees her leaning over him. "Oh."

Liila shrugs a little awkwardly. "Kleia said that since I'm not kyrian, the rules about not helping don't apply, if that's what you're wondering."

Pelagos' head bobs a little. He is still laying on his back, still looking up at her as though she has three eyes.

Though, from the sounds of it, that wouldn't be that surprising here, since they get creatures from all worlds arriving. Some of the souls she saw mulling about Aspirant's Rest were certainly like nothing she's ever seen before.

Finally, that dumbfounded stupor of his switches. His brow pinches a little and he sits up on his elbows, appraising her like she's some kind of puzzle. "Have we…met before?"

Liila's mind blanks.

That feeling is there, like if she just leans into it, maybe something will click into place.

Like there is something that she didn't even know she was missing that is here, hidden behind a painfully thin veil that can be swept aside so easily, if she just tries.

It makes no sense.

Despite being ninety-seven, Liila's memories only go back fifteen years thanks to a few too many head traumas from a time in her life that she wishes she could forget. In the past, she has struggled with that empty void that stretches out, that void that should house her childhood and young adult years in Silvermoon City. She has been to Silvermoon and the Eversong Woods and walked paths that most elven priestesses have walked, but never once did anything stir something inside her to tell her that she was somewhere that had once been home.

She has gone to the address that was listed as her place of residence before the Scourge hit, been to the cathedral where she had followed her father's footsteps in becoming a priest, pored over papers that listed the dead whom she likely would have known.

Liila has even met the fiancé she had before the Scourge, looked into his eyes, felt his embrace at the reunion he had dreamed about for years.

And she never felt a single thing.

The places were foreign, the names meaningless, the people strangers. There was no whisper in her mind that maybe some of it had been hers, that maybe she at least should know it, even if she doesn't.

She accepted long ago that there was no getting back her lost memories because they were gone. She would never walk down a street and catch a whiff of some scent that would send her spiraling back to family meals or lying out in fields with friends. She would never feel something brush against her skin and be reminded of a lover or a quiet moment of contemplation amid rows of books in a great cathedral.

Her memories were gone and there was no getting those back.

For her, her life began during the Scourge invasion and whatever had happened before that might as well have never been.

And yet, here in the land of the dead, it feels like every damned thing holds some whisper of something forgotten, like if she would just embrace it, she might find what has been lost to her, like she might know herself as she was before everything went so damned wrong.

Have we met before?

The question terrifies her, because it implies that she is not the only one feeling this familiarity, and the truths that threaten to unfold around her are far too much for her mortal mind to bear.

So she deflects.

"Worst pick up line ever," Liila replies, patting his shoulder and standing up. "Unless you like to swing by Azeroth on your downtime."

Pelagos flushes a deep blue, reaching up and scratching his fingers in his pale blue hair. She offers him a hand up, and he looks surprised when he takes it and can actually feel it.

"Living mortal," Liila says, wiggling her fingers at him when he releases her hand. "Dire times."

"We definitely haven't met," Pelagos mumbles, pausing to straighten out his robes. "Sorry for the…it wasn't…I wasn't trying to flirt. You just remind me of someone I used to, well, know isn't really the word. She was a passing acquaintance at best, but…" He finally decides that he's just talking himself into a hole and shrugs. "I think I'm just a little off from…this."

Liila pats his arm. "Let's get out of here, hmm? Kleia's waiting."

"Right." Pelagos starts forward and then what she's said sinks in. "Kleia…"

In a flash, he is sprinting ahead, moving far faster that Liila would expect of someone who just escaped nearly getting eaten by their own memories. Or do the memories just maim? She nudges her foot into the pile of dust that comprised the nearest one, but it offers no hints, no half buried canines or anything of the like.

Liila follows Pelagos out of the ritual chambers and wonders what would have happened if she hadn't been there to help. Would they have let him die? Would they have waited until he was unconscious to drag him away from his angry doubts? For a place that boasts being the eternal resting place, it seems kind of…callous.

Like she's looking at a serene lake, only to start noticing the shadows of the monsters lurking just beneath its surface.

Part of her wants to inquire further about a dozen different things, but she's worried that whatever answers she gets will stir something else up.

When she makes it out, Kleia is chastising Pelagos for putting himself in danger as he has.

Liila pretends not to notice the looks a few other aspirants give her, as well as one's whisper that she feels like she can almost place Liila, though that is impossible, of course. She knows Liila is not from her world.

Liila feels in her pockets for her hearthstone, fighting the growing temptation to just head back to Azeroth, go back to Haa'aji and the kids, and wait for the end of the world.

That wouldn't do at all, though, would it? To sit back and let the Scourge take over, to look into Chi'rhi's and Hezzak's and all the others' eyes every day, knowing that danger is coming for them, and not doing anything about it.

As Kleia explains where Liila needs to go to follow this great Path, Liila pauses to eye Pelagos a little closer.

He does seem…familiar, in some convoluted way that doesn't quite make sense.

Just like this place.

Again, she pushes the notion aside.

Liila pauses at the mailbox, wondering if she should send word to Bolvar in Oribos that they might as well start the call to arms for a second wave to come to the Shadowlands, but she can't bring herself to do it just yet. She doubts there's some easy way forward, but maybe she can still manage things well enough herself.

Liila follows her new-found guides as best she can, over to an open, sprawling village across from Aspirant's Rest. Kleia assures her that they will figure things out. A bit of patience is all that's required. As Liila hangs back as her guides speak to another aspirant, discussing how best to go about things, a familiar voice pulls her from the conversation.

"Dragonlily?"

Blinking, she turns to see a high mountain soul striding across the pavilion to her, a bright smile on his ghostly face. Unlike everything else here, there is no surreal hint of familiarity.

No, she knows this soul.

"Oro!"

Forgetting the decisions she is waiting on, she turns and reaches out to hug him, only for her hands to go through air. She lets out an awkward laugh. "I suppose reunions between the living and dead are awkward, even here."

He gives her a kind smile. "I see you are no worse for the wear. When I heard a living mortal had made it to the Shadowlands, I knew that if it was anyone, it was one of you… Tell me, where is Haa'aji?" He looks around, as though he fully expects to see the troll step out of stealth and greet him with some overly dramatic bow.

Liila can't help but smile at the idea of it. "He's back on Azeroth, all settled down and everything."

Oro laughs. "I can hardly imagine that…"

Their conversation turns, touching briefly on the fate of his loved ones—she is happy to tell him that they and the rest of his tribe are flourishing—before a few other souls drift over to join in, curious as to how they know each other. Oro and Liila recount the return of the Legion to Azeroth and how—of course—multiple things had to go wrong at once which led to their paths crossing. One of the souls asks, a tinge of anxiety in their tone, how the fight against the Legion goes now, and without thinking, she says, "Oh, it's over. We ended up going to Argus and put a stop to things, so it's just a few remnants left here and there." There is a silence before she thinks to clarify. "The Legion was able to resurrect indefinitely because of their tie to Argus' world soul. We killed that, and now they're mortal. What's left of them. Sargeras is back under the control of the Titans, imprisoned, hopefully for a very long time. They are not happy with him."

There is an awed silence as the souls stare at her, like she is some sort of god, when more accurately she is a god killer. Perhaps that is more frightening. There are more people watching her than she remembers being nearby at the start of the conversation.

She shifts a little.

Oro is the one to finally speak. "You put a stop to the Burning Legion."

"Not by myself," Liila is quick to correct. "I was just…healing, actually, for the most part. Keeping the people who did the actual work up and swinging." A few of those listening look almost reverent. "There were other healers, there, too."

It occurs to her that maybe this sort of attention could help her gain the audience with the Archon that she so desires, but at the same time, she has never liked being the center of attention like this. Not for good deeds. It feels…fake, to be praised for something that was simply the right thing to do. And anyway, it's not like she was after glory or attention.

She much prefers to be a minor terror to the people around her, helping Haa'aji with pranks and getting looks of derision.

"Can you show us?" One of the souls asks.

Liila knits her brow. "Show you…"

Instantly, there is excitement. Oro motions for her to follow him. "Come, come. Memories can be shared in this realm."

A steward who has been drawn to the crowd takes her hand and leads her past a curious Kleia and Pelagos and over to an area that looks almost like a stage. There are rows of benches and the souls all settle upon them, with Oro in the front, smiling broadly at her as he shoos her on.

The steward lights a fire in a brazier and motions for her to sit in front of it, her back to the audience. An ascended, like the ones she saw before, only considerably more relaxed descends and explains what it is they want her to do. She tells Liila to settle in, concentrate on the flame, focus on the memory as hard as she can.

Liila does as she is instructed, not sure what to expect. There is a pause, as she tries to think back to how it began and settles on arriving in the Titans' chamber. She thinks she hears a gasp or two behind her, but it is drowned out as her guild leader shouts out positions and they draw the world soul's attention. The fight is grueling, the healing exhausting. Finally, Argus falls, the Titans commend them and bid them to leave. Liila's is swept up in the memories herself, of getting back to the ship, of watching through the glass as Sargeras is called back by his brethren from Azeroth, of him sweeping by the ship, fingers narrowly missing it, and then…

She's not sure what jolts her out of the memory, but suddenly she is aware that she is staring into a fire, and that there is a great deal of chatter behind her.

Liila turns to see that far more than the original souls who asked her to show her memories are present. Her audience has easily doubled during the duration of her memories, and they are talking excitedly amongst themselves about what they have seen.

Kleia and Pelagos stand near the back of the walkway leading up to the stage with the aspirant they were talking to earlier.

Oro hops up to the stage, almost offers her a hand to get up, before remembering it is futile. As she rises, one of the stewards is already dousing the flames.

"Thank you, my friend," Oro says, walking down off the stage with her, "I needed that more than you know. More than I knew."

A few nearby souls agree, excited. A few are crying.

Pelagos and Kleia are waiting for her in the back of the area and so she dismisses herself after telling Oro that she is so glad to see him. When she reaches the aspirants, she offers them an awkward nod. "I apologize—"

"Nonsense," the third aspirant with them says, a bright smile in place. "You have brought some much needed hope in these dark times."

As Pelagos nods, Kleia smiles as well. "We are not supposed to focus on the past here, but it is good to know that the Burning Legion has fallen. There were so many who fell to cruel fates at their hands."

"So many who fought them who ended up here," Pelagos adds.

"I think this will help many find closure," says the third aspirant. "Forgive me, I haven't introduced myself. I am Forgelite Sophone. I think we can help each other, Maw Walker."


Liila has just finished preparing for her own version of a similar ritual to the one that she found Pelagos in the middle of when her hand catches on something.

Blinking, Liila looks down to find one of the stewards has taken her hand, his talons wrapped securely around her fingers, as though he is trying to anchor her. She's surprised by how calming the action is. In most cases, she would have jerked away quickly, but now…

"I help."

The words are firm, determined. The voice is an echo of something she should know. There is a look in the creature's eyes that says he is making up for some great failing from the past.

Liila knows what it's like to want to do that herself, and half wants to ask him what has happened, if only so she can help him accomplish his goal. More than that, she wants to wrap her arms around him and tell him everything is alright, and she's not sure why.

Perhaps it's just the fact that stewards are so adorable that it's impossible to not want to help them.

Instead, she nods. Liila tucks back a loose lock of hair behind her long ear and squeezes the creature's hand. "Thank you. I'm okay for now."

The steward nods to her, expression most serious, and squeezes her hand back. "I help. This time different."

Before she can ask what he means, Kleia is spurring her on. The steward releases her, and Liila walks with Kleia, though she notes that the steward does seem to follow them a ways, watching them intently.

Watching her intently.

She tries not to think about what's happening, about the overwhelming sense that she should know more than she does, about the fact that several times she has known more than she should.

Abruptly, it occurs to her that perhaps this is just some residual effect of a spell cast on her in the Maw. If so, maybe it will pass soon.

If not, she may go mad.

When she faces the purification challenge, Liila is fairly certain that the memories she squares off against are not her worst ones—they're bad, but then when she goes back to her time with the Scourge, all the memories are bad, and she's fairly sure she'll need a lot more than three mirrors to conquer them all.

However, she has passed the test to talk to the winged ones, the ascended.

To Kalisthene.

Who again blows her off.

At least this time she's not sent spiraling into some vision that makes no sense. This doesn't feel familiar, and that is the biggest comfort she's felt since she arrived.

This strange déjà vu really is just some weird side effect from being in the Maw. It relieves some of the stress.

Not that it should.

No, she should be incensed.

Kalisthene and the others act like she's just there to tell them that there are 'maw kyrian'. She hasn't been able to tell them all that she's told Kleia. They don't let her talk long enough for that to happen.

Liila is starting to wonder if perhaps she should try to lean into some of that awe from her earlier memory show or even pull the high priestess card after all. It's easily the highest rank she's ever had and likely the only title that would really mean something to the people here.

Though, from the sounds of it, many here were high ranking somethings in their respective worlds before coming here. So being high priestess might not carry the weight she needs it to.

The weight to be heard.

Worse, it may make her come across as pompous, and she gets the distinct impression that that will not impress anyone.

Before she can decide whether to try to use it, however, Kalisthene and the others she needs to speak with are gone again, and she's left wanting to throw things after them.

It looks like she will have to walk the 'Path' a bit further before she can be taken seriously.

She can't help but wonder just how many more will fall fighting those returned souls while she plays formalities here. The longer she takes…

It cannot be helped, and Kleia and Pelagos work quickly to set up the next steps of her journey to see the Archon. However, it has grown late and that will have to wait for the morning.

It is both annoying and a relief. She wants to travel this Path until she falls over, sleep a few dreamless hours, and then hop back to it. At the same time, she is exhausted. Her time in the Maw—she can't measure it as it felt like weeks while she was there, only for Bolvar to tell her she was only gone from Icecrown for a little over a day at most, when they meet up in Oribos.

She wonders if it's just the Maw where time is skewed or if perhaps the realms of life and death do not move at the same pace. It would not be the strangest thing she has ever encountered.

In the end, she is left with more questions, and no answers.

Pelagos and Kleia dismiss themselves to finish up preparations and retire for the evening, assuring her that they will take to the Path in the morning and go to the Temple of Purity, and Liila is left to her own devices after being shown a nice, comfy mat she can rest on. The mat is one of the softest things she has ever felt, and the pillow is just the perfect firmness.

And yet, even with the pure bliss that beckons her to dream, she cannot sleep.

Things are too perilous.

Her loved ones have retired, and the few who haven't are either in Icecrown, fending off wicked creatures that should be long gone or left behind in the Maw. She knew almost a dozen of the death knights who she accompanied through the veil. Shadow, Whisper, and Blood, among others, are all still in the Maw, still fending off waves of the Jailer's minions, still waiting for her to come back.

And then there's Baine and the other leaders… They are still fighting for their lives, no doubt, and she's here in a cushy paradise where the night is hardly dark enough to be called such.

It's a peace she hasn't earned.

She finds herself back in the archives of the Olympic Village. It bothers her that she has found her way here without thought, despite having never been here before. She saw this building in passing but was never told what it was, and yet she knows to come here, knows to stop in front of this shelf to begin her research so that the next time she faces Kalisthene, the creature will not be able to dismiss her so easily.

With all the serenity around her, she wishes she was still in the Maw. This place is too terrifying.

However, even if she could cast herself back to where the others wait for aid, it will likely not help, and so instead she takes to inspecting the different scrolls.

She wants to know more about this Path, so that she can find ways to take shortcuts. People keep saying that it takes eons to walk, and Liila doesn't have that kind of time.

Azeroth will be dust long before those eons everyone talks about, possibly in as little as a single year or so if things don't start getting better. And her allies still in the Maw have even less time.

She needs the kind of haste that cannot be accomplished by oneself.

She wishes that some of her old guildmates were there with her, to help her glean what they can from the scrolls and tomes here, or just to make jokes about how utterly ridiculous it is that a living mortal isn't enough of an oddity in the realm of the dead to warrant a proper audience with any authority figures she asks for.

If Haa'aji were here, he'd be stealing the scrolls as she tries to read them and making an utter nuisance of himself just to see some of that tension bleed out of her shoulders. Blood would be complaining about how small the words are and demanding some aspirant stand in the water and give him a memory recap of what he wants to know, even if that's not how the waters work. Whisper and Shadow would be dutiful, though. They'd be the ones to get the information needed while Liila tried to stop Haa'aji from stealing whatever he could out of every nearby pocket, just to see what sort of things the dead keep on their person.

They aren't here, though. Liila has left each of them behind, in one way or another, and so she must accept the repercussions of her actions.

Just like the maw rats.

As she's skimming a scroll that talks about the worlds different souls come from on a bench just outside the archives, the oddest feeling washes over her. It's not like the other hints in her head that she should know something.

This is deeper than that and—oddly enough—not as frightening.

It's a tug, a pull that tells her she needs to look up. When she does, she is alone—the area is largely empty as all the aspirants and stewards have gone to bed, and there are only a few souls meandering about and a couple lonely patrols here and there, none of which are nearby.

She looks skyward. What she can see of it is clear. That tug tells her to turn, to look back, that if she does, she will see—

A taloned hand takes Liila's, and she refocuses to find the steward from earlier is holding her hand again. He squeezes her fingers and then sits beside her on the bench, watching her with that intent look that says he is determined to do…something.

"I help."

Liila nods. In most cases, she would be a bit wary of someone being so ready to off assistance, without any indication that something must be traded for it. However, some part of her knows that this creature means what he says and does not require payment. He is a good soul, deserving of this realm.

"Do you know any kyrian who are bad?" She motions around vaguely as though to conjure back the sleeping aspirants so that he can point one out. "Any who were cast out or something like that?"

"Kyrian good." The steward says. It is stated as a fact. "They are best of all worlds. Most dedicated to serve others."

Liila considers it. It's hard to imagine a place where there are only good people. Even the best places in Azeroth had their bad seeds. And then there's the fact that good is subjective, to a degree. That there are good people who do bad things because they've been misled and good people who do bad things because sacrifices must be made to save the majority. She can't fathom a place where everyone can be good and on the same wavelength.

But then, perhaps that's because she is mortal and is applying the logic of the living to the world of the dead.

In the end, it doesn't matter how Bastion operates. What matters is the winged creatures who attack Azeroth and finding out how to stop them.

And it matters more than that strange tug that is still nettling the back of her mind, telling her to turn around. As her attention is drawn back to it, Liila is suddenly afraid that if she listens to it, she will be swept up in another memory like she was when she first met Kalisthene, so she decides that she will ignore it until it goes away. She will not get lost to a past that could not and cannot be.

Whatever is behind her, it is not something for her worry about. And if it is, this steward will warn her.

For now, she just needs to ignore that annoying pull because it is working against her and the invisible time table she's fighting against.

Liila crosses her legs and sits so that she can face the steward who has plopped down among the half dozen scrolls and tomes she has brought with her for her research. She drums her nails against her bare ankles—despite her guilt and sense of urgency, she has shed some of her gear in an attempt to rest overstressed muscles. "Well, are there any people in the Shadowlands like the kyrian? Bad ones?"

The steward starts to answer no immediately, but pauses, considering it as best he can. "I think…no? The Archon would not like that."

Liila glances down at the scrolls around her, trying to keep track of all the names and such that she is learning. Kleia has already told her this, but it feels like a good starting point, so Liila says, "The Archon is the goddess of this realm."

"Yes."

"Does she have domain over any other realms?"

"No," the steward's feathers ruffles. "Bastion too important. The Archon not divide attention. Souls must be gathered. Souls must go to Oribos, and only good souls come here to become ascended. They have sacred duty. Difficult duty, but very important."

"There are infinite afterlives, though?"

"I only know this one."

Liila starts to lean back, but there is not back to the bench she is seated on. As she jerks to keep herself up, the steward is already holding her hands, anchoring her. Again. Why does she feel like he has helped her before? With so much more than she can fathom? She shakes it off, not liking the way her mind is trying to make this place feel like a home she couldn't have ever had. She has died many, many times, and she knows that she cannot move on to an afterlife.

Her having ever been here is impossible.

She needs to focus on what is possible. On what matters.

"If the Archon only presides over Bastion, then there must be others who preside over other places?"

"Yes."

"So could there be someone who has made a replica of Bastion? Or something like a mirror of it? An inverse?"

"The Archon would never allow that."

It is not the steward who speaks now, but an aspirant who has come over to join them. Liila is surprised that she did not hear the woman's footfalls, but does not dwell on it.

The aspirant is muscular, like Kleia—the two of them seem to be the buffest women here—and her dark blue hair falls down to her shoulders, with braids keeping it away from her face. Looking at her, Liila can see some resemblances to the spirit healers she has talked to over the years. She should have seen it right away when she met Kleia, especially considering the aspirants are just spirit healers without wings.

Liila's current companion hops from his spot to offer it to the newcomer, and then toddles off to come back with more pillows. He offers one to Liila and she is surprised by how comforting it is to wrap her arms around it.

It's like every single thing here has been designed to be pleasant and comforting.

Maybe…all this warmth and serenity isn't a trick.

Maybe this really is just a good place.

The aspirant takes one as well. Liila half expects her to squeeze it and make the pillow explode into a puff of feathers, but she does not.

"Thank you, Stanikos."

The steward chirps out a welcome.

Holding out a hand, the aspirant nods to Liila. "I'm Clora."

Liila nods back, taking her hand and clasping her wrist as she introduces herself, even though the aspirant likely already knows who she is. Liila's fairly certain that everyone here knows who she is at this point. The action comes so naturally, even as Clora's fingers easily encircle Liila's forearm. Liila's fingers look tiny in comparison. Liila tries to think if she recognizes this aspirant or just thinks she does. "You were around when I was talking to Sophone."

"I'm her soulbind." Clora smiles and motions toward the forge. "I thank you for that. She hasn't been this enthusiastic about anything in quite some time."

"Since the drought started?" Liila asks.

"Mmm." Clora settles in more comfortably where she sits and then lowers her gaze to inspect the various scrolls Liila has borrowed. "You're seeking an audience with the Archon?"

"I am," Liila says.

For the second time since she has gotten to Bastion, she is able to explain why she is there in full. She talks of the sky opening above Icecrown, of the creatures bringing back bad souls, of Bolvar sending her to the Maw for answers.

"And then you get here and we are plagued with our own problems, and give little attention to yours," Clora murmurs.

Liila wants to hug the woman, though she simply nods, running her hands down her face. She is so tired. Rather abruptly, she realizes that she hasn't slept since the night before she was sent into the Maw. Time moves differently here—even a few aspirants have said as much—and she can't figure out how long it's actually been since she slept.

Even if Bolvar says she was only gone a day, she knows that for her, it has been longer.

That seems impossible, and yet…

"I don't see how there could be a realm with creatures you describe," Clora offers. She inspects a few of the scrolls Liila has and shakes her head. "These won't have any answers, though, I assure you. These are all living worlds."

Liila looks down at the ones Clora is pointing to and sighs. "I was hoping it might mention where the souls are taken after they've been judged."

"The ascended are not in charge of that," Clora says. Stanikos nods in agreement. He stands beside them now, holding a small tray with three glasses on it. Liila doesn't know when he disappeared to get this, but she accepts the drink with a soft thank you, as does Clora. Stanikos settles back onto his pillows, content to with his own glass.

It is the sweetest juice Liila has ever tasted, and she is blissfully pleased that it does not conjure any memory fragments.

Clora looks back at Liila. "When you were in Oribos, surely you saw the streams of souls? They are directed to their afterlives through something done within that city. The Ascended only take the souls to Oribos. The Arbiter and her attendants take care of them after that."

Liila thinks back to what she was told during her brief time in the city. That the only place souls now go is to the Maw.

Should she bring that to the Archon's attention as well?

Surely, one of the ascended would have told their goddess about it by now. If they are still gathering souls, then they are still going to the city, so they would have to see…

The realization that of just how dire the problems within the Shadowlands are hits her hard. Her ears quiver a moment as the sheer enormity of what she may be facing tries to take shape. This is more than a simple tear in the sky of one world.

This is something on par with the Burning Legion.

This is all worlds.

And more.

She wishes she could go back, to when the most horrifying thing in her life was the fact that an elemental lord was trying to set everything on fire.

Back when it was just one world to worry about.

By the end of this, they are going to need to call for back up.

"You should get some rest," Clora says, leaning forward and lightly putting a hand on Liila's. She seems to consider it and then motions to Stanikos. "I can't imagine being in the Maw was easy. If you need help sleeping—"

"I get!"

Stanikos is already off before the suggestion if finished.

Unable to help the small laugh at his enthusiasm, Liila shakes her head. "Thank you, Clora. For listening."

The aspirant gives her a gentle smile and then stands up and offers her a hand up.


A bell lets out an out-of-tune clang and tumbles from its perch, crashing toward the ground where Liila and Pelagos are fending off conjured doubts.

Pelagos lunges into her, sending her flying out of the way. She's barely hit the ground when she casts leap of faith to pull him to her, just as the bell slams into the ground and sends fragments of tiles flying in every direction.

Liila is shielding Pelagos as he casts his own preventative spell on her.

"We have to find Kleia!" He calls to her over the sounds of chaos.

Liila agrees to that. Kleia is one of the most toned aspirants she has seen so far, and Liila would rather have someone who can toss people around between her and her enemies.

As it is, she and Pelagos are both squishier than she'd like.

Just as Liila calls shadows down to fend off their attacker—the one who attempted to crush them with a bell—Galistos slams into them and sends them flying.

Their attacker's wings are black and gray, and bear a strong resemblance to those of the creatures from the Maw, but they are not quite right.

However, Liila has a growing suspicion that it is some type of kyrian who are giving Azeroth so many problems. She is definitely in the right place to get help.

If only it didn't need so much itself.

There are a few others with Galistos, and they are trying to gather the injured and find safety. Liila and Pelagos give them cover for as long as they can before turning back to search for Kleia.

"This is unheard of," Pelagos murmurs, wincing as another giant bell slams into one of the nearby purification pools, sending out a spray of water in all directions.

Liila nails one of the attacking ascended in their wing just as it goes to attack a defending ascended from behind. At least people seem to be color coded for this fight. Though, she's noticed a few near misses that might have been friendly fire while she was in shadow form.

As it is, she's abandoned her shadows to make her a clearer ally. After all, it won't matter how strong her spells are if she's speared in the back. While her curse may not let her soul leave her body, she doesn't really want to find out if the people here have any work arounds, considering ferrying souls is their specialty.

And considering the ones who would do something like take hers would not be the ones she'd want anywhere near her soul.

She's tempted to switch to strictly healing, as little as she cares for it.

They definitely need more healers in the moment.

Pelagos and Liila work their way through the temple grounds, deeper in, fighting and helping who they can.

It is miserable, but Liila can tell when the tides start to shift in their favor.

Their enemy—whoever they are—was counting on the temple falling faster than it has, and when back up shows up, it is on swift wings.

Liila is nearly hit twice by descending allies, though Pelagos finally throws the remnants of a white and gold banner over her head, just as Liila is trying to convince the newest ally that she is in fact, friendly. The ascended is surprised by Pelagos actions, but turns to cover them as they finally make it to where Kleia is.

She is with Eridia, the second in command at the temple. They discuss moving to reach the paragon, the leader of the temple who seems to be the main target, when Liila is overcome by an inexplicable pull. It's the same as the one she felt the night before, during the serene quiet where she tried to find answers in old texts.

Without thinking, she turns and looks up toward the sky behind them.

One of the ascended, high overhead, is striking at their enemies and calling out orders. She can barely make out any of the words he's saying, but even so, she can't take her eyes off of him.

A flash of a figure sitting beside her, watching her with a gentle expression blooms to life in her mind. His hood is back and his hair a little tousled as he smiles at her. It is so perfect, so pristine a memory that it's as if she is living it in that moment. She is sure she can reach out and touch him, run her fingers down a well-defined jaw, back into his short hair. She is certain that if she reaches out, she will feel him.

It is gone in an instant.

Eridia is calling for a charge of those who can, and Pelagos has Liila's arm.

"There are transporters," Kleia is saying, pointing toward the part of the temple that is seemingly built on air. "If we can get up there, we can surprise them!"

"We don't have wings," Pelagos cries out. "They can just throw us off the ledges!"

"I can pull you back," Liila offers, squeezing his hand. She tugs the light cloth up into more of a hood, and starts across the bridge, keeping as low as she can so that those overhead will not take notice. Kleia easily barrels ahead, though Pelagos is sure to keep close to Liila, catching her in protective spells more than once on their way to provide back up.