Tenemire stirred on his bed. His eyes hurt and his mouth was dry. It had come to his attention that he was wearing what he had been at the party and that the events that had led him back to his home were a mystery to him. His boots were still on and he smelled himself, a mixture of potent perfume muddled with the natural scent of his body, usually washed away regularly. The time of day was entirely unknowable to him.
He rose, aware of the necessity of repleting his body with food and drink. He nearly fell taking his first steps. He undressed, washed as he could, not having enough energy to go to the stream to bathe in, and dressed in a clean robe. During this ritual a vision came to his mind, a handsome, gentle face, on a tall elf. He felt himself smile. What was his name? Sheynathren. He chuckled. What a strange affaire it was. He distinctly remembered this elf in the den of thistleheads at the party. Not anybody he would have envisioned for himself. And yet he felt a strong desire to feel the elf's warmth against his back again. He felt a physical hunger for food, unusual for him, and was tempted by the thought of a more considerable meal than the usual berries and seeds. A walk in the forest air called to him, and so he set out to the village to find something appealing to him for purchase; something sweet with fruits of some sort, and maybe some cheese.
Almost immediately upon exiting his house he became aware of a state of change. It was subtle though, at first. The air seemed to vibrate. He heard crystalline chimes reverberate in the atmosphere around him, although not in the sense that one hears another speak or a bird sing. He felt, rather than heard, these sounds. They lent a chilling and apprehensive bearing to the young elf. New and unknown, and not obviously innocuous. He remembered the aura of death that permeated their home; this was not that. That was absolute, final, and hopeless. This was an ever-present tingling of the mind, a ceaseless indefinite energy that was not wholly unpleasant but noticeably distracting from one's own inner self. His senses were heightened whether by this unseen force or an instinct to confront the unknown coming from within him. He heard other elves. They were laughing. Some distance away between great trees, he saw two elves running, seemingly a couple. He heard the girl laugh, and her lover pursued her playfully in the sun-dappled forest. He felt more confused than uncomfortable. He tried to refocus to his original goal.
Quickly he saw that there was a considerable crowd of elves hurrying in the opposite direction from his destination. They were not in panic and so he continued. Upon reaching the village however it was very nearly empty. He met this at first with frustration. The one day he decides to venture to, rather than away from, a populated area and to find an enjoyable meal. He tried to avoid the base pleasures, including food he saw as indulgent. He could not help but to smile at the irony. If the village had emptied like this, they must all have gone in the direction of the crowds he saw. If not but for the strange sensations from before which had seeded him with anxiety, he'd have ignored whatever commotion was attracting all other's attention. He could not deny a certain sense of vulnerability however. A reasonable encounter with another elf could ease his apprehension. He decided to go off in the direction in which he saw the others moving.
In the distance he saw a sight that he refused with all the effort of his rational mind to believe. Gleaming spires, a city, in fashion of what Silvermoon once was, hovering over where knew to be the bleak remains. Something was very wrong. Had he taken something last night? Did something happen in the time which he could not remember? He began to perspire and terrible thoughts flew through his mind as he continued, with greater purpose, toward the phantom city. At some distance away from Falconwing Square, he could hear a din of noise. The edifice of the city which lay before him, ethereal, beautiful, resplendent in detail, was undeniable. He was still not convinced this was not an elaborate spell cast over him or all others around him. The grandeur and mass made him feel uneasy and still more anxious. At this point there were many others around him though for him they were moving shadow objects in the landscape of his plane of sight which he no longer trusted.
He reached where he could no longer move. The crowd gathered in a mass at the square. Despite his feelings, the atmosphere was anticipatory and excited. Great alarums and fanfares were sounded. A grand parade marched before them. Lithe young lady elves clad in diaphanous drapery spun and danced in unison, swirling ribbons out from them, magic of many types sparked in the air. Trumpets and drums and cymbals could be heard at the extents of Eversong from this place. Magisters and rangers marched. Their attire was new, crimson and gold, spun with magic. The crowd was an overwhelming mass of noise, cheering, moving of limbs. Great names were there, carried on palanquins borne by arcane golems, the likes of which he had never been seen.
Had Kael'Thas returned? The likeliest explanation to him was this. In the parade of opulence he saw their great heroes: Rommath, Liadrin, Lor'Themar, among others. There, sights unknown to him as well. Enormous crystals held in chains were drawn in the parade. One could not look at them directly. They appeared green, though this could have been a trick of the mind. Upon peering at their glistening, perfectly cut edges and points, the metallic clanging in the mind from before became unbearable. Upon looking away his eyes met others in the crowd. A noticeable change before then unnoticed by him in his frenzy of anxiety. With each new discovery he doubted his mind even further. He tried to catch the gaze of as many other elves as he could, trying to discern what was bothering him so. He narrowed it to the eyes. Many of their eyes were the same colour as the crystals, by all appearance, emerald. Not everybody's. And those that were, were not obvious, whatever their eyes were, the mind interpreted it as green. What absurd dream had he wakened into?
The crowd grew more restless and loud as what seemed to be the climax of the parade arrived. Mounted on a structure was something emitting an almost unbearable golden light. It was not a corporeal being. His gaze was drawn to it. It was familiar, as if he had seen it in a dream. Looking into the light his vision was distorted into a perfect array of moving and dancing, symmetrical crystals of light and his mind was filled with singing chimes, undeniably in opposition to the sounds from the emerald crystals before. It was the Light, a rare glimpse into the sublime goodness, eternally worshipped by he and his ancestors. At first these otherworldly sounds were pleasant, but then he heard glass shattering in a scream which nearly dropped him in a faint. Little he saw could he comprehend, but he felt as if he had lost something; he was colder than before.
The crowd quieted as Rommath mounted a pulpit. He was severe, almost betraying the frantic cheer of the atmosphere. Kael'Thas had sent his heralds to announce the rebirth of their race. He had joined a great force on another world and found great power for his people, a portion of which he had sent back. With this new magic, Silvermoon was erected again. The gates adorned with the image of their god-prince, patrolled by constructs of magic heretofore unknown since before the war. Alone, the ascension of their city was enough to convince the elves of a new godlike status which awaited them in this new world. And the being of light, denizen of parts unknown, an emissary sent to help the elves recover themselves, so said Rommath.
There was a summons to service in the new world. Many magisters and elves would be called to serve Kael's Sunfury, as it was now called. Rommath listed the most prominent: "Magisters Solarian, Galios, Darkshadow, Malande, Zerevor, Freywinn, Mellichar, Pathaleon, and Sarannis, are hereby summoned by the prince for their service in shaping the elven ascension into worlds beyond Azeroth." This was a substantial membership of Quel'Thalas' remaining leadership. "No elf will be denied opportunity for service in this our grand venture, and no elf will be compelled away from this our ancestral home. Quel'Thalas is and will ever be the cradle of Azeroth's greatest civilisation, our forefathers, and our children." The elves called stood proudly assembled with the others in the square. Those named had been respected magisters though not entirely well-liked. Elves around him showed surprise at certain selections. They had in common to have ruthlessly pursue greatness, and had been absent as of late. The rumours of conspiring among them seemed then to be true. Called to be Kael'Thas' closest group of advisors and generals.
Tenemire's eyes fell on Freywinn. It was almost surreal to see his professor, whom after so long he felt he knew very little, standing among those soon to depart for another world. Such a thing was for the gods. Never was it thought that mortals could traverse vast planes of existence. To play this game of the gods must appeal to many of his kind he thought. Within himself a flame of pride burned. To see his glorious civilisation rise from ashes to conquer new worlds, the handmaids of some unknown great powers in the dark beyond. They were meant for this surely. Suddenly, and only briefly, the screaming glass of his vision appeared to him again, and whatever he felt, it could not be felt simultaneously with that sense of pride and lust for power he had felt before. They were utterly opposed states of mind.
Many stayed after Rommath's speech, presumably to commit to the voyage. In such a brief moment of time the world Tenemire knew was forever changed and eternally complicated. He slowly walked toward his house, with no real intention of arriving anywhere specific. His thoughts were disorganised and he was at a loss for purpose. Suddenly he saw very near him moving in the same direction was an acquaintance of his, Brother Ponaris. He and Ponaris had always gotten along, and he believed them to be mutually friendly though neither had ever pushed for a furtherance to true friendship. Tenemire had thought with some humour that this was likely due to a similar introversion. Ponaris had chosen the path of priesthood, dedicating his life to the Light. Tenemire, ever a reverent and faithful adherent to the Church of the Light, had felt on some personal level an amicable connection over their mutual beliefs. Tenemire approached him in good humour; for a moment the grand events from before left his mind upon seeing somebody friendly to greet that day on a personal level. However very quickly Tenemire saw that Ponaris was not in good spirits, not exactly what one would expect after such an optimistic display at the outskirts of the city. Yes, it was true that after the war, the religious among them faced the insurmountable task of mending their fellow elves' mortally wounded faith.
"Doral ana'diel?" Tenemire approached.
"Oh, bal'a dash, friend."
"I was thinking, isn't it a bit funny meeting like this? I mean after what happened at the square. I still have not fully comprehended all of it."
"If it could be in any goodness comprehended." Unsure of how to respond, Tenemire asked without any of the due gravity which the question merited:
"Are you considering accompanying them to… the other world?"
"No. There is no place for my kind where they come from. The Light has yet to return here. It would be a great lie for me to assume that I would be doing anything good there if I went." Since the speech, Tenemire had been, not entirely consciously, vacillating between an overwhelming enthusiasm and blind acceptance for all that had occurred, and a pesky, unplaceable, voice of doubt that gave him pause. He had tried in conversation to assume that others whom he encountered would be similarly enthusiastic. Ponaris' austere temperance had confirmed in Tenemire that perhaps there was something to that small voice of doubt.
Tenemire returned home and felt an energy to which he was unaccustomed. He no longer felt hunger. And yet, despite the grave implications of all that had transpired before, of being one in many playing their part to lead the elves into a greater future, of prosperity and happiness for all, these intangible concepts easily gave way to the image of Sheynathrin's bulky silhouette in the lamplight, swaying to the sensuous sonority of strings playing that sweet music that Tenemire could readily call to mind, and desire to hear again.