The northern sun was bright, and gentle wind allowed the light to pass through the gold and ruby-colored trees upon verdant the Eversong forest floors. It had been years since the undead had ravished this land, but nature had always found a way to heal the plants and animals, flourishing in places once scarred by the powers fel and undeath had once undone.

Two darkly garbed travelers traveled the road side-by-side, Blood elf Death Knights upon a closer look. The first, a slightly built woman with delicate pale skin and shocking white hair she wore in a long, elaborate braid down one shoulder. She was garbed in simple dark traveling clothes, along with a satchel filled with archives, pens, and other writing materials. On her back slung a wicked long-blade that seemed to glow red and seemingly leeched life from the very air around it.

Her companion was much taller, but his features were hidden under heavy plate armor. Shadowy, ornate skulls adorned his pauldrons and breastplate, as well as the visage of a skull on his helm as well. Such similar designs could be found on the rest of the powerful-looking armor. On each hip, dual glowing blue short swords hung unscabbarded; beautiful, wicked, and deadly. Wisps of frost seeped out of the cracks between the plate, as well as his swords, chilling the very air around him, even on a sunny afternoon like this.

They walked in comfortable silence, keeping to themselves while passing through the villages. Most streets were filled with laughing children, gawking at the strangely armored man and quiet woman. Much to the horror of the adults, children were quickly pulled indoors at the sight of two lone Death Knights on their streets. This behavior was nothing new to the travelers. They had endured prejudice for many years, even after being accepted and reintroduced into society since the fall of Arthas Menethil, the former Lich King. For a life free from his control, they would endure any kind of prejudice, if that was the price to pay for their freedom.

Archivist Illana Dreadmoore and Dreadlord Tragique Nethari had arrived at the gilded halls of Silvermoon City via Translocation Orb only a few hours ago and had made good time in reaching Eversong woods with the haste they had given themselves. By orders of their Highlord Bolvar Fordragon, they had been tasked to seek the best aid Azeroth had to offer. Since they both belonged to the blood elf race, it was their duty to travel to Silvermoon as ambassadors for this task, while other death knights did similarly with members of their own races and lands.

Their destination was the abandoned and decaying ruins of Silvermoon, a forgotten place in their memory that had once meant life, community, and protection, and once a time ago, they too had been alive and belonged to such a place. Passing through the still standing gates that lead to Falconwing Square, a familiar pang of nostalgia had filled their minds from their former lives. It didn't take long to realize that the once vibrant square, which had been a place of prosperous trade and community was now turned into a refuge from the mana-starved wretched urchins that still roamed the areas, as well as lumbering rampant arcane constructs, too dangerous to approach to most guards and civilians. The old corrupted magics that still permeated this place had definitely sunk in deep, as it makes it near impossible to rebuild any time soon.

"This is quite the sad sight, Dreadlord," Illanna finally spoke, her voice soft but steely. "I've cringed at coming back here all this time, to our old homelands, only to be disappointed once again." She let out a quiet sigh, readjusting the straps of her book satchel.

"Please, I've told you to call me by my first time, Illanna. No need for formalities during times like these, in a place like this," muttered Tragique in a deep voice, his full faceplate making it impossible to read. "I'm still the same soldier you've known for so many years, just with a new title, is all."

Illanna raised one of her long eyebrows and studied him for a few moments, then continued to look ahead. "I think you just enjoy it when I call you by your new title, at least a little," she smirked slyly. She had been refusing to call him by his given name ever since he had been promoted during the last Legion invasion. He had never wanted the title, but she knew him well enough that she teased him all the same whenever she could.

"Well, let's get moving then, shall we, Dreadlord?" Illanna prompted. "Where can we find your old family home?" she asked as she gazed out into the destruction past Falconwing Square. Some spires and towers still stood strong, even after all the devastation, but most of the interiors were gone, either eaten away by foul magics and time or destroyed by squatters who dared live out in the ruins. After a moment's thought, the Dreadlord looked up and started walking again, Illanna keeping pace. "House Nethari was a grand estate and had once housed most of the main family, along with servants and guests," Tragique recalled. Towards the northern walls, House Nethari overlooked the northern walls, a once-grand estate, now sitting in dilapidation. "It's sad to see it in such a disgraceful state. Many members of the core Nethari family had been once raised here, just as I once was. I just hope they've answered my call and chose to arrive."

Wretched Urchins huddled in groups around makeshift fires, many on edge due to their own madness. Some got in fights with the slightest provocation and killed each other, while others watched on blank-faced. However, most of the Wretched had been leery of the Death Knights, knowing only their own deaths would result in crossing them. The Death Knights walked on as if these creatures were not even there. Not worth even a glance. After about an hour of walking on foot, Illanna and Tragique had arrived at the ruins of House Nethari. It had appeared exactly as Illanna had imagined from Tragique's descriptions. Tall columns of white and golden stone crumbled under the weight of what had been a very extravagant balcony once. Parts of a wall had been torn down by a giant boulder and tall weeds took up most of the front of the manor. Curiously, however, its windows had been neatly shut, as well as the grand front door entrance. Most likely spelled to keep outsiders from entering its halls that had survived the feel and death magics. "These doors will only open for a member of the Nethari family. I just hope gatekeeping spell hasn't forgotten about me after so many years," the Dreadlord said cautiously. Illanna put a gentle hand on his arm and looked up at him and said soundly, "Sin'dorei kin-magic has always been powerful. It will not forsake it's own bloodline now, even after death." Emboldened by her words, Tragique clenched his fist through his plated gauntlets and gave a terse nod. "I hope you're right."

Removing his gauntlet, he placed a bare hand over the tarnished gilded door handle and recited in clear Thalassian "Sinu a'manore, Ban'din Nethari". A moment passed, but nothing happened. "Kin magic is usually more effective when a memory of your past life is present in your mind while reciting the spell," Illanna cautioned. Tragique nodded his head in agreement. Thinking hard, he searched his memories of something connecting him to this house. "Well, this is a rather embarrassing memory for sure, but..." he hesitated. Illanna looked at him bemused. "Oh come now, Tragique. I promise I won't tell anyone," she beamed. She gave him a little nudge on the arm for a show of good faith. Tragique sighed, visibly conflicted but clearly defeated. "Well," he started, "when I was still very young, I had been living here with my cousins for a time, and one day, we had decided to play hide and seek. While the rest were off hiding, I decided to hide in a closet upstairs, unknowing that my other cousin had chosen to hide there as well."

Illanna raised an eyebrow and silently stifled a giggle, knowing where this was going. Tragique continued, "Well, to make a long story short, we, well, in such close proximity, em...being very young and inexperienced, um, you have to understand, I had...my first kiss and well..." he grunted. Illanna bit her lip, trying her best not to laugh. "and well," Tragique struggled, "I...well...". He blinked and then, after a moment, started "wait a minute, I'm not supposed to be telling you this. I'm supposed to be thinking this to the door," he growled. Illanna couldn't take it anymore and burst out into sweet and hearty laughter. "Oh no, Dreadlord. By all means, do continue. I think you're getting to the good part," Illanna grinned. "Oh forget it. I've got what I need. Let's just get inside," Tragique said. "But I want to know what happened next!" pouted the archivist, clearly curious by now. "You were kissing your cousin and then what?"

"I'll take the rest to my next grave," said Tragique, evidently not willing to reveal anything further. He put his hand on the door and was about to recite the opening spell, when a man's voice on the other side of the door suddenly said, "I'll tell you what happened next. Wouldn't you like to know?"

The door clicked, then opened inwards, leaving Tragique and Illanna utterly confused. Inside, a tanned skinned, bare-chested young blood elf, with short black hair and neatly trimmed facial hair casually ate a bright red apple while flipping a dagger gingerly into the air and catching it, all while leaning against a grand staircase banister, staring at both death knights with a twinkle from his glowing blue eyes. He winked to Illanna and smiled slyly. He turned to Tragique and calmly said in that deep soothing male voice, "Hello, cousin," flashing a dazzling smile.