Open preparation for war: that was the title of the latest edition of the New Nendis Gazette that evening.

The announcement had been made weeks and weeks ago that an extermination campaign would be undertaken against the local silithid outbreak. Nothing was new in terms of official acknowledgement, but there were a number of developments in the besieged yet unfinished city. Construction - or growth, more accurately - hadn't even been complete in all quarters of the walled, rebuilt city when the second attack by silithid wasp strikers occurred. Having learned their lessons from the first, the wall guards - who now had a few veterans added to the regiments of mostly youngbloods - dealt the killing blows much more efficiently. Also unlike the first attack, there were no casualties - just a few nicks and scratches.

The attack had scared civilians regardless, however, and that was most strongly felt in the local economy. Frightened citizens could be dealt with; foreign merchants, however, had the option to leave. It didn't matter if the locals in question were night elves, sand trolls, pandaren or leper gnomes; there was no surer way to spur s government into action than to threaten business. From the first night that the midnight market had a few empty merchant stalls, the local branch of the Sentinel Navy sent troop transport ships to Feathermoon Stronghold, Rut'theran City and New Auberdine before the request for troop increased had even been drafted. Foreign exchange reserves of gold coins minted in Orgrimmar and bank notes from Gadgetzan had become a drug for the supposedly isolationist and nationalistic Sentinels, and a threat to international trade was a threat to New Nendis itself.

News of the favorable responses from garrisons in the three more developed cities spread like wildfire, due in part to intentional seeding of said news in the tea houses and market places by Kaldorei nightblades who functioned not only as assassins and spies but also effective covert propagandists. The city's sole coffee house, the haunt of outlanders and wealthy human importers from the Alliance especially, had been a particularly important target for spreading the news, and much to Commander Lamia's delight, the seeded publicity for the troop increase paid off.

For the already stationed troops both enlisted as regular soldiers and hired from mercenary camps, that meant quite a bit of extra work. The first transport ship was set to dock from New Auberdine, a similarly ancient night elf city that had been destroyed but later rebuilt by popular demand. Every new soldier would need to be guided by an assigned 'buddy' on arrival to the most recently grown ancients of war to choose their bunks, stash away their belongings and then survey the patrol routes of the city. The fact that so many of the civilians had crowded around the finally completed naval yard on the opposite end of the beach from the commercial docks didn't make things easier; heavily armored huntresses along with heavy set guardian Druids had to form a makeshift living wall to stop all the well wishers and grateful locals from overwhelming the assuredly tired and disoriented sentinel soldiers after a week long boat trip. Loud cheers rang out when the new arrivals first left the transport ships and congregated in organized groups at the shipyard, warming weary hearts but also distracting the logistics specialists trying to assign guides to each new arrival - all eighty of them.

Off to one side, three plainclothes troops - two mercenaries and one enlisted - waited for three newcomers they were expected to greet and guide. Captain Soraya had instructed Navarion, Thresha and Tammie to wait off to one side while she located their three assignees to guide.

Although Thresha was usually rather solemn for her young (by elven standards) age, she had easily been infected by the more upbeat nature of Tammie, who would always find a way to fill silence with her outdated jokes and lingo from a decade ago.

"I can't remember the last time I saw this many soldiers gathered outside of war time," the vindicator remarked, letting the pitch of her voice shift up and down as if her comment were hilarious. Her attitude achieved its goal, however, and Thresha reacted in kind.

"Oh, it's inspiring, isn't it!" the pureblooded night elf chortled, shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun. "Their presence alone is sure to raise everybody's spirits."

"And everybody's spirits are sure to be raised!" Tammie chortled right back, not the least bit embarrassed by the fact that her two companions were laughing more at her boisterous behavior than what she had actually said.

Far more organized than any other mortal military, the eighty sentinels waited in small groups of three or four on the docks of the naval yard. Off in the distance, Navarion could spot Soraya and a few other officers taking names, hometowns and ID numbers - one of the few practices of the Alliance that the Sentinels held on to years after leaving the faction - onto their overcrowded clipboards. While the officers were busy accounting for all the arrivals as well as the handful of military service providers and logistics workers on the transport ship, the three plainclothes friends sat in the sand just off of the wooden boardwalk crowded with new arrivals and local officers alike.

"This is more comfortable," Tammie sighed comfortably while plopping down sideways.

Navarion fought to remain focused on the conversation, though the tribulations of his personal life constantly tried to jump into his mind. If anything, the pleasant chat in the sand while they waited for their assignees to be sent over to them was just what he had needed, if he could only pay attention. "What do you two think will end up happening after this troop surge?" he asked almost absentmindedly, trying to force himself to be involved in the conversation.

Thresha hummed as she considered the prospects, but Tammie spoke more quickly than her. "I expect the extermination campaign to strike at full force first, then cleanup stray hives and mounds later." In a flash, her tone had become thoughtful once more, not a hint of manic behavior on her at all as she transitioned from silly to serious flawlessly.

"We still don't know where the infestation began exactly, or if there are multiple smaller sites rather than one larger site," Thresha replied cautiously, reclining back onto her hands but looking rather pensive. "There might need to be more exploratory expeditions before a serious strike is made."

"Exploratory expeditions?" Navarion asked rhetorically.

Thresha tossed a handful of sand his way; she didn't aim for his clothing but registered her displeasure by burying one of his hands. "You know what I mean," she laughed, and then Tammie laughed, and then Navarion laughed without knowing why, finding it easy to finally relax.

"Look, the silithids will be wiped out quickly: we're sure of that much," Tammie stated, straightening up like she were at the beginning of some sort of lecture.

"Right."

"Of course."

"The troop surge might not even be necessary; it's for show. War is about deception-"

"So you'd say we're officially at war?" Thresha interjected, cutting Tammie off.

"Hold on, I'm getting there. War is all about deception; it's about image and bluffing."

"Bluffing to a bunch of insects?" Thresha interjected again.

"No; to the people," Tammie answered confidently. "This is for both the local workers - all of whom came here from other places since the rebuilding only began this year - and the merchants both Kaldorei and foreign. All conflict is about monies and lands."

"Land is a non-count noun," Navarion chimed in, not so much petulantly as just trying to stay in the conversation.

"Listen, shush for a minute," Tammie said in a sincerely polite voice that had Navarion and Thresha both in stitches. "This is about keeping the workers and the traders here. Yes, they want to preserve culture, rebuild a historic city, protect their citizens and so forth, but this is mainly about business, like most conflicts."

"So you think Commander Lamia is bluffing to the common populace here in the city?" Thresha asked almost rhetorically. The tone of her voice insinuated that she already knew the answer.

"Yes, but for a good reason. The troop surge is going to keep the highways even safer and speed up the inevitable fall of these bugs."

The three of them were so engrossed in the short discussion that they hadn't even seen Soraya approaching.

"Attention," sounded off the captain's voice, and despite being off duty all three soldiers jumped to their feet and/or hooves. Tammie wavered in the sand and both Navarion and Thresha grabbed her by the arms to keep her steady. "Watch yourself, vindicator," Soraya droned in her sentinel voice, but she smirked, showing her amusement to the three of them but concealing it from the three women behind her. "Alright, you're each going to be in charge of showing your new comrades around the military quarter as well as the patrol routes tonight. Until they adjust to their new surroundings, you'll also be their first point of contact for any questions they may have. Hearthglen?"

"Yes ma'am?" Navarion asked, stepping forward.

"This is Maya Ironwood II. I believe your families might be acquainted," Soraya said, leaving Navarion's jaw to practically drop to the ground.

"How...captain, how did you know that?"

The sentinel named Maya, however - who was well known to Navarion through stories even though his mother had never actually met her - seemed confused. "I don't recall meeting someone by the family name of Hearthglen before," she murmured cautiously as if a bit intimidated by Soraya.

"The women of your mother's ancestral grove have spread far and wide, Hearthglen," Soraya explained, smirking again as if she held some great big secret. "I know of both your and Private Ironwood's roots because I once served alongside a certain dragoon by the name of Nightshade."

"Tirith..." Navarion murmured himself, in awe rather than in intimidation.

"That's right. You'll be pleasantly surprised to learn who the Marshall of the Sentinel Army's forward division is, too," Soraya added ominously, smiling in a way that showed she wouldn't tell him exactly who it was. The taunting was actually a breath of fresh air from the stern captain, though her lack of formality made the three newcomers visibly uncomfortable. "Show Ironwood to her quarters and make sure she knows the patrol routes through the inner city woodland as well as within the western city wall."

"Yes ma'am," he responded, picking up Maya's foot locker for her not out of chivalry - which didn't exist in a matriarchal society - so much as out of respect for a weary ally.

"So how does your mother know my family, exactly?" Maya asked as they left the naval yard for the military quarter.

"So your mother lived alongside her grandmother for the entire Long Vigil?" Astariel asked in awe as they strolled through a residential district to a less well known bistro frequented only by locals in the neighborhood.

Weaving in and out of the midnight crowd, Navarion tried his best to avoid stepping on yet another gaggle of gnomes trying to hawk their clocks and music boxes to a race who preferred to mark time by watching the movement of the moon across the sky and who all knew how to play at least two instruments of their own.

"Yes; her grandma was the head of the military branch of government at Serenity," he replied while narrowly missing a low tree branch jutting out from one of the tree houses on the street. "But my mother went by her birth name back then, which is why Maya II here didn't realize that my mother served under Maya I."

"I was actually wondering about that...Hearthglen isn't an elven name."

"No, it isn't, but the story is a little too long to tell here," he chuckled as they continued to search for their destination. "It would be better to wait until we can sit down. Plus, the others would hear the story so I won't have to tell it multiple times."

Looking straight ahead, Astariel smiled as if reveling in a memory of great meals past. "You're going to love this place by the way. Their pastries are made from ground acorn meal, not wheat like what you get from the other races. Even the ingredients they bake inside are authentic Kaldorei - the meat, for example, is either venison or quail. None of that beef or chicken you find south of our country." She grimaced for a second as if lamenting in a memory of not so great meals past. "Or pork. I seriously don't understand why orcs love that stuff so much."

"Sounds like a great and authentic way to blow the paychecks we just got yesterday." Out of the corner of his eye, Navarion watched her staring straight ahead and tried to see how she'd react to a question that was completely normal in many parts of the world. "How much did you receive this week?" he asked innocently.

Frowning and arching her kong eyebrows up, she made him laugh a little by her offended reaction. "Navarion, sometimes I'm worried that you're too influenced by the outlanders," she said in a grave, concerned tone.

"That probably means that you make more than me," he beamed just a little bit too much. "I didn't mean to offend you by the way, I was just testing the waters."

"All the same, you shouldn't allow the outside world to corrupt you," she replied, not seeing the irony or ethnocentrism in her own words. "And of course I make more than you, I'm a woman."

For a few moments, he stayed silent, not offending in the least but certainly thoughtful. In a world where most races treated women rather poorly, the Kaldorei could be called an anamoly. Never having been the victim of bias, he almost didn't have the sense to feel upset by it so much as he just found it an interesting cultural study.

"You know, in many cultures - maybe most here on Azeroth - it's the other way around. Women don't have the opportunities men do."

"Those are completely backward gender relations," she huffed in disbelief despite certainly being aware of how the rest of the world functioned.

"Would the ideal be something in the middle, then?" he suggested. "Like a system where there was equal pay for equal work?"

Forgetting that they were technically lost in the crowded neighborhood, Astariel just waved her hand in the air in front of her as she dismissed the comment. "No, that isn't fair at all," she answered in absolute certainty. "Women are the leaders. We take life to defend our land and we give life by bearing the next generation of women. A man's job is primarily to impregnate his wife so she can bear daughters."

Truly Navarion wasn't offended - to each their own, he always thought - but her attitude was just so different for him. Among the goblin barons in Ratchet, he had grown accustomed to hearing his sisters and female friends complain of unfair treatment in the professional world. But here, it seemed to be the opposite - Astariel was literally claiming that one gender deserved higher pay than the other by virtue of having been born that gender. He didn't quite know what to make of it.

"What if his wife bears sons?"

"Then they can grow up and sire more daughters," she replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Ah," was his only reply.

Even though she had seemed so sure of herself when answering, he didn't even need to use voodoo to sense that she had tensed up a bit at his questioning. Neither of them said a word as they tried to figure out where they were and how many turns they had taken; not only were the roads narrow and full of both workers and locals just chatting, but the higher levels of the forest city were also abuzz with excitement over the recent troop surge and the return of foreign merchants to New Nendis. At least three more levels up, a series of vine bridges and long branches connecting from one treehouse to a separate treehouse connected all the various floors as they did in the rest of the city, but the fact that the trees were to close together in this part of the city made things feel even more cramped and noisy. It was just about the only district where one could truly get lost.

Off to the side, the gleam of sapphire twinkled in both of their eyes due to the movement of a few people. Apparently, some people had set up a small silk tent only spacious enough to accommodate a few chairs. Somebody stood beind a table covered in papers that Navarion would have ignored otherwise, but Astariel's increased tension and slowed pace caused him to look.

Standing and bidding a group of visitors farewell, a demure night elf female wore the robes of a priestess. Except they weren't the cloths of a priestess of the moon or a member of the Sisterhood of Elune; those were very distinct and easily recognizable. Rather, this woman wore the attire of the priests of the holy Light, the religious faith of humans, dwarves and draenei. Obviously a convert herself given the foreign nature of the religion, the papers on the table were pamphlets translated into Darnassian like the copies she'd given to the people walking away from the table.

By the time Navarion had realized that the tent had been set up by missionaries, Astariel had already walked past him silently to inspect the table. Gulping, he followed her, knowing he may very well have to break up a polemical debate.

"Good night," chirped the priestess of the...well, sun, Navarion guessed, using the common form of hello for night elves. "Are you interested in borrowing any of our literature?" She was clearly a pureblooded night elf, but her accent in Darnassian was discernible enough to tell that Common was her native language, just like it was his.

Immediately, he could guess a number of things about her. Obviously she had been born after immortality, was likely Astariel's age and had grown up in the Eastern Kingdoms. Whether her parents had converted to Light worship or she had simply been raised that way he couldn't tell, but her more forward body language and excessive (by elven standards) hand movement signaled that she had been raised with human culture rather than Kaldorei traditions. He'd seen that before; the humans were relentless in pushing their religious beliefs onto others, much more so than the dwarves or draenei, but they also knew that different races responded more positively to missionaries of their own people. Navarion had never heard of a night elf born during immortality converting to another religion, leaving only those who had been born or grown up among humans as potential token Kaldorei for Light missions around the world. Such efforts were largely in vain, as those token Kaldorei usually knew very little of their own roots, chief among those roots the tendency of Kaldorei to react extremely negatively to members of their own race losing touch with a culture that had existed for longer than the combined existence of humans and dwarves anyway. The subtle but still visible Alliance insignia on the inside tent flap revealed that she was one of the few who had chosen to remain a member of that faction when the night elves left it years ago, and thus was legally as much an outlander as the gnomish merchants waddling around them.

All that, he could tell from the first few seconds when she spoke and when he looked over her outfit and tent. Unfortunately, he didn't have enough time to pull Astariel away before she began to drill the oblivious Un'goro passion fruit (purple on the outside, pink on the inside).

"Goddess light your path," Astariel replied right at the beginning, throwing the proverbial gauntlet down and making her loyalties known. "Do you have a license to be soliciting?"

Across the young missionary's face spread a mixture of irritation, defiance, apprehension and just a little bit of fear as she forced herself to smile and keep her hands folded in front of her stomach pleasantly. "My friend, we are not soliciting for anything here at our mission. We only seek-"

"You're selling out your roots, apparently," Astariel snapped back. The hustle and bustle of the crowded street made it such that nobody passing by could overhear the conversation, saving Navarion at least a little bit of anxiety.

"I think I can see the bistro from here," he said while leaning close to Astariel's twitching ears.

Upper lip stiffened, the missionary tried to appear stalwart for a moment. "Don't worry, friend, I forgive you for your slander without you even needing to ask-"

"Tell me, have you ever actually read any of the scripture of the Sisterhood?" Astariel interrupted, not hiding her scorn as her facial expressions became uncharacteristically fluid. "Do you even know about the faith that you're rejecting? Or is your Darnassian really that poor?"

Tension mounting not at the thought of putting his hands on her physically but at the possibility of a real argument breaking out, Navarion gripped Astariel by the arm and tugged gently. "Okay, I'm pretty sure I see the others waiting for us-"

"The Light can cure all ailments, my friend," the missionary said while stiffening her own posture. She smiled the way people smile when they're angry. "Even bad manners."

"So where was the Light when the Scourge wiped out more than twenty five million of its worshippers in Lordaeron during the Third War, hmm?" Astariel widened her eyes in her own, more open, show of anger. When the missionary gasped, she nodded her head in an acrimonious display that was shocking coming from her. "I thought so. You weep for humans and Sindorei more than you would for our own Kaldorei."

"Hey, Astra, I'm pretty sure Maya is waving to us!" Navarion tried in vain to interject. He then looked to the crestfallen Light missionary, feeling rather sorry for the naive but idealistic young woman - so, so, so much like Astariel herself if the two women only realized it - despite his dislike of proselytizing on the behalf of any religious belief at the expense of another. "If you could excuse us, miss, our friends are waiting-"

"And another thing!" Astariel tried to scold while Navarion simply dragged her away, leaving the missionary to hang a 'back in ten minutes' sign on the table and shut herself in the tent, mostly likely to sulk in ideological defeat.

"Just forget about it, it isn't important," he tried to reassure her while he continued to pull her toward the bistro.

"Do you know why she kept calling me friend?"

"No, I suppose I don't," he sighed reluctantly. "Why?"

"Because she considers anybody who doesn't worship the Light an infidel, even her own fellow night elves."

"That's unfortunate."

"Their churches teach that, by the way! I hope you know that!" she exclaimed while tugging on his arm too to get his attention. "Anybody other than them goes to a lake of fire when they die, according to Light worshippers!"

"I had no idea," he replied, humoring her gross generalization and stereotyping.

"Yeah, they do! She'd call a human or a dwarf her sister, but she won't call me that even if I call her out on it publicly - they consider it a sin to do so and will just smile and act polite up front while cussing you out when they're away from you!"

"Well, it's over now, so there's no need to worry about it."

"From now on I'm calling them Lighties!"

At the last comment, Navarion slowed down a bit before they reached the bistro and anybody who could potentially hear her slur. "Tsk, no, Astra, just let it go."

"I am!"

"Let it go."

"Navarion, you need to work on your friend Zhenya."

Stopping completely just a few yards away from the steps leading up to the porch of the bistro - Maya had begun to joke with Thresha and Calil about something while they waited - Navarion tried to calm his heart rate down and act as if hearing that name didn't still hurt him a little bit. It had been more than a month since they'd 'taken a break' and he'd barely seen her to gauge how much she missed him since.

"Work on?"

"Yes, you need to speed up your efforts to convert her!" At that, he did manage to loosen up slightly if only slightly; if only she knew. "When was the last time you taught her one of the twenty seven precepts of the Sisterhood?"

"Oh...it might have been last week," he lied through his teeth. He hadn't even known there were only twenty three, they seemed like so much.

"Any spot outside of your bunk is your mission field. Why not teach her one right now? Every spare moment is a moment where you can spread the truth."

"Right...now?"

It was only then that he realized that Zhenya was standing only about a dozen yards away from them, speaking to someone across the street in front of another local restaurant. Though she just wore a plain burgundy t shirt along with brown, knee length shorts, he outfit coupled with her more tamed hairstyle made her look more feminine than he remembered seeing her. Her companion, a well dressed draenei wearing so many rings and necklaces that he must have been a jeweler, reached out and cupped the back of her neck with his hand.

Without even looking at his own companion, Navarion led her by the arm in the direction of their three waiting friends and nudged her forward. "You know what, Astra...I think I just might take the opportunity," he mumbled while staring dumbstruck.

"Oh, that's so inspiring!" she beamed while making her way over to the rest of their friends at the bistro. "Goddess light your path!" Another second and the four of them were inside; ostensibly, she was bragging about how she was partially responsible for the coming conversion of another 'Lightie' to the true faith of Elune as none of the others tried to pull him inside.

Mesmerized, numb but just a little bit upset, Navarion leaned against a low, naturally grown fencepost while pretending to people watch the patrons of the opposing restaurant. As subtle as Zhenya could be, a golden flash signaled the slightest of head tilts and he knew that she was looking at him. Her posture was dainty, far too dainty to be the normal her, as she listened to the once again berobed merchant prattle on about something. Nodding to the wealthy looking man and then toward the restaurant, she smiled in a way that could fool anybody but Navarion and nudged her own companion up the steps. He leaned a bit closer, causing aggressive jealousy, accursed testosterone and immature machismo to spike inside of the half troll's system despite the fact that she rotated sideways such that the jeweler's chickenpeck connected with the side of her single intact horn instead of her forehead. He seemed rather pleased with himself as he went inside, disappearing into the crowd.

For a minute or so, both Navarion and Zhenya stood and pretended to look at other things while actually looking at each other. His heart refused to slow down, jumping up into his throat and constricting it, refusing to grant him reprieve from the hundred and one scenarios running across his befuddled mind. Every answer begat more questions than he could even comprehend, and he had to settle for individually counting how many days it had been since the two of them decided to take a break from each other.

Throwing propriety out the window, he crossed the street slowly and leaned against the fencepost right next to the restaurant, showing her that he was waiting for her to talk to him. He had never been one to worry too much about what others thought of him, and would feel no shyness were she to just walk inside and leave him high and dry by himself; at least he tried.

Zhenya folded her hands over her chest and clopped in his direction, pretending to take indredible interest in the texture of the tree bark further up on the trunks. Her neon yellow hair dye had begun to fade and her natural jet black color invaded from the roots, combed demurely behind her one and a half horns. Never had he seen her looking so made up and appearance conscious before. That she had gone to the trouble for the sake of another man made him hate to even look at her.

She leaned against the fencepost as well, facing in the same direction as him while pretending to people watch. For another moment, the two of them stood silently, not challenging the other to speak first but honestly finding nothing to say. Whether or not she was also experiencing the range of confusion he was, he did not know.

Finally, she spoke.

"He's a friend of a friend from Azuremyst," she explained in a voice that hinted at a contriteness he had never, ever heard or expected from her before. "I showed him around town a few days ago since he's selling here." Maybe she could have fooled somebody else. Zhenya was a talented if untrained actress, and she wore her best poker face as she tried very hard to look as if she didn't care, as if she didn't feel bad for him; Lord knows she had truly, sincerely felt that way about many of their fights before. But she could not fool him; not even close. He knew her too well, knew her inside and out, and he knew that for once, she did feel bad for him.

That didn't provide him any comfort, no matter how much he had thought before that empathy from her would have done so. "I see," Navarion replied, unable to fully express how little he wanted to hear about another man. The two of them continued to stand next to each other without looking at each other until he found the power of will to talk some more. "So now you're showing him the restaurants."

Rather than arrogantly shoot back the way she always had before, Zhenya remained quiet a little while longer before answering in a cautious tone as if she were on trial and worried that her words could be used against her. "He asked me out to dinner. Technically, I'm not...reserved," she said euphemistically. "I had no reason to refuse him."

"Technically, I guess you don't. You're free." Navarion didn't flinch, didn't move, barely even breathed as he remained glued to his spot on the fencepost.

In all their many months together, she had always been the one to escalate their fights. The one to become even more defiant if she knew she was wrong. The one to resort to shocking claims of acting out due to past injustices or implying suicidal tendencies if criticized or scolded. The one to absolutely refuse to apologize for anything no matter how wrong she was. She was selfish, self centered and very self assured. So when she turned to him looking apologetic in her expression for the first time since he'd met her, literally the first time, period, he found the exchange too surreal and withdrew.

"Navarion...listen, I-"

"I'm happy for you," he lied through his teeth while leaving the fencepost and stretching his back before returning to the bistro.

Frustration, though not impatience or resentment, peppered her voice. "Wait, just listen," she protested weakly. "It's only one date, he and I aren't asking each other for commitment or anything. Technically, you and I are both single-"

It was all he needed to hear. "I'm happy for you," escaped from his lips as he walked away, leaving her to take a few steps after him, teasing him with an apology she had always withheld when they had been together, back when it actually mattered.

She stopped after a few steps, realizing they were in public and moving back to the fencepost. He could feel her eyes upon him, and only wished they would never look at him again. Because at that moment, all he could think of was eating pastries with his friends until he vomited, drinking himself to sleep and swearing off women for life.