The few stray silithids had failed to actually dig a mound or lay a nest; they were, by and large, neutralized and a non threat to traveler's and locals alike. Their hives and mounds entirely destroyed and their egg laying castes eradicated, the month following the celebrations of the main military columns was spent by the various highway patrols clearing out silithid strays, random bandits and the handful of remaining corrupt wildlife.
The last of the silithids in Azshara, a reaver, met its end snapping its putrid insectoid jaws and flapping its useless wings in vain. It writhed around in the ground, unable to react as fast arms and legs gripped its back and braced it for the sickle blade coming down onto its neck. With a disgusting snap and splurt, the head twisted off, marking the official end of the insectoid menace in night elf lands, though it would go unsung.
The blood oozed out of its carapace as the shadow of a shadow hunter loomed over it, towering and victorious without any sense of joy. Dying anonymously in the grass, the reaver was a testament to the ultimate futility of the attempt in the long term. Futility not just for the bugs, but for the soldiers who had fought as well.
Life goes on. People move on. That's the job. Die so civilians can live, and then fade into the background unseen so as not to give the impression of a militant society. Rinse and repeat.
Hours became days and sleep followed work followed sleep. The days became weeks and a sort of Short Vigil formed as every one of the hours, days and weeks melded into each other. The shadow hunter became totally reliant on whatever captain had been assigned to the highway patrol for timekeeping, and had no idea how much or how little time was left before returning to New Nendis. All he knew was a sense of duty and the hollow numbness that was so much safer than actual conscious thought.
Too much threatened his troubled mind. Images of a blue haired sentinel melded into images of a blue skinned paladin in his mind, shape shifting like the dark clouds of night above. At times his imagination would mix with his vision and he'd have to pinch or slap himself to prevent the onset of hallucinations in the middle of the job. Never before had he suffered issues within his own mind as his father had once described to him; his thoughts had always been lucid and clear. For the first time in his life, he actually felt unstable, even if he'd managed to hide it from all those around him.
The trotting of Zhenya's elekk - now his - often droned in his ears so much that he felt like beating the mount out behind a tree for a while, just to relieve the tension in the muscles of his back, scare it into stepping more carefully and release the unlabelable emotions swirling around inside. Always, he had been the cool one, the calm one, the collected and removed one. That's who he was; that's how he wanted to be. But this confusion...it might have been inherited, but it didn't feel like him. Those hours, days and weeks on the highway, nodding to polite travelers and merchants and cleaning up whatever scum they encountered passed as if he were watching a stranger operate his own body. The lack of responsibility was as relaxing as the lack of self control was horrifying.
Finally, the carapace stopped bleeding; the last silithid outside of their decaying hives in the far, far away southwestern end of the continent twitched for the last time. One of the sentinels on the patrol, a younger woman unlike the elder two pureblooded night elves in the unit, enjoyed watching the life drain from the last bug's compound eyes. Eventually her silvers met those of the half blood, followed by a nod of respect for a comrade.
"Feels good, doesn't it?" she asked, motioning toward his sickle blade and the dead silithid.
A face that was once so lively and animated stared back at her, taking time to process the friendly question as if it were a foreign language. A heart that once beat with the rhythms of the world and the passion of one who loved waking up alive every single day held still inside its ice box, unable to feel any sort of warmth, whether positive or negative. Fear had driven it to that place, where it would never have to worry about guilt or pain again.
"I don't feel anything."
No rudeness or even brusqueness made its way into his tone, but his lack of reaction was apparent even to himself. Perhaps the thinking he'd made a joke, his comrade smirked to herself and followed him back to the mounts, reporting to the captain on the end of the seemingly non-threatening menace that would soon be a blip on the radar even in the books of local county historians.
Navarion sat on the edge of the bunk that had been his for more than half a year. After all that had taken place, the bunk that had once belonged to Dmitri seemed shockingly empty. Even the light snoring of the furbolg shaman echoed in the small, circular room of the third story of their barracks, puncutating the loneliness that the place represented. He'd missed Tammie's final departure along with Dmitri's personal affects by just over one day, as if to emphasize the fact that all his attempts to form bonds with others came to fruition too little, too late.
He'd already been officially discharged that afternoon. Paid in cash, his earnings from the six and a half weeks on patrol had been counted, handed over to him and then promptly passed on to a Steamwheedle Cartel representative for safe transshipment to the specific branch of the cartel bank his family used. Since his bunk had a new berry bunch growing above it signifying that it was considered vacant by nature, he had little other reason to remain sitting there. Sergeant Fyndir had returned to his also handicapped wife so their children could take care of them in their last days, and Navarion had already bid farewell to the tiny handful of locals he felt he needed to.
All of that had been performed without encountering Astariel, for which he was thankful. After all he had done, he felt too ashamed to even face her and didn't even know what he could possibly say. He'd ruined her life as much as the dual death of her parents, he was sure of it, all because he hadn't been honest enough just to tell her up front that despite their feelings for each other, he didn't feel himself a compatible partner for a good girl like her. And now, that good girl had been hurt in the way he most feared for the ones he cared about: by a bad boy who let her hopes build up only to allow them to fall.
Overwhelmed by it all, he closed his eyes tight until the ice box froze over again, numbing him inside a protective shell where he could hide from the world. He shut them closed, and he held them closed as he descended the ramp all the way to the ground floor of the ancient of war, opening them only when he heard the footsteps of more residual irregulars he would have to step around. Two contingents of irregulars were retained by Brigadier General Lamia for various purposes. The older irregulars were used to train the regular enlisted Kaldorei and pass on their battlefield skills, while the younger irregulars were sent for jobs the regulars couldn't perform due to ego, such as guarding warehouses or arranging weapons and armor stockpiles. Or simply mopping up buildings in the military quarter, as one happy tauren was doing without complaint as Navarion walked down the narrow road leading out of the district. Mercenary camps found slim pickings after the anti-silithid campaign had come to an end, and fewer soldiers of fortune were being accepted into the sparse but numerous fighters' halls.
Aside from the meeting with Lamia herself, he'd been able to keep his shell around him. At the huntress lodge she'd come to personally how to him and a number of others that had been discharged that day, ever gracious even to the mercenaries scorned yet depended on by so many of the regulars. It was an honor for the woman who was now the head of one of the three branches of night elven government (military, clergy and naturalist) in New Nendis to personally bid him farewell and even remember his name, and the nameless sentinel's guarding the lodge most assuredly felt jealous. Having sustained injuries at the disastrous battle and being even more ancient than Navarion's mother, Lamia had begun walking with a cane that bore a blade inside that would mechanically pop out at the push of a button, different yet similar to his own weapon. Beloved by the people and especially the soldiers, she had been rather kind to deliver goodbyes herself and it almost warmed Navarion's heart. Ragnar, who had gone from being a mercenary to Lamia's regular bodyguard due to his tribe's closeness to the Kaldorei, had been the next to last person Navarion felt he could bear to bid farewell to personally, and after returning to the bunk that was once his he knew there was only one person left.
That person happened to be waiting for him at the end of the road leading out of the military quarter, wearing the off duty uniform of an army commander and flanked by the typical young sentinel women that tended to follow higher ranking officers around everywhere. Solemn and respectful but not melancholy, Soraya waited for him to reach her before rotating and walking next to him.
"It's the least I could do to see you out," the former captain and current commander told him as she walked by his side down the road that lead through the bazaar and on to the road heading out the southern gate.
"Thank you, capt...commander," he replied, still getting used to the change in titles.
Smiling congenially, there was a marked relaxation in her tone. "Commander is for the next time our paths cross...for today, just Soraya is acceptable, she sighed, looking weary as if the responsibility weighed heavily in her shoulders.
"Soraya it is," he replied, surprising himself by how at ease he sounded.
Side by side, the two of them stared toward the ground as they marched, oblivious to the market commotion around them on the main southern road. The high city walls came into view in between the tall trees forming the upper levels of the city, like a formerly impenetrable border representing the duty that had bound him in that space for so long.
Off in the distance, three familiar faces Navarion didn't have the heart to speak to acted out the most curious of scenes. Sitting in plainclothes on a public patch of grass between the treeshops of two crafts women, Calil crossed his legs in front of him and hunched over, listening closely to Maya II as she recounted what must have been a tale of crushing silithids during the campaign. Apparently bothered by Calil's closeness to his new captain, Thresha sat so close to him that she was basically leaning on him, pretending to listen as she tried to subtly distract him from the story.
"That's recent," Soraya piped up, noticing where Navarion had been looking.
"What's that?"
"Thresha and Calil. Their behavior together is recent," she repeated while pointing toward the group even more subtly. "She's warmed up to him in a new way."
As if to punctuate the change, Maya II laughed loudly at one of her own jokes, garnering a chuckle from Calil and no response from Thresha, who surreptitiously tried to slide her arm behind his back and lean on it.
"That's quite a change," Navarion offered, trying to force himself to take interest but not quite succeeding.
"It started when Calil was transferred under Maya," Soraya explained as they walked out of sight of the trio and began passing more shops catering to travelers near the city wall proper. "He began hanging out with her and her group of friends on rotation from New Auberdine. Thresha remained posted at a warehouse for some time before being transferred to wall patrol and seeing Calil around Maya all the time drove her nuts."
"The tribulations of young affection," Navarion remarked absentmindedly, quickly realizing he may have indirectly poked similar wounds on both Soraya and himself.
Somber and still looking at the ground, her reply was slow and sounded almost tired. "I suppose so."
Ignoring her two followers, Navarion and Soraya continued to walk until they'd passed beneath the gate, stopping just outside and moving off the main road in order to allow others to pass. Merchants from other night elven cities and beyond traveled through carrying their wares, and people simply passing through to reach the port added to the mix. All they had fought for had been secured, leaving only the emptiness of soldiers who had to ask themselves what came next when the fighting was done.
Turning to face him, Soraya held a bit more of that Kaldorei command in her voice and demeanor. In spite of what she'd lost herself, she kept her head held high and her posture befitting of a warrior of the night. "Nobody ever wants the ones they left behind in this life to linger, waiting for a reunion that will never come. If we think they'd be any less noble than that, we do them a disservice." For a split second, a sense of softness worked its way into her gaze, and she looked at Navarion much in the way that his sisters might. "Life goes on. And I know that Pontus wouldn't want it any other way. Knowing that is what helps me sleep at day."
Truth evident in her words, he let his guard down momentarily for the sincere advice to make its way through. "Nor would Zhenya," he replied, pausing as he tried to focus his mind enough to speak about the backbreakingly difficult topic. "I only wish I could find that star to light my path."
"You will, Hearthglen. I'm sure of that." Smiling and bowing one last time, Soraya let go of any sadness she had as he bowed back. "May the Goddess lead you to New Nendis once more in the future," she said quietly though without sorrow over a parting friend as she stepped back.
Nodding in response, Navarion moved to one of the multiple stablemistresses outside the main gate, searching for the wyvern he'd received in a trade for Zhenya's elekk. Due to the memories, he found himself unable to ride the tusked mount for more than six weeks and had to give it up for one he felt no connection to. Seeing as how he was leaving for good, it felt befitting that he departed on his flying mount from the city gates instead of the proper flight point.
It only took a minute for him to pay the flightmistress' assistant for caring for the animal and loaded his bags, but Soraya had already left and returned to the city, apparently not having wanted to draw things out. Once atop the bat winged, scorpion tailed, lion headed beast, Navarion turned to take one last look at New Nendis.
High walls enclosed the city, shutting him out of it entirely. Nearly thirty thousand people filled the city by that time, hustling and bustling as they went about their lives and handled their business as parts of a thriving community. For half a year, those walls had signified home to the lone wanderer, a temporary haven after a previously insatiable desire to travel the world fighting for a goal he didn't even know himself. During that time, he met two women who had changed his life irreversibly and vice versa. One was a sinner as guilty as he whom he had hoped, however futile it had been, to tame and maybe even bring home one day; if he had wanted to fight across the world, he got what he had asked for in her demise. The irony was as overhwelming as everything else.
The other was someone totally unexposed to the world, pure and naive if mischevious, and sincere in her care for others. For her good intentions mixed with perhaps a poorly planned execution, her recompense was a heart shattered in a way Navarion had never done before, not even in the wild days of his early twenties. He'd done a terrible wrong to a good woman for no reason, and knew that the only solution was to remove himself from her life entirely and save her from him. Loa know that he didn't need to be spoiling anyone else's life.
Kicking off, he directed the wyvern to charge and soar, using a ramp outside the city walls to gain momentum for his takeoff. Not looking back even one time, he led his mount to fly higher and higher, swiftly moving south and as far away from Azshara as he could.
Watching from below, a number of people soldier and civilian alike recognized the shadow hunter who had supported other troops via his protective and healing spells. There goes a guy who stood in the background to prop up those in the spotlight, some of them remarked, feling a since of gratitude before returning to their normal daily lives. Multiple pairs of eyes all along the ground by the outer wall and even along the watchtower looked first at the unsung hero and then back to their own affairs.
All those pairs except for one.
High up on the southern wall of the city, on a central part untouched by patrols, two silver eyes watched sadly as a man who had filled them with so much hope and so many tears flew away. A wistful heart weakly cried at its owner to reach out for him, no longer caring how futile it all was. Devastated and confused, the thistle haired woman stood frozen in place, her heart pounding painfully at each flap of the wyvern's wings as it moved on.
Careful, almost dainty hoof clops sounded off in the stairwell behind the cloaked, mourning archer, their owner letting them be heard but not loudly enough to startle anyone. The archer displayed no reaction as an older tauren female approached, carrying a small box in one hand and a burlap supply bag in the other. She came to stand next to the enraptured night elf female, looking down at her and wondering a number of questions.
"Astra, I've been looking all over for you!" Zorena exclaimed lightly. "It's been weeks since anybody has seen you at night. Have you been on the day shift or something?"
Showing no emotion at all, Astariel continued to stare off into the distance. Were it not for her occasionally wrinkling nose, one might not even know whether or not she was breathing. "I've taken a short break," she replied flatly.
Trying her best to cheer the night elf up, Zorena kept her tone light as she opened the box. "Well, I was at that one restaurant earlier, the authentic one. I found some of that cuttlefish that you like so much-"
"Oh, please get it away!" Astariel retorted, her voice becoming insistent as she cringed at the sight. "The smell is overwhelming, I just can't take it!" She was quite insistent and almost manic, absolutely appalled by what had been so alluring to her before. It was the most animated she'd been so far, almost drawing her attention away from the southern horizon.
Confused, Zorena stared at her for a moment before deciding that she was being serious. Stuffing it back into the box, Zorena's tone because cautious. "Is everything alright? You always liked cuttlefish, Astra. It's your favorite," she said in a voice laced by suspicion.
The night elf only shook her head, looking rather bothered by the mere presence of the stuff. "No, not anymore. The smell is just so intense, like everything lately. I feel like the city has become a big mess of odors." Although she became a bit more lively when faced with her former favorite food, her answer was strange.
"Oooookay...so if not cuttlefish, what then?"
Pausing, Astariel then quickly came up with a possible replacement. "I keep having these...cravings. Cravings for weird food at random times. Some days I just need some spicy chili crab, then a few hours later I don't care about it anymore. Now I feel like I want rice and lentils for no reason. It's as weird as the stomach bug I got."
Zorena's bovine ears pricked up questioningly. "Stomach bug?" she asked incredulously.
"Yeah...for the past few mornings, I keep waking up sick," Astariel explained. "It's like I vomit after I wake up and then I just need certain types of food at certain times. I hope I didn't catch some sort of weird silithid disease!" she joked with what could almost be described as a hint of a smile, showing good humor at least on some level.
Staring to the point where it was rude, Zorena focused on Astariel until the tauren woman's eyes became even wider than those of the cuttlefish. Revelation dawning, she quickly turned toward the south to watch a man on a wyvern ride off, examining the color of the mane that was only just barely visible at that distance.
In a miniature state of panic, Zorena looked to the sick night elf, then to the wyvern rider, then back to the elf again. The various pieces of information coalesced within the tauren's mind, leaving her stunned into silence as her oblivious friend continued to detail the inexplicable changes she'd noticed in her body and its natural functions over the previous six weeks.