Warnings: Abusive language, violence.
Pronunciation: Fay-kah(Faiqah)
Faiqah descended the steps to the main deck, leaving a cloudy sky and the soft pitter-patter of drizzle behind.
The Dusk Raven echoed hollowly as she went, ringing empty, as she mostly still was. The walls had yet to be painted and were plain metal and coarse, unfinished wood. The floor was polished and shined, yet to be marred by the treading of the many feet to come.
The Raven was empty in more than one way. She was currently aloft with a skeleton crew on a shakedown run. Faiqah could also feel the void of memory and attachment as well. The ship had no ties to anything or anyone yet; she was young and had seen nothing but the bay she had been built in, this being her third time in the sky, her first real adventure still months away, and it showed.
The humming of the engines made the railing vibrate softly, nothing in the hold or the surrounding decks to absorb the tremors. Distantly she heard someone shout to another down below, a cluster of numbers, and another replied, satisfied, and the thrum of the engines filled the silence once more.
She paused on the landing at the bottom of the steps and looked down the next set of stairs to the lower decks. The floor she was on was shaped like a tuning fork, the floorplan wrapping around the set of stairs leading down, a walkway to give access to the many rooms on either side.
She adjusted the satchel strap across her chest, choosing the path to her left, and made her way down the hall, passing the doors that would soon be home to her associates.
They have yet to earn other, more meaningful names.
Associates rang truer than comrades presently. She had joined up just as the conflict with the Shadowlands was ending. Azeroth seemed to have finally run out of big people with big ideas that no one liked. She had neither fought nor seen the field with the Dragoons and she honestly hoped the case would remain the same for a long while. She openly carried weapons, but she had no stomach for genuine violence. The glittering ethereal shortswords were a good deterrent for trouble, the dark green leather armor for protection. These two, coupled with a sharp eye for detail, meant she didn't often find herself in unwanted situations.
Faiqah reached the end of the hall and entered the last room labeled "Rayne". She moved the satchel to the front of her hips, stopping before a high relief of a stylized tree that enveloped the entire area. The metal roots twisted and knotted, covering the floor around its base, sinking into it as if seeking nourishment from the ship itself. The trunk was textured to look so much like bark that only the color gave away its true material.
The branches consumed the entire wall. They embraced the windows to their left and right, snaking around the corners of the room, looking to make the entire space its own. They spread across the ceiling and decorated it entirely, branches reaching down in some places, ornate leaves dangling so delicate that Faiqah could imagine them falling to the ground come autumn. The effect was dramatic and gave this single room the most personality she had seen on the ship thus far.
But it too was a husk.
Within the trunk was a smooth divot the size of her chest, prongs open and waiting.
She flipped open the satchel and a cool, blue glow washed over her and the tree, making their shadows dance as she pulled out the source.
The Rayne Stone was a little bigger than a dinner plate. It was smooth petrified wood, three inches thick, with shining opal inlays spiraling towards the center. It was a work of art as much as it was of love. A much needed beating heart for something that felt as lifeless and cold as the Dusk Raven did now. Rayne had spent the last two and a half years nurturing its growth at the Root and it was finally ready for its new home. She was no mage, but even Faiqah could feel its power and she kept a firm grip, worried it may have a mind of its own and wriggle away.
She closed her eyes. The Stone's aura emitted warmth, happiness, and comfort. It felt like sitting on a sunny beach, with everything done for the day, no worries ahead, leaving you satisfied and full. She imagined herself at these sunbathed sands, where she could stay as long as she liked and the stone hummed softly in response, eager to take her there. She shook the thought from her head and the stone calmed.
Finally safe. Finally fed.
A similar warmth would come to the ship with a crew, eventually, but that was still months away.
A sudden breeze blew her violet hair over her shoulder, cooling the back of her neck and arms. She quickly batted it away and looked back towards the hallway, the only possible source. One of the bedroom doors across the way was open, the window inside letting in the wind and rain. She went rigid, her eyes darting around Rayne's room, her grip reflexively tightening even more on the Stone. They had checked the entire ship before departure and all the windows had been closed and secured.
Keeping her eyes on the open door, she carefully placed the Stone back in the satchel and hung it on the textured bark of the tree. She rested a steady hand on the knife at her hip and took measured, cautious steps out of Rayne's room and across the hall, her feet light like a dancer's. She kept her knees bent, stance wide, shoulders low and loose, breathing slow and soft as she approached. She paused in the new room's doorway, silent as a spider creeping, and realized that the window wasn't open, but broken.
She scanned the room, but nothing stood in the shadows. She went over to the glass, glancing back at the doorway; nothing. She went to the window, stepping over the worst of the broken glass, the little bits scratching like gritty sand under her feet.
Resting her hands on the windowsill, glass scraping and tinkling from the edge as she did, she kept a defensive arm up, and peered over the edge. No one clung to the side of the ship ready to grab her, she saw only the dark, choppy sea a few miles below. She looked out and scanned the low hanging clouds. Visibility was poor, but nothing hovered nearby. She grabbed a long, thin piece of glass from the sill and as she looked it over, jumped at a sudden flash of movement from the hallway.
In Rayne's doorway was an unfortunately familiar face. Shen Dawnrest had a huge grin, smudged with soot, clothes worn and patched, not much unlike herself three years ago. His tall boots were laced up tight and he wore a smooth waterproof cloak that was making a puddle of rainwater on the floor. He threw back the hood, showing bright green eyes and long black hair. Blood elf through and through, but most importantly, he now had her satchel with the Stone at his hip.
She rolled her shoulders, trying to dispel her growing unease, but nothing could shake the past that was pressing down on her now with unpleasant intimacy.
She slowly closed the distance between them, stopping when he made a sharp gesture for her to do so.
She remained frozen, words clipped and fast, "What are you doing here?"
"That's the first thing you got to say to me? 'What are you doing here'? No, 'hey how're you doing, haven't seen ya in a piece, we should catch up.'?"
"No. You don't belong here."
"Neither do you, but I don't see no one telling you the same."
She glared at him, keeping the sliver of glass in hand, "I did what I needed to do to join up."
"And I took that personally. I thought we were happy, you just up and left. No words, no note, no nothing. But I am, if anything, a giver. My door is always open. I can't imagine you being happy here long, sitting in some new master's lap."
"There is nothing noble about struggling to survive, Shen. You put the fight above all else. It doesn't have to be that way. You had nothing to give me other than misery, so I left. I'm not explaining it to you again. I don't have to."
"So, the Alliance scraps taste better than ours, is that it? Same circus, different clowns with new names and colors. It doesn't matter, you know, you still have to lick the leavings off the floor."
"They're not same." She listened, distracted, worried someone might wander close enough to hear them. There were no guards nearby; there was no need to watch empty rooms. "You can't be seen here. You need to go. They'll ask questions and won't like anything you have to say."
Questions will then turn to Us.
"Got your thumb up your ass now that you're a little soldier? You've even got your hair pulled back nice and tight. I liked it down; it looked so good around your face. Figured you're here for that pretty boy; you know I've always hated competition."
"Meaning?"
"The pretty boy ponce you slithered over to the Alliance for; what's his name? You both worked at that cabaret with that queer bastard Nestor."
Faiqah bristled and took a step towards Shen, the edges of her vision darkening subtly, "Say that again, but a few feet closer."
He threw his hands up, "I didn't come here to fight."
"You've already earned one," her eyes darted to the satchel, "and we both know who the better blade is."
"You're right, you're right, you play dirty when you need to. That's why I want you back with the Saints. I see the appeal in all this." He gestured, unimpressed, to the barren Dusk Raven, "We ain't got a ship that flies, shiny uniforms, noses in the air, and I'm not as pretty as your ponce."
He took a step forward out of Rayne's doorway and dug through a pocket, pulling out a sheet of paper that had been crumpled and uncrumpled so many times that it looked like a slip of cloth.
Shen had a good chuckle as he flipped the small poster around to show a charismatic picture of the performer with a list of upcoming showings at the bottom. It was Trist; pink hair, extravagant, eye catching outfit, perpetual smile on his lips, with the golden Hypernia in hand ready to be played.
"Hoping to have a little tryst with 'Trist'?"
Seeing someone as spiteful and petty as Shen mocking one of her only friends caused a visceral reaction. Faiqah took a few shallow, strained breaths as the shadows in the corners of the room grew.
A dead man walking. "You're fucking dead."
Faiqah swallowed, mouth dry, confused. She didn't recall wanting to voice her thoughts, but out they'd come anyway. The little voice she had thought gone was back. Silent for two years, now taking the opportunity to pounce. Perfect timing, as most terrible things are.
He's not here for Us.
"Now, now, we're not fighting. You're mad at me. Things weren't perfect, but it can't have been all that bad. You sure stayed long enough. Honestly, this is an awful lot of work to go through to get to this." He scoffed at the poster in hand, indicating Trist.
"How long have you been following me?"
"A few months on and off. Things been quiet back at the Cradle, lost a few Saints, figured its time to rekindle some old flames or snuff them out if need be."
He knew where the Root was then. The ship, certain people, certain children. There was not much that Shen wouldn't do for himself. He had come for the Stone. It would fetch quite a price, feeding him and the Saints for months. A well placed blade at any number of necks could have had her back in Silvermoon tonight if he'd had the forethought for it. The little devil was right, he wasn't here for her, if the satchel over his shoulder wasn't confirmation enough.
He was stalling.
"I haven't said anything about you in almost three years because you're irrelevant. I doubt that's changed." She took a step towards him, reaching out with her empty hand, the other clenching the long sliver of glass.
"You wanted me! That ain't nothing. You can't just walk away from that."
We did.
"You are taking nothing." Her fingers were curling with the tension. She took another step forward, giving Shen a chance, any chance, to not provoke her into action. If a fight happened here everyone would know.
"I can't take what's already mine, love." he countered coyly. He danced a step sideways out of the doorway towards the stairs. He wiggled the poster and shook the strap of the satchel tauntingly.
She kept her voice low, but anger was creeping in, "This is my home now."
He seemed amused, "That tracks. It's empty, just like you. Look, no one here trusts you, this is just a game. They're using you. Don't you see? Mutts like us need to stick together because we're all we have."
The cool breeze kissed the back of her bare neck again. She was too warm in tone for the Night Elves, but too cool for the Blood Elves; her figure full, but not quite full or slim enough for either. She had a strange hair color for a Blood, but soft green eyes that fit no Night she knew and she was no demon hunter. It had been a long time since anyone had talked to her like this and it only fed her growing anxiety. While the prejudice for halfbreeds had faded over the years, the wounds of a difficult past still ached when dredged up and thrown at her feet like this.
We are strong.
She nodded, agreeing with the inner demon. She had come a long way. Faiqah pictured her hands around his throat, the idea exhilarating and foreign.
She bared her teeth, showing elongated canines, "You wanted me to be your monkey and dance at your command. You say I sit in the laps of masters, well yours was the worst. I don't belong to you. I don't belong to anyone."
"Then why are you still doing people's dirty work?"
"Rayne AKSED if I wanted to do this, and I said yes. It's called 'an honor', you may not have heard of it with all the scum from the gutter in your ears!"
"Honor doesn't serve people like us." he snapped, "It's a pretty thing for people in high places. You know, this trip was worth the look on your face alone. You're a cold hearted bitch that belongs to the streets and will never be anything more. People don't come clean so easy. You'll see."
Her temper spilled through her fingers. She had spent years arguing with Shen. It didn't matter that his words still made sense in some twisted way. The possibility of the Stone being stolen from her, mere hours after being trusted with it, had her hands shaking.
If We fail, what will mother say? "Fucking give it to me!" She snarled, just loud enough for it to echo.
She threw the shard of glass like a throwing knife. It punctured the poster still in Shen's hand and he yelped as the glass grazed the side of his neck. The wound sprayed for a second, splattering the wall next to him with a few drops of blood.
"Bitch!" Shen let the poster flutter to the ground and clapped a hand over the wound, staring at her in disbelief.
He was seeing her as dangerous for the first time.
He must be silenced!
Shen's thoughts were in sync to their's and he turned and sprinted up the stairs to the top deck.
Get him!
She hesitated, resisting the overwhelming push to pursue. It felt good to feel so wild, but she struggled to maintain control; her thoughts suddenly felt like a rabid dog straining at the leash, the collar burning and chafing, about to break. So little of her life actually belonged to her; she wouldn't lose her mind too, so she held on.
The stone, the stone! Mother will be so disappointed!
She launched from the spot with a kind of vigor she didn't know one body could possess. The long hall to the stairs rushed by at inhuman speed, the strange darkness pulling at the corners of her eyes again. She snagged the railing and used her momentum to take the steps two at a time. Shen was briefly silhouetted at the top and whistled shrilly. She quickly made a call of her own, a thrilling note that swung up and back down. She had many calls for Faisal. He would know what to do if Shen got airborne.
Shen glanced back at her, shocked to see her so close and rounded the doorway, out of sight. She focused on the tail of his cloak as she reached the top and snatched the edge of it. She yanked, but it detached with a snap and Shen vanished and reappeared beside his mount.
Arcane tricks are no match for Us.
The deck was empty of all but her and Shen who plopped into the saddle of the small, brown, thorny drake that had answered his call. He lazily waved at her with the middle finger of his free hand and the drake leaned over the railing and dropped over the ledge, falling from view.
Faiqah again found the distance between them vanish in a blink. Before she could detangle her muddled thoughts from action and consider the risk that it really was she had her foot on the railing and jumped.
The shores of Boralus were small and far away from here, a dreamy scene that Faiqah would have considered picturesque if she had still been looking out that shattered window and not freefalling onto the back of someone else's mount from this height.
The drake had already descended a few dozen feet, its wings snapping open to catch the wind. The change in speed was enough for her to collide with the beast's hindquarters, her hands finding purchase on the coils of rope and other supplies strapped to the back of the saddle. The wind was knocked clean out of her, but she no longer needed it.
Shen turned in his seat and laughed as he continued his descent, spiraling to be directly under the Dusk Raven and out of sight of anyone above.
"You always were a guilty pleasure. Stupid, brave, and batshit insane!" he howled gleefully, his original fear forgotten, his victory seemingly assured. "But, I don't do well in other people's shadows. Just here for the rock, love, won't be needing the extra baggage." He drew a dagger from his boot and slashed at the straps that held his gear in place.
Deceiver, We only need Ourselves.
Faiqah pulled herself up, ignoring Shen, and reached for the satchel. He swung at her hand, "Don't worry, no one will miss yo-"
The collision caught Shen by surprise. The drake instantly lost control as the tawny two-headed chimera gripped its wings, forcing them to remain open. The drake turned its head to retaliate, but two heads, especially in cases like this, were better than one. Faisel began to shred at the drake's neck and shoulders as the two riders clawed at each other with similar enthusiasm.
Shen used the dagger from his boot, his free hand holding her at bay, and sank the blade to the hilt through the slats of Faisel's armored neck. He shrieked, letting go of one of the drakes wings, offsetting their collective balance, and sending the four spiraling out of control.
Shen's voice was almost snatched away by the wind, "Send him off!"
Faiqah didn't answer, using her own knife to cut the strap of the bag and slipped it away from him. He swung at her and missed, the force of their falling making it hard to find his mark.
He gritted his teeth, clinging to the saddle, "You will never belong here!"
We are home.
She looked to Faisel, one head continuing the assault while the other head had its attention focused on her. Shen had his chance and the voices were right. She hadn't felt this safe or certain in her entire life.
She was home.
Cut loose what we no longer need. "Faisel, kill!"
Both heads of the chimera laid into the drakes shoulder blades. There was a sickly crunch and she kicked away from the chaos. Shen stared up at her, mouth agape as the distance grew between them.
She watched Faisel push away from the drake, who crumpled into a ball without the chimera for support. She tightly hugged the bag with the Stone to her chest, the wind burning her face, eyes tearing. She strained to keep focused on Faisel, his wings flaring out against the wind as he ascended until they met midair. She sank into the saddle and wrapped her legs around the built-in metal braces. She pulled a lever at her side and the metal claws snapped closed around them. Secured, she looked over Faisel's shoulder to see a splash of white below, too high to even hear the collision.
He came looking for trouble and found it.
Shen was gone, and whatever had been holding her common sense at bay went with him. Hands shaking, she tied the strap of the satchel back together and threw it around her. Her stomach was twisted and hard as she struggled to grasp what had happened. She had witnessed it, been in control of most of it, but everything had happened so fast. She forced down the sour taste in her mouth, trying not to throw up as the reality and the aftermath washed over her. She looked up to see the Dusk Raven growing closer as Faisel was returning to his roost.
Satisfaction and confusion held the reins, pulling her emotions this way and that. There were a multitude of feelings that she would have expected to experience while falling through the sky, the sea having been growing ever closer, but fear had not been among them.
Excitement? Vindication?
She patted Faisel, trying to dispel her anxiety, but found Shen's dagger still wedged in the slats of his armor. She snatched it from his neck and threw it away as if it burned to the touch, sending it falling to the sea below. She watched it spin and twist, at the mercy of the air currents, until it grew too small to see.
The past is a dangerous thing, but so are We.
She closed her eyes and listened to the leathery creaking of Faisel's wings as they rose. Soft whispers, in her own voice, saying things she knew, things that in some way she wanted, but wouldn't normally act on or say aloud. She'd read plenty about it when skulking about many magister's offices. She'd even heard other's afflicted with a similar ailment talk about it fairly openly.
But one thing was certain; the voices were never good.
Faisel's wound was minor, the armor having done its job, the mess minimal. The chimera drew even with the deck and reached out with its hindlegs, grabbing the railing, quickly folding his wings. The abrupt change from the weightlessness of flight made Faiqah feel so dense that she was afraid to set foot on deck, thinking she might fall right through it. She certainly felt heavy enough. The realization that she'd taken someone's life, someone she had known, in defense of her and other's secrets, was crashing down on her. It didn't make her feel any better.
This was the first person she'd ever killed.
You never loved him anyway, not really.
She didn't disagree.
Faiqah staggered off Faisel, thankful to find that the deck still held her and the weight of her shame. She didn't have a word for experiencing every negative feeling that she was capable of all at once, but she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and made to return to the tree. She came face to chest with Captain Khaalyr instead.
She stopped on her toes, just barely managing not to collide with the shining armored mountain. She took a hasty step back, belatedly and clumsily saluting him.
The Lightforged stared sternly down at her, "What were you thinking!?"
"Something, that in retrospect, I regret. I'm-.. I have no excuse." The words came frighteningly easy. She bowed her head, leaving him to tell her what he'd seen.
"There is not. Joyriding when you should be attending to your duties? Maybe under the Brigadier General's eye, but not under mine, Dragoon. "
"Of course not, sir."
He'd only seen her jump and Faisel dive after her.
He sounded uncomfortable, "There will be no need to report these antics unless there is a repeat offense, which there will be none of, yes?"
It felt like her stomach had joined Shen in the sea. It all sounded so innocent, so simple.
"No, sir. No repeats."
Khaalyr remained motionless. She looked up, cowed. His expression was a mixture of sterness and bewilderment. Taking his silence for dismissal, she slinked away like a dog with its tail between its legs.
She retreated back down the stairs, collecting Shen's fallen cloak as she went. She was glad for the darkness and isolation; somewhere she could hide and be ashamed and worried in private. She went back to Rayne's room and, without pause this time, slid the Stone from her bag and pressed it into the empty gallery in the heart of the trunk. It nestled into place, the fit perfect. The prongs that had awaited its arrival slowly closed around it, securing it. There was a soft sigh and blue veins of energy, matching the Stone's glow in color, spread across the tree, the leaves coming alive and shimmering.
The room was bathed in soothing light. A picture of the original tree that resided in Crystalsong Forest.
Faiqah left the room as the portal powered up, seeking a nearby railing for support. Shen had been alive and standing here moments ago, but life was carrying on as if nothing had happened.
She glanced up at the wall and could make out the droplets of his blood. It wasn't much, but many of the Dragoons were observant. It wouldn't go unnoticed for long. She snatched the fallen poster from the floor and carefully used it to wipe the wall clean. Satisfied, she looked down at the poster. Trist's joyful face contrasted morbidly with the blood it was now covered in, the small tear from the shard she'd thrown just to the right of his head.
She rubbed at her throat, it ached with the desire to cry or scream, but feelings like that never served these kinds of deeds that needed doing. She hurried to the room with the broken window and, using Shen's cloak to collect the glass, dumped both out the window. She would have to find a broom to finish the job, but for now, at first glance, the floor looked clean. She'd have to concoct some lie about how it'd broken. Something about a drastic pressure change, or a defect in the window would likely pass without much scrutiny.
No one knows.
She went to the sill and brushed the glass there over the side as well. The light from across the hall grew as Rayne's personal portal finished forming and the first of her security came through.
No one needs to know.
She opened the messy poster one more time and smiled sadly at her friend, "The past is never far behind."
Faiqah forced a sigh and with still shaking hands, tore the poster into tiny pieces and let the wind carry it away.