A/N: Hey all! Sorry for the lack of update last week, but I was busy enjoying the wonder that was Blizzcon. I have seen the promised land. I have met the peoples. I have played the demon hunters. Ugh. It was the best experience of my life, and I would suggest you all go next year so we can fangirl. Anyway, I've kept you waiting long enough! Mwah xx -Skye

Part One

for some offenses,

there is only retribution

-Dennis R Miller

one

The Warden Maiev Shadowsong came to an abrupt halt, lifting her chin and glancing around at the surrounding area. The ground was scorched, the trees seared and burnt nearly to the point of lifelessness, the lingering scars left in the wake of the great battle that had all but destroyed the forests of Ashenvale. A scowl etched itself into her features, though underneath the sanctuary of her helm, it was impossible to see.

Kneeling down, she pressed a gauntleted hand against the dirt, her fingers tracing the edges of an imprint left there. "These tracks are fresh," she murmured, more to herself than to any of the others. They lingered a few paces away from her, pitifully small in numbers, all that remained of the once proud and elite Watchers. Most of them had been killed now, just another crime that demanded payment, penance, retribution. Once, the thought of their deaths had filled her with a rage so violent it threatened to tear her apart, but now, Maiev found that it was hard to feel much of anything, and this gaping void that had taken up residence in the place where her heart should have been could only be filled with an ever present lust for blood. She was driven only by her emptiness and her suffering, and the knowledge that it would never be over until Illidan Stormrage was dead at her feet.

With narrowed, silver eyes, she scanned the ground before her, following the charred path. "But they split, see?" She raised a hand to point in one direction, and then in the other, her brows drawing together in a frown as she rose to her feet. "Someone must be helping him."

From where they stood behind her, Lieutenant Naisha Duskbreeze exchanged a careful look with Cordana Felsong. For weeks now, they and their sisters had followed Maiev all over Ashenvale, chasing blindly after any shadow that crept along the edge of her vision. They had no idea where they were, no idea where they were going, and even less of an idea as to how they would ever find Illidan. But, as Naisha often reminded the rest of the Watchers, late at night when they grew weary and homesick, their position was not to ask questions, but to follow the Warden wherever she may go, so that they would always be present whenever she may need them. This was the oath that they had taken, when they had sworn into the order of the Watchers.

Cordana couldn't help thinking that this had all seemed like a far better arrangement when the oath had bound her only to the depths of the Barrow Den.

Ever loyal, Naisha stepped forward, falling into place at Maiev's side. "What are your orders, then, Mistress?"

Maiev clenched and unclenched her fist, the metal of her armor creaking as she did. "We'll split up," she answered after a moment, nodding a little as if to confirm her own decision. "Naisha, take half of the Watchers and follow the left trail. The rest will come with me, and we can regroup further down the coast." Pausing, she turned to give the younger elf a serious look. "If you find Illidan, do not attempt to take him down without me. He is far too dangerous." And he is mine, she thought, but she said nothing more, just turned away and started off after Illidan's tracks.

Cordana heaved a sigh, beckoning to a few of the others and following the Warden. Shaking her head, she muttered to herself under her breath, "I should have been a priestess."

If she was being completely honest with herself, Cordana wasn't even sure how long they had been out here, wandering aimlessly without any real sense of direction. She'd tried to keep track; she was sure it had been weeks, at least, but time seemed to blur together and fade away under the darkened canopy of the trees.

Maiev herself was like an unstoppable force of reckoning, deadly and dangerous and strangely beautiful in her madness. The young Watcher found that just as much as she may have wanted to leave this foolish errand behind and return home, another part of her wanted to cling to Maiev's every move, though this part of her only seemed to come out in fleeting moments, most of which were gone before Cordana was really even able to identify that they had been there at all. Perhaps it was because, really, Maiev was all they had left. And Illidan was all Maiev had left, and so by default, Illidan was all any of them had, and even if that didn't really make any sense, it was somehow the only thing that made sense at all.

Now, the Warden was walking a few paces ahead of them, her steps hurried and frantic, her eyes darting back and forth like at any given second Illidan was going to come lunging at her from the shadows. Cordana was following behind her, keeping her distance while still remaining close, and further behind her came the rest of their group, each with varying levels of commitment and devotion. She wasn't entire sure a single one of them really believed in this cause; it was merely a matter of whether or not they believed in Maiev herself.

And she knew it, too. Maiev was not a naive little girl- not anymore, she'd never allow for that- and she was no fool to how they talked. Some swore she had lost her mind, others thought it was far more a matter of the heart. A few, Naisha especially, would defend her honor and her promises until there was no air left in their lungs, but it mattered not. There were barely any Watchers left after the massacre at the hands of their High Priestess, and those that still drew breath could doubt her sanity if they wanted. Ultimately, they had chosen to aid her in her mission, so if they were regretting that decision, they could blame only themselves.

It was the painfully familiar smell of blood and fire that stopped Maiev in her tracks, thick and coppery as it hung in the air around them. Choking back the fit of coughs that longed to push themselves free from her lungs, she took in the scene before her. What had once been a small village had now been reduced to little more than cinder and ash, smoke tendrils still dancing away into the air, broken bodies still strewn carelessly upon the ground.

Carefully, each step planned out, Maiev led them deeper into the destruction. A heavy silence had settled in over them, the kind that always went hand in hand with ruin and tragedy. Try as she might to keep her gaze fixated straight ahead, she couldn't help but let her gaze stray to the deformed, defiled bodies, met in return only with lifeless eyes.

"These bodies have been mutilated," Cordana mumbled, her voice weighed down by sadness for their fallen people. "Do you think demons could have done this?" Archimonde himself may have been slain, but that didn't mean that his foul soldiers weren't still lurking here and there.

But Maiev, with her furrowed brow and pursed lips, seemed unconvinced. Slowing her steps to a halt, she knelt down beside one of the bodies, shifted it carefully and examined the gauging wounds, sliced into the flesh and caked with dried blood. "Perhaps," she murmured lowly, lifting her gaze to meet that of the younger girl. "But those tracks were not made by any kind of demon I've ever seen." Straightening up, she tugged her armor back into place, adjusting the heavy emerald cloak that hung around her frame. "Be wary, sisters. There's no telling what horror Illidan had called to his side."

The sea was violent, its waves throwing the boat back and forth carelessly, ceaselessly. From where he stood at the edge, Illidan Stormrage felt the splash of cool water against his face, his forearms and his chest. His fingers curled around the edge of the railing, gripping tightly to steady himself. The wind tugging at his tattered wings, he lifted his head, heavy with the weight of his horns. It had taken a long time to get used to the deformities, but he thought of them now as simply another part of him, another symbol of the choices he had made that had led him to this very moment. In his endless attempts to defeat the demons, he had become little more than one of them.

No, he thought firmly. He may have shared their physical qualities, and perhaps even their blackened souls, but he would never be like them. Even if he had sold himself to their servitude once again, the very reason he found himself leaving behind the shores of Kalimdor. The infamous skull of Gul'dan, merged with his very essence, his very being, had revealed to him many things, and he thought to seek out one artifact in particular that may offer him aid in his mission. Kil'jaeden had found his weakness, had made him an offer he simply couldn't resist, and so if he had to strike a deal with him in order to obtain that prize, it seemed a small price to pay.

A lithe, slender and scaled creature slithered up into place at his side, a devilish smile upon her eerie, haunting face. "Lord Illidan," Vashj greeted, her tone low and hissing and sultry. Ten thousand years ago, she had been one of the most beautiful women in all of Suramar, tall and fair, and her knowledge of this fact had made her dangerous. Once, she had even set her sights on Illidan himself, but some combination of his will and his unwavering devotion to the little priestess had shot down any chance she may have had to know how his touch might feel.

And then the Sundering had doomed her and the rest of the Highborne, cast them into the depths of the ocean. It was there that her beloved Queen Azshara had consorted with another deadly force. Though this, they found their salvation, but the cost of it had turned her into the monstrous creature she had become. Some days, Vashj had remained unconvinced that it had been worth it at all, but when Illidan himself had come to call upon them for aid, she had come to understand exactly why they had needed to be spared. In time, all was revealed, and after centuries of lonely, purposeless existence, she had found her calling, her rightful place beside her new master. Just as he had once served the Highborne, she would serve him now, and share in his quest for power and recognition.

"We are coming up quickly on the Broken Isles," she told him, angling her head to steal a glance at his features. Time and destiny and decision had changed him too, as it had done to her, but in a way she found him no less beautiful than she had all those years ago. Slowly, she raised a hand to place atop his own, but he must have sensed her movement, because he quickly pulled back, turning away from her.

"Ready the others," he commanded. Against the horizon, the shattered remains of his former homeland, of her former homeland, jutted out from the rolling waves. To Illidan, it was just this swirling picture of a thousand colors, blending and bleeding into each other, the aura of a thousand memories he couldn't help but think might have been better off buried in the depths of the ocean. "I do not wish to linger here for longer than we must."

Vashj nodded, but by then Illidan had already turned away. Letting out a small, airy sigh, she threw one last glance at the steadily rising image of Suramar, and felt a slight tugging in chest. After all these years of being locked away, they were finally going home.