AN: Lots of mental stuff here. There's only one way to go, Tria!

Time shifts, has a way of toying with even the most stout-hearted people there might be. Triadae, for all of her nonchalance and aloofness, was not always strong. Time had passed and helped her build walls around her heart, blocking off emotions behind a sheet of ice miles thick... but it had never made her a strong person. Time had passed, and she knew that what she chased wasn't real.

Triadae knew her sister was dead, knew the mocking voice was nothing more than a lingering remnant that refused to let her go. Guilt and pain became a weapon to be used against her, stronger than anything she could ever hope to wield against another person. The world believed that Triadae had no heart, but that was all a lie. If she had never had a heart, she never would have been hurt so badly. She never would have cried or screamed when everything crashed around her.

Even with all that she knew and believed, she never stopped chasing that voice. Deep in her heart, she blamed herself for everything that had happened. If she had been better, then no one would have been hurt. If she had paid attention to her sibling, she never would have felt that tearing Triadae's life down around her ears was the most important thing in the world. If Tria had simply been there when she was needed...

If. Always that word, always that phrase. If only she had done this, or that. If the things she had done had been something else. Triadae had come to learn that the world existed in that simple world, that all the pain and agony a person could feel was regulated simply by an if. As time had passed, she had learned to hate that word and any phrase that came with it. They represented weakness to her.

So all of her thoughts of if became promises of 'when.' When she found peace, it would be alone. When she laughed, it would be at herself. When she felt joy, it would be only because she had done something to gain it. 'When' was a promise to herself, so that when she knew her life had gone to an end, she was prepared to say that she had done the best she was able with what she had been given.

Triadae didn't remember anything of nearly sleeping with Kalthor. The night was a blank. Should she be honest with anyone who cared to ask, Triadae couldn't remember anything from her weeks on the zepplin either. All that she remembered was waking up to laughter. Cold, mocking laughter that had led her out of the city astride her hawkstrider. Miralai always rode ahead of her, always so close and yet so far. It never occurred to her to look for Kalthor, it was as if he had never existed in her mind.

She had barely noticed as the scenery had changed around her, blending from the savannah-like Durotar to the lush Ashenvale. Her mind hadn't comprehended the danger of rushing into enemy territory, she hadn't thought of how vastly the world had changed, never even noticed how far the orcs and trolls had pushed into the forests and made them new to her. Triadae had passed through these places once, and only once, before. She never thought she'd be running through them again after a phantasm that lingered.

Her travel became difficult only when her hawkstrider managed to throw her, not far from the grove. Ensnared by the haunting laugh of Miralai, she hadn't even cared as she dusted herself off and continued on by foot. Walking, then running, then full on sprinting in armor that should have been heavy enough to keep her slowed down. She was pushing herself, sustained only by adrenaline that fueled her body and kept her going long after her normal stamina had worn out.

Thus she had entered the grove. Not content to walk around and find an entry, she had barged through the wall and suffered raking twigs and limbs across her bare skin; her face and arms were scored quickly, and she did little more than shrug her beloved sword from her shoulders when it became caught up on something. Triadae was so close to her sister's voice, so close she could swear that if she reached out only a bit more than her natural arm's length, she would grasp the girl's hair.

Instead, she broke into a memory that shook her to her very core. Despite her lack of awareness, she couldn't recall the frigid temperature that would have heralded her journey to the place she was now. Kyuzaku had long been released from her service, the woman never relying on the dragon when she no longer had the desire to fly. It was foolish to keep him with her when she wouldn't accept his help. So she had sent him away, but she would have noticed mounting him and feeling his hide between her legs. It was something she could never forget.

Yet here she stood with her body shivering, breath appearing before her eyes and fading again as she sucked it in between her teeth. The cold was believable, permeating the armor meant only for ease of movement and not defense and warmth. Despite how cold she was, she refused to grasp her arms and rub. Half of her cried out that her surroundings were some kind of trick, the other half laughing and asking her if it really mattered.

It didn't. Triadae stood atop one of the twisted metal gates that led out from the bastion of Icecrown Citadel. Below her, amidst the swirling mist, she could see the endless dance of combat on the ground. The blood of the living stained the bones of the dead, splattered against the metal of gates, the stone of hills, and the weapons of those who attacked and those who defended. She knew in her heart that there was a reason she was up on this gate, the fallen corpses of abominations and gigantic skeletons scattered about her in a death-riddled path that led to her.

A breeze from behind, laced with the smell of life and joy from Crystalsong, blew her hair around her. It snapped against her face and forced her to close her eyes until it died, lest it strike and cause her to miss a thing. There was nothing to miss, nothing to forget. Triadae knew exactly where she was, though she didn't know how she had gotten there. For years she had heard the laughing voice of her sister, but it had only been months since she had truly begun to haunt her.

Only months since this very moment. Dream, reality, or illusion... she was content to remain right where she was. Right where she would find answers, if only in her mind. Answers that she needed to have before she could truly move on, if that was even possible. Triadae's arms spread wide, her palms facing upwards and then clenching. Her eyes closed as she tipped her head back, let the sounds of dying surround her and strengthen her resolve for what needed to be done.

Others had invaded the Citadel and failed. Others had fallen on the very ground beneath her and were brought back to be turned on family and friends. Still more were steadily marching on, aiming for the man who had thrown so many of them out of comfort and happiness. She wanted no part of it, wanted no part of slaying the Death Knight who spurred her people to their corruption. Even then, he wasn't the cause.

Her only duty lay up here on the gate, waiting for her. Or perhaps she was the one waiting, this time. No matter which it was, she didn't have to wait long. She heard the steps of heavy-plated feet long before she would have seen their owner, even with her eyes open. Steady and menacing, each footfall made her own heart beat out of time, as if trying to fill the space with warm comfort.

When the steps at last reached her and stopped, and the slight shuffle of heavy material on stone replaced it but for a moment, still she did not open her eyes. There were no mumbled prayers, no idle words. Only the bloodshed beneath them and the cries of the Frostbrood above them. Triadae realized that she didn't want to speak and break the spell that lay between them, the small blessing where they remained at a mutual loss for what might be the proper way to continue past this point. It almost made her laugh; considering the feelings of the dead.

"You're a fool for coming unarmed, elder sister." Miralai's voice was rich but empty, echoing in the mind of the one she spoke to. She made no move to attack when Triadae opened her eyes and turned her head, leveling an even gaze on the woman who had caused her so much pain.

In the thick and heavy armor that she wore, Miralai had finally managed to be taller than the warrior. The black and blue-runed plate fit her snugly, and there was no need for warmth for her. The younger woman's eyes had long since lost their fel-green glow, and had become that same cold blue that every risen knight who served Arthas had gained. The hair that had once been red was now a ghastly white, and her skin had blackened with gangrene. If there was beauty left in the woman, it would have to be found within... it was clear that Miralai was a soldier made for battle, and she had reveled in her near immunity to death.

"I didn't come to fight, sister-mine." Triadae kept her own voice empty of all emotion, looking away from the servant of Arthas and back to the canvas of combat that spread out beneath them. "You're already dead, a thousand times over. I've come only for answers, and only for peace." Her ears twitched at the raspy laughter that left her sister, but she made no other move.

Miralai let her amusement be known, both in her laughing tone and the crooked grin that she wore. Her fingers clenched and released, as if itching to grasp the rune-laden sword strapped to her back and run the living woman through. Instead, it was so much more pleasing to watch her sibling attempt to keep a straight face. "There's no peace for those like you, though. Those who have taken the blood of family and friends, those who have wounded the ones they love so much deeper than a sword could ever hope to do so." She saw the warrior's jaw clench, and her grin grew. "You're as damned as I."

Triadae let the silence grow between them, until at last she had calmed herself. "Perhaps I am, and if it does turn out that I am as damned as you, then I will accept that. However, that makes me nothing like you. My only act of malice towards you was never being the family I should have been."

"You think that I'll accept something like that as an apology? I'm dead, elder sister." The death knight moved closer, her cloak shifting along the ground behind her as she circled around the back of her sibling. She enjoyed the shudder that went down the red-head's back when she leaned close, expelling a foul breath. "So are you, or you may as well be. Foolish, foolish woman. You ran into a place that will never let you go, that you will never be able to escape from. It will be so good to watch you die, sister."

To this, Triadae allowed a smile to cross her lips, and her eyes to flick sidelong and rest on the knight. "We will see, Miralai. Of that, we will see. I killed you once and banished you to where you could only touch me by way of my own guilt. It should be nothing at all to kill you again, barehanded if I must."

Miralai laughed, spinning on her heel and tilting her head back to make the sound echo beyond them. "You are weaponless! You are pathetic and small compared to me, who has embraced death and mocked you from across the grave. Even burning my body did not remove me from your memory -"

"Because I put you there, Miralai. Willingly, I put you where you deserved to be. Regardless of all that you did to me, no matter how much pain you inflicted on me, you are still famil -"

"Family! Do you think I cared when I raised our father as my first undead servant? Oh, he served his purpose well enough. Keeping me from harm as he had in life. No, Triadae. You and the others abandoned me and cared little as to my fate. Don't lie to yourself," her lips were at her sister's ear again, practically a coo. "You loved thinking that I was dead. It only disgusted you when you discovered I was not, and that I had become a thousand times more powerful than you."

Triadae did not move, but she didn't fight the truth. "Yes, you're right. I breathed a sigh of relief when your death was recorded amongst the Argent Dawn's ranks. I questioned them when your body was never marked as having been burned or given the graces it deserved, and I felt disgust when I saw you at the front of the armies that killed thousands of men and women." Her voice hardened. "It never once meant that I didn't regard you as family." A phlegm-ridden laugh rang beside her ear, until her sister drew away.

"You've grown weak in these years, sweet sister. I wonder what it was that made you such a sickeningly pathetic woman, to believe that family matters in these times. Power matters, Triadae. Power, and who you can bend to your own will. My master knew the truth of it all..."

"Yet he is dead as well, felled by those who you would also call weak. What is power, when it leads only to your downfall?" Triadae turned, arms folding over her chest as she watched the metal-clad woman pace. "What did power ever give you that it never gave to me? Wealth? Fame? I abhor both of them."

"Oh, yes." Miralai's grin grew wicked, and she shot her sister a look over her shoulder that put the woman on edge. "You were always so good, so faithful. Your name was sung in the halls when you were nothing more than a lowly acolyte among the priestesses, and then it was hailed among the Blood Knights when you scaled their ranks. You'd know nothing of fame or wealth, would you? Perhaps that is where you failed.

If you cared nothing for fame, it would not have stung so deeply when those who once adored you turned their backs on you. One by one, they distanced themselves when you lost the Light." Miralai laughed again. "Even the Light turned on you, forsaking you when you needed it most! Yes, you were nothing then as you are now. Still alone, still without love."

"You pulled him astray, Miralai." Triadae's tone had gone cold, almost bitter.

"Did I? You've never believed that." The death knight circled her sister, arms crossed over her chest as eyes bored into the warrior's own. Miralai looked away first.

"Not at first. Not when it all started. He was the same as any other man, and I had my doubts about his innocence." Triadae stared the knight down for a few moments more before looking away. "Then I remembered the type of person you were. How easy it was for people to fall for your charms, and how you'd pull them down violently if you didn't get what you wanted from them. But you never expected the child, did you? Your getting pregnant was an unforseen mistake."

Miralai made a sound that reminded Triadae of people who were agreeing to something while trapped in their own thoughts, and the dark chuckle only made her skin crawl. "Yes, the baby was an accident. A perfect accident, that could be used perfectly against you. The way you stormed away from your beloved... it was brilliant. I took you off your lofty perch and ran you down with the ones who meant the most to you.

It all could have been avoided, you know. If you had shown affection to anyone at all, or if you had even listened to those who warned you..." Miralai seemed to strut away from her sister, flicking her hand over her shoulder. "So easy to bring all the other boys to my bed, but I had to really work with Tiroth. It was over when he drank the first cup of wine, laced with a potent drug."

Triadae wasn't sure how her sister moved so quickly, going from ten feet in front of her to just behind her, hands on her shoulders and whispering in her ear of all the things that they had done that night in the very bed that Tiroth and she would share when they were bound. Warmth suffused her, the warmth of anger and resentment, and still she fought back against it in hopes that she would not rise to the bait laid out by her flesh and blood. Triadae would not fall that far. When it failed to rile her, Miralai twisted the knife she had thrust into Triadae's heart all those years ago.

"You know, even when he was spent... he was calling for you."

Miralai staggered under the single attack, her eyes flashing brilliant cobalt in triumph as her hand went to her mouth. Ichor appeared, blood long drained from the animated corpse that she called a body, and pain wasn't even an issue. She hadn't felt pain since her death, but she could comprehend shock. Something that came easily when the single strike of fist against her jaw seemed to only break the dam, and she was put on the defensive.

Triadae had not been born strong. Pride had shaped her life as the daughter of powerful arcanists, becoming a channeler of the Light. Pride in her people had given her the power to tend to wounds that turned even the most seasoned healers away. Pride had led her to choose only the best for herself, only the best to continue the bloodline that had survived so much and never fallen.

Pride had been her downfall, becoming self-loathing and doubt. If she was not good enough to keep the eyes of one, how could she ever hope to lead the rest into combat, where they might never return from? How could she live up to the expectations of her parents, who surely watched her from someplace better? If she could not control the actions of someone as easy to read as her sister, how could she stand among the defenders of her beloved city, promise those who looked up to her and others to keep them safe in their beds and their lives intact, and expect them to believe her?

Triadae had not been born strong – she had simply become that way.

Her motions were quick and fluid, leading her corrupted brethren in a dance of the macabre. Never once did the woman let Miralai reach for her sword, sure that if she became armed, she would fail everything. The pieces of her that had fallen apart were burning hot within her; rage had become her power, and it was the thread of sanity now pulling her back together. Thousands of things that had never been said had been screamed to the sky over time, and was only just falling back on her ears.

Some people could never be helped, and to try was to beat our heads against a wall.

Triadae's foot slammed into Miralai's midsection with enough force to propel the knight off her feet to the stone. This time, she let her pull her weapon, met the glare that promised death, and then grinned.

She never had to go this far.

The runeblade swung over her head as she ducked, darting close to scratch nails up the face of her opponent and whirl out of reach as the blade came back to defend and then lash out again. Half-blinded, Miralai growled with rage.

We mourned her when we thought she was dead.

The blade nicked skin, flaring pain up her arm as plague attempted to wind itself into her body and slow her down. Triadae fought back against it, shoving the pain away from her to land another sharp kick to the joint of Miralai's gloves. The sickening snap was audible even over their heavy breathing.

Everything I had, so did she.

The blade dropped to the stone, Miralai's hand hanging oddly at her side. Triadae knew she felt no pain, but she had not expected to be disarmed so quickly and effortlessly. They launched at each other again in a flurry of blows, knocking themselves to the ground to enter a grappling match that was childish for the place they were in, and yet fit so perfectly that Triadae never felt shame for it. Down to the last, closer than they had ever been before, more personal than the blades and spells that had been the battle before this all.

Hours passed in only seconds, breaking away to meet again in a clash of metal and flesh, blood and ichor, and then all of a sudden it was over. Battered and broken, bleeding from a thousand cuts that she never remembered being dealt and riddled with the poison of sickness and filth, Triadae emerged victorious. She staggered from the unmoving corpse, wincing as rain began to fall.

I never stopped believing she might come home. I never wanted to believe that she was dead in spirit long before her body fell.

Triadae turned back to the body, watching it shift and change before her. White turned red, blacks turned silver, runes turned from necromantic to holy sigils... and she smiled. Triadae knew better than to believe that her sister had suffered a change of heart at that last moment, and she understood then what she had truly been seeking.

For the first time in many months, peace flooded the woman and bound the stitched pieces of her shattered soul with a new form of faith that didn't die as the illusion in front of her started to fade. Miralai had been beyond saving... Triadae had only been walking the right path with a blindfold over her eyes.

She screamed then, a sound that rose until it could go no higher. It was filled with joy that she would never find the words to explain, would never know the feeling again once she left this haunted place that no longer frightened her or asked her to stay. With the scream went an unheard plea, spoken not with her voice but with her heart. As the scenery began to crack and fray around her, the gates crashing down to smother the endlessly battling groups below, working towards where she stood with quickening speed, Triadae sent out a silent call for help.

Her footing became unsteady, the cracks reaching her and taking the ground out from under her. The sense of falling hit, that odd lurch of all of her insides trying to escape out the top of her body, and then it was gone as soon as it came. Fingers meshed with hers, invisible and yet as real and warm as the touch of family and friends. Triadae was aware of a presence she couldn't see, wrapping her in a cloak of affection and pride as the scenery faded completely and became something that she had never seen before.

The Emerald Dream spread out underneath her, blazing by around her so fast that she couldn't tell if what she had passed was simply a tree or a green-mossed giant. The land became strangely familiar, and then became completely strange, and then repeated the same countless more times before the travel seemed to slow down and the warm embrace around her faded and the world went black.

Something shifted above her, and she opened her eyes to find herself face to face with someone who was looking right at her and yet not looking at all. Slowly, life seemed to be coming back to drained limbs, and she looked away to watched vines and brush twisting away from her as if she had suddenly turned to hot flame. Strength spilled into her, wounds that had opened on her skin closing again, and when Triadae looked back up at the person above her, she saw the gossamer wings that spanned the air above them.

There were no words between them, and she looked away again only as a grunt of pain rang nearby. All at once, she smelled blood and felt the sense of wrongness that flooded the area. Cat-quick, she was on her feet and scrambling for the very familiar weapon laying just feet away. No questions asked, Triadae turned to meet what she perceived as a foe.

It loomed above her, chittering darkly and then cowering away to melt away into a dark-skinned elven figure that vanished. Her confusion compounded itself when the rest of them, ethereal figures that took the forms of spiders and scorpions the size of a man only to vanish as quickly as the first had done. Around them were the hacked corpses of others that had been felled. Her blood ceased to boil, adrenaline fading, and she sheathed her weapon.

"Too easy..."

The voice came from behind, and she reeled around only to see a figure that rang in her memory only dimly. Lithe and tall, the man staggered forward a step and then fell to one knee, holding his side. In a swish of fabric, the woman who had been leaning over her passed by and took the man by the arm. Colors pulsed on her hands, silver-green and rainbow speckled... the same color of the mist that was quickly growing thicker around them.

"Only once I had brought her back."

Triadae jumped, not used to the odd voice inside of her mind. She watched as the wounds on the man sealed and faded, and he straightened with a careful eye aimed on her. Wary and untrusting, he watched her as if expecting her to jump at him and claw his face to pieces.

"We have no time. Come."

The green-clothed woman passed by her again, and then the Kaldorei male followed her. Hesitant at first, wanting to ask a thousand questions that seemed to never want to be asked, Triadae cast her eyes back at the place she had been laying, and felt a chill run up her spine. Hesitancy faded, and she turned on her heel to follow them deeper into the web-riddled grove.

The mist grew thicker, and followed as well...