I am not feeling well, and cannot guarantee that I will do anything more productive than stare at the ceiling and pray for death tomorrow, so I'm putting this up early. If any errors pop up in this narrative, I will get to them, but it will have to wait until I'm feeling better.

Last chapter may have counted as ending on a cliffhanger; if so, the reveal happens here. The mystery is solved. Sort of. In any case, I hope that you find this installment enjoyable. And, as always, thank you for reading.

Let's begin.


Olrec left Sythius and Kin camped in Elwynn Forest, where they both felt more comfortable, and where they were less likely to be set upon by swords and pikes and torches. Plague-infested blood elves were no more acceptable in human territory than they were anywhere else.

"Perhaps it is not the plague," Sythius mused, when the subject of the boy's incredible longevity was brought up again. "Perhaps it is something else."

"Might'n be, lad," Olrec said, "but I'd be lyin'f I said 'e didn' look like a plaguer. You two stay outta sight. Let the dwarf find some manner o' help. Aye?"

Sythius nodded; Kin said and did nothing, for he had gone back to sleeping most of the day, unable to keep his unnatural eyes open for longer than a few minutes at a time. Typically, he was awake just long enough to take down some broth or water.

Big Olrec was known in Stormwind, as he was known in many places; folk knew his name, and his face, but little of his nature. He gave a boisterous greeting whenever his name was called, but otherwise made his laborious way through the crowded human capital without much idea of what he was doing.

He had Rayne's letter with him, but what good was it to do here? The best he could hope to find was a trade ship in the harbor with a captain opportunistic enough to ignore a Horde's bastard onboard his vessel, so that they might reach Kalimdor where a druidess's honor was actually worth something.

If Kin lived that long.

Providence shone on Big Olrec Stoutfeather that day, as he stepped into the Cathedral District. A sudden thought occurred to the dwarf as he gazed upon the huge, sprawling edifice that gave this section of the city its name. As he reached the wide, carpeted stairs that led up into the Cathedral of Light, he felt emotions stir up in him that had lain dormant for what felt like decades, and he felt a sudden urge to take a knee.

Olrec ignored this, and climbed the steps with a solemn, almost grim expression.

The church was bustling; services had just let out for the morning, and a great number of citizens, dolled up in their best clothes, were making their way outside. A few turned their noses at the gruff, woebegone shaman—who most certainly did not look fit to enter such a holy place—but most gave him no notice at all. A couple, recognizing the odd badge that fastened his cloak as a commission from the Dawn, bowed their heads to him. He deferred a nod to them, and pointedly ignored the rest.

Someone was at an organ, and music overtook the grand halls; Olrec wondered if a wedding was taking place, but quickly put that thought from his mind as he remembered his mission, and his target. Across the mirrored marble floors he went, this way and that through the regal hallways, stomping and brooding.

And hoping.

He found the object of his thoughts hidden in the library, seated at a long table with two night elf women; one looked high-born, straight-backed and stern. The other had the look of a servant, straining to emulate her mistress but quite visibly failing. The noblewoman had blue hair, held back in an elaborate braided tail, and was dressed in soft silver robes made of silk. The other was dressed more plainly, in breeches and a tunic fit for hard travel, and had light green hair cut straight but simple at her shoulders, with no discernible style whatsoever. Both were stunningly beautiful, as was the case with most elves, but Olrec only paused a moment to consider that.

He turned to the human that was with them. "Grayson," Olrec said without preamble, when there was a lull in the conversation. Five eyes turned to regard him; the human's right one was hidden behind a patch of leather.

"…Olrec?" said Grayson Shadowbreaker, face going slack with surprise. "Is it…Big Olrec?" He stood. "By the Light, it is the old fool!" A grin broke on that weathered face. "Pardon me, ladies, please. Come over here, sit. Sit."

Olrec sat, nodding to the elves. "Beggin' pardon, for me dress and me rudeness interruptin' ye. Got'n emergency."

"What sort of emergency?" Shadowbreaker asked, the grin dropping in favor of a studious frown. The noblewoman looked keenly interested, not at all nonplussed at this intrusion. The servant looked offended enough for both of them. "It must be dire, to drive you from your work in Lordaeron."

"Plaguer," said Olrec, and Shadowbreaker went pale. "Best our lot's been able to do is contain it so's it don't spread, 'n somehow e's lived long enough to make it 'ere." Olrec's eyes narrowed. "Listen close, Grayson. I won' ask ye twice, on accounta knowin' well what I ask of ye. But this case will right test yer faith, if'n ya agree to see 'im. What say, paladin? Has the Light got room in ye fer a favor?"

"Of course," was the reply, without hesitation. Shadowbreaker stood. He turned to the women. "I beg pardon, Miss Kayli, Madam Sil'nathin. I must ask that we reconvene later."

Olrec blinked. "Sil'nathin?" he repeated, and looked at the noblewoman. "Did 'e say yer name's Sil'nathin, m'lady?"

"He did, and it is," the noblewoman said. "Forgive me, but have we met?" She asked this without any semblance of chagrin, and Olrec immediately found that he liked her. "I know not your name, though you seem to know mine."

"Olrec Stoutfeather, m'lady," Olrec said, bowing deeply, "and ye'd nae have cause t' know me."

"You speak of plague," said Madam Sil'nathin.

"Aye," Olrec said. He gestured to his badge. "This trinket 'ere marks me for the Argent Dawn, and we fight off nary a plague but the worst'un out there: undeath. One o' me brothers in the fight's got a shinin' ter a tiny little lad, thinner 'n sticks, and we're lookin' fer some way t' banish the damnation from 'im."

"A child?"

"Aye."

"Take me to him." Madam Sil'nathin stood from her chair, gathered up her cloak, and walked round the table. "I am a priestess, taught in the ways of Elune. It may be that I can assist you."

"Mistress!" the other, Miss Kayli, said. "Are you certain—"

"Quiet, Kayli."

"I ask ye this, m'lady, afore I take ye," Olrec said. "I'd know yer name."

"Sylvanne."

"A'righty, then, Sylvanne Sil'nathin, priestess taught in the ways o' Elune…tell me on account o' this name, 'n what it may mean to ye: Sythius."

The shaman wasn't certain if there would be any reaction at all; he was not so well-versed in the ways of elves to know whether Sil'nathin was a common surname or a rare one. The last thing he might have expected was for Sylvanne to rush over to him, quicker than she had any right to be in those elaborate robes she wore upon her thin frame, grip him by the cloak, and stare at him as though he had just pissed on her mother's grave.

Nonetheless, that was what happened.

"Why do you say that name?" Sylvanne demanded. Shadowbreaker looked stunned, Kayli mortified. "Tell me what that name means to you! Speak!"

"Madam Sil'nathin—" the paladin began, holding up a placating hand, but Olrec shook his head.

After studying the elf woman's face for a long while—she was quite young, now that he got a real look at her, barely more than a child—Olrec decided that it wouldn't do to hide from her. So he said, calm and unabashed, "Not long afore now, the biggest elf I ever saw came ter the Dawn, out'n the Plaguelands o' Lordaeron. Did a few missions fer us, then got transferred t' me company, under Cap'n Vant Lingham. Gave 'is name as Sythius Sil'nathin. Fights fer the earth, 'e says. Exiled from 'is home, 'e says."

"He is a druid?" Sylvanne asked breathlessly, her voice shaking with suppressed emotion.

"Aye," said Olrec, "o' the Claw. Changes 'is shape inter the biggest bear yer ever li'ble t' see. Blue hair, not far from yers, m'lady. Taller 'n most of 'is kind, thick's a tree with muscle, sharp teeth 'n wild eyes."

"Where is he now?"

"Mistress—"

"Silence!" Sylvanne snapped her head around to glare at Kayli, and Olrec's suspicion of her being a servant were clad in iron as the green-haired elf lowered her eyes and fell dead silent. Sylvanne turned back to Olrec. "Please, Master Stoutfeather, tell me: where is this druid now?"

"The forest," Olrec said, hoping he was not making a mistake, "outside the city. Not too comf'ble in cities, 'e is. Thought it best t' come in meself first. Now, I answered ye true. I'd ask the same in return: who's 'e to yerself, m'lady Sil'nathin?"

Sylvanne drew in a shaking breath, eyes misty with tears she refused to shed, and she stood back, composing herself with a kind of self-control that Olrec had seen only rarely, in no one with such a young and pretty face as hers.

When Sylvanne spoke next, it was in a tone of calm assurance, but Olrec could hear the same emotions that had nearly overtaken her, trembling beneath it.

"…He is my brother," she said.