Chapter Twenty Six
The house was riddled with fallen beams and destroyed furniture. The ceiling had collapsed, letting all of Azeroth bear witness to the humble domicile's annihilation. A dresser was sprawled across the ground, spewing out children's clothes and hand-sewn dolls all over the soot-covered ground. For the past hour, Daellin and Rachael had become experts in ducking under fallen debris and lumbering over shattered furniture as they made their escape through destroyed buildings. No one disturbed them as they slipped out the backdoor and into the back alley. This was the first house they came across whose residents were absent; the previous families all slaughtered in the home they sought safety in.
The alleys were notorious for being flooded with society's dejected and forgotten folk. However, a large-scale riot that had shaken the city to its core had swept away the homeless and damned. The deeper they ventured down the alleys, the less Daellin's body tensed, as if he was freed from a smoke-filled vice wrapped around his throat. As they got further from the shrill cries and suffocating ash that drenched the city, it became apparent that Rachael knew these alleys like the back of her hand. She was a spry alley cat, just as comfortable with these no-named streets as Daellin was with the church pews.
"We're a few blocks away from the main square," Rachael confidently said, louder than any prison escapee should be as they made their great escape, "once we skip around the square, we will be golden."
"And once we are 'golden,' as you say, what is the plan from there? Bang our heads against the city walls until it collapses before they find us and send us back to the dungeons?" Daellin asked as he nervously shot his head around the next corner. Besides a few rats preying on a morsel of food, it was clear.
Rachael chuckled. "It's cute that you think they'll send us back to that hellhole. Don't worry, I got it all taken care of. I thought trust was one of your sacred tenets as a goody-two-shoes paladin? What, you don't trust me, Lightheart?"
"After everything I've been through, could you blame me?" he dryly replied.
"Fair enough. No, we won't bang our heads against the walls or be captured, I can assure you. All I ask for is a little faith from you, that's all."
Daellin let out a deep sigh, not content with being left in the dark. "Fine, you have my faith."
"Atta' boy," Rachael jokingly said as she playfully punched his shoulder blade. She peaked her head around the next corner, lowered her voice, and muttered, "Plus, I don't think you'll like what's in store."
"What'd you say?" Daellin asked as they rounded the corner. This alley was lined with houses in far better condition than those closer to the initial riot, spared from the wanton violence and bloodshed that had afflicted others. Daellin was envious of just how lucky they were.
"Oh, nothing, just that I know that store," Rachael pointed to the backdoor of a two-storied building. An oddity for Tyr's Hand, it was brightly painted with the colors of the rainbow. Instead of the concrete statues or gargoyles that serve as guardians for a house, this building was protected by a series of man-sized candy canes. The windows and doors were boarded up with enough wooden planks to build a large trading ship. It did not take a 'closed' sign in the window to show they were not taking customers at that time.
"Ah, Gregor's Delectable Goods," Daellin said with a finger snap. "A great place for a snack, that's for sure. I recall one time when he had a buy-one-get-one special on Gilnean jawbreakers. Those things really do pack a punch, let me tell you. My jaw hurt so much that I couldn't speak for two whole days! I wore a brace to realign my jaw and everything! Of course, people died seeing me in that thing. You should've seen the look on-" he stopped himself, realizing he was about to go on an hour-long tirade on candy. "But, yes, a great place for a snack."
Rachael held back a smirk, amused at how her companion was so knowledgeable about seemingly every establishment in the city. Perhaps in a less pressing time, he could have given her a tour of the city, reciting a prepared story for each building. "You're damn right it is. The best lollipops and candied cherries this side of Ironforge," she said as her eyes remained fixated on the store. She was so lost in thought, savoring the mouthwatering candy that Gregor's was famous for, that she absentmindedly walked into an overturned crate.
As she gathered herself, swearing profanities that would make a sailor blush and complaining about why someone would leave an open box of picture frames lying on the ground, Daellin could not help but chuckle. The graceful cat had finally met her greatest foe- the motionless crate. He offered to help, but she waved him away. "Did you frequent Gregor's often?" he asked.
"Just once," Rachael answered as she wiped away the dirt her foe left. Considering the dirtied state of her tattered and stained rags, the gesture was more to clean her embarrassment than her clothing. "After the Second War, the orphanage took us for candy. A lollipop was their way of shutting us up for just a moment. Can't complain about the war and our dead parents if we're too occupied with some damn candy. I…"
She suddenly went quiet, as if a cat got her tongue. Her fiery eyes burned red once again as her body trembled like a raging volcano. She stared at the store for a few moments before storming off. Daellin ran to catch up with her, trusting his frail legs could keep up with her. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, stopping her in the process. His body burned hotter than the smoldering buildings of Tyr's Hand just by simply touching her.
"Rachael, there aren't enough words to express just how sorry I am for you. What you've had to go through, the pain you've suffered, is more than any person should experience. I constantly think about that awful day," his voice dropped as he held back a lump in his throat. "Every night I've prayed for those that we've lost, your father included. With every fiber of my being, I wish I could go back and change what happened. But I can't. All we can do is grieve and grow from it. From that growth, we may find peace and strength. You, out of everyone in this city, deserve that much."
Despite so much fury boiling within her, her body slowly simmered. Instead of reaching for her daggers, as she had done so many times, she reached for Daellin's hand. Her hand was smaller than his, like a child to a giant, but they were remarkably similar in texture. Coarse, rough, aged beyond their years. With the distant sound of raging infernos and yelling filling the air, her stifled sobs were the loudest thing in Tyr's Hand. She tightly held his hand as her eyes welled with tears. The way his hand held her brought a feeling reminiscent of their embrace all those years ago. "Fucking hell, Daellin, you're too damn good at what you do," she stammered. "I get why everyone wants you safe."
"And I'll do everything I can to keep you safe, as well," Daellin softly replied. "Even if a light wind might knock over this bag of bones."
"That is an insult to both bags and bones," Rachael chuckled as she wiped away her tears. In the midst of a burning city, with the horrors they overcame still lingering in the air, her chuckles grew into a fit of laughter. She tried to restore her cold front, to regain the composure of a woman that effortlessly killed men with just a flicker of her wrists. Alas, it was to no avail; her cheeks were flushed as red as her eyes. Admitting defeat in her attempt at emotional concealment, she let the laughs find their natural ending. She let go of Daellin's hand, gave him one more polite tap on the shoulder, before continuing down the alley.
As she walked away, Daellin took a moment to appreciate the woman Rachael had become. Even with her outward demeanor, daggers and bloodstained clothes included, there was still a beautiful soul within. Despite all of her losses, she persevered. Even with the world seemingly at her throat, she fought on. He prayed that he had that same flicker of resilience. Given everything he had been through, it would be a miracle, but certainly possible.
They continued to cautiously trudge through the back alleys, stopping to make sure the coast was clear of any patrolling Scarlets or opportunistic thieves, a dull roar gradually filled the cool, brisk air. It was a long drone at first, a stark contrast from the cacophony of screams they had escaped from, but grew into a series of rumbles and chants. They slowed their pace, concerned that they were about to be ambushed. Rachael kept her hands hovered over her daggers. After another block, the pair found the origin of these incoherent chants.
They arrived at the main square, inundated with rows of citizens, too innumerable to even begin to count. They were so neatly assembled that it made some of the military formations Daellin had been a part of pale in comparison. Some were completely silent, staring vacantly out into the distance, while others were singing praises for the Holy Light and the Scarlet Crusade as if they were in the middle of a prayer service. Still others were more abrasive, yelling obscenities and demanding for protection from bloodthirsty heretics. Regardless of their present condition, they all remained firm and stood at attention towards a raised dais in the middle of the square. But it was not the dais- clearly hastily relocated from the main church- they were focused on.
Perched on a massive warhorse that was more metal than beast was the Grand Crusader of the Scarlet Crusade- Saidan Dathrohan. The man that already dwarfed everyone loomed larger than the city itself as he gleaned over his audience. His bright crimson tabard harshly fluttered with even the slightest movement. Behind his thick, snow powdered beard and barrel chest was a man radiating as much confidence as the autumn sun. He sternly overlooked his assembled audience, eyeing each and every citizen with enough bravado to fill the Forbidding Sea.
Daellin and Rachael quickly hid behind a wall of crates in the dark alley, praying they were not seen.
"People of Tyr's Hand," Saidan began with a voice that could shatter mountains, silencing everyone in one instant, "today is a day that will go down in the annals of time as the moment that Lordaeron's hands were forced. A dark specter that has haunted us made their presence known, trying to destroy everything that we hold dear, while murdering our fellow man in cold blood. Indeed, the heretical terrorists that took advantage of our complacency and kindness towards our fellow man have threatened our very livelihood! Despite their dark intentions, they have failed!"
A round of polite applause broke out, momentarily disrupting the disturbing calm. Even though many in the crowd previously raged and yelled, they were all eerily still. It baffled Daellin that they could be so cordial given the present situation in the city. Just a few blocks away, their fellow countrymen were being slaughtered by the crimson legionnaires that were bound by oath to protect them. Here, they stood idly by, keenly listening to the man that could very well order their loved one's death.
Saidan urged his horse forward, the impact between hoof and wood louder than any ballista or orcish war cry. "As your Grand Crusader, I assure you that the Scarlet Crusade will uphold its honor and protect you all! Our Crusade will be the catalyst that will preserve our great nation! Be it the damned of the undead Scourge or the black sheep that seek to destroy us from within, we will swiftly eliminate them all," his eyes narrowed at the front row of citizens, "with extreme prejudice and retribution."
From the front row, a gentle wisp floated from person to person. This ethereal entity was adorned in all white- whiter than Dathrohan's beard or the snow capped mountains that encircled Lordaeron. It glided from one person to the next, resting on their clavicles and caressing their ears. However, despite its pure appearance, a dark aura accompanied it. Shades of darkness, like the tendrils of night that grasp Azeroth during the day's waning moments, covered the wisp. It was like a heavenly angel had fallen to the deepest pits of hell and resurfaced as a beautiful demon.
Demetria, the angel shrouded in darkness, cooed soothing words to each person. The moment she finished whispering, the citizen's visage was completely changed, as if they just received the most comforting news of their life. Some deeply bowed to their Grand Crusader, appreciative of his reassuring words. Others openly prayed with their palms held out, not to the Holy Light, but to the Scarlet Crusade. Gone were any traces of fear or aggression; they were replaced with faith and devotion with just a flick of a tongue.
"Hear this, loyal subjects of Lordaeron, I will not rest until these insurgents are put down! My Scarlet Crusade, with the Holy Light as our divine weapon, will eliminate these heretics! Under my careful eye, no apostate, cultist, Scourge, or lesser race will threaten our survival! I swear that our children will be safe under my banner! With my leadership, our very future will not be trampled by outsiders! By my right as Grand Crusader, I declare these heathens, this Argent Dawn as they call themselves, as enemies of humanity! We will ensure that their 'dawn'- Lordaeron's doom as we know it- will not come to pass!"
Those dazzled by Demetria's seductive words chanted Dathrohan's name in unison, as if they were summoning him down from the heavens. Those that Demetria had yet to reach looked to their fellow man with the faintest hint of concern in their weary eyes, but were promptly relieved with the shadowy angel's alluring words. Before long, not a single soul in the square showed concern, only complete fealty.
Rachael tugged at Daellin's shirt and whispered, "Shit's hit the fan. We need to go. Now." Despite her hushed tone, there was a bite in her words that resembled the edge of her daggers.
Daellin brushed her aside, captivated by the terrifying scene before him. The inflection in Saidan's words, impassioned and as strong as steel, harkened back to the legends of humanity; Lothar, Turalyon, Terenas. However, those legends could not come close to just how well Saidan captured his audience. The way he played to their fears while pontificating a plan to protect them was a spectacle. It was part military rally, part sermon However, his words dripped with fury and zealotry. Since Saidan presided over his sham trial, Daellin did not see the same compassion in his eyes, as if something had gripped him in darkness.
Still, he could not look away from life-long friend.
As his congregation prayed to him, Saidan unsheathed a sword and held it high for everyone to see. A gasp escaped from everyone in Tyr's Hand, Daellin included.
Dawncrier.
"Stand tall in the face of absolute evil, Lordaeron, just as Daellin Lightheart once did! Sir Lightheart never wavered, never faltered, and fought until his dying breath for the preservation of our nation! Our society! Our race!" A chorus of praise echoed from the congregation as they hailed Saidan's warm words about Daellin. "Follow his example and adhere to the Light's grand power! Through might and compassion, we will eradicate every threat to humanity! As the Light wills it!"
The crowd chanted "As the Light wills it" as they continued to throw themselves at Saidan's feet. Their prayers encircled the entire city like a hurricane, swallowing everything in its wake. Their collective supplication snuffed out the remaining flames that dotted the inner-city and washed away any remaining apprehension that lingered in their hearts. Just like that, they were beholden to Saidan Dathrohan. With their Grand Crusader at the helm, as well as Dawncrier's looming presence over their bowed heads, the people of Tyr's Hand had fully dedicated themselves to the Scarlet's cause.
A sharp pain stabbed at Daellin's heart knowing that his name was the final nail in the coffin, pushing these people astray. His flock, the ones he swore to protect their mortal life, as well as their eternal spirit, were fully in the wolf's claws; its manipulative teeth sank into their vulnerable throats under the guise of self preservation.
It was all too much.
Daellin did not realize that he was out of the concealing darkness of the alley and walking towards the assembled crowd until Rachael pulled on his frail arm with enough force to topple giants. Despite being an affront to bags and bones, he repelled her attempt with ease. "Daellin, don't!" Rachael hissed as she struggled to pull him back. "Now is not the time!"
Daellin swept away her arm. "I can end this madness right now, Rachael. I'll show them how wrong he is, how he is using them as a tool for his own selfish reasons," he softly spat. He could see it in Saidan's eyes already- these people were not souls to be saved, but rather pawns to be played to further his own agenda. Daellin was the first domino to fall, an artificial martyr for the citizens to rally around. The liberation of the dungeons was already being pinned on scapegoats in order to solidify the Crusade's omnipotent presence. If nothing happened then and there, then humanity would be lost to one man's lies.
"With you and what army? Look at them, it's too late for them," Rachael whispered, disappointed in both Daellin and the situation at hand. The crowd did not show any signs of relenting in their chanting, adding to their adoration for Saidan and the Crusade with their impassioned screams for justice. "The longer we stay, the more people will fall to their fucked up promises. Once things cool down, the Dawn will take care of 'em, but that won't happen if we stay."
Her words, while painful, rang true. What could he possibly do then and there? He was barely a man, a commuted death sentence walking amongst the living. Before him were hundreds of citizens, sympathetic to Saidan's rallying cry, all blocking the path to the bastard that had destroyed everything he held dear. It pissed him off seeing Dathrohan relish in the praise being thrown his way, all the while brandishing Dawncrier like a toy.
Daellin's eyes lingered on his sword. His trusted blade, forever by his side since Uther bestowed him his title, cried out for him. It looked lonely and distraught in the hands of the man that had sentenced its owner to death. The sword that once shed righteous flames now shed tears, terrified being in the hands of a stranger. And it would be with this blade of sorrow that Saidan would lead Lordaeron to its final damnation. He already signed Daellin's life away on fabricated charges, no doubt he would do the same to countless others, all in the desire for power and control.
"All I need is a moment. You distract him for just a second and I can retrieve Dawncrier, then…" he trailed off, trying to find the validity in his own plan.
Rachael's eyes and grasp softened. She empathized with the pain of losing something dear. "I appreciate the enthusiasm, Daellin, really, but now is not the time for such antics. There will be a day for heroics, but that isn't today."
Daellin's eyes shot between Rachael and Dawncrier. At different points in his life, they were his savior. His sword, paraded for selfish gain, longed for him. His fingers burned red-hot, hotter than Rachael's eyes, as they gripped a sword that was not there. Dawncrier held the memories that made him into the man he was, both the highs and lows.
But she was right. "Yeah, alright," he sighed. The admission made him collapse as the weight of the world fell on his shoulders. Rachael caught him midfall, gently bringing him back to his feet. Even though he relented in retrieving Dawncrier and ending this madness, he could not help but look back once more.
It was not Dawncrier his eyes settled on, nor was it Saidan and his gathered masses, but rather a set of alluring eyes. Divine, but dark. Heavenly, yet harrowing.
Like the first day they met, Daellin was fixated with Demetria. No sermon or goodwill could swell his heart the way she could. The boundless faith she projected was gravitating. At that moment, while the masses prayed to Saidan and his Scarlet Crusade, time stopped, giving the two another chance to admire one another. She smiled at him the same way she did when they were at the bar, enjoying a carefree moment away from life's hardships. Her pure appearance, soiled by the radiating aura of darkness, captured him like no other. Daellin was too captivated with her that he did not notice the black ropes of shadow dripping down the corners of her lips, or the endless fathoms that swirled behind her eyes.
"Running! We're running!" Rachael grabbed Daellin and flung him towards the back alley, snapping his connection with the damned angel.
Defying the laws of reality, Demetria ascended from the ground and flew at them, letting the folds of her beautiful crimson robes flutter against the cobbled ground. Her hair, now a sickly gray, flapped in the air with reckless abandon, releasing a plague of insects on the world. The path she left behind was like a dark nightmare, bubbling with viscous shadow and void that seethed and pulsated. Her mouth grew so impossibly wide that she could devour the entire city, chewing on each building with teeth that resembled the pikes that marked the trail towards Tyr's Hand. Just like those pikes, her teeth were skewered with the decapitated heads of heretics, all screaming for repentance.
Despite the otherworldly appearance, the congregation of civilians paid her no mind. To them, it looked like a heaven-sent angel was simply floating to her next wounded lamb, desperate for her aid and soothing touch. Even Daellin was still enraptured with her until she shrieked a deafeningly banshee scream that shattered windows and twisted bones. Rachael, with Daellin in tow, sprinted down the dark alleys, avoiding any debris that would slow down their retreat.
The alleys and backroads quickly became a maze of twists and turns, as though Demetria had bent the very layout of the city into a confusing puzzle filled with dead ends. The gap between them and the flying priestess from hell was growing more narrow with each turn. As they rounded corner after corner, Demetria collided into several buildings with her incredible speed, releasing an explosion of shadow in the process. However, as quickly as she obliterated the structure, some with blood curdling screams from the denizens inside, she rebounded and flung herself at her prey. Daellin was no stranger to tactical retreats, but right now he wished he was fleeing from a legion of orcs instead of this gorgeous monstrosity.
"Stay, Daellin," an elegant and calming voice rattled in his mind. "The Light has given you another chance. You must embrace it with all your soul. There's still hope for you, Daellin."
It felt like a soft wind caressed his brain, fondling each neural network with petite fingers. Daellin knew Demetria's soothing voice like any other, sweet as honey. However, the woman he knew as Demetria was no more, replaced by a horrifying banshee desperate to rip his throat out.
"Surrender yourself to it, Daellin. Let the Light's love in. Let my love in."
Daellin buckled at the latest temptation, his feet nearly failing him for the last time. Just as he was about to hit the ground, Rachael pulled him up. "Don't stop running, bag of bones!"
It was easier said than done. Dark tendrils of shadow that originated from Demetria's limbs and back were creeping in on them as they made another turn. The flickering fingers of darkness were as chilling as the winter, nipping at their heels like frozen hounds. One got close enough to Rachael's mouth that she had to slap it away, leaving behind a scorching burn on her hand. As the demonic priestess crept closer, a new horror dawned on them.
They turned into a dead end.
The maze they were trapped in became a straight shot to death. There were no more side streets or alleys to turn to, no more streets bending and twisting to confuse them. Straight ahead was the looming wall that protected Tyr's Hand from the outside world. Normally, the wall was comforting- a towering defense against the Scourge. Now, it conspired with Demetria to seal their fate.
Demetria's sweet voice continued to ring in Daellin's head, stroking his mind with sweet promises. He wondered if he could talk to her and bring back the harmless priestess he knew, but the sharp razor-like teeth that lined the dark abyss that was her mouth convinced him otherwise. Their options were quickly dwindling as they ran closer to the wall and, without his connection to the Holy Light or Dawncrier to defend himself with, they would soon be mincemeat.
Ka-kaw!
A hoarse, shrill cry swept through the street. Like an eldritch-being birthing its hellspawn, a murder of crows erupted from Demetria's mouth. While looking vaguely like regular crows, they shared the same shadowy appearance as their mother. Their wings molted black ichor as they flew at high velocity towards Rachael and Daellin. As they got nearer, their blood-stained beaks salivated with the prospect of devouring flesh.
"Birds!? You've gotta' be kidding me," Rachael shouted as she pulled out her daggers. Like an expert ballerina, she turned on the tip of her toes midstride, flicked a dagger at the nearest crow, and continued her sprint. The crow exploded into an orb of feathers and shadow, crying out one last shrill scream, before evaporating back to the hell from which it came from.
Audibly distressed from their lost companion, the rest of the crows dived at Rachael, screeching like a thousand babies crying out for their mother. While still running for her life, Rachael defended herself with her last remaining dagger, slashing away at the crows pecking at her back and neck. However, within seconds, her entire body was enveloped in the flock of crows. Despite feverishly fending them off, they dragged her down to her knees with their bloodied beaks and talons.
Daellin turned back for Rachael, already lost in layers of pulsating darkness and otherworldly noises.
From the pile of crows, Rachael's voice pierced through the grating shrill caws. "Don't stop, run! Get outta' here!" For just a moment, her face poked through the darkness like a single firefly at midnight. Her visage was already badly slashed by the birds' sharp talons as she continued to fight back. The ethereal beasts chewed away at her exposed skin with beaks that resembled sawblades. They stripped away her skin like loose string, gargling down flesh and sinew. Within a fraction of a second, her back muscles were completely exposed, ripe for the crows' taking. Their work was so precise that it would make any inquisitor blush. She tried her best to defend herself, but the crows proved too overpowering.
All the while, Demetria advanced, engulfing the world in shadows. Her glide was much slower than before, as if she was enjoying every moment of this gruesome display.
Daellin paused at Rachael's request. He was dumbfounded. She wanted Daellin to leave her behind- for his sake. This was her last act of selflessness, to save Daellin from the same horrific fate. She risked her life to save him from the dungeons. She protected him as they escaped through the burning wreckage of Tyr's Hand. In her last moments, she would hold back the dark tide engulfing them so that he could flee. She would give her life for him, all because he gave her compassion all those years ago. He just had to run away.
He could not do such a thing. He would be damned to leave someone behind. He threw himself on the pile of crows, desperately trying to throw them off their prey. They mocked his futile attempt with their shrieks, laughing as they continued to devour Rachael piece by piece. Through her blood-filled throat, she repeatedly urged him to save himself. Without his sword to cut the crows down or his powers to sunder them to ash, she would soon be no more than a carcass, picked to the bone by these carrion beasts.
"Surrender yourself to us, Daellin," Demetria's equally terrifying and tranquil voice echoed. She was only a few feet away, levitating above the ground as more of her hellspawn-crows circled around her like a demonic halo. Her lips were curled into a friendly smile as she held out a hand; a hand he knew all too well.
"Never!" Daellin yelled as he cracked a crow's neck, the bird evaporating into a cloud of shadow.
"All you need to do is obey." This time, her voice was different. In addition to her own voice, another accompanied it. It was deep and booming, like a groaning mountain. Only one voice could match such tremendous strength. Saidan Dathrohan. Like a reflection in a mirror, the Grand Crusader's image shimmered behind Demetria, holding Dawncrier. He joined her in holding out a hand and they both said, "Obey, and there might yet still be a future for you. Yield. Surrender. It is inevitable."
Hearing both of their voices, sewn together like a patchwork doll, enraged Daellin. He trusted those two with his life. In a time of dwindling faith and seemingly impossible challenges, they lifted him up in the Holy Light, just to abandon him with little regard. She, a bastion of Light that enlightened the world with her presence, only to be a monster. He, a companion stretching back decades, only to strip him of his connection to the Light. In the end, the two people he relied on the most, became his undoing.
Seething, Daellin yelled, "Enough!" The fury in his quivering voice startled the crows. While the two Scarlets held out their inviting hands, beckoning the man they had tormented the most with gleeful smiles, Daellin thrashed at the stunned birds. His closed fists repeatedly slammed against their ethereal bodies until they evaporated into nothingness. While the crows were deafeningly loud, Rachael was mute and motionless, her body only momentarily revealed from the shell of darkness before being swallowed once again by the horde of crows.
"Your persistence is remarkable, Lightheart, yet insufficient. You are nothing but a weak man without the Holy Light. However, you may yet be given a chance for redemption if you join my side. Come, be restored to the same powerful state you once were, be bathed in my Light," the twinned voice of Saidan and Demetria said. "If you choose to continue being a pitiful waste, then you will die knowing you've failed to save someone once again."
No, I will not fail! Not again!
Despite seeing Dawncrier in Saidan's grasp, Daellin instinctively reached to his side to unsheathe his sword. Even without his sword, he was a soldier. Despite being excommunicated, he was a paladin to the last. As a man of faith, he would defy the growing tide of darkness.
He did not pull out Dawncrier, but he did hold something just as dear.
His libram.
Throughout the day's madness, he did not realize his holy book was still by his side, tucked deep away by his chest, just like his beating heart. His gift from Uther when he was accepted into the Silver Hand, the libram rested in his hand as naturally as any sword did. In fact, his hand, still deeply scarred from using his blood as ink to write passages while imprisoned in the dungeons, grew as hot as it did when he held Dawncrier.
The world slowed to a crawl as he recalled each and every passage he wrote in the book. They were his guiding star, his everlasting companion through life. From the battlefields of the Second War, to holding sermons in Andorhal, and even after Lordaeron's fall to the Scourge, the passages were his reminder to uphold his oaths and be a bastion of faith. The world may have taken everything from him, but it could not take his faith.
"Light damn you all!"
It was like a thousand suns erupted in a series of blinding supernovas. The darkness that had swallowed Tyr's Hand was instantly snuffed out by hundreds of golden rays; even the memory of the encroaching shadow was erased by the overpowering illumination. The light was so grand, so powerful that it may have been visible halfway across Azeroth. Hundreds of handwritten passages manifested in the air, then scattered in every direction, embracing everything from the cobbled roads to the highest towers with pious words of faith, devotion, and generosity. Despite the incredible power radiating in every direction, shaking the city with its incredible might, the only noise made was a soft hum, like a mother cooing to her newborn.
A familiar warmth swelled in Daellin's heart. It felt like an old friend returned after a long journey, embracing him with the tightest hug imaginable. As the holy passages that had guided him for years floated around his body, encircling him in bright-gold rings, he knew his friend had not truly been gone. No, the Light had always been with him. No man could strip him of his faith, his love for the Holy Light. He was, and always will be, Daellin Lightheart- sworn adherent to the Light.
It may have taken eons or mere seconds, but the light emanating from the libram eventually dimmed to a soft glow. As the holy words melted into the surfaces they clung to, disappearing into the city's foundations, the world returned to its normal state, still and quiet. Daellin, with his frail arms shaking from the sheer power that had abruptly erupted from his libram, blinked as he gathered himself. The endless dark maze they were in was lifted, replaced by one of many unsuspecting alleys that cut through the city. The alley was completely devoid of any eldritch horrors or suffocating darkness. Where Demetria and Saidan's image once stood, only their shadows, burned into the ground for all of eternity, remained.
Rachael.
Daellin rushed to her side. While destroying the crows with its powerful radiance, the Light had produced another miracle. Rachael's grave wounds were fully healed, her flesh reunited with its owner. She was as intact and pristine as ever, as though the crows were nothing but a terrible nightmare. However, her eyes were closed shut. She remained completely motionless. She was not breathing.
"Rachael, Rachael listen to me," Daellin muttered as he cradled her in his arms. His body twitched, sending tremors throughout his body and mind. He gently shook her, desperately trying to find any sign of life. "Follow my voice, Rachael. C'mon, you're stronger than this. Come on, Rachael, wake up!"
Nothing.
Daellin took a deep breath, holding back his fears with profound resolution, and placed his libram on her chest. The book still had a soft glow to it, like a distant ship's torch guiding it through rough seas. With one palm resting on his libram and the other on her cheek, he prayed, "Blessed Light, grace this child with your warm embrace. Raise her from the darkest dredges back into your open arms. May she yet walk once again on your hallowed ground. As Lightheart as my title, bestowed to me by your greatest champion, I implore you to save her. As the Light wills it."
From his hands, divine radiance of shimmering gold lined the libram and Rachael. She looked like a golden goddess painted by the greatest artists in the world. Ethereal sparks of light, no bigger than a coin, appeared all around them. They hovered for a few moments, then drifted up into the sky like floating torches flickering in the night sky.
"Blessed Light!" Daellin screamed, straining every ounce of strength he had left into healing her. "It is not her time! She is too young to walk your halls with her father! Please, I beg of you!"
As his muscles tensed and his heart fluttered, various images invaded his mind like a soul-sapping poison. His fingers were coated with the blood of the innocent in Tyr's Hand. He choked on the suffocating soot of Blackrock Mountain. His face was frozen from the frigid waves of Lordamere Lake as he rowed away from Andorhal. He felt the hopelessness that took him when Saidan robbed him of his connection to the Light.
The sparks began to dissipate, losing their glorious luster. The warmth that blessed the libram and Rachael rapidly cooled, erasing the golden radiance that coated her body. He was losing her.
He willed himself to push away those terrible memories and focus on those that brought him joy. His carefree childhood with Ahran. Being knighted by his mentor, Uther. The way people looked up to him as their pastor. How, even when his life was forfeit, Rachael risked everything to save him. With every blissful memory, a spark of light was reignited, restored to its beautiful appearance. They no longer floated up to the sky, but instead covered her in a divine sheet.
Daellin's heart, lighter than it had ever been, called out once more.
Her eyes instantly opened, bewildered, but as fiery as ever. She gasped and coughed, trying to find the air that had escaped her. The light that covered her slowly melted away as the orbs danced their way to the heavens. She looked for answers in Daellin, anything to explain what the hell had happened. Instead of an explanation, Daellin gave her the tightest embrace she ever had. "Rachael, thank the Light!"
Rachael slowly patted Daellin's back, still reeling from her ordeal. Her face was puzzled, like when someone unexpectedly holds someone else's baby for the first time. "Yeah, yeah, the Light and all that."
"I thought…I thought you were gone," Daellin said as guided her to her feet.
"Same," she cracked her neck and combed her fingers through her matted hair. She cautiously walked around in a circle, testing to see if her mortal body still worked. "Can't say I'm a big fan of birds anymore, that's for damn sure. And the dark," she shuddered. Despite her close brush with death, she looked to make sure they were no longer in any danger. Seeing the shadows where Demetria once stood, she winced. "After we get the hell out of here, let's call ourselves even and never deal with shit like that ever again, alright?"
With a hearty, if a little goofy, smile, Daellin said, "Deal."