Chapter Twenty Seven
The wall that loomed over the city was as towering as ever. The gloriously white bricks glimmered from the midday sun, blissfully unaware of the massacre that had taken place within its own graces. The foreboding wall that protected Tyr's Hand from countless unfathomable dangers for generations once again failed; blood had been shed from within, staining the first row of white bricks with a sickening coat of red. While it continued to hold the Scourge at bay, it failed to protect the people from themselves.
"So, what's your plan?"
Daellin's neck bent back, scanning for the wall's ramparts on the top, to the point that his brittle spine ached. He had strolled along the walls many times, finding solace in knowing that the architects that designed this monolithic wall had created a structure that would last ages, but this was the first time he realized just how imposing it was. He no longer felt protected by the wall, but rather contained, restrained. In the deepest recesses of his mind, it felt like he escaped from one confinement to another.
"Well, that's the fun part," Rachael said as she lightly kicked the wall, testing its structural integrity. If her plan was to knock down the strongest fortification Lordaeron had ever known with one half-hearted kick, then her plan failed tremendously. "You said you'd trust me, no matter what, right?"
Daellin nodded as he watched his compatriot continue her assault against the wall. "Of course, but you should know that I left my climbing gear back home."
It was apparent to him that they could not simply stroll out through the main gate while the city was in its present state. The guardsmen posted would raise an eyebrow or two at the sight of Daellin Lightheart, the deceased martyr that inspired the masses to unquestionably obey the Scarlet Crusade, sauntering out the city with a convicted terrorist at his side. Going through one of the heavily fortified guard towers that dotted along the wall was also out of the question. As they wandered along the wall, it seemed like their only hope would be to suddenly grow wings and fly over the wall like the birds that had taunted him with their sense of boundless freedom.
"I'd pay to see you even try to climb the wall," Rachael snickered as she continued to gently kick the first layer of bricks. Her eyes were too focused on the wall to see Daellin's eyebrow raise as high as the wall.
"What, you don't think I could? Scaling mountains was the first thing they drilled into me during basic training," Daellin mimicked climbing with his frail hands, grasping onto invisible rocks. "We'd have to carry a hundred pounds worth of equipment and do it all within an hour so we wouldn't be late for hand-to-hand combat training. How do you think I got such lovely calves?"
Rachael, disinterested with his story, replied, "Oh, you don't say?" as she continued kicking the bricks. After each one, she shook her head, unimpressed with the brick's response to her kicks. This went on for several minutes, with Daellin trailing behind completely confused, and Rachael continuing her assault against the city's wall. From an outsider's perspective, this sight bordered on comical, or that the deranged had decided to take out their lunacy on an inanimate object.
Suddenly, Rachael stopped, with Daellin nearly walking into her. She leaned her head against the wall as she methodically tapped the lowest brick with her foot. Satisfied with something, she grew a sly smile. As opposed to the muted thud the previous bricks said to each of her kicks, this one sounded more hollow, like knocking on a wooden door. She bent down and effortlessly freed the stone from the wall. Unlike the sturdy bricks that were cut and shaped generations ago, this brick was nothing more than cardboard, hastily disguised with a sloppy coat of paint. Rachael ripped it apart like a child opening their gifts on Winter Veil.
Within the fake brick was a small wooden instrument shaped like a teardrop, lacquered with a coat of glistening emerald. Several holes were drilled into it at even intervals with a larger hole drilled into the apex of the instrument's two wings. Several leaves and flowers were carved into it with a precision that would rival the greatest artisans Azeroth had seen. She palmed it in her hands and, for a fleeting moment, relished in how perfectly it fit in her hand.
"What is that?" Daellin asked as he peered over her shoulder.
"A gift someone gave me years ago," she said. Her words were ephemeral, as though she was transported to another place, one far more pleasant than their current situation. She brought the instrument to her lips and, with a gentle exhale that reminded Daellin of the soft wisps of breeze that fluttered through the forests of Lordaeron, she blew into the instrument. A lovely melody caressed Daellin's ears as her fingers nimbly covered the holes, creating delicate notes that hung in the air. Like a maestro, she masterfully released harmonious chords into the world.
Her performance was brief, but it unleashed a tidal wave of catharsis in Daellin's heart. The dread that haunted him was dispelled, replaced with an air of tranquility. For a moment, he recalled the calming tune that his mother would sing. It was like Rachael had conducted a second movement to his mother's song, ushering in harmony in a chaotic world.
Daellin was so enraptured with the instrument's wonderful notes still swirling around him that he did not notice a lift descending from the top of the wall until it almost hit his head. It was barely wider than a dumbwaiter, realistically giving enough room for a single person to use. It was suspended by two cords or rope, the fibers already straining from just the weight of the lift alone. Without any protective walls or fences to prevent someone from falling, it was essentially a glorified swing.
Daellin cocked his head as he judged the rickety sheet of wood and asked, "Let me guess, this is your great escape plan?"
Rachael pocketed her instrument, held out her hand like a doorman, and replied, "After you, Sir Lightheart."
His eyes widened. "Will this even support us both? I can see cracks in the wood and the rope is already ripping apart and I don't see any-"
"Good thing you've lost some weight." Rachael forcefully guided him on the lift, the wood sighing as it welcomed him with a lame screech. He instantly tried to be as light as possible, emptying his lungs and mind from any air or thoughts. Before he could properly adjust himself, Rachael jumped aboard, making the lift's life as miserable as possible. Despite pressing her small frame against his, the soles of her feet dangled off the edge.
"And up we go," she declared with a smug smile as she tapped one of the ropes three times; it was a miracle that the rope did not immediately snap. With a sudden jerk that nearly shattered the sheet of wood, they were lifted off the ground. Daellin's heart nearly leapt out of his mouth from the sudden jolt. As opposed to the larger lifts that dotted along the city walls, this ride was far from smooth. The lift swayed from even the slightest breeze, constantly colliding against the wall. Every time the frail lift smacked against the wall, Daellin swore they would plunge to their death.
Only moments into their ascent, the lift stalled. Seconds, then minutes, passed, bringing with it a terrible amount of anxiety within Daellin. The claustrophobic conditions only made matters worse. They were pressed together so tightly that they had to coordinate their breathing. He had fought off scores of orcs and undead in his life, yet this nerve wracking ploy of an escape was worse than any adversary trying to kill him. At least with the Horde and Scourge he could fight back, he could not fight against gravity.
It was an agonizing ascent, one that took years off of Daellin's lifetime. He had never used a lift to reach the top of the walls, electing to take the stairs instead, so how long this terrible escape would take was beyond him. The constant stopping and starting did not help matters. Whatever machine that was bringing them up would need some desperate repairs before being used again. He was astonished by just how calm and collected Rachael was as the lift precariously buckled underneath them. He almost asked her to play her instrument again to find that sweet sense of peace, but was too terrified of making any sudden movements. Given that the city rooftops were becoming increasingly distant, he did not tempt fate.
Approximately two-thirds up the wall, the lift collided against the wall harder than before. Daellin staggered, then lost his footing. One foot slipped off the side of the life and he would have fallen if it wasn't for Rachael wrapping her arms around him tightly, securing his safety. "We've come too far for you to die on me," Rachael softly muttered.
Daellin, with eyes as big as the sun, braved a whisper. "Trying not to."
With the lift showing no signs of resuming its stressful climb, Daellin's eyes fell on the city. It was a terrible sight.
In the distance, smoke from the fires that consumed the city was painted across the sky in the form of a gray tear. It hovered over Tyr's Hand like an imminent threat, as if the sky would be ripped asunder if the bloodshed continued. Unfortunately, it was not up to the citizenry to decide when the streets would stop bleeding, but rather the Scarlets that held absolute domain over this bastion of humanity. Based on the sounds of terror that pierced through the crackles of flame, the Scarlets had yet had their fill.
The cathedral he had called home loomed over the city, its shadow engulfing everyone. It was once a symbol of virtue and faith, but now nothing more than another cog in the Scarlet war machine. Daellin could already hear the tainted services being held in those once-sacred pews; words of zealotry spewing forth at the vulnerable minds like a torrential storm. The church's bell that once welcomed all for prayer service rang ceaselessly, adding to the grating cacophony, demanding that the people of Loraderon obey without question.
The streets were barren. The citizens were locked away in their homes or already sentenced to the dungeons. They were no longer the blood that circulated through the city's veins, instead replaced by the Crusaders that marched to the beat of mayhem. His flock, those he swore to protect and shepherd, were now held in the iron teeth of a cloaked wolf.
It was all too much.
Daellin held back a deluge of tears by humming a soft tune, desperate to find some peace in a world that was collapsing around him. As each note resonated with a pained joy, he felt his mother's diaphanous hand comb through his hair. As he continued the soothing hymn, he felt his libram emit a tempered heat, like a hearth on a cold winter's night.
Like a second violin joining their compatriot in a building crescendo, Rachael added her own gentle, yet hardened, notes. The two created a duet so sonically pure, so profound that it pierced through the horrors below them. There were no screams, no ominous bells, just the sound of their hums dancing across the war-torn sky. Hovering over the city, singing a song as old as time, they may as well have been angels sent down from up high, delivering peace to a suffering nation.
Even the lift was inspired by their duet as it jerked back into ascension. Daellin and Rachael, arms held together tight, continued their song all the way to the top of the wall. When the lift was level with the wall's ramparts, they momentarily continued their melody before disembarking, eager to get off the precarious ride. The first thing Daellin noticed this high up was how pleasantly fresh the air was. The late autumn breeze had a crisp and precise quality, unlike the overpowering smoke-filled air that flooded the city. It truly felt divine.
"There ye' are, lady Rachael! Nae a moment too soon!"
A thick accented voice interrupted the moment of peace. Two short and stocky men holding the cords suspending the lift saluted to Rachael. The second they saluted, their loose grip on the ropes caused the lift to fall down. Startled, they quickly pulled the lift back up, swearing up a storm throughout the process, before placing the lift on the wall's ramparts, safe from falling to its inevitable doom.
"Took ye' long enough! Me arse almo' fell asleep waitin,'" the other man bellowed. They were wearing the standard Scarlet regalia, but their armor was far too big for them, like a boy trying on his veteran father's old armor. Their burly beards draped out of their helmets, cascading all the way to the ground. Daellin instantly knew what these two were, their accents being the most damning piece of evidence- dwarves.
"Took you long enough to get us up here, Didier. Can't say it was the smoothest ride I've had," Rachael replied before addressing the other dwarf, "Thank you for the distraction, Wilhelm."
Wilhelm deeply bowed and said, "Nothin' ta it! Those Scarlet slags deserved an explosive arse kickin.'"
"Omarion would be pleased," Rachael smiled. "Didier and Wilhelm, may I introduce you to Sir Daellin Lightheart."
Daellin bowed his head lower than usual just to reach his company's stature. He had fought alongside the dwarves of Khaz Modan during the Second War. He recalled their imposing tanks and siege engines and how they were an important factor in turning the tide of war against the Horde. They were bold and courageous, but it was their tremendous strength and thirst for even stronger ale that impressed him the most. Save for the elves of Quel'Thalas, the dwarves were the most loyal allies to the human nations. With a shared history that stretched back to the ages of Arathor, it was a shame, then, that the Crusade's upper echelon had turned their backs on them out of vile racism.
"It is an honor, gentlemen," Daellin said.
"This ta' man that Rachy was so fond of?" Didier scoffed as he took off his over-sized helmet, revealing a striking orange beard and matching set of bushy eyebrows. His face was riddled with scars, including a gnarly one that formed his receding hairline, and his left ear was nothing but a nub. The scarred dwarf looked Daellin up and down, peering at him with an eye that would rival a school teacher. "I dinna get it, he looks like a bloody skeleton, nae the hero he talked 'bout."
"Didier! Watch ye' manners, ya' piece o' stale bread!" Wilhelm exclaimed, adding a soft slap to the backside of Didier's head for good measure. He, too, removed his helmet, revealing a beard braided into three thick strands. Even though both of their hair were primarily orange, Wilhelm had a hint of red at the tips of his mustache and brows. While Didier was scarred, Wilhelm was singed with blots of burns along his cheeks. "Well milady, times be a tickin.' We best get ye' prize here over ta wall A.S.A. fuckin' P."
Without another word, the two dwarves went to work on the lift, removing the hastily constructed apparatus from the wall and installing it on the other side of the ramparts. Wilhelm mentioned that the lift's wood would need intensive repairs before another trip; he was amazed that it even survived the first trip with two people in tow. He instructed his fellow dwarf to gather any wooden planks he could find so they could better support the lift. Didier grumbled and swore in his native tongue before looking for wooden planks.
As the dwarves acted upon their natural skills in construction, Daellin wandered over to the edge of the ramparts, looking over Tyr's Hand once more. Without the fear of falling down hundreds of feet clouding his mind, he took in the horrors below him. It was like seeing an old friend or family member after decades- vaguely familiar, but changed. Not just changed, but degraded. It still baffled him how quickly Lordaeron fell to the Scourge, but Tyr's succumbing to the Crusade's power grab was somehow all the more mystifying. He wished he knew sooner that the gravest threats were not from afar, but rather from within.
"It wasn't always like this. This city was once a prosperous haven."
Daellin broke his trance and saw Rachael by his side. Her arms were crossed, her eyes narrowed, fixated on the insanity they escaped from. Like the stoked flames that burned the remaining resistance against the Crusade, her fiery aura was as powerful as ever. "It was calm and peaceful," she continued, "Before the war, my dad would tell me stories about how everyone looked after each other. If someone needed a meal, one would be provided for them. If someone was sick, people would support them. It was like a giant family helping each other. Nobody cared about power, they only cared about keeping each other safe." Her words were an echo of a bygone era.
"Andorhal was the same," Daellin said. "When I was a kid, I thought it was a small town sort of thing. I thought people didn't care about each other in the big cities. But as I grew older and saw more of the country, I learned how Lordaeron looked after its own. Regardless of where you came from, we were one community, one family."
Rachael chuckled, amused by his words. "That is until some bastard with a big sword and a bigger ego comes through and takes advantage of people with empty promises and hysteria." Her words seethed with loathing as her eyes wandered to the city's main square. Even from this distance, they could see the scores of Scarlets and citizens still praising the Grand Crusader's glory. They chanted prayers filled with misguided retribution against those that have wronged them- the Scourge and the Argent Dawn.
And in the middle of it all, seated upon his horse, was Saidan Dathrohan, soaking it all in. The architect of the Scarlet Crusade absorbed the commotion as if it empowered him. Every time the crowd called for the Argent Dawn's destruction- heretical terrorists they called them- he responded with a grand sweeping slash across the sky with Dawncrier. It infuriated Daellin to see his beloved used in such a callous way.
"Then it takes those with courage and strength to undo the havoc and restore everything to its prior glory," Daellin mused.
Rachael looked away from the carnage and locked eyes with Daellin, judging him for all of his worth. "And do you have that strength, Daellin? Do you have the courage to press on, despite everything this city, the Crusade, that fucker put you through?"
The question's weight was enough to split the wall in half. Unlike the dread and apprehension that draped over him like a painful cloak, this question's weight beckoned him- luring him to an answer that grew from the deepest pits in his heart.
"Yes."
Rachael smirked, satisfied with his answer, then led Daellin away from the edge to the other side of the ramparts. Despite being only a few paces in width, the sounds of zealotry and chaos disappeared entirely, replaced by the eerie silence of the plaguelands. The two scanned the horizon, not looking for anything in particular. Somehow, despite being a wasteland devoid of life and filled to the brim with the walking dead, the land that once grew vibrant forests and prosperity was more serene than what was happening in Tyr's Hand.
It was not lost on him that the last time he was looking out on Lordaeron on these ramparts was when he was with Demetria. That memory, both as fresh as yesterday and as distant as an eon ago, still stabbed at his side. He felt foolish in fantasizing a life after the Scourge with her. What he thought was a good friend was actually someone that quickly turned on him, siding with those that used and abused him.
History would not repeat itself, would it?
"Daellin," Rachael broke the silence, "if things had turned out different- no Scourge, no Scarlets, none of that- what would you have done with your life?"
He did not hesitate. "I was, and still am, a man of faith. I would continue spreading the Holy Light's warmth to all, aiding my fellow man. I would ease the pain of the downtrodden and lift up the weak. I would preach, heal, do whatever I could with my limited time on this planet to make society a better place."
"Is that Daellin, the humble man from Andorhal, or is that the paladin Lightheart, the Silver Hand pupil of Uther, talking?" Rachael wondered.
Daellin paused, breathing in the crisp air. "Both." Along with the fresh air, pride swirled in his body. "I am the sum of everything that has and will be. The farm boy and the paladin are one in the same. No matter how things would have gone, for better or for worse, I would still be who I am today. Despite the ill intentions of others, I will continue walking a righteous path, leading others to salvation."
Rachael snickered and slapped a hand against her thigh. "You're a lot, you know that?" He was firmly entrenched in his moral high ground. It was practically mind boggling how someone could still be so pious after his compatriots wanted him dead and to destroy her home. "Once you're out of here, you'll be free from all the shit happening. You'll have the chance to set your own path of your own choosing. I wouldn't give you shit if you ran away and left this all behind. Take a ship to Stormwind, go far away from the Crusade and the Scourge. You can live the rest of your days peacefully."
It all sounded enticing. He could be liberated from the agonizing strife living in the plaguelands and find a new life in calmer lands. He would no longer have to deal with the Scarlet Crusade's madness as it continued to bastardize the Silver Hand's memory. To be the master of his own fate was a tantalizing prospect, one he never thought would be possible following Lordaeron's collapse.
He would never.
"I'll breathe my last breath before turning my back on Lordaeron. I won't forsake my nation nor its people. They are, after all, my flock to shepherd."
Rachael politely held her eyes back from rolling into her skull. "For crying out loud, you're just like the others," she shrugged. "Well, what you do with your life is your decision, I won't nudge you one way or another. If you choose to turn back and throw yourself at Dathrohan's cocksuckers, or join the Dawn to fight the neverending Scourge, or even wander the wastes until a ghoul eats what's left of you, at least you'll have the freewill to make that decision."
Despite the insincerity, she was right. It was his decision to make. Tyr's Hand may not have been the plagued hell like the rest of Lordaeron, but it was far from paradise. After the plague, it had become his temporary refuge, a place where he could try to lift the spirits of others. But due to recent events, there was little he could do here in the city. Perhaps he could still be a paragon of faith elsewhere in this ruined kingdom, sharing in the Light's true vision with those that held his same convictions.
"So," Rachael smacked her lips as if she was chewing gum, "what's it going to be? Turn back now, or get the hell out of here?"
He looked to his libram for the correct response, holding the holy tome close to his chest. He felt Uther's words radiate from the book, echoing throughout Lordaeron. With a smile that could pierce the heavens, he answered, "Upon the Light's golden wings, I will find my way. My own way."
Rachael playfully punched Daellin's arm and muttered, "Sure, Daellin, whatever you say."
"Ahem," Wilhelm snorted as he spat out a decently sized glob of phlegm off the wall, "ye' joyride is all ready ta' go, milady!"
The dwarf escorted the pair back to the lift, now fully installed on the Lordaeron side of the wall. It had a few more planks of wood drilled in for support, as well as two more cords of rope to make the descent more controlled. While it was not the prettiest job- with a couple nails sticking out and the whole apparatus desperately needing a coat of paint- it was fine work given the circumstances.
"Excellent work, Wilhelm," Rachael said as she gave her short compatriot a fistbump. Wilhelm basked in the praise while Didier fumed, a puff of smoke escaping his single ear. Rachael giggled, "You, too, Didier, your work never ceases to amaze."
"'tever ya' say, Rachy," Didier waved off the late compliment. "Best be gettin' down, though, neva' knew when ta' pigs will come a-callin.'"
"Didier's right fer once. We're already behind schedule as is, don't want the whole city comin' ta' get us," Wilhelm added.
Rachael nodded and escorted Daellin to the lift. While it was in a better shape than before, that did not change the fact that it dangled precariously off the edge of the wall. Nothing separated it from the ground hundreds of feet below; despite weighing little more than a feather, Daellin figured a fall would not be a gentle drift down. He hesitantly placed one foot on the lift, then the other. The lift shifted ever so slightly, making him briefly recoil out of fear. Rachael chuckled as she helped him back on the lift. Thanks to the dwarves' handiwork, the lift proved steady.
After testing the structural integrity of his escape, Daellin held out his hand for Rachael. She shook her head. "This is where we part ways, Daellin."
He was shocked, so much so that his outstretched hand remained frozen in the air. He stammered to find the words. "What do you mean? You're staying?"
She sighed, realizing just how this pained him. "As crazy as it sounds, yeah. I know I basically pushed you out of Tyr's because it is a shitshow, but this shitshow is my home. Believe me, you have a future elsewhere. You've shown me today just how dedicated you are to your cause. Frankly, I thought about leaving it all behind- but I couldn't. You have your oath, so do I- giving those red pigs hell before they destroy what's left. It's what my dad would want."
"Despite everything, you have your path, one of your own choosing," Daellin said softly. As he stared into her fierce eyes, he lowered his hand. He saw both the young lady that cried in his arms all those years ago, as well as the strong woman that could handle a legion of Scarlets with a single hairpin. While he wanted to refute her, that he wished to brave the plagued wilds with a companion by his side, he understood that her mind was made up. She just gave him the freewill to escape this madness and start anew, so why would he selfishly ask Rachael to sacrifice her own decision?
It was her own decision, her own freewill.
"Of course," he nodded. "Give them hell, Rachael. All I ask is that you don't die and that you keep Nolan and Ahran safe."
Rachael smiled and replied, "Don't worry, Daellin, I'll be fine. And I'll make sure your friends are safe until you are all reunited. Plus, someone with a backbone has to keep an eye on Korfax. He gets a bit of a temper if things don't go his way."
"Make sure that Ahran doesn't drink too much, he only has the one leg to stand on," Daellin chuckled. Rachael raised an eyebrow, not fully aware of the full meaning of his statement. His heart, while writhing with so many conflicting emotions, fluttered at the mention of Ahran. He knew that Korfax would uphold his promise to find and protect him. He was already looking forward to the day they would be reunited, sharing a keg of ale. They would need a new watering hole, however, as Tyr's Hand was no longer a welcoming place for inebriation.
"Milady Rachy, ta' pigs are movin' like ants down 'tere," Wilhelm declared.
"Aye, arseholes'll be here any second," Didier added.
Rachael went to say something, but Daellin beat her to it. "Best be lowering her down, lads. Show me just how well you repaired this beauty. I'm sure you'd make Bronzebeard himself proud with your ingenuity." Rachael smirked and gave the dwarves the go ahead. With their thick fingers holding the ropes, they gently released the slack in the ropes, letting the lift slowly descend. Just as he imagined, the second go around was far smoother than the first. He would have to get his newfound dwarven friends a round of ale as a thanks; just the one round, however, as they would quickly drink him under the table.
He made it a few dozen feet down before Rachael called out to him. "Oh, Daellin! If you do plan on joining the Dawn, go to Light's Hope Chapel to the north! Ask for Raymond George and Maxwell Tyrosus! If anyone asks, tell 'em that Maxy carried his beloved blanky Charlie until he was thirteen and Raymond eats his burger-globers!"
It was a lot to process. Blanky? Burger-globers? With a thumbs up, Daellin hollered back, "Will do!" The lift jerked ever so slightly, suspiciously at the same time as a round of thickly accented laughs erupted from the ramparts, but Daellin was not scared. The lift continued its descent the moment the laughter ended.
With a smile that could light the world, Rachael shouted one more time, "As the Light wills it, Sir Daellin Lightheart!" Before he could respond, she was gone, disappearing behind the ramparts. Daellin's eyes remained fixated at the top of the wall, waiting to see if Rachael would re-emerge one more time. Perhaps she would change her mind and go with him? He already knew the answer to that, however.
As the top of the city walls grew distant, the cursed plaguelands drew closer. The stench of death and decay became more powerful with each passing second. The vile embrace of undeath that stretched across Lordaeron seemed to pull Daellin in. While he was not a stranger to this twisted version of his homeland, that did not mean he had become accustomed to it. However, this time it felt different. Instead of tension wrapping around his throat like a vice snuffing out all hope, a sense of renewal protected his mind and body. After all, a rotted countryside was nothing compared to the hell he endured the past few months.
The lift plopped on the ground with a tremendous thud. Going down took a blink of an eye compared to going up. Without fear dragging his heart down, Daellin stepped off the lift, his feet sinking an inch in a field of withered moss. He gave one of the ropes three tugs and saw the lift begin its lonely return trip. Without waiting for the lift to reach its final destination, Daellin braved his first few steps into the wild.
It was oddly liberating. Never before had the plagued remains of Lordaeron been so inviting. His pace was slow at first, making sure he was clear of any possible Scourge attack, but then he accelerated into a jovial skip, then into a full sprint. It was like being a child again playing in Andorhal's wheat fields, skipping and dancing in the warm summer breeze with little care. While the dead air paled in comparison, the sense of freedom was still greatly welcomed. He refused to look back, afraid that simply looking at Tyr's Hand would teleport him back to the frozen dungeons, or worse yet blindly following Saidan Dathrohan's orders by the Grand Crusader's side.
That life was behind him. He was no longer a tool for another man's quest for power. He would not fight for a cause that had twisted the Holy Light from a soothing embrace to a weapon of war. He now could weave his own fate and design the path ahead on his own terms. He was his own man, freed from the bonds of servitude to those that undermined his faith and wellbeing.
He did not know how long he ran, but he eventually stopped to catch his breath. The sun was still high in the sky, with not a cloud obscuring it. Just as he bravely ventured forth to freedom, a single blue jay soared across the sky, happily singing a wonderful song that echoed for miles. In a wasteland littered with the remains of a previously glorious nation, Daellin felt limitless. He joined the birdsong by reciting prayer after prayer, feeling his body grow warmer with each passage. His libram joined him, matching his fervor by radiating a heat that rivaled the sun above.
That day, Daellin Lightheart was free.
A/N: And thus we close the book on Part Two: The Scarlet Man! Thank you all so much for your continued support. Special shout out to those that have commented and reviewed, it means the world to me! Specifically, I would like to personally thank; Starved of Song, Freedmoon, Aggarnar, and tanks60808! I can't even begin to describe how it feels to see your comments, providing constructive criticism, praise, and theorizing what might happen next. From the bottom of my (light)heart, I sincerely thank each and everyone of you for following this installment of Daellin's crazy life.
Part Two was an absolute blast to write! I can confidently say it was a step up in terms of quality from Part One, and I look forward to only improving as the story continues. While the last two years have personally been challenging, routinely coming back to this little WoW fanfic has given me the strength to press on. As I look back on it, it shouldn't come as a surprise that many elements in Part Two were partially inspired by several real world events that had recently transpired; let's hope an actual undeath plague doesn't break out in 2024.
Speaking of 2024, next year will see the next arc- Part Three: A New Dawn! Things are about to get real crazy in Lordaeron, more so than they already have. I am extremely excited for this next part and I promise the next chapters will be released (as Blizzard would say) soon™. I hope you all have a good end to 2023 and let's have an even better 2024!