Verana always had a fondness for the Coldwater seaside estate in Azure. A sleepy, yet luxurious, little town filled with the summer manses of many magisters, it had always been a popular destination for those who wished to get away from Silvermoon's cosmopolitan experience.
Gardens filled with flowers from all corners of the Eastern Kingdoms, impressive fountains on every street that flowed with varying types of wine, mosaics telling local folklore and other myths decorated walls along sidewalks. The parties thrown could go on for hours, with wine flowing like water and enchanted instruments playing well past the breaking of dawn.
In short, the settlement was maintained to a standard of luxury only magisters pooling their respective resources could achieve.
But for her, she always knew it as a quiet place where you could get lost in your own thoughts for hours.
But now?
Vast swaths of burning forest and innumerable funeral pyres fed a constant stream of ash into the already soot dominated the sky. It fell down on everything, covering the vast fields of flowers and greenery in gray sheets of snow-like soot. The sun had yet to pierce the clouds in three days, but even when it had, the shine was a dull imitation of what it ought to be.
The once lushly maintained grounds had been given over in their entirety to the suffering masses fleeing for their lives. None had homes here, and with the inns and hotels already filled to capacity, some going as far as to sleep in the hallways or under desks, they were left to fend for themselves in the elements.
For most, all they could hope for was a tent which they no doubt shared with numerous families. Better than the alternative of sleeping wholly exposed to the elements and waking up each and every morning covered in a fine layer of ash.
It was depressing that the proud people of her kingdom were reduced to this squalid existence. Never knowing if any given night was their last before the hordes of undead slaughtered them all. Most of their days were spent collecting around scant fires for warmth, cooking what meager rations they were provided or brought with them.
And even with wards lining the estate's foundation to reduce outside noise seeping in, Verana could still hear them.
The whispers, the praying…the crying.
"Lady Verana, your dinner is-"
"Leave it on the desk," Verana pointed across the room, never taking her eyes off the scene beyond the window.
Verana had never seen a dragon before.
Yes, she had seen portraits and sketches of the creatures, but never in the flesh. She knew of all the flights, the ideologies each held to, and how proactive, or lack thereof, each one was. In all her texts, they were noted as reclusive beings at best, and even when they did interact with the wider world it was usually under some illusion to hide their true nature.
Yet now she could scarcely go an hour without seeing a crimson scaled dragon flying through the ashy skies above. Mighty roars echoing through the dim light, illuminated by streaks of hot fire strafing the forests beyond.
She also never expected one of them to land in her own family's courtyard.
Young children flocked from their parents to the red wyrm as if it were some zoo attraction. A mighty creature, potentially older than the kingdom itself given its size, was letting mere children climb atop it like it was some toy. Some pulled at the membrane of its wings, some watched with awe as a stream of fire arced and looped around in the air for their entertainment, but most simply climbed to the beast's head and marveled how high they were.
Clear as the morale boost this display provided the people, Verana was at a loss for words why such a majestic being would allow itself to be treated like some… attraction.
"My lady, is there anything else you-"
"No, you are dismissed," The servant silently complied, closing the door behind him as she walked over for her meal.
The meat on her plate, while seasoned and cooked to perfection, was portioned smaller than usual, as were the serving of vegetables that came with it; to say nothing of the lack of an appetizer.
Not that this was unexpected. Her father had implemented strict rationing not long after they arrived.
When her father stated they were leaving Silvermoon for their seaside estate, she stupidly never gave a thought as to why. Nor did she wonder why the furniture and valuables were leaving with them, though she did have a sinking feeling of something terrible happening when he called up the entire household guard to relocate as well.
It was just as she was settling herself in, directing the unpacking of her belongings to the servants they brought with them, that word of the undead invasion reached her. By the day's end, she had learned of the army smashed to pieces and the monsters marching inexorably to a defenseless Silvermoon.
The situation was made worse with how many magisters were missing, dead, or otherwise indisposed. Some died in defense of the kingdom, some died in the panic that followed, some refused to abandon their lands, some remained in Silvermoon to aid in the defense, many were just missing and unable to communicate their situations to the wider kingdom, but the worst cravenly fled or hid in their estates.
The losses were great.
Too great.
Too many for the kingdom to properly run itself. With so many unreachable, dead or otherwise, and the King and Grand Magister first personally overseeing the defense of Silvermoon and now unreachable since the undead stormed the city, Quel'Thalas was effectively headless and leaderless.
Given the severity of the situation, it was only natural that her father do what he could to restore some measure of stability and control. He rallied what magisters he could reach to establish an adhoc Convocation until such time as his Majesty, the Grand Magister, or some other person vested with such authority could be consulted.
And so the august body was condensed to a party of twelve.
Twelve….
Twelve magisters from a body of one thousand…
It was pathetic.
Verana tore into her meal as a familiar frustration bubbled over.
The dozen magisters seated in the parlor in a vacation home was all that the once mighty Convocation could muster.
Some cravens too scared to leave their estates even had the gall to call her father's actions a palace coup!
That he was planning on crowning himself king in the aftermath of the invasion!
Ridiculous!
Barring the fact that the Coldwater's did not have even a drop of royal blood in their veins, and that it was presumptuous to claim his Majesty was dead, Prince Kael'thas was still alive and well.
These were nothing more than baseless accusations born of fear.
Fear that her father was doing what they failed to do: restore order.
Even now, their forces were not merely checking the undead's advance but pushing back on all fronts. Beset by dragonfire and harassed by royal forces, the bulk of the undead would be gone within the so her father informed her.
"Then there will be a reckoning," her father also told her, in those brief moments he spared for her.
And Verana could not wait to see the faces of all these uncultured wretches who hid like cowards, to watch the swift sword of justice come down on their throats for their-
CRACK.
Looking down, she saw her knife cut into the fine dish her meal was on; marring it.
Swearing under her breath, she gulped down her wine.
This anger, this uncouthness was unbecoming of a Coldwater. Small mercies that none were around to see.
She mulled the word: See.
…See.
It reminded her she had not seen Sillya in days, not since she barged into her chambers and demanded some of her clothes. Even now, she had no idea what that idiot was thinking at the time.
Or maybe that is the mistake, perhaps it is wrong of her to assume Syllia thinks ahead at all.
…ugh.
Of all the people she could be worrying about, dedicating precious time to think about, why did she always come to the top of the list?
Because you haven't seen her, came the answer to her own question.
She has not seen Emberbirth either for that matter, though she had heard in one of the many, many, courtiers that gossiped a bit too loudly that she had escaped and was in her family estate some towns away.
Though that momentary relief was dashed by the next tidbit that her mother now served as her regent for the family until she comes of age.
It made no sense the moment she heard it, since the Emberbirths have a reigning family head, who also has grown children to succeed him. Emberbirth…Elsia was not even in the first few rungs of the line of succession.
Then the cold realization struck her, and she felt genuinely sorry for her.
Verana knew she was uniquely blessed among her people with the fact her family was still whole, brothers and mother all accounted for. She was hardly deaf to the stories and wailing of broken families; as much as she wished her wards would let her be. She felt sorrow for their loss, but Emberbirth… Elsia's loss hit her more than the others.
The power of being able to put a face and a name to hardship.
Was Syllia's family equally devastated by loss, she wondered.
No, she shook her head.
It was a Dawnguard that brought news of the imminent catastrophe to the ears of the Convocation in the first place by her father's own admission. While she may not know their direct relation to Syllia, it would be inconceivable to presume they would not evacuate their entire family from the city; Syllia included.
Verana ran her fingers over the table, mulling over her previous thought.
No. She would not overthink this. The idiot was fine.
…
But what if-
Her thoughts were interrupted by a vibration that shook the room around her. The chandelier, the windows, her wine, everything briefly shook before settling back down.
She raced to the window, thinking the dragon must have done something, or that Azure was under attack, only to see all eyes looking towards the sky.
Verana witnessed a great pillar of light shooting up into the sky, piercing the ash clouds and giving way to blue sky.
That is...certainly a change of pace.
Elsia and her family only had a few days warning to flee Silvermoon before the undead reached the gates. In the confusion, so much had to be left behind in the rush.
Artwork, statues, books, paintings, clothes, jewelry…people.
Elsia had looked high and low for her friend, spending a whole day scouring Dath'Remar and the whole district for any hint of her. But time ran out.
She would like to think Syllia and her family evacuated with some other group, or perhaps on their own. That they were now hunkered down somewhere weathering the storm as much as anyone could. They would reunite once the undead were gone, and some small semblance of normality would ensue.
It certainly made the march out of the city easier for Elsia to think in those terms then to presume the more likely option that she was dead in some unmarked ditch. Or maybe it was easier to assume she was in a ditch then the alternative…
The initial flight from the city was hard, but manageable. Her brother had the foresight to call up the household guard, but even then no one had the luxury of sitting idle in the situation.
Even she joined the various battles that broke out, personally eradicating scores of abominations and monsters that dared hound them. And perhaps it was a bit prideful of her, but her incandescent white fires were the only reason so many of their initial group survived.
One person even confused her for some priestess casting holy light with how bright the flames were.
Elsia thought she understood the situation, the dire straits the kingdom was in.
In truth, she had only the faintest glimpse of what was to come.
Everything was going so well… so why…?
Elsia retched bile and blood into the handkerchief.
Each cough was a hit to her gut, her abdomen and other innards groaned in agony and her whole body felt as if it were coming apart at the seams. As she coughed, the healers did their best to stem the frenzy. Warmth flowed into her, mending what was tearing and bruised inside her.
The ordeal went on for minutes, the cloth replaced with a fresh one as the last of her episode concluded. She drank the potion offered greedily, the tasteless liquid easing the soreness of her throat within moments.
Even as she handed the phial back, a chill shook her body; one that stayed even as she was laid back into her bed.
"Please do not exert yourself, my lady," the healer cautioned, laying another potion at her nightstand, "you are still recovering."
'I know,' the reply was moot given she'd lost her voice days ago. A stern look was all she could muster.
"You must remain in bed as much as you are able. If something is required, it will be provided with but the ring of your bell."
'Fuck that damn bell,' her language would have made her mother faint in any other situation, but this was all just too much. While not so proud as to refuse help in her weakened state, she drew a line at needing to ring the bell for the servants to help her out of bed just to walk her across her own room. She was sickly and frail, not an invalid.
"Your progress has been good, but if you unnecessarily exert yourself you could relapse."
"Oh my dear daughter," her mother leaned down to hug her, the weight almost making it hard for Elsia to breathe. She acted as if Elsia would suddenly vanish if her grip went lax for even a moment. "You are so strong, but there is no shame in receiving help. Please, don't push yourself."
'Liar', she wanted to snap. Strong? She looked like a corpse. By all that was Holy, there was more hair on the floor than on her head!
"Pardon me, your excellency, but perhaps we should let the young lady rest."
"Yes…yes of course," reluctantly, her mother let go, giving Elsia a soft kiss atop her head.
They spoke a little more to her, placing yet another potion by her night table, before finally leaving her to her own thoughts.
And thus, Elsia was alone. The silence of the bedroom was deafening. All was quiet, save the constant footsteps of people coming and going from above and below. There was a war going on after all. The world did not stop simply because she was ill.
Thousands lay dead or dying. Their homeland burning and rotting from death itself. Families torn apart…
Left in the darkness and silence of her room, with only her own thoughts, Elsia wanted to scream.
She wanted to thrash her way out from under the iron grip of her covers, stride out under her own power, and….and…
Scream more?
Cry?
Maybe do something useful?
She actually did not know what she wanted to do, or could do, only that it was anything other than being treated like some cripple.
They were attacked at night, and everything just happened so fast…
Her brother and his wife were torn apart in their bed, her nephews were slaughtered as they tried to avenge their father, her niece stood motionless by her grandmother's side, traumatized by the sight.
And Elsia?
Elsia burned everything.
The woods, the animals, the monsters, everything was set alight. Even her own heat resistant clothes caught fire, flames burning into her flesh as she walked forward and burned everything. Everything became ash before pained cries could even ring out into the night.
Wherever the undead were, night turned to blinding day, and all burned in white hot flames.
And when the last of the undead had finally fallen, so too did Elsia.
For she had overexerted herself, and for all her power the result was that her body seemingly began to fall apart.
The coughing and fever were the least of her concerns as she vomited what felt like her weight in blood and her hair began to fall out in clumps. Pain rocked her body, her skull felt like it was going to split open while her muscles burned as if they were tearing off her very bones.
Elsia is sure she bit through her tongue before she was finally put on the strongest painkillers and potions available.
After that the memories all just blurred together. They managed to get to safety, that much was clear, but everything else was too hazy to recall. She didn't remember being treated all that much, her mind was already all over the place before she was given strong painkillers that muddled it further.
All she knows for sure, is that she did wake up.
Thankfully, whatever they were doing worked. Every day, she was feeling a little more life flow back into her. She shivered a little less, and was able to keep down food more easily. Eventually, she was taken off the strongest of the painkillers when her recovery was deemed 'imminent' and finally regained full awareness.
Though she was tempted to question what the term 'imminent' even meant to them if she was still bedridden days after her 'imminent' recovery.
And as if fate wished to taunt her, she now would have the honor of ascending to the rank of Magistrix Emberbirth….
Honor? Why did everyone always use that word? The 'honor'?
How was there any 'honor' in this?
The only reason she had this 'honor' was because her brother, his wife, and all their sons were torn apart before her eyes! She could still hear Nicia screaming her throat raw at the sight of her dead family! And Elsia's own vengeance fueled onslaught left her near dead.
She'd trade away all the honor in the world if it would make it so this living nightmare would never have happened.
The whole ordeal had made her realize something very important: she was pathetic.
She had abandoned her friend, let her family die before her eyes, exacted only the barest hint of vengeance before becoming utterly useless and a drain on limited resources, and now she was to be rewarded by being granted one of the highest positions in the kingdom.
Their blood paid for her rise.
She was truly pathetic…
Her self reflection was cut short by a sudden rumbling that shook the room.
An attack?
She forced herself upright, biting into her cheek to distract from the stinging pain, and pushed aside the drapes of her window. But rather than the bleak ashy wasteland she was accustomed to, she saw a brilliant golden light tower into the sky, parting the clouds and letting the sun shine down once more.
It was beautiful.
But it was more than pleasing to look at, the sight moved something in her, rekindling something she lost.
Hope.
Hope that tomorrow will be better.
And if not tomorrow, then the day after.
And if not then, then the day after that.
Content, Elsia laid back down, letting the warm rays of the sun blanket her as she drifted back to dreamless slumber.
AN:An interlude with some other POVs set right around the time of the prior chapter when Silly "came back" and set off the Sunwell.
Verana is being...well...Verana, and Elsia is having a very bad (no good) day.
I almost put in a section about the High Elven forces the king sent to Kalimdor making landfall and making first (hostile) contact with the night elves, but what I wrote just didn't feel 'right' yet, so I guess you can look forward to that next chapter.