They scouted through the devastated forest, each step careful among the remnants of destruction. The Sentinels were meticulous in their search, joined by many races who had lent their aid to the Night Elf sanctuary during this dark time, and they were profoundly grateful. As they approached the broken bridge, the raging river surged between the lands of the villages, a cruel divide. One side remained fresh and unharmed, while the other lay scorched and littered with the corpses of the fallen. They were relieved to confirm that none of the villagers had perished in the Twilight Hammer's brutal attacks, thanks to the valiant efforts of the village garrisons and the lone human who had chosen to stay and hold the line, ultimately leading to the sturdy bridge's collapse.
A Night Elf stepped forward, clearly their leader, and surveyed the river with a steely gaze before making a decision. "We'll follow the river. Let's ensure there are no cultists hiding nearby," he ordered, gesturing for his men to follow him. In their path lay the remnants of devastation, the land scarred by the merciless fire elementals. Blackened trees stood as silent witnesses to the chaos, their charred trunks a testament to the relentless flames. As they followed the calming flow of the river, they occasionally encountered floating, rotting corpses—some orcish, some human, and others elven. It was astonishing how many races had been deceived into following such a perilous path.
In the distance, another corpse caught their eye, partially concealed by grass, beside it lay a mystical axe. They paid it little heed, merely walking past the emaciated figure, dismissing him as yet another fool who had fallen prey to the Twilight Hammer. However, they were taken aback when a groan echoed from the ground. Instinctively, they put distance between themselves and the figure, some drawing their weapons, ready to defend against any potential threat.
The man was still alive, his leg stained with blood and stuffed with clumps of grass that clung to his wounds. He appeared gaunt and weak, as though he were clinging desperately to life. "My name is Galvane Hilt," he gasped, each word a struggle. "I'm a member of the Knights of the Ebon Blade... I've been surviving by eating grass for ten days... I was the one who stayed behind to hold the line. I'm looking for help... please," he pleaded, extending his arm toward the weary Sentinels.
They exchanged glances, uncertainty evident in their eyes.
"How is your leg?" Thoras asked his injured female counterpart. She had been saved by the garrison captain, and her two children sat beside her, their small faces etched with worry. He had heard that Galvane and the captain had responded to a little girl's plea, leading her to her mother. A wave of shame washed over Thoras as he recalled the animosity he had shown toward the human. His outdated views on other races still lingered, a relic of a bygone era, now irrelevant in a world that demanded unity against the ever-present dangers that plagued them.
Thoras had not had much rest, as many people needed assistance with their injuries. He was a druid—not the most powerful one, but enough to protect his family and lend aid to those in need. Now was the time for him to step up, to be the support the community required. "I'm fine now; it just needs time to heal naturally. Broken bones hurt," she chuckled lightly, though a shadow of fear lingered in her eyes. "I'm grateful for your help, Thoras. You have no idea how scared I was at the thought of leaving my children alone." She lovingly stroked her son's hair as he slept with his head resting against her stomach, while her daughter lay curled up beside her, lost in dreams.
""I'm just here to help," Thoras replied, his gaze drifting toward the entrance of the tent. More and more people were coming in with injuries, their faces pale and eyes wide with fear. He could safely assume they were fortunate; many lives had been saved today. "I'm not the one who dug you out from the rubble," he reminded her, his voice steady yet humble.
She smiled at him, her gratitude evident in her warm gaze. Indeed, she was forever thankful to those who had come to her aid. It was bittersweet, knowing the tragedy that had sparked such heroism. Once, she had harbored hatred for humans, bitter over their failure to save her mate during the Third War. They had been enemies, but now she could not hate them. Not after one had saved her and her children from a life without a parent. "The human... I used to hate humans, Thoras, but no longer. They are people, like us—just the same," she said, her eyes drifting to the humans tending to the injured nearby. Their generosity was a welcome balm to the Night Elven community, and she felt no trace of hatred toward them anymore. "How is Alteria?" she inquired, a hint of concern in her voice.
"They are safe; she's with my daughters in the camp," he replied, standing up and preparing to leave the tent to attend to other matters. "They're fine… how is Aylian? I wish to see your mate—" He was abruptly cut off when another injured person was brought into the tent.
His heart raced as he immediately recognized the figure being laid on the bed. "Wh-how, where did you find him?!" Thoras exclaimed, his eyes widening in shock. The man before him appeared emaciated, yet he was undeniably alive, breathing, and somehow still resilient. Tubes were attached to his body, supplying him with a form of nutrition, water infused with vitamins.
"We found him by the river a few kilometers from the destroyed bridge," one of the sentinels informed him, their expression grave. Thoras noticed a human officer approaching, concern etched on his brow. "He claims to be from the Knights of the Ebon Blade, but he's not a death knight, nor is he with the Twilight's Hammer," the officer explained, his tone wavering between uncertainty and caution. Thoras was taken aback; a Knight from the Ebon Blade? Yet he was alive, breathing.
"Is he safe?" Thoras asked the officer, desperation lacing his voice. The officer, who was also a doctor, gave a reassuring nod.
"Yes, he's safe. He had a broken leg and numerous open wounds. He had been shoving grass and herbs into his wounds to stave off infection during the ten days he was lost in that forest," the doctor reported, a note of admiration creeping into his voice. "He's a remarkably resilient man; I have to commend him," he added, casting a glance at Thoras. "Do you know him?" he inquired.
Thoras nodded, though he did not know the man personally, he was well aware of his deep connection to Nilsha. Shame coursed through him as he remembered how readily he had dismissed the man simply for being human, his outdated views clouding his judgment. "He's my daughter's mate," Thoras confirmed, his voice steady, and the doctor merely nodded, offering reassurances that the man's life was secured and that he should not worry. Thoras acknowledged him with a silent nod, avoiding direct eye contact as he moved to find a chair beside his daughter's human mate.
A group of soldiers approached him, their expressions serious as they bore an enchanted axe, large and magical, adorned with glowing runes and a radiant jewel at its center. "I believe this is his," one of the soldiers stated as they carefully set it down. Thoras expressed his gratitude, offering a nod of appreciation as he took a moment to study the weapon, feeling a sense of connection to the man it belonged to.
He was deep asleep, weak and emaciated, yet he breathed steadily, reassuring Thoras that he would not slip away. They were in a sanctuary far removed from the conflict, surrounded by allies who offered protection and comfort, ensuring that the danger was a distant memory. A great weight seemed to lift from Thoras's chest, knowing that his life was intertwined with his daughter's happiness. Despite their recent fallout, it was a common struggle among young lovers—a falling out followed by a stronger bond.
"Another one for me to thank?" Thoras mused, directing his words toward the unconscious man. He wrinkled his nose, struggling to understand what his daughter saw in this human. "What does she see in you that she doesn't see in others? Why must you be human?" The question lingered in the air, his frustration palpable.
His inquiry was not born from mere prejudice; rather, it stemmed from an acute awareness of their differences and the fleeting nature of life. "You're just going to hurt her, just as you have now," he muttered, narrowing his brow in disapproval. "You have to live fast, given how little time you have in this world." His words echoed in the stillness, but the man remained unresponsive. Thoras began to wonder if he could even hear him.
"But my daughter is incredibly stubborn; she doesn't care about that," he continued, a hint of resignation creeping into his voice. "And I'm no longer here to stop you both, not when it's no longer just about you." He reflected on the surprising news of his daughter's pregnancy. It was a jarring thought, one that would take time for him to fully process. The notion of his grandchildren being half-breeds was daunting, but he resolved not to denounce them. Instead, he would be there to witness their journey, like a true grandfather.
Placing a hand on the shoulder of the unconscious Galvane, Thoras felt a mixture of emotions. "You were so eager to sacrifice yourself, as if you'd forgotten you have a mate and children to care for. I would have been grateful for your sacrifice back there, but…" He shook his head, the weight of his thoughts evident. "I would have resented you for being so quick to forget about my daughter's happiness. I would have hated you in memory." Despite his initial anger, a smile slowly emerged on his lips. "But you came here, fighting to survive, eager to return to my daughter and your children. For that, Galvane, I am forever grateful. You didn't abandon her when it mattered most, and these words are difficult for a Night Elf and a father to express."
"Thank you, Galvane. You have my blessing."
Nilsha still lay in bed, never bothering to spend her days outside. The weight of grief was too overwhelming for her to bear at the moment; she could not find the words to describe the deep pain that dwelled within her. Each day blurred together, a relentless cycle of sorrow. While they continued to bring her food, she ate just enough to sustain herself and her daughters. She couldn't allow her grief to take away the very thing she cherished most: her children. Goddess only knew what would happen if the worst were to come.
Tears welled in her eyes, yet she didn't bother to wipe them away; another would only emerge to replace it. The bed had become her sanctuary, a refuge where she could brood in silence. She stood only long enough to bathe before retreating back to her cocoon of despair. When would this period of mourning end, if it ever would? The thought haunted her, an unshakable certainty that perhaps it would never cease.
Suddenly, she heard the familiar sound of the tent flapping, a routine reminder that someone would check on her or bring her food. Her mother had been kind enough to bring her what she needed, though she no longer tried to engage in conversation, knowing it would only lead to Nilsha's indifference or outright refusal to leave her solitude. "Thank you for never leaving her," she heard her mother say softly, but she didn't take the time to look back. After her mother left, she knew she wasn't alone in the room. Whoever else was present did not linger long, but she could hear the faint sound of footsteps, each one heavy and deliberate. They were injured, limping even; she could sense the distance in their steps.
When she felt the weight shift on the other side of the bed, Nilsha instinctively closed her eyes, bracing herself for the onslaught of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.
You bastard, why did you leave me?
As his hand reached over her shoulder, she immediately placed her own over it, still refusing to look back, yet her heart raced wildly, unable to believe this moment was real. Tears began to pour freely now as he wrapped his arms around her, the warmth of his embrace igniting a flicker of hope within her. She wanted to kiss him, to feel his lips on hers, especially when he leaned his head against her neck. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she heard him say, but she couldn't accept his apology; it was her turn to apologize.
"I love you so much, Galvane. Please, be with me forever. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she started, her voice choked with emotion.
"I love you. Please, don't leave me again."