I do not own world of warcraft, all characters are fictional.
Chapter One: Beneath the Frozen Lake
The biting winds of Winterspring howled through the jagged peaks, a frozen serenade that chilled Zyld to his core. He stood at the edge of the ruins of Kel'Theril, his Thalassian Charger, Thalor, snorting impatiently beside him. Black and red plate armor gleamed faintly beneath the pale winter sun, the crimson sigil of the Blood Knights stark against his tabard. His spear, the Blood-Tempered Ranseur, pulsed with arcane energy, its runes faintly glowing like a heartbeat.
Zyld's glowing green eyes scanned the desolate ruins ahead. He pulled his heavy cloak tighter as the cold bit at his skin. "Ambassador Dawnsinger didn't say much, did she?" he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the whispering wind.
Kel'Theril, once a sanctuary of Highborne magic, now lay in icy ruin. The snow-covered remains of ancient elven architecture loomed in eerie silence. The mission was straightforward: investigate the disappearance of the blood elf expedition sent to these ruins. Yet as he trudged forward, his boots crunching against the snow, the place felt wrong—
too quiet, too still.
Zyld paused by the edge of the frozen lake. His heart sank. There were no signs of life—no tracks, no campfires, nothing but the empty whispers of wind against ice. "Am I too late?" he murmured.
Movement caught his eye—a flicker of shadow against the white expanse. Zyld turned sharply. From the edge of the ruins emerged gaunt figures, a dozen atleast, their glowing, hungry eyes locking onto him. Their features were twisted and hollow, their elven heritage only barely recognizable.
"The Wretched," Zyld muttered, his grip tightening on his spear. These elves had succumbed to magic addiction, their minds and bodies broken by its pull.
He raised his voice. "I don't want to hurt you. Leave now, and you'll live." His tone was steady, though his gut told him they wouldn't listen.
The Wretched snarled in response, their weapons glinting as they charged across the ice. Zyld sighed, lowering his stance. "I tried."
The first Wretched lunged with a rusted sword. Zyld sidestepped, his spear twirling in a graceful arc before slashing upward. The Blood-Tempered Ranseur's blade cleaved through the attacker's chest, divine light erupting on impact. The Wretched crumpled into the snow, its form still
glowing faintly from the holy energy.
Two more leapt at him from either side. Zyld spun, his spear a blur of motion. The blade caught one in the neck while a surge of holy power erupted from his free hand, sending the other staggering back, its corrupted form smoking from the radiant light.
Zyld's footwork was precise as he danced across the ice, his strikes deadly and efficient. Each thrust and swing of his spear was imbued with holy magic, the energy searing through the corrupted flesh of his attackers. Cracks of ice and splatters of blood marred the pristine landscape.
But the Wretched were relentless. For every one he felled, another took its place, their desperation driving them forward. They circled him now, a dozen gaunt figures snarling and lunging like predators closing in on their prey.
Zyld raised his spear, the sigils glowing brighter as he channeled a divine spell. "Light, grant me strength!" he roared, slamming the butt of his spear into the ice. A wave of consecrated energy rippled outward, the ground beneath him glowing with holy light. The Wretched hissed and recoiled as the energy burned their corrupted forms, but their retreat was short-lived. Hunger drove them forward once more.
The relentless assault forced Zyld to backpedal toward the center of the frozen lake. He swung his spear with all the strength he could muster, cutting down another pair of
Wretched that dared to get too close. The ice groaned ominously beneath his feet, spiderweb cracks forming in every direction.
Zyld's breathing grew heavier, frost forming on his lips as the cold air bit deeper into his lungs. One Wretched lunged wildly, and Zyld parried, the force of the impact driving his boots harder against the fragile ice.
Crack! The sound was deafening, the icy surface splintering beneath the weight of the combat. A massive fissure opened, and Zyld's heart sank as the ground beneath him gave way.
"No!" he shouted, his voice drowned by the roar of shattering ice. He plunged into the freezing water, the remaining Wretched closest to him tumbling in as well. The shock of the icy depths was immediate and brutal, stealing the air from his lungs as his heavy armor dragged him down.
The biting winds of Winterspring howled through the towering pines, sending cascades of snow tumbling from their frosted branches. Zatara adjusted her hood, her silver hair glinting faintly against the pale light filtering through the clouds. She crouched on a rocky outcrop overlooking the ruins of Kel'Theril, her sharp crimson eyes scanning the desolate expanse below. Her breath misted in the cold air as her fingers absently stroked Nox's thick fur. The white worg sat motionless beside her, his ears twitching at the faintest sounds.
The ruins lay silent, their ancient stone walls fractured and partially buried under layers of ice. Zatara's sharp gaze caught every detail—the jagged edges of collapsed arches, the crystalline patterns formed by frost creeping along broken pillars. This place reeked of forgotten magic, its once vibrant energy reduced to a muted hum beneath the snow. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the subtle resonance of the ruins wash over her. There's power here—buried, dormant, but still alive.
"Shadra, guide me," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind. Her fingers brushed the pendant hidden beneath her cloak—a small spider-shaped talisman, its polished black surface warm against her skin despite the cold. Zatara's faith in the Spider Loa was a carefully guarded secret, she kept from others. The Queen of Venom and Shadows had claimed her loyalty long ago, and it was Shadra's whispers that had led her here, but why?
She was pulled from her thoughts by movement below. Her crimson eyes locked onto the lone figure trudging through the ruins. Even at this distance, the blood elf was a striking sight. His crimson and black armor gleamed faintly under the pale sun, and the spear he carried pulsed with arcane energy. He moved with a purpose that belied the desolation surrounding him.
"Well, now," Zatara murmured, her lips curling into a sly grin. "What's a blood elfbdoing all the way out here? Lost, or just
foolish?"
Her amusement shifted to curiosity as she watched him pause by the frozen lake. He seemed to sense something—his posture tensed, his glowing green eyes scanning the ruins with a warrior's precision. Zatara's own gaze followed his, and her sharp instincts immediately picked up on the threat.
From the shadows of the ruins, gaunt figures began to emerge. The Wretched. Their hollow eyes glowed with a sickly light, their movements erratic as they clutched their crude weapons. Zatara's expression darkened. She knew the kind—elves broken by their addiction to magic, reduced to feral creatures consumed by desperation.
The blood elf raised his voice, his words carried faintly on the wind. "I don't want to hurt you. Leave now, and you'll live."
Zatara's grin returned, tinged with amusement. "Brave, but naïve. They won't listen."
The Wretched snarled, surging forward, and the blood elf readied his spear. Zatara leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with interest. She had no intention of intervening—not yet. Instead, she watched as the battle unfolded, her breath catching as the elf moved.
He was a blur of motion, his spear carving through the air with deadly precision. Each strike was calculated, each step
purposeful. Holy light flared with every blow, searing through the corrupted flesh of his attackers. Blood sprayed across the snow, and the runes on his spear pulsed with a crimson glow.
"Well, well," Zatara murmured, her grin widening. "You're not just a soldier, are you? Look at you—graceful, deadly, and oh-so-focused. A pity you're outnumbered."
But her admiration turned to alarm as she noticed the cracks forming beneath his feet. The ice groaned under the weight of the battle, spiderweb fissures spreading with each movement. Zatara's heart lurched as the blood knight struck down another Wretched, only for the frozen lake to give way beneath him.
Zatara's breath hitched as the blood elf disappeared into the freezing depths, the jagged shards of ice closing over him like a maw. Nox growled low beside her, sensing her sudden tension.
"Foolish elf," she hissed, her crimson eyes fixed on the swirling water. "You're going to get yourself killed."
Springing to her feet, Zatara grabbed her staff, the crystal at its tip glowing with frost magic. The air around her grew colder as she muttered an incantation, her voice sharp and commanding. "Zan'jira, shadra fal!"
The snow swirled violently as she summoned a water
elemental. The creature's translucent form shimmered in the icy air, its presence exuding a cold more piercing than the wind. Zatara pointed toward the lake. "Find him. Now."
The elemental surged forward, its amorphous body flowing into the water with a silent splash. Zatara didn't wait to see if it succeeded—she was already racing down the slope, her boots crunching against the snow. Nox followed at her side, his growl low and protective.
Moments felt like hours as Zatara reached the lake's edge, her heart pounding in her chest. The water's surface rippled as the elemental emerged, carrying the blood elf's limp form in its grasp. The glow of his holy magic was faint, but still present—a testament to his resilience.
"Careful," Zatara muttered, gesturing for the elemental to lay him on the shore. She dropped to her knees beside him. His pale skin was almost blue from the cold, his red hair plastered to his forehead.
"Stubborn fool," she muttered, her tone a mixture of irritation and concern. She placed her hand against his chest, her frost magic shifting subtly as she summoned a small burst of warmth to counteract the freezing water that clung to him. His chest rose and fell weakly, his breath rasping.
Zatara's sharp gaze softened as she leaned closer. "You're alive, but barely. Don't make me regret saving you."
Zyld's eyelids fluttered open, his glowing green eyes meeting her crimson ones. He tried to speak, but his voice was hoarse, his lips trembling from the cold.
"Save your strength," Zatara said firmly, her voice steady. She glanced back at Nox, who stood guard behind her, his silver eyes scanning the shadows. "We're not out of danger yet."
She reached for her cloak, draping it over Zyld's shivering form. As she worked to stabilize him, she couldn't help but glance at his spear, still glowing faintly beside him. You're more than just a warrior, she thought, her fingers brushing the sigil of Shadra beneath her cloak. You're something worth protecting.
And for reasons she couldn't yet fully explain, she was determined to see him survive.
Zyld blinked up at her, the frost still clinging to his lashes. The woman crouched beside him was unlike anyone he had ever seen. Her blue skin shimmered faintly under the weak winter sun, and her silver hair, swept into intricate braids, framed a face that was equal parts fierce and striking. Crimson eyes bore into his, glinting with a mixture of amusement and something else—curiosity, perhaps? Or was it predatory instinct?
"An… ice troll?" he croaked, his voice hoarse from the icy water.
Zatara tilted her head, her lips curving into a grin that revealed sharp, gleaming canines. "Zatara," she corrected, her tone playful but firm. "And you're welcome, elf."
He tried to sit up, but her hand pressed firmly against his chest, pinning him down with surprising strength. Her touch was warm despite the biting cold, a small mercy that his shivering body welcomed. "Easy, elf," she teased, her crimson eyes locking onto his. "You just took a bath in death's backyard. No need to jump up and prove how fragile you really are."
The frostbite on his cheeks did little to hide the heat creeping into his face as her words registered. "I… owe you my life," he stammered, his words fumbling awkwardly.
Zatara chuckled, draping her thick fur cloak over him with a graceful sweep. "You can start repaying me by staying alive," she quipped, her tone light but her gaze serious.
"What about you?" Zyld managed, glancing at her robes, which shimmered faintly with protective enchantments. The thin fabric looked like it offered little warmth in the frozen wilderness.
"I'm an ice troll, elf," Zatara replied with a casual shrug, her grin returning. "This is nothing." Her voice was flippant, but there was a flicker of genuine concern in her eyes that she couldn't entirely mask.
Zyld clutched the fur tighter around himself, still shivering. "Thank you," he said softly, his green eyes meeting hers again.
Zatara tilted her head slightly, studying him with an unreadable expression. "What were you thinking, fighting those things alone?"
"I didn't have a choice," Zyld replied, his voice quiet but resolute. "They were a danger to anyone who might come here. I couldn't let them live."
Her crimson brows lifted slightly, her grin widening. "Noble. Reckless, but noble. You've got some fire in you, elf." She leaned closer, her tone dropping into something softer. "But next time? Try not to drown before I figure out if you're worth saving a second time."
Zyld cleared his throat, suddenly self-conscious under her gaze. "I need to get back to Orgrimmar," he said, eager to shift the conversation. "My mission—"
"Not until you've warmed up and recovered," Zatara interrupted, her voice brooking no argument. She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms. "That water would've killed anyone else. You're lucky I was watching, but I won't drag your stubborn corpse through Winterspring."
Zyld hesitated, his pride warring with his exhaustion. Finally, he nodded. "Fine. But I'll need to find my charger. He was with me before—"
"Your horse ran off the moment you fell in," Zatara said bluntly, cutting him off. "Smart animal. Didn't stick around to see how that mess ended." She smirked at the look of dismay that flickered across his face.
Zyld cursed under his breath, his shoulders slumping. "The Order will give me ten lashes for this," he muttered.
Zatara raised a sharp brow. "Your Order sounds charming," she said dryly. "Maybe you should rethink who you take orders from."
"It's not that simple," Zyld replied, his voice heavy with resignation.
"Things rarely are," Zatara said, her tone softening. She stood and extended a hand to him. "But for now, let's focus on getting you somewhere warm before you freeze to death. Everlook isn't far, and there's an inn there that won't turn away coin."
Zyld hesitated for a moment before accepting her hand. Her grip was firm and steady, pulling him to his feet with surprising ease. As he wavered, she stepped closer, slipping an arm around his waist to steady him.
"Careful," she said, her voice low. "I just dragged you out of a frozen lake. Don't make me work harder than I already have."
For the first time, Zyld allowed himself a small, tired smile. "Noted," he said softly.
As they began their trek toward Everlook, Zatara led the way with confident strides, her staff held loosely in one hand while her other hand occasionally reached out to steady Zyld. Nox padded silently beside them, his yellow eyes scanning the shadows for any lingering threats.
Zyld found his gaze drifting to the ice troll walking ahead of him. There was something captivating about her—her easy confidence, her sharp wit, and the way she moved through the snow as if she were a part of it. Despite her teasing, she had saved his life without hesitation.
He clutched the fur cloak tighter around himself, the warmth of her presence contrasting sharply with the cold that still clung to his bones. For now, he would trust her.
And as the icy winds of Winterspring howled around them, Zyld couldn't shake the strange feeling that meeting Zatara was no mere coincidence.
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