These events of clarity's loss were becoming more and more common the more days passed since the separation from the Heart. At first, it was only weakness, attributed to the little, if any hours of sleep, for many were the hours of the day consumed in the worrying of the Surveyor's fate and the loss of the locket. However, a part of her had started to doubt it. It was not mere weariness, or simply the fact that her body was becoming weaker, its strength waning and the cold becoming greater. It was as if her powers were being drained, locking her to that constant state of fatigue.
But then, they had started coming.
The young elf was leaning against a wall in a remote corner of the Bazaar, no longer making the slightest attempt to hold onto the shopping she had made. The bag of flour had reached the marble floor, leaving a small trail of soft white on the peach. Corns and apples were scattered there alike, by their previous containers, but Celysiel could make no attempt to pick them up. She was shivering like a leaf. colour drained from her lips, as her snow-white skin was now adapting to an ill shade of yellow. Eyes wide, glowing, were open, staring...
... But it was all black around her, the darkness thick and restraining. Yet it was not infinite, like one would expect it to be. Within, shapes here visible to the girl, as if the walls of a cave. With the exception that the carving here was too solid here, too firm to belong to stone. They were walls precious, forged by metal. Devouring what was within. And the core within was struggling to bring free, link the missing piece with the unit, be whole again.
"Miss."
She could feel it reach out. Feel herself reach out, as if carried fluidly by something thinner than the wind, more complex than the atmosphere itself. And a part of it was indeed pouring, radiating, venting. But Celysiel remained forever trapped in the cold, restrained in the cage she had made for herself...
"Miss."
Vision. Light assaulted her pupils, dulling their ability to see. Exhausted, Celysiel whimpered behind her shut lips and brought her right hand over her forehead, so to block out the golden sun. As the mist started to slowly fade, two figures, blurry at first, appeared before her. One of a woman, the other of a man. They both had similar features, the same pointy nose, freckled cheeks and dirty blonde hair. But what they shared the most at that moment was concern into their green eyes. They had seen something that did not agree to the enforced happiness of Silvermoon. Something they were not meant to have ever witnessed.
Concern would raise suspicion and suspicion was the last thing that Celysiel needed on herself. Especially under those certain circumstances.
"Miss." said the girl, placing a mask of kindness over her beautiful, lightly tanned face. "Are you alright?"
She was not alright and they both knew. It was difficult to ignore the shivering of the apprentice's frail form, or the tiny drops of sweat glistening on her forehead. But she was not feeling warm. She was cold. Extremely cold.
"Here, let me help you." the man offered. He lowered himself down on the floor, trying to gather the fallen goods, while his sister was tending to the ghosty, suspicious girl.
"Oh, Miss. You look terrible." uttered the concerned girl. No, much like Celysiel before Theradrim was brought in her way, she was oblivious of the truth in the world around her. Locked in a temporary state of bliss. "Why, surely, your choice of attire was most unwise with such heat!" With a wave of her hand, she gestured to the heavy, dark robe adorning the aspirant warlock, certainly not fitting for the summer of Quel'thalas. Celysiel knew that the other woman was offering her an excuse to cling onto. She could agree and it would be over. But suspicious would still linger.
"N-No, no, worry not." came the answer from the young elf, surpised that she could hold her voice from shaking any further. "It is the effect of tea I bought from a Goblin vendor days ago. My mender is offering me potions that will help me recuperate, but it may take some days."
A blatant lie, but who would know? It came out easily from the otherwise sincere apprentice, for she knew very well just one thing. Secrets. They had become her way of living. Lies. A part of her daily routine. No one could know. The stigma of suspicion could not cling on her these days. The stakes were too high.
On the other side, the stranger female scoffed and shook her head. "These vile creatures." she mumbled with disgust. "Little imps that taint our wonderful city with their presence."
"May they never let the lesser races step in our glorious Kingdom again." echoed the girl's brother as he was rising, only to place Celysiel's bags on her hands soon after.
She took them and nodded. Their burden was unbearable, but she had to endure. For if she did not, Eraevin would never return. And if he did not return, neither would her locket. A smile, forced and awfully wide to even come next to being real was placed on the pale elf.
"I assure you, it is a lesson to be learnt. I should not have succumbed in the first place, but the little fiend kept following me all around."
"Oh, you poor being." sighed the other girl.
"Do you think you will be alright on your own?" asked her brother.
Celysiel nodded. Even the slightest hint of being escorted to her house made her anxious. Her identity needed to remain hidden to these two, just in case. Nor would it be wise to let them, or anyone else for that matter, anywhere near her street, for an unexpected visitor tended to linger there at times.
"I will be well." she lied, nodding. "Thank you for your assitance."
"Sun's guidance." the sister offered.
"Blood for the Fallen." Celysiel uttered.
"For the Fallen." the brother agreed and the three parted ways.
The moment they did so, it was difficult for the apprentice warlock not to collapse on the floor and remain there. Sound could be registered with difficulty. Her ears were twitching to something faint, something hollow into the nothingness, like someone was dragging their feet in snow, or droplets of water falling on a wet surface. Like a whisper. Like a heartbeat. Like the charge of magic.
It would come and go, letting this static noise assault the girl's ears, before just for a few seconds, giving her an idea of Silvermoon's sounds as well. And then came their collision. It was enough to drive Celysiel insane. Just for a while, she wanted to let it.
So weak, whispered an exhausted voice in her mind. But a part of it was mocking, as if taking pleasure ot of it.
Suramar was drawing closer, but now, Celysiel could not help but agree with Tal'enthiel's verdict. She was not ready. If anything, the loss of the Heart had made matters worse and Blackwood's lessons were lost with it. She had lost her only protection and far more, soon to be thrown into an arena of wilderness, against an opponent who had earned greater knowledge and skill in far less time, given how she had a better guide. Now, the dream that had briefly been offered of becoming the Overseer's apprentice was drifting away and the search for another mentor would have to be sought after Suramar. For how could she survive against the other apprentice with the same dream, especially in that state?
Hopefully, Vealynn's bloodlust had been sated the previous night in the Sanctum, when she had so strongly tried to strangle her, otherwise humiliation and failure would be the last of her concerns. Between the two, it was Celysiel on whom most she knew had been betting on. They would be met with disappointment.
It was no lie that she had survived far more than Vealynn had even ever witnessed. Yet the argument Eraevin had made regarding it in the past was not false. It was never without the Sanguine Eye's protection.
Still, the Sanguine Eye was not there when she had been taken by Sherazel. Only Noraiel and the Blood Lord.
A voice in Celysiel's mind cackled, as if it only aspired to see her pushed down even more. Oh, she had done nothing against Sherazel. She had not survived the doommaiden. No, she had bent knee, as had the other two. At least, Silvos' resistance had been the strongest in his attempt to release the other two.
How easy it would be to simply walk up to the Overseer and declare that she wished to step away from the trial, that the dream was relinquished, that she would wish to have another teach her. But she could not and it was not simply for the memories of conversations that stirred in her mind, of aid given, of all those she could not disappoint.
It was a fire. If she could succeed, she could prove to herself that she did not need the Heart. Not the forsaken part of her soul bound with it. That there was more than a naive mind and unbound curiosity.
And if she failed?
Then she would be an imp, devoured by the felhunter.
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