Legacy Of Shattered Bones

Are you afraid? Is that what is keeping you up this night, every night?

The winds caress was not wordless. It carried the speech within one's mind, when one did not want to admit their darkest fears. It was warm, as one would expect of the land of never-ending summer, where flowers bloomed all year long and the sunlight in abundance graced the residents. Even at night, there was nothing more than a light chill in the atmosphere, as the soft torrents of the breeze waltzed between damp grass and golden leaves. There was so much life in this place. So much beauty.

So much death...

The lone figure of the girl stopped, bringing her fingers to the edges of her crimson hood, holding it into place as she rose her head to look up. The shining stars had lined up perfectly behind violet clouds of arcane residue, rising from the magical land to reach the heavens. That peculiar mist swayed in front of the full moon, the largerst of Azeroth, as the other had descended. There was so much light guiding one's way, keeping nothing secret in the woods of Eversong, but as much as there was the desire to hide, the lack of complete darkness was a relief. The Sin'dorei were strangers to the black of night and so, they revered the Sun, relying on its guidance.

However, the burning sphere was not on the sky. That signaled an hour of rest for the Blood Elves of Quel'thalas, as did for all beings of the world, in its every corner. But not this one. Not this young elf so reluctant to wander in the forest, now doing so completely alone.

"I am afraid." she admitted to the breeze. "I am afraid."

Of what? Celysiel closed her eyes as her face was turned to the sky, trying to forget in that moment that she was also so strongly struggling to remember. Their monstrous faces as they rose from every corner adorned in the lime-coloured, unholy power, their faces, as their souls were woven into aberrations one could not fathom. Her voice and cackling laughter as each punch from a friendly hand was coming, the pain of her thunder still stinging in the veins. And the power... The power she had offered. So much power, temptation that slept within.

A sigh escaped the apprentice's lips as her eyes opened to greet the sky for once more. The scar carved from Sherazel into this pure soul was deeper than any other. The doommaiden's physical form was now dead, her essence trapped. But her symbol was more alive than ever. It was not the pain she had inflicted that kept Celysiel up at night. Not the fact that she had tortured the Blood Lord, Noraiel and herself for each one of them to see the other break. It was that one moment that she had pulled them to the centre of the platform, giving them what they had dreamt of - yes, all dreamt of it for at least once in their lives. Fel and shadow married to one body, a mindless puppet, for the demon to pull the strings. And the amounts of such power, the slavery, those had instilled a certain amoung of irrational terror and paranoia, preventing one from peace and rest.

The girl lowered her head to look ahead. Somewhere in the green, one could note the flora being undone, as plague was scourging the land. It was a familiar sight, but not sang in tales or children songs. No one had dared take that as a game. The memory of trauma for all Blood Elves, what every mother had told their children to avoid.

"Never go near the Dead Scar. The dead will come for you."

"The dead." whispered Celysiel as she gave into her cloak's embrace, feeling its warmth in a night of heat. "The dead."

She had seen no dead during her last venture. But about that she was not supposed to speak, was she? It was meant to be a secret. Secrets, veils and shadows. Celysiel liked that. It was not a game, that much she knew, but when the chance to keep and control what hid within the locket was offered, how could she not do as told? Otherwise, he would take it away, would he not? The girl had promised to herself no one would ever deprive her of it. But could she really stop someone more powerful to snatch it? When that someone was the rightful owner?

He had taught her not to fear the dead. Did he know? What she had seen? Could anyone ever know? What she had seen, how it have felt? To strike down a memory, to strike down a fear? But there were so many more out there, were they not? Some now closer than others. Some so complex. Some so tempting...

But not the dead. They were no longer something to be afraid. Just tormented souls that had found solace in the binding of shadow. So much like her flowers. Her indoor garden.

The urge to run towards her destination was there, but it felt so disrespectful to do so. So childisn and foolish. What if someone saw her run towards the Dead Scar, what would they think? That she was pursued? No. Celysiel's boots left caving prints on the fresh grass as she made her way to the piece of rotten earth, behind the hills, far from the restless eye of the walls of Silvermoon City. Far from the path that helped her cross to the other side. Far from safety.

The pale moonlight fell soft on several, small, white items onto the scorched ground. Bones. Instantly, Celysiel brought her hand to her lips in order to hold back that mighty urge to vomit. It had been so much easier to ignore them with Eraevin's imposing presence nearby, but now that she was all alone, to see the truth bare, notice every small detail. It was disgusting, awful and wrong. But there was a reason that she had come there, was there not? She had to descend.

But what if her presence awakened the dead?

I thought you were not afraid of the dead. whispered that taunting voice in her mind.

Her hands took hold of the edge as she knelt to make the leap down into the horrific leap. Her feet reached the ground, but it was hard and dry, making the impact nearly painful. She did not even wince. The only thing the Blood Elf did was bring the cloak more closely against her body, as if to protect herself from the warm temperate of the woods, as if this thick piece of velvet could shield her from all terrors. But nothing happened. The dead did not rise as their fragile bones crunched beneath her boots.

"Why am I here?" she asked herself silently. Her eyes, wide, were scanning the morbid surroundings. True, Eversong, life, was not too far away. But it somehow felt as if walls had risen at the very edges of the Dead Scar, not allowing her to commune with the world beyond this dead marching line. As if she was trapped in the stench and the shadow of a horrific past. "Why am I here?" she asked again in despair.

Power. whispered the frantic voice in her mind.

"I don't want power, I don't!"

Lies! came a cackle.

"I don't, I don't!"

Are you afraid?

"I am." Celysiel admitted with a sigh. Her grasp on the cloak loosened, letting it fall on the ground freely, before her fingers of the left hand came to gently brush the cold, silver surface of her precious locket. The young creature lowered her head. "I am."

Power. repeated the voice in her mind, her voice. Power.

Power. Her inner desire spoke the truth. Staring down to her right hand, Celysiel found herself lifting it, coiling her outstretched fingers in a cage that made the veins shiver. Embers of green flame got tempted by the calling, but the fist closed, denying the felfire she so longed to call. It had no place there, as it had no place among her vines. And yet, it was the power she so wanted to find, though fear of Sherazel had made her seek it even less, in spite of the Overseer's word. She needed it, she could not cast without it. But there were other sources of power, were they not? Her eyes regarded the dead land for once more. Sources she would need to understand.

Death was always a source. In all its forms. Sacrifice were from it all sprang.

"No!" Celysiel exclaimed, alone in the night. "No, I will not."

Power. demanded the voice in her mind, identical to her own.

"You cannot make me!" she responded, raising her hands to her head, spinning around on her toes. "I have had enough of you! Go away!"

Power!

"Ever since she took me! I have to deal with you! No more, no more! Go away, I relinquish you! Go away!"

Power!

"Stop it!" Celysiel cried out, closing her eyes. "Go away, go away!"

POWER!

"Enough!"

Silence. The apprentice tried to collect her breath after the last word she had uttered, now weary. Her eyes felt heavy, as if salt and water could rise and overcome, a sensation all too known, but never its release. The girl took a deep breath and slowly turned around, wanting to leave the walls of Silvermoon behind her, gaze at the horizon.

And then, she saw it.

It was the figure of a woman marching in the middle of the Dead Scar, showered by silver moonlight. And she was beautiful. The way she moved was ethereal, as if blessed with all the grace of the world. As if she could hear the wind's music and was waltzing to its tune. Her dress was wide and regal, its colours crimson and gold. The long cloak trailing behind her looked as if it was not touching the ground. Straght, long tresses, pure, in the colour of sunlight were reaching for her waist. But her features, which left the impression that would surely be divine, were not showing. They were hidden under the shadow of a large, red hood, leaving in display only a pair of the most beautiful scarlet lips.

Though no secret, the jealousy that females usually feel for one another was not something that Celysiel felt sting her heart at that moment. It felt childish to feel jealous of a being so beautiful and divine, pointless. She felt immobilized by the greatness this woman radiated, not daring to take a single step. With every second, her figure was becoming bigger, the distance covered. But if one believed that the proximity would reveal the stranger's flaws, it did the opposite. It proved she had none. With her, the elf carried warmth, like the morning sun. For one moment, it reminded Celysiel of Oathbinder Dawncaster's radiance, but soon realised it was not the same. The being in front of her could only belong in fantasy, in a dream.

Reaching in front of the ghostly apprentice, the woman tilted her head to the side, but that revealed nothing of her face. She smiled. A smile reserved, as what nobility would hand out, though still angelic. Her hands were united in front of her shoulders, but somehow, Celysiel was under the illusion that her arms were outstretched in a welcoming embrace. One that she wanted to fall into and end all fears, wish all problems away. But she did not. Reservations were not what was keeping her still, but awe. A different kind than what she felt towards the Overseer, or Serethia Ashfall. Awe that exceeded that which she saved for Eraevin.

"What are you doing out here all alone, my little one?" she asked. Her tone motherly, though not too sultry, or mocking, as that of Lady Everflare. It made Celysiel's heart fly in her chest. But she could not answer. Every word would seem so clumsy.

The woman dipped her head a little, as if lowering her gaze. On the locket laying on the apprentice's midriff. Her well-shaped lips thinned, before returning to their kind smile. "Oh." she uttered. "I see."

Celysiel felt no desire to hide it. Her hands instead pulled back into her cloak. She had no idea that she had been holding her breath for so long. "I know you." the girl stuttered. "I know who you are."

"Do you?" the woman raised her chin, but her features remained hidden from the hood. She held out her right hand, waving her wrist downwards on Celysiel, with her index finger held out. She did not touch her. "I know you too." came the reply. Her cloak, for once more, began trailing around her as the divine being walked again, half-circling Celysiel in order to stop behind her. "But who am I?"

The young elf turned also. Not so out of fear, as she would blindly trust this woman, but because it was impossible to take her eyes off them. "One of them." Celysiel answered softly. Her left hand gestured to her head. "They all take shape, eventually. They are all part of me. But who am I?"

"Who are you?" the stranger asked, her smile now betraying amusement. She reached out with her hand, as if she was aiming to cup Celysiel's chin, but the physical contact never came. She pulled her hand back slowly, letting it dance with the wind. "You are one of the so many lost and misguided. Of those who are giving in. But fear not, my little one. The path is right. Show no fear."

The path was right. It brought warmth to Celysiel's chest only to hear these words. "But who are you?" she asked. "You are one of them, but who? How do you know? How do you know more than the others?"

"Perhaps it speaks to me." the beauty pointed out, lowering her hand to gesture towards the locket, without reaching for it. Still amused. "Perhaps I am its voice. Why does it have to matter? Why do you have to look for answer and not simply surrender?"

Celysiel's lips parted, but the woman right at that moment drew closer, holding her index finger right in front of the apprentice's lips. Without touching her. She could feel her warmth, so beguiling and soft, matching that of the Light, but it was better. More comforting. The young elf was distasteful of the Light, but not of the stranger.

"Why must there always be an answer?" she asked again, tilting her head to the side for once more. "Why are you here?"

"To understand." Celysiel uttered, feeling so little, wanting to give in. "I want to understand. To understand this land, to understand everything."

The smile on the woman's lips only grew. Gently, she pulled back. "It is too early for you to understand." she explained. "Nor will you simply by staring at it. You need to feel it." She fell on the ground gracefully, the dress and cloak spreading around her knees like the wings of a butterfly. Her fingers swept against the dead land and her body shook with one inhale.

"And you will feel everything." she said, exhaling. "You will see everything. And know everything."

"How?" Celysiel asked, mimicking the woman and falling to her knees. Her left hand fell on the ground and the right did nothing to restrict it.

The stranger raised her chin for once more, her smile carrying all the kindness of the world. All its truth, all its beauty. "They will tell you." she replied softly. Her hand trailed to the crushed bones, memories of another world. "Is it not them to whom you want to speak? Their power that you seek?"

Numb, the apprentice could not reply. She could only watch as the other woman rose to her feet, looking down at her. "Yes." the divine creature confirmed on the youth's behalf. "It is. And when you feel it, you will walk further. To the keep in the end of this road." Her eyes looked into the distance, as the Dead Scar extended freely, a path into the nightmare. "Is not where all of our hearts are called?" she asked. "Or is it north? Or is it below?"

The smile she wore on her scarlet lips remained. "Your path is the right one, my little one." she said. "No one can truly battle oblivion. We all become one with it."

She turned her back to Celysiel, her regard towards the city. Without another word, she continued the march that had only briefly stopped, dancing with the wind at her every step. And the apprentice could only watch, mesmerized by all that she had seen, even if it was too little.

"How?" the girl called out. "How do you know all this? How?"

"How, indeed?" asked the beautiful woman as she began sinking into the shadow of the night. "I am only one of the voices in your head."