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Azizia can’t get the boy with orange hair out of her head. There is something she absolutely despises about him. She has this visceral disdain for him and as a shaman, she knows there is a reason for it. She isn’t sure she wants to know what this reason is, though. These humans tolerate warlocks, and she fears the Fel inside of him is what she dislikes about the boy. His green eyes, however, shine of a familiar, worrying light.
She dreads the day the Company will have her work with someone like him. Especially him. He seems like a child, and somehow the idea of someone like this going on such a dark path terrifies her more than a regular warlock on an insane quest for power does.
As the night falls, she goes to sleep trying her hardest to keep this human out of her thoughts. The spirits accompanying her seem to take a different decision as they have her dreams revolve almost entirely around him. Almost.
She sees that boy learning magic in this huge mansion, surrounded by a family. She also watches him eventually turning to the Fel, which confirms her fears. But the spirits want to show her more, and her dreams shift in time, space and protagonists.
She now stands in this quiet little village at noon, and even though she has never been anywhere near, she can feel that this vision takes place near the city called Lordaeron.
A rather small but muscular young man knocks on a house’s door. His skin has been slightly darkened by the sun, and his dark hair is tightly tied into a ponytail, with two loose strands of hair falling on his face, slightly obscuring his light blue eyes. He’s wearing a simple white shirt and brown pants, with a wooden sword stuck to his belt.
A young woman opens the door. She’s slightly taller than him as well as slimmer. Her skin is pale and her hair red. It looks like she hasn’t spent much time brushing it. In fact, it even looks like she only just woke up, as she opens the door yawning:
“Hello-oh, it’s you already! Hi!”
Her brown eyes shine bright as he starts looking down and fidgeting with the handle of his sword.
“Good day to you, Sirie,” he says, bowing politely. “Is your father here?”
She stretches her arms into the air as she answers:
“Yep! He’s a bit late; he forgot that today was training day. You know how we are here!” she giggles.
The two pause in awkward silence for a few seconds, with the young man still avoiding her gaze. She finally breaks it as she grabs a red cloak from inside and ties it around her shoulder. The warm color clashes against the green of her dress.
“To answer your question, Therald; yes, I am available for a walk into the woods right! Let’s go!”
Therald’s jerks his head up, revealing that he’s been blushing, as Sirie locks arms with him and starts dragging him on the path to the woods.
“Your father will be mad.”
“I know. That’s kind of the point of doing something you shouldn’t do!”
She grins at him, still walking on the path leading outside their village.
“I need the training,” he says, still avoiding her gaze. He does not resist strongly to her pull towards the woods, however.
“You don’t need the training. You’re doing fine with that toy sword of yours! And my father just came back from the war. Give him a break, will you?” she chuckles.
“I really shouldn’t—”
Sirie interrupts him, playfully pinching his clean-shaven cheek and pouts.
“Come on, you know these woods like the back of your hand and I can never go on my own. Mom and dad are scared I’ll get lost.”
Therald nods silently, and Azizia watches the two leaving for the woods as she hears Sirie exclaiming excitedly:
“Do you think we’ll see a wolf? A bear?! Oh, I hope we get to see a bear!”
Azizia watches the dance of the sun and the moons in fast forwards as weeks after weeks pass, and she watches the two humans get progressively closer. She sees them get a little bit older, which is especially visible by Therald getting stronger and growing a well-groomed beard. She sees, one night, as he takes Sirie outside, away from her family, and puts a knee to the ground to offer her a ring. Then, her whole family comes out to celebrate. The man disappears for a little while and eventually comes back wearing plate armor and a tabard that the Draenei understands to be Lordaeron’s.
“So, how’s the best guard of all the Capital City doing? Probably not very busy, with most people who can use a sword on the battlefield!” simply asks Sirie, as if he had never left. She walks up to him, while he keeps his head low. “Hey, what’s that on your face?”
She approaches Therald and brushes one of the messy hair strands off of his face, putting it behind his hair and revealing a black eye.
“Work-related injury?”
He shakes his head.
“I went for a drink. Another guy talked too much.”
“That’s it? Too many words came out of his mouth so you fought?”
Therald shakes his head again.
“’ Said my father was a traitor, that that’s why we lost our title.”
Sirie frowns sadly as she strokes his cheek below the black eye.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Therald.”
Therald shrugs and tilts his head, gently pressing it against her hand.
“Don’t be. He’s the one who started the fight when I insulted his dead brother. Seriously, how do you even miss an orc with a weapon? Isn’t the target big enough?”
Sirie scoffs and pushes him on the shoulder.
“Anyways, I’ve got something to show you, if you can still see without that right eye of yours!” she chuckles as she grabs him by the hand and leads him outside the village. This time, Azizia feels compelled to follow them.
They start walking on a rarely used path into the woods.
“Remember that old man who lived outside the village? The one you said you’d kill to live in a home like his?”
Therald raises an eyebrow, starting to feel a bit worried. Azizia does too.
“Old Coppertoad? Yes, I do remember him.”
“Well guess what! He died while you were away! I signed a few papers here and there, and…” she points at the cottage, a bright smile on her face. “This is our home, now!”
“Di—did you mur—”
“Yes, Therald, I did, and the body is still in the basement.” Her eyes widen as she stares at her husband. Then, eventually, she bursts out laughing. “Nope, no one had seen him back at the village in a few days, my father and I went and checked up on him, and… well, you can guess what happened!”
Therald sighs in relief and gently squeezes Sirie’s hand.
“Oh, but wait, that’s not all! There’s something else I need to show you inside.”
Sirie pulls him into the cottage, up the stairs, and into the attic. There, they find a bunch of grimoires, books, vials, and many products, from herbs to animal parts.
“Coppertoad was a mage! His death is a blessing for us two. You get the home you’ve always wanted, and I finally get to learn magic like I always dreamed of!”
“Sirie… Please show that man a little more respect…”
“Right!” she joins her two hands as if in prayer and closes her eyes. “Thank you, Old Coppertoad, for this wonderful home. Sorry you died, and I promise I won’t be disrespecting you as much next time it happens.”
Therald shakes his head, but wraps his arms around his wife’s waist and looks at her straight into the eyes.
“I’m not sure all this magic stuff is a good idea, love. There’s really no one that could teach you in Lordaeron?”
“All these pompous jerks, teaching the daughter of a blacksmith the arcane arts?” She scoffs. “As if. They’ve already mocked me enough, and I’m not begging them anymore. No, this is the perfect opportunity for me!”
Therald stares into her eyes for a few long seconds, then finally nods. He trusts her. Both embrace each other strongly, finally showing that these weeks apart have been torture for both.
“You know, there’s one more room I’d like to show you. Coppertoad’s bedroom is pretty nice…”
Therald clears his throat awkwardly, taking a few steps back.
“… We changed all the furniture, as well as the sheets and the mattress… Maybe I should have started with that.”
“I’ve got something for you too, first, love.” From the pocket of his bag, he grabs a wrapped box, which Sirie quickly grabs with excitement and rips apart. Inside, she finds a beautiful silver ring with a small emerald enshrined in the middle.
“Oh Therald, you shouldn’t have!”
“But I did,” he says, chuckling. “… your father helped a bit pay for that. My time in Capital City showed me I’m really no good with money.”
“Owing money… to my father? You’re not good with decision-making either!” She throws her arms around his neck. Therald gives her an upward nod.
“You should have deduced that the day I decided to marry his daughter.”
As they move down the stairs, Azizia looks at the old man’s grimoires. Some of them seem to be talking about basic arcane magic, but the more titles she reads, the darker the magic seems to be.
When she finally goes down the stairs, Azizia sees Sirie alone, a hand on her round belly, reading a grimoire and enjoying the warmth of the fireplace on a cold winter night.
Therald enters their home, shaking the snow off of his head like a lion shaking its mane and slams his feet on the wooden floor. Sirie immediately closes her book and slowly gets up from her chair, a smile on her face.
“You’re here already?”
“I came as fast as I could! Is it true?”
She nods.
“The midwife said that we should expect our baby soon. I had a messenger fetch you as soon as possible!”
Therald helps her sit back into her chair next to the fireplace and joins her, sitting on the floor next to her and staring at her belly, his eyes teary. He gently strokes her hand.
Eventually, he catches a glimpse of her grimoire.
“How are your studies going, love?”
She caresses his face.
“Amazingly well. I’ve been practicing enchanting objects, I find it absolutely delightful. And you’ll never guess what I enchanted last…”
Sirie pulls a pendant from under her shirt. On the ribbon hangs the emerald ring. However, the stone doesn’t shine of a green color anymore, but of a purple one.
“Long story short, I learned from one of the grimoires upstairs how to make some kind of… stone that protects you from dying.”
Therald frowns, but nods.
“It was a bit of an accident, but I think I found a way to enchant your ring using one of these stones,” Sirie pauses, waiting for his reaction. When she realizes that he will only stare at her stoically for now, she continues. “I think that if someone were to die wearing that ring around one of their fingers, the stone would momentarily store that person’s soul and bring it back to their body later.”
“Are you sure? Do you know for certain that you’ve imbued that sort of power into that ring?”
“I mean, I’m not really willing to try this one out, but from what I’ve read on Soulstones and the kind of enchantments I used… I think so. But I do believe the stone will break in the process, so… That’s a ‘one-time’ thing.”
“Well, I hope you’ll never have to test this ring’s magical properties.”
Sirie brushes his hair off of his face and gives him a playful smirk.
“Yeah, I’m not really looking forward to joining Old Coppertoad. With the whole assassination thing and all…”
Time speeds up again as she chuckles. Meanwhile, Therald doesn’t.
Around a year seems to pass as the first snows come back again. Azizia hears something breaking in the attic and steps rushing down the stairs. Therald comes out of the living room and screams out.
“Is everything alright, love?”
Sirie runs to another room. After a few minutes, she comes back with a huge wicker basket, from which soft breathing can be heard.
“Sirie?”
“What?” she shakes her head. “Yes, everything’s fine! I just… I heard Leghan. I think he’s having a nightmare.”
“You’re sure?” he looks at her, concern on his face.
“Absolutely!” she smiles. “Care to join me for a little walk? It’s a bit early to have him wake up from his afternoon nap. I think a short walk into the woods might do him some good.”
“Well, I just came back from one, actually, you can ju—”
“Therald. Please,” she says with urgency in her voice that she tries to hide as she adds. “You know how the woods are after it snowed, it just all looks the same to me. But you, you know them like the back of your hand!”
“Alright, alright, I’ll join you two. Can’t have an orc find you out there.”
He helps her put on the red fur cloak as she fidgets with the ring hanging around her neck with one hand and holds the basket in the crease of her arm. Azizia looks inside the basket and sees a cute little human baby, carefully tucked into several layers of blankets. Therald puts on his own cloak, grabs his sword, and the two get out of the house together.
Azizia leaves the house as well and watches them walking further into the woods. Sirie turns around, almost looking directly at the shaman, and with a flick of her hand moves the snow behind them to cover their tracks. It was as if they had never set foot there.
Loud noises can be heard from inside. Someone gets progressively closer to the door and breaks everything in their path. Azizia watches in horror as a Felguard breaks through the cottage’s front door. She watches him trying to track someone – most probably whoever summoned him into this world; Sirie – before following footsteps in the snow. Not the footsteps that went deeper into the woods, no, these tracks have been hidden. Instead, he walks on the most frequented path – the muddy one that leads to the village.
Time moves faster again as Azizia runs to the village, and when she arrives there it’s already too late. Many villagers lay lifeless on the ground and those who survived the massacre – if any – have long left. A broken Soulstone lays broken on the ground near a farmer who’s soaking in the red snow, her grip still tight around the pitchfork. She deduces that this woman fought the demon to the death. Unfortunately, only one of them went back to the Twisting Nether to wait for his eventual return.
“Therald, please, come back!” whispers Sirie, visibly anxious as she stops and stares at the massacre. Her anxiety disappears, however. In a mix of utter fear and awe, she adds: “I… I did… that?”
“What… what happened?” His only answer is the silence. He turns around and walks to Sirie. He raises his voice. “What happened, Sirie? What did you do?!”
Leghan starts crying in the basket, woken up by his father’s shouting voice.
“Sssh, Leghan, mom’s here, every—”
“Sirie, what did you do?!” he barks once more, tears in his eyes.
“I – A spell backfired, I wasn’t trained enough to attempt this one and, something… someone appeared in the attic. I tried to stop him, I promise, I really tried, but I could only trap him for a little while. I took you and Leghan away as fast as I could, but I never thought he’d go for the village I—”
“Backfired? You call this backfiring? Look around you, Sirie, whatever it is that you brought into this world… it killed everyone we know. Everyone you and I loved…”
Sirie tries to speak but chokes on her words. Tears start streaming down her face. Therald turns around and runs to a body after another, trying to find at least one survivor. In vain.
The mage finally gathers her thoughts and says:
“Not everyone you love, right?”
Therald angrily glares at her in silence.
“Therald. Not everyone you love. I’m here. Leghan’s here.”
He goes back to looking for survivors in silence. She drops the basket on a little bench sitting in front of a home and walks towards him.
“I—I just wanted to be stronger. To fight the orcs with you. To protect you and Leghan. You can’t be mad at me for that, right?”
Therald stays silent and storms past her. He grabs the basket containing the crying baby and walks away, towards Lordaeron.
“Therald… what—what are you doing?”
“I’m warning the authorities of what happened here.”
Sirie shakes her head.
“You don’t have to tell them the truth. We can say th—that orcs did it! You said that the Capital City called you back, right? They needed all of their guards because they fear the orcs getting closer to Lordaeron, right? Right?” he stops walking away from Sirie, but doesn’t turn around to face her. “We can just go back to our normal life!”
“There is no ‘going back to a normal life’, Sirie. Not for me, and certainly not with you. I’m warning the Capital of what happened here. Your fate lays in their hands, now,” he sighs and wipes away a tear. “I would tell you to run and hide, but I know it to be useless. A crime like this will never go unpunished.”
He resumes his walk, not turning to her once. Sirie runs towards her husband and shouts his name right before she reaches him, which finally makes him turn around. She snuggles against his chest, sobbing. Quickly, her salty tears mix with the warm blood coming from the wound she inflicted him with. She drops her unsheathed dagger and grabs the basket as he clenches his left fist and pushes her away by the shoulder with his right. Both stagger back a few steps, but only Therald falls down as he presses both his hands against the deep cut on his chest.
“Leghan… Leghan, mom’s here. Please, stop crying, I’m here…” she gently shakes the basket, but the baby just won’t stop crying. She softly strokes his face. “Please, please, stop crying.”
Sirie raises her head as she hears a gryphon screaming in the distance. Therald coughs up blood and says.
“H—help is coming, love… No orcs around; just you… and your victims…”
She looks threateningly at him, her heart breaking as she hears him calling her love after all he said. After what she did. She goes back to trying to calm down Leghan. In vain. The sounds of the gryphon get closer and Sirie starts panicking. She looks at Therald, who has stopped breathing, and then looks at her son again.
“Leghan, I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so deeply sorry.”
She kisses him on the forehead as the crying baby moves his arms under the well-tucked blankets, and Sirie runs away.
Azizia watches as a young dwarf descends from the sky on a gryphon and looks at the massacre. She watches him grabbing the basket, unsure of what to do and eventually walking away with it.
She runs in the direction that Sirie took and eventually finds the woman, sitting in the snow as she sobs. She hears her repeating “I only wanted to be strong and protect them, I only wanted to be strong protect them” again and again in-between the sobs, which makes the shaman sigh. As the warlock moves her hand to fidget with her pendant, she gasps. The ring isn’t there anymore. She looks around in the snow to see if she’s lost it near but can’t find anything.
“Oh no, no, no, no, no, no!”
Azizia looks around as well, unsure of what happened to the ring. She could swear Sirie had it around her neck when she arrived at the scene of the bloodbath.
Finally, the spirits giving her this vision must have decided that Azizia has seen what she needed to see, and the vision slowly fades away until Azizia is woken up by the light of the sun outside her window. As she emerges from her slumber, most details are lost to her, except for some blurry memories as well as three names - Therald. Sirie. Leghan – and a strong desire to buy a silver ring enshrined with emeralds.