Shattrath City

“So many! I did not expect you to take my instructions so seriously.”

Ysiel Windsinger and two other druids watched as Miria and Kaster rolled out the hydra skins they’d collected. For three days, Miria avoided the southeast road, wandering back and forth across the marsh. She took her aggression out on the overpopulating wildlife. Mercifully, Kaster seemed content to let her shoot things. He was unusually silent.

Miria was also quiet. She could tell Naru was worried - the bear stuck close to her, where before she would wander off into the marsh until Miria called her. She tried to care, but found that she couldn’t summon the energy. Finding out the truth about her father drained her. She felt disconnected from the world, wrapped in thick wool. She gazed fixedly at the southeast while Ysiel counted out their gold into a fat purse.

Kaster rode up beside her on his felsteed, nudging her with his elbow. Miria flinched away, glaring fiercely at him, and he put up his hands in a conciliatory gesture - one that was completely ruined by the smirk plastered across his face. “So, hunter... where now?”

The refuge was at a crossroads. The road south led straight to Shattrath, and the road east back to Hellfire Peninsula, to the Dark Portal and beyond back to Azeroth. Miria felt a powerful compulsion to ride east and keep riding until she was safely in the land she’d spent her adult years exploring.

Naru nudged her hoof, snorting. She walked a few paces down the southern road and then sat down, turning to look at Miria over her shoulder. Miria sighed heavily and goaded her mount forward, taking the southern road. She had said she would visit Shattrath before she left, and she meant it - if only to give herself one final reason never to return to her birthplace.

She could hear the druids calling farewells behind her, but did not turn around. She did not want to speak to anyone, much less people full of so much hope for the land. She couldn’t see what they were so hopeful about. She remembered the marsh as it had been before the naga came, before the world shattered. It once was a thriving forest, smelling of moss and clean water. Now it smelled of rot and stagnation. The land of her birth was dead, and all the Cenarion Circle’s efforts to revive it were in vain.

“Not exactly the family reunion you were hoping for,” Kaster said. “I tried to warn you.”

“It would not have mattered if you told me they had sworn allegiance to Kil’Jaeden himself,” Miria said. “I still would have gone to see him. Were you raised by wolves?”

“No,” Kaster said, grinning. “Felhounds.”

Miria scowled, hunching her shoulders as they rode on. She had never met someone who was so... cheerfully unpleasant. It was like Kaster took delight in her every failing, like he was following her specifically to make her angry.

The road south was quiet. The druids went to great pains to make sure their refuge was safe, and that the road between it and Shattrath could boast the same. The last time Miria had traveled this road, it was silently, in the cover of darkness, stealing away from Shattrath in the dead of night to escape the oncoming siege.

“Treize, Miria - stay very quiet. We must get to Zangarmarsh undetected.”

Miria shook her head, throwing her mother’s voice out of her memory. That night, full of fear and uncertainty, had been the last time she saw many of her friends alive. Too many stayed behind in Shattrath - mostly fighters, but they’d also made a difficult decision to leave some noncombatants behind. The orcs would never have fallen for Shattrath’s sacrifice if there had been no women... or children. Her people had suffered so much, and those left behind had suffered most of all. Didn’t the Light care that the draenei’s numbers dwindled with each new disaster? Didn’t the Naaru care?

The spiky, shadowed trees of Terokkar Forest began rearing their heads on the horizon. They were drawing closer.

“What do you suppose we’ll find?” Kaster asked. “Ruins? Orcs? Ruins crawling with orcs. Ogres, too - the orcs love allying with ogres. Ooh, I bet there will be naga-”

It was the final straw. Miria whipped her bow off her back, turning in the saddle to point it at Kaster. Arcane energy hummed around her fingers as she drew the string back to her ear. Her eyes narrowed and her upper lip curled in contempt. “Be silent,” she hissed. Naru growled at the warlock.

Dark, shadowed energy began to gather around Kaster’s hands, and his felhound snapped back at Naru with equal ferocity. “If you want to fight, bring it on,” he said, grinning recklessly. He knew as well as she did that she needed more range to line up a proper shot. He had no such constraints.

They faced each other for a long moment, their pets circling each other, their mounts stamping nervously under their riders’ tension. Miria’s grip tightened on her bow. “You think I won’t?”

“I think you might,” Kaster said. “I just don’t think you’ll win. You’ve seen me in battle.”

Miria shuddered, thinking back to the image of the fel orc running in mortal terror while Kaster wrenched his very soul away. “You’ve seen me as well.” She was gratified to see a wary light come into his eyes, although the grin he sported didn’t fade.

“You won’t accomplish anything by shooting me,” Kaster said.

“It will make me feel better,” Miria said, through gritted teeth.

“Will it?” Kaster said mildly, hands still wreathed in purple shadow magic.

“Damn you,” Miria whispered, slowly allowing her bowstring to go slack. The energy dissipated from Kaster’s hands as fast as it had gathered, and the arcane hum disappeared from her bow. “When someone finally gets sick enough of you to end your wretched life, I hope you twist in the foulest, most demon-infested corner of the Nether.”

“Not very draenei of you, to curse your enemies,” Kaster said loftily, and spurred his felsteed into a trot.

Miria seethed, pushing her elekk to the same pace. Even threats didn’t faze him. What kind of man was this, to go through life purposely antagonizing others and laughing at them when they took offense? It wasn’t a human thing; she’d met plenty of kind, trustworthy humans. Perhaps it was a warlock thing. She didn’t exactly go out of her way to seek their company.

Shattrath’s tan stone walls were starting to become visible between the trees, and every couple seconds Miria glimpsed a shining column of light piercing the clouds. They’d passed out of Zangarmarsh and into the forest proper, and as they cleared a small copse of trees, they stood atop a rise with the glory of the city spreading out below them.

The outer walls, hastily erected before the siege, still showed signs of heavy damage. The rise they stood on overlooked a long bridge, guarded on either side by mounted Vindicators. Despite the state of the walls, what Miria could see of Shattrath’s central structure was either undamaged or rebuilt. The light she’d caught through the trees shone like a beacon from the middle of the city.

Miria swallowed hard, feeling her face get hot and her eyes start to gather moisture. This... this was the city she remembered.

“Are you done having your emotional moment?” Kaster asked.

Miria glared at him and rode forward, passing between the guards on either side of the bridge. “Welcome to Shattrath, sister,” one of them said as she passed. “May the Light embrace you.”

From her vantage point on the bridge, Miria could see most of the city. The stone floors, once inscribed with exquisite detail, were the biggest casualty of the siege. They were broken in large stone chunks, and in many places the stone had been torn up entirely. In its place was packed earth and green grass. Miria took a deep breath through her nose, closing her eyes to let the scents surround her. It smelled like living things, warm earth, and an eclectic mix of food. It was a living, breathing city, not like the run-down waystations they’d traveled through.

Miria dismounted her elekk when they came to the central structure, walking toward it like she was in some kind of trance. The light spilling out from its archways was almost tangible, like a gentle breeze running over her skin. She could hear chiming that was painfully familiar even before she passed through the doorway and saw what was drawing her to this place.

The Naaru in the center of the city chimed in its slow, musical language, like it was speaking specifically to her. She stumbled down the ramp in a daze, completely forgetting that Kaster was still there on her heels. He was saying something, but the chiming drowned him out. Naru nudged her hand, concerned, but Miria ignored her, pulled toward the Naaru in the center of the city like she was led by a string.

Its light washed over her, settling around her shoulders like a comforting cloak. In its steady stream of music, Miria felt the gravity of its ancient mind, its steady compassion. She knelt before it, bowing her head and letting it soothe her tumultuous soul. The tears that had threatened since she found her father finally broke loose, and she sobbed wretchedly, her arms wrapped around herself. Nobody made a move to pull her away from the dais, despite the bustle of activity that continued around her.

“Why did this happen to us?” she asked it, looking up to its shining form.

The Naaru chimed. Rather than speaking in words, it sent her a pulse of sorrow - it felt the plight of her people, perhaps not as keenly as she did, but the Naaru knew their grief. Then it sent her a wave of pure hope, delight at how much they’d rebuilt in so short a time. Miria realized now that what she’d seen across the continent was only possible because of all the effort spent rebuilding this city. With a stable base of operations, now they could branch out to places like Zangarmarsh and Nagrand, to reclaim their homeland.

“I am sorry I doubted,” Miria said, straightening from her kneeling position. Naru leaned against her leg and she gave the bear’s ears a firm scratch. She was smiling. The Naaru chimed at her one last time, a feeling of almost fatherly affection suffusing her. She thought it might be laughing at the notion that it would hold her grief against her.

“Are you done?”

Miria turned to find Kaster lurking outside of the Naaru’s aura, his arms crossed in clear discomfort. She scrubbed the remainder of the tears from her cheeks, but found that she didn’t care that Kaster had seen her emotional moment. “You should speak with him,” she said, still smiling. “It might do you good.”

“No, thank you,” Kaster said sourly. “I know what he would say to me.”

Miria shrugged. “They are Naaru, they are above the petty prejudices we hold against each other. You may be surprised.”

“Doubtful.”

“Suit yourself. I feel the need for a drink, care to join me?” She walked past him, Naru following at her heels, her head held high. She felt better than she had in weeks. The pervading sense of sorrow and dread that had taken hold of her spirit was lessened, and she felt uplifted. She wanted to get back out into the world, to start helping people again.

She made for the lower city at a trot, her hooves echoing on Shattrath’s stone. She didn’t know precisely where the tavern was, but that wasn’t going to stop her - any adventurer who couldn’t find a tavern was a poor adventurer.

The sight that met her eyes took her aback for a moment. Not only were there draenei in this tavern, smiling and laughing and generally having a great time, there were also elves. Not the night elves that had supported their people and sponsored them into the Alliance, but blood elves. The same elves that sabotaged the Exodar, forcing their people to crash-land on Azeroth.

Kaster ran into her back, knocking her forward a little. “What are you standing there for - oh. I see you’ve noticed the Scryers.”

“There are blood elves in my city,” Miria said flatly.

“The Scryers broke away from Kael’thas Sunstrider as he descended into madness,” Kaster said. “They’re all over the place in Shadowmoon Valley - and they’re quite serious about cleaning up their prince’s mess.”

“I thought you’d never been to Shattrath before,” Miria accused.

“I haven’t,” Kaster said. “I have been to Shadowmoon, and I’ve had dealings with the Scryers. They’re quite the scholars, you know. They told me they have a library here - I expect I’ll be spending my hours there, if you’re going to run around having religious experiences with floating windchimes.”

Miria ignored the jibe, cautiously entering the tavern. None of the Scryers seemed to notice her presence. Comfortingly, she noted that the draenei seemed to be giving their blood elf allies a wide berth. She felt justified doing the same.

To her relief, Kaster split off from her to join a table of blood elves. She did not particularly want to explain the warlock following her around like a lost puppy to any of her people she met. They would probably ask her why she had bothered saving his life. It was little comfort that she wondered the same thing, herself.

She took a seat at the bar. “Draenic Pale, please,” she said to the barmaid, and took a large swallow out of the tankard when it was delivered. It had a much lighter flavor than the dwarven spirits she’d been drinking on Azeroth. It tasted like coming home.

Sitting at the corner of the bar, his shoulders hunched and a full tankard of ale cradled between his hands, was another draenei. “Arkanon Poros, my friend,” Miria said to him cheerfully. “Why do you drink alone?”

The draenei jerked, startled, and looked up at her. “They will not have me,” he rasped, and Miria sat straight up at the echo in his voice. He was a death knight - a draenei death knight. She had never seen one.

“A shame,” she said. “I fought beside a Knight of the Ebon Blade not too long ago - he was a skilled warrior and a useful companion in battle. I would think we would need all the help we could get, here.”

The knight’s mouth twisted and he looked down into his tankard. “I don’t deserve their company - after all, if the Light forsook me, why shouldn’t they?”

Miria was reminded powerfully of the Broken, of their bitterness at the way the rest of the draenei treated you. She scooted her barstool closer to the death knight and laid a hand on his arm. “You are no less one of our people now than you were in life,” she said.

The draenei glanced sideways at her warily. “I thank you for saying so,” he said.

Miria raised her tankard to him. “To rebuilding,” she said. “Our home and our people.”

The death knight stared at her raised tankard for long enough that Miria was sure she’d made a misstep trying to extend a friendly hand. Then, slowly, like he had forgotten how, he raised his own tankard and knocked it against hers. Miria drained it quickly and hailed the bartender for another. She felt like celebrating. “What is your name?” she asked.

“Madhav,” the death knight said slowly. “I... why do you drink with me? You are young and full of life. You should be making friends.”

“I am making friends,” Miria said, her cheerful smile never leaving her face. “I am Miria, and my sometimes traveling companion over there is Kaster - if you are lucky, you will get out of here without meeting him. He has horrendous manners.”

Madhav let out a grating chuckle and then stopped, staring at Miria like she was some kind of foreign creature. It sounded like he had not spoken or laughed in a long time. Miria wondered how long he had been sitting there in the dark corner of the bar, speaking to no-one and staring into a full tankard of ale.

Time flew by. Miria found that before long, she was not so steady on her feet. She should have known better than to try and drink with a death knight - the alcohol did not affect him nearly as quickly as it did her, and she matched pace with him. She was in the midst of a giggling fit when she tipped backward, falling off her stool.

Something soft was there to catch her. “Easy, Miria.” It was Kaster’s voice in her ear. “I think she’s had a little too much. I’ll just take her somewhere to lie down.”

Madhav, who still had not lost his bewildered look through an evening of ale and conversation, nodded. Kaster steered her out of the tavern as she stumbled over her own hooves. Naru was growling behind them. “Hush, Naru,” she said, and giggled again. “My bear hates you, you know.”

“I know,” Kaster said. “Come on, it’s not much farther.”

Miria couldn’t see straight, but she followed Kaster’s directions as he steered her through the lower city. In some foggy corner of her mind, she wondered how someone who had never been to Shattrath before knew the layout so well. Naru’s growls got louder and louder as they continued away from the populated lower city toward the Scryer’s rise - not that Miria could tell that’s where they were going.

It wasn’t until the elevator rose without Naru on it that she began to sense something might be wrong. “Naru,” she said.

“Shhh,” Kaster said soothingly, steering her off the elevator. “Not long now.”

“Not long - what?”

“Shhh,” he said again.

The next corner they turned, Miria found herself face to face with an eredar - a succubus. The succubus opened her hand and blew. A handful of red powder flew into Miria’s face - she inhaled some before she could help it and promptly felt the world spin around her. “Kaster - you-”

Kaster laughed merrily and the hairs on Miria’s neck stood up even as her vision faded to black.