Resurgence of the Light ch 13

Sally Whitemane stood at the bow of one of the many ships transporting them towards Northrend, towards their hated foe – The Lich King. Merely thinking of the abomination made her clench the staff she was holding tighter and narrow her eyes in anger.

The staff, feeling her rising anger and magic, began to glow brighter. Yet, as she turned her attention to it, she suppressed the buildup. Light’s Wrath, the Scarlet Crusade's attempt at recreating the fabled Ashbringer, was a failure in the eyes of many. It offered great power to those who wielded it, yet it was also their downfall. They could not control the staff’s power and were destroyed along with those they sought to wield it against.

All due to treachery! How betrayed, angry, and most of all, foolish she felt once she learned the truth about their leader. A flesh puppet for a demon, seeking only to exploit them, twisting them to his nefarious schemes.

For ever more, she would be thankful for the day her eyes were opened. Never in her life had she imagined that walking outside the monastery on that night would shatter her world.

A huff escaped her as she remembered her actions upon being set upon by Sylvanas. How she had called on the Light and attempted to smite her, how she taunted her, calling her foolish for stepping out from the protection of her undead slaves.

Yet the Light did not answer her, for the first time in her life. It shook her to her core; never had the Light ignored her call. Disbelief and fear gripped her, but the worst was yet to come.

While she believed that Sylvanas would use this chance, use her powerlessness to strike her down, what she did was perhaps even worse – she removed the hood obscuring her face, revealing her eyes. Eyes that shone with Light.

She was speechless and confused; none of what she experienced made sense to her. The Light not answering her, and now her hated foe wielding the Light.

All that alone would’ve been enough to break someone. Falling to her knees, she could only gaze up at her in disbelief. That was when Sylvanas fired an arrow into her chest.

She thought it would be her end; perhaps it would’ve been better if it was. It did not kill her; no… it showed her what hid behind her blindness.

And she wept, broken and lost.

Steps approached her, making her look up at the one who had done this to her. At first, Sylvanas gazed at her with coldness, before it softened, and she extended her hand towards her.

“Join us,” was all Sylvanas said. After a moment, Sally grabbed her arm, allowing resolve to fill her. She would redeem herself in the Light.

And now they were here, those crusaders deemed redeemable having become the Penitential Atoners. Yet Sally was not a part of them, her flesh bearing no marks from the Light, not even where Sylvanas's arrow had pierced her; it left no mark.

Often she wondered – Why? What separates her from them? Yet no answers were forthcoming; most were unable to tell her. Those who possessed an inkling as to why remained silent. It was maddening, yet the Light had assuaged her that it would come in time, and that a choice would have to be made by her.

“Sally.” A voice from beside her drew her out of her thoughts. Looking to the side, she beheld the woman she had despised for so long, one who had been changed, offered a new path, and had extended the same path to her. Was that why she differed from others?

“Sally.” The voice replied sternly, noticing her thoughts wandering once more. Sally felt her cheeks grow warm from embarrassment. “Sorry. Yes, was there something I can help you with, Sylvanas?” She finally replied to the person calling out to her.

Sylvanas looked at her with narrowed eyes, some annoyance there, but mostly contemplation. It seemed Sylvanas was the one lost in thought now, but just before Sally could draw her out of them, Sylvanas spoke up.

“Come with me. There is something I wish to discuss with you, alone,” Sylvanas commanded. Confusion filled Sally, yet she followed after her, curious about what Sylvanas wanted to say.

~~~~

The sea. Uther never had any particular love for it, or dislike. At most, he was indifferent towards it, like most people would be—just a simple body of water, teeming with life of its own. It required a different type of transport to cross, and in some ways, it was more dangerous than traveling by land, yet also safer in others.

The sun was high in the sky, and the waves were calm, gently rocking the ship he stood upon. Gazing to the sides, he could see the other ships also moving towards their destination undisturbed.

Their destination. Northrend, a cursed land some would say. A place where his once-star pupil lost his way entirely. Fitting, he supposed, that it would also serve as the place where he and his reign of terror would be put to rest.

Some would call it a blunder or arrogance to be so assured of their victory, to which Uther could only scoff. No, their victory was assured. Uther's eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. The only question was what it would cost.

How much blood would be spilt? How many men and women would fall, never to rise again? And how long would they have to fight to achieve their goal?

He gazed down at the men and women walking around the ship, doing what they must to ensure a smooth sailing. And wondered, how many of them would still be there to see the end?

His eyes settled on one particular ship, the vessel containing the Light’s Chosen. He had said he had secured the future. Uther wondered—what did he mean by that? Should it not be them securing the future by destroying Arthas and his wretched undead?

He felt as if he was missing something, something very important, yet no matter how he grasped for it, it always slipped through his fingers like water. Perhaps he was thinking too much about it. Light’s Chosen had not steered them wrong, and Uther would place his trust and loyalty in him.

Absentmindedly looking around, he had to jerk back when he noticed a ranger standing beside him. “Light! Will you stop that?!” He berated the ranger whilst holding his chest.

Fiends! They kept doing this to everyone, and no matter how hard he tried, he could never feel them coming, even when he knew they were! It was maddening!

The ranger simply turned her head to gaze at him, her eyes cold as the Light. “The future belongs to the living, Uther,” was all she said before leaving just as silently as she had come.

What? Uther could only gaze after her with furrowed brows and confusion in his eyes. Did she just want to mess with him? Or was there something more to it all that he was missing once more?

He raised a hand to rub at his brow; all this was giving him a headache.

~~~~

Chronormu, or Chromie as she was mostly known to mortals, was fuming. No, that was too mild of a word. She was apoplectic with rage! Wait, no, that’s too much. Eh… somewhere in the middle.

She, along with others of her flight, bore witness to one of the largest disturbances to the timeline, possibly ever! Yet they could not determine how or why, or even how to stop it!

It was as if they were mere bystanders to a calamity, unable to do anything but watch. Yet by sheer determination and probably not a little bit of luck, she managed to locate the disturbance and get a closer observation.

Which is how she found herself bound by chains of Light, sitting in a chair facing a man that should not exist.

No words had been exchanged, and besides capturing the moment she came here. Hidden, mind you, he had not said or done anything, content to remain still as a statue.

Finally, she could not stand the silence anymore, and not because she was frustrated that no matter what she did – the chains would not break!

“Well, who are you? And do you have any idea what you have done? How much you have messed up the timeline!” She attempted to berate him, yet due to her chosen form of a female gnome, it came off more comedic than intimidating.

Not even a twitch from the man; she might as well have been talking to a wall! Such disrespect! “Do you know who I am?!” She kicked her feet, her frustrations having built up to a boiling point.

“Chronormu,” the man spoke, telling her that yes, he did know who she was. “Compose yourself.” He continued, berating her as one would a child. Any smugness she may have had at being recognized disappeared.

She sputtered for a moment, before glaring. “How dare you speak to me as if I were a child! I am older than you will ever be!” She had given up on all decorum, shouting and cursing.

While the man simply rose from his chair and slowly walked towards her. As he stood before her, he reached out and lifted her, bringing her to his eye level. “Hush,” he deadpanned at her.

And like any child who was upset, she did the complete opposite, yet no sound escaped her mouth. Of course, this only stopped her for a moment, before even silenced, she continued to shout and flail.

To which the man simply placed her back on the chair and retreated to his own.