Unbroken

“Where is he? When I heard of the disaster at Ulduar, I- Oh my.”

The he in question would be me, unfortunately. I was stretched out on a cot, looking like an Ethereal due to bandages binding my many wounds. My left arm hung shattered in a sling, my headplate and right eye wrapped tightly to prevent further damage from occurring. Nearby, my armor lay in a shattered heap along with my sundered crossbow. They never did find my polearm, likely because I dropped it in my haste to remain alive. Alvar’s body had remained behind… along with my friends’.

Jaina crouched next to me and rested a concerned and gentle hand on my good arm. “Xanthelei of the Hand. Tell me what happened, please.” I didn’t want to. I never wanted to remember anything from that thrice-cursed tomb known as Ulduar. But her eyes were dark pools of care and grief, and I found myself lost in them. If I never told anyone else on the face of Azeroth, I would tell this woman.

So I did. As if in a trance, I told her of our victories over the first guardians and our hard-fought battles in the Antechamber. I spoke of the madness that had enveloped the Keepers of Ulduar; Mimiron, Freya, Thorim, and Hodir, all raving mad and enthralled by the Old God. Then began the whispers.

They were small at first. Just slight tuggings on the edge of ones consciousness. One of our Druids had commented on it first, and we all agreed we’d been “hearing” disturbing comments. Perhaps the worst were those that seemed to come from our own minds, answering the strange voice. Even the Paladins and Priests of the Light itself were becoming unnerved. After a while, though, the voices became more persistent. They demanded things, awful things that, even in my trance, I could not repeat or even remember.

When we had finally found General Vezax, the group was so demoralized it became a rout immediately.

I didn’t remember how I’d escaped. I did recall seeing my friends fall, one by one, as we retreated away from the General and his god. Some corner of my mind still refused to acknowledge the memory of Alvar, my closest friend and dearest companion of 60 seasons, stumbling and finally collapsing. I didn’t think I would ever forgive myself for leaving him then. I knew he would not have left me.

I broke into heavy sobs at this thought, and turned to hide my face from the Lady. “No more,” I begged softly. “It happened, and I escaped, and please, please don’t make me speak of it anymore.”

“Alright, Xanthelei.” She seemed to want to say more, but instead just shook her head and turned away. I vaguely heard her voice giving orders to my caretakers, but I was already slipping into a deep, dark, and restless sleep, ever plagued by my experiences in Ulduar’s pit.

.:~:.

I woke to find myself beneath the singing crystals of the Exodar’s Vault of Lights. A small Paladin, likely still in training, smiled at me as I sat up and bid me to wait while she fetched someone. After a moment, I decided I much preferred laying to sitting, and set myself back down. My eyes were closed when my caretaker arrived.

“It is not like you to sleep so, young one. It has been two weeks since you arrived here,” came the measured voice of a Krokul. After a moment, I recognized it to be the Master Shaman Nobundo. “This is a rare gift, Elder, to be cared for by the leader of the Shaman,” I replied, opening my good eye to gaze up at him. I tried to smile, but knew he wasn’t fooled. I also knew he wouldn’t cause me grief by saying so.

“You are a hero of our people, Xanthelei. And you have been dealt a great blow the past month. I did not think you would mind my tending to you.”

“Not at all, Elder. You know I hold your kind in the highest respect.” He didn’t reply, but instead busied himself with the changing of my bandages. Any lesser wounds had already been healed; the rest would require time and rest to cure. And perhaps some never would.

Nobundo smiled as he steeped herbs over a small flame, and we spoke of many things – everything but the past month, in fact, was open for debate. He told me of how the Hand of Argus was having troubles again on Bloodmyst, of the inoculation and neutralization taking place across Azuremyst. He spoke of happenings within the city, Velen’s constant visions and minor squabbles among those who had once been considered nobility. It was a long while before we ran out of topics to talk about.

Finally he asked the question I knew he would.

“What will you do now, child?” I sighed.

“I do not know. I can never again be a Hunter of the Hand, but that is all I know for certain these days.”

Nobundo raised a brow at me. “Why can this not be, Xanthelei? You are one of our best, and the profession is well established as a respectable path among our people.”

“I left my companion to be devoured by that god, Elder,” I cried, the pain in my heart flaring again. “Like a child, I ran while my friends were slaughtered, but worse than even that, I left half of my being to suffer before death. I cannot forgive myself, so don’t even try to make me, Nobundo. And I will never again travel with a companion. Alvar-” I choked on his name, and imagined his great white figure as it padded through the snows of Northrend; I saw him in the heat of battle, seeming as a wraith to our enemies and a solid cornerstone to me; I could still hear his purr, and feel the warmth of his ghostly presence as we rested in a tavern somewhere. It was more than I could bear, to think he would never again come when I called. “I will never forgive myself,” I whispered again, and let the hot tears come.

Nobundo said nothing, but gave me the tea he had been steeping. I drank more out of politeness than thirst, and he laid a hand on my wounded head. “I will ask our ancestors to help you heal, then. For now, you must rest. The future is long and ever present, my child. Do not rush to meet it now.” He left, and I laid my head down to dream.

.:~:.

A mountaintop, flat and open to the elements, with a small campfire in the center of the plateau. I am sitting before the flame, but it does not warm me. Everything seems… different. Wrong. As if someone has pulled a cloth across the sun.

I find I am not alone, as I thought before. Four figures have joined me at the fire now, and another seems to linger nearby. I study the four I can see; they are robed, their faces hidden under hoods, and each carries a talisman of some unknown significance. The presence I can feel yet not see is even less understandable, and yet it is very familiar to me. It is a long while before anyone speaks.

“You have seen much,” comments one of the hooded figures.

“You have suffered much more,” adds a second with much grief in his voice.

“Have you the courage to continue in this life?” a third rumbles.

“Or will you give up and join your fallen friends?” the fourth asks. I bristle at the last speaker’s obvious contempt for me.

“Tell me then, stranger,” I begin, “would you not have done the same as I, when faced with the might of an Old God? Or would you have stayed, become insane and a pawn to the devouring dark of its mind?”

“That is not the true question, what any of us would have done,” the third replies. “What has been done cannot be undone; but the future has yet to begin.”

“You speak in riddles, no matter the truth behind them.” I sigh. “What is the question, then?”

“What will you do?” asks the first speaker. I think for a moment before shrugging helplessly.

“I do not know. I have no calling now. Or if I do, I hear not the voice.”

::Do you not hear, or are you not listening?:: asks the voice of a Naaru in my head. I take comfort in the fact that a being of pure Light would still deign to speak to me.

“Perhaps I am not listening, Bright One. My soul has been taxed, and I am weary of callings.” I pause a moment and tilt my head as I regard my companions. In a moment, the blind is lifted from the sun and I can see clearly, and name them. “Shall I consider this an honor, to be interrogated in my dreams by the four Elements and a Naaru?” The second speaker, Water’s avatar, chuckles. “We are here at the request of Nobundo, Hunter.”

“He is concerned for your well-being,” adds the image of Earth. I nod, remembering the Shaman’s blessing before my sleep. “That must be what the tea was for,” I muse. “There is a calling for me, then? I cannot continue down the path of the Hunter. What other options are there for me? I have never been very good at swinging swords, or casting spells.”

::Such things, you can learn.::

“Both the Light and the Elements accept you as you are. But the decision,” Fire adds with a finger wagging at me, “is yours alone.”

.:~:.

It was two months before I was fully healed, but my decision was made long before then. Once Nobundo deemed me fit enough to begin training, I made my way to the survivor camp in the Ammen Vale. It had been here I first awoke to find our ship crashed and our escape foiled by the Blood Elves under Kael’thas’ command, and where I first learned to hate the fair skinned waifs. Aurelon was still there, helping to train young Paladins in the way of the light while directing their efforts to cleansing the fields of our crystals’ taint.

Nearly three months after I had witnessed all my friends – everyone I knew save my sister – perish in the maw of a god of death, I gave myself entirely to the Light and began my training.

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