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The strides of the butler were far too leisurely for Sylvanas. She fancied overtaking him, but as it was, she did not know her way about the manor. It took him the better part of five entire minutes to lead her to a set of heavy doors, and as he pushed them open, the noise behind them slowly die down.

The butler cleared his throat. “Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner,” he announced.

She stepped into the drawing room, whereupon numerous sets of eyes turned away from their cards to watch her. A large figure rose from his seat at one of the tables and made his way to stand beside her.

“Thrall,” she nodded at him in acknowledgment. “I am here on official business. There has been a report that somebody here has been infected.”

“Surely not?”

With her hands clasped behind her in a militant pose, Sylvanas took her time moving in between clusters of Thrall’s guests, each gathered around piles of cards, murmuring among themselves.

“I assure you we have taken every precaution,” said Thrall.

“A newly infected zombie is almost impossible to detect, until they have ingested their first brains, at which point, the transformation accelerates with every subsequent kill.”

“Yes, we are all well aware.”

Sylvanas scanned the room once more. Every face looked back with unease. Some tried to hide their discomfort, some did not. One such man - a human, bald except for a thick mustache - was muttering irritably under his breath, picking up the cards on the table and shuffling them.

“Well?” Thrall shot her a look, “Are you quite satisfied?”

Sylvanas’ gaze lingered on the human man.

“Quite,” a smile forming on her lips. “Might I play a hand?”

“Of course.”

Sylvanas pulled out the chair by the human. As he distributed the cards, Sylvanas reached into her jacket and withdrew a small, thumb-sized bottle. She uncorked it.

Beside her, a woman eyed her worriedly as the flies were released from containment.

“They are in the possession of but one truly enviable talent - the ability to detect dead flesh,” Sylvanas explained, picking up a card from the central deck.

“I daresay, that buzzing is frightfully loud,” said the woman.

“It is not the buzzing that should concern you, my lady, but rather when the buzzing stops.”

As if on cue, the flies became quieter. One by one they landed on the human man - on his forehead, on his neck, on the back of his hand.

“Oh dear.”

Sylvanas withdrew the shortsword by her hip and in one swift movement, the man’s head was rolling on the floor.

It was late morning, and Jaina couldn’t think of a more relaxing way to spend it. In their father’s study, she and her brothers were sharpening their shortswords as their father penned a letter at his desk. Well, she would have preferred the weather to be cooler, but she supposed the elves in Silvermoon were more inclined to warmer climates. Nevertheless, she was impatient for her father’s official visit to Silvermoon to be finished with.

The doors to the study flung open, and their mother entered with a bounce in her steps. Hardly appropriate for someone her age, Jaina thought. Katherine rounded the desk where Daelin was seated, and he put down his letter.

“There is a Sir Midav Waycrest with his sister Lady Mishan Waycrest staying nearby,” her eyes gleamed with exhilaration. “Both young people who are of great fortune, and will be attending the dance tonight.

“My dear, you know my opinions on attending public functions in foreign lands, especially in times like these.”

Jaina watched her mother lean in and murmur into her father’s ear. She wondered briefly if her mother had resorted to using her feminine wiles, because when she pulled back, Daelin exhaled loudly and said, “I suppose if we all go…”

Jaina lifted her eyes in surprise. She was sure her father would have given more of a fight.

“No! I don’t care to be paraded like a herd of animals at a farm auction.”

Across from her, Tandred snorted. “That’s because you’re the cow who is least proficient in the art of tempting the other sex,” he said, despite knowing his sister’s romantic taste did not run solely towards men. He smirked. “Moo.”

That does it.

Jaina leapt out of her chair and ran after Tandred. He gave a good chase around the study, then proceeded to bound out of the room with Jaina close behind. Derek sighed as he followed his siblings out, with only half a mind to make sure they do not cause too much of a ruckus.

Their father’s shout of “Do not mistake my indulgence for relaxation of discipline!” fell on deaf ears.

“They must find spouses,” said Katherine as a way of reply.

Daelin simply shook his head.

“Their immediate survival is my present concern.”

Jaina stood by the side of the dance floor with her family. They have arrived at the city hall not a moment ago, but Daelin has already been whisked away by an acquaintance or another, leaving Jaina and her brothers being fussed over by their mother. Katherine could not seem to keep her hands to herself. A misaligned bowtie here, a stray curl of the hair there. Jaina kept her gaze straight, ready to plaster on a smile should anybody approach.

Across the makeshift dance floor of the city hall, Jaina watched as a pair entered, dressed in matching browns and whites. They resembled the male and female counterparts of each other.

Both appealing to the eyes in their own right, but they did not hold Jaina’s attention for too long, though she was certain they were the Waycrest siblings her mother was talking about.

“Jaina? Did you hear what I was saying?” Beside her, Katherine waved a hand in front of her face, and Jaina shot her an apologetic look. “I said, zombies or no zombies, you must think of marriage.”

“I shall never relinquish my sword for a ring,” Jaina raised her chin higher.

“For the right person you would.”

“The right person wouldn’t ask me to.”

Katherine sighed, turning to fuss over her dress instead, patting down the creases.

Past the crowd, Jaina’s eyes were drawn to a newly entered figure by the door, a striking character in a sea of unvaried, lustreless nobodies. Where she stood, the light seemed to fade; not that it had dimmed or dulled, but that it had collapsed and sunk into the space she occupied. Jaina’s lips felt dry. There was a certain allure radiating off of her, and it captivated Jaina.

For a fleeting second, a lost expression crossed the figure’s face, and Jaina wondered if she was bold enough to approach and acquaint herself with the individual.

The thought was quickly banished from her mind as she watched the Waycrest siblings appear beside the figure and greeted her. Lady Waycrest glanced over momentarily, whispered to her brother, and proceeded to roll her eyes at his reply.

Then they were - all three of them - making their way towards Jaina and her family.

“Oh, my word,” she heard her mother whisper.

They stopped in front of them, each bowing at the hip.

“Captain Mishan Waycrest. Pleased to meet you,” she said, lips curling into a charming smile, “This is my brother, Midav, a Captain as well.”

People of importance then, Jaina thought. She watched as Midav nodded at the introduction.

“And this is -”

“Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Oh. That would explain why her attire appeared more superior than the crowd’s. Long blonde hair let down and swept over her shoulders, Sylvanas was clad in a suit of burgundy and gold, shoes polished to a shine. Her outfit was a stark contradiction compared to Jaina’s navy blue dress, even the gold trimmings seemed to be contrasting the silver of Jaina’s hair. Her eyes roamed across Sylvanas’ frame, lips parting slightly as she appraised the way the suit clung onto her, accentuating the curve of her hips, the broad - yet gentle - outline of her shoulders, the slender contour of her arms.

“My children: Derek, Tandred, and Jaina. All of impeccable characters.”

Jaina curtsied. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Sylvanas’ gaze lingering on her, but when she lifted her eyes again, Sylvanas was half turned away from her.

Mishan began engaging Tandred in conversation, leaving Jaina free to ogle shamelessly at the Ranger-General. It wasn’t everyday one would have the opportunity of meeting someone so aesthetically pleasing, so Jaina would make use of this time to admire the sharpness of Sylvanas’ angle of the jaw and the fullness of her lips and the way her eyes were more grey than blue or green.

She snapped out of her trance when she heard Mishan asking Tandred if he would care to join her for a dance. Jaina glanced over at her brother - he was flushing bright red. Jaina smiled at the two making their way to the dance floor.

Beside her, her mother gleamed proudly at Tandred. Then she nudged Jaina subtly by the elbow.

Internally, Jaina sighed.

She spared Sylvanas a sideways glance before turning to the remaining Waycrest.

“Are you enjoying Silvermoon, Sir Midav?” Jaina asked.

“I - yes, I am. Though I have been summoned to Sunstrider Isle. I expect I will be leaving within the week.”

“Falthrien Academy is situated on Sunstrider Isle, is it not? I’ve been told its library has an outstanding collection of rare arcane books, and that certain titles can only be acquired there.”

“Li - Library? Is it?” He blinked.

Jaina had to physically restrain her facial muscles from scoffing. Instead, she forced a tight smile.

As Derek steered the conversation back to safer - less sophisticated - waters, asking him about the reasons behind his summons to Sunstrider Isle, Jaina’s eyes dart back to Sylvanas. Her lips are pulled into a flat line. She seemed as though she would enjoy nothing more than to be in the comfort of her own home, rather than wasting away at a meaningless dance.

Sylvanas left their company eventually, feigning the need to fetch a drink, but Jaina spied her lingering near the corner of the room moments after, her hands empty.

Jaina watched Tandred and his new companion twirl around on the dance floor. One dance had turned into two, two had turned into three, and Jaina was growing weary of sitting by her mother’s side as she gossiped with another guest.

Eventually, she gathered enough courage to venture over where Sylvanas was lounging alone in her corner, this time a drink in hand. She had a feeling they were more alike than it appeared, and perhaps a striking a conversation with her would prove it.

Just as she was rounding the corner to approach Sylvanas, Mishan reached her first, her dance with Tandred seemingly have ended.

Jaina looked back to where her mother was seated, and Tandred was indeed there with her, looking breathless and all too overwhelmed.

“Sylvanas! You should dance!” Mishan cried, placing a hand on her shoulder, “Perhaps with one of the Proudmoores? They are of impeccable character, as Lady Proudmoore said.”

“You’ve already acquainted ourselves with the Proudmoores.” She sounded as though she wanted to say more, but Mishan cuts her off.

“The daughter - Jaina - is rather fetching too, and I dare say, very agreeable.”

“Well, she’s tolerable, but - ”

“Tolerable?” Mishan’s eyes widened in disbelief, her voice raising a pitch.

“Yes, tolerable, but not compelling enough to tempt me.” Sylvanas gave Mishan a hard look.

Mishan scoffed. “My dear friend, your standards - ”

Jaina doesn’t hear the rest as she turned to leave, her fists clenched in fury. How could someone be so condescending? And to think Jaina actually thought they would get along fine. She doesn’t notice the glass by the edge of a table and in her anger when stomping by, it fell to the ground in a loud shatter.

Gasps rang out around her, but she paid them no mind as she stormed out of the city hall into the night.

Jaina stood by one of several firepits out in the square. Tilting her head to look at the sky, she willed her tears not to fall.

“Stupid Windrunner,” she muttered. “You insufferable arse.”

“Sylvanas Windrunner? Insufferable indeed,” a familiar voice remarked from behind her. “So high and so conceited that I cannot enjoy her company.”

Jaina sucked in a deep breath and steeled her voice.

“Yes. I wouldn’t dance with her even if - ” Her sentence hung in midair unfinished as if she had come to a realization of whom the voice belonged to. “Go’el..?”

She turned around slowly, and there stood Thrall with his face bloodied, one orbital socket void of an eye. Yet he spoke as if nothing was wrong, as if part of his torso was not missing a chunk.

“You’re undead,” Jaina whispered.

Thrall shushed her. “I’ve come to tell you something - ” he began, but an arrow rushed past Jaina’s head and lodged itself into Thrall’s. Then another, just above where the first arrow had struck, and he took a step backwards and fell on the ground.

Jaina’s eyes were wide and her jaws slackened. She looked around wildly.

From the direction of the city hall, Sylvanas took slow, deliberate steps towards her, bow no longer slung on her back but in her hands. Not so far behind her, Jaina saw her brothers making their way to her.

“Jaina! What happened?”

“I narrowly saved her life.” Sylvanas came to stand face to face with her, with the Waycrest siblings joining her by her side.

“From Go’el!” Jaina’s voice was brimming with incredulity.

“From an undead Thrall.”

Jaina scoffed. “I find that to be exceedingly tolerable.”

Sylvanas opened her mouth to retort, but a hollow gurgling sound rippled through the air instead. They spun around, only to see a woman with the flesh around her jaw sloughed off, revealing her posterior teeth. She staggered towards them, one arm bent at an odd angle.

At that moment, the sound of a heavy bell tolled from afar, followed by screams of people flooding out of the city hall in a panicked rush. Jaina barely registered Sylvanas’ shout of “We’re under attack!” before she ran towards the hall, her brothers by her side, as they pulled out their weapons.

The city hall was a disarray of shattered glass and fallen furniture. When Sylvanas rushed in behind the Proudmoores, there were still civilians scrambling to exit. The fast ones made it out, the slower ones were less fortunate, soon bitten and transformed into the undead.

Sylvanas watched as Jaina tightened the grip around her staff and conjured spikes of ice in her hand, whirling them effortlessly at an approaching zombie. On either side of her, her brothers held shortswords in their hands, easily beheading zombies that came too near.

The undead were seemingly endless, closing around them. Jaina murmured an incantation under her breath, and Sylvanas watched projections of ice shoot upwards from the ground below, impaling the zombies from feet to head. A zombie came up behind Jaina, and she swung her staff around just in time. The staff contacted the side of the zombie’s cranium in a sickeningly loud crack, and Jaina sent an arrow of ice in between its forehead, kicking it away.

The numbers of undead eventually faltered.

Sylvanas crossed her arms behind her back. In the dim light of the city hall, among the piles of bodies that were accumulating around them, she found herself unable to look away from Jaina. Her arms were surprisingly muscular, yet not so much as to be unfeminine. The expression in her bright blue eyes rendered her sweat slickened face uncommonly alluring. And the way Jaina gritted her teeth and clenched her jaw, with a look of determination on her features...

Beside her, the Waycrests were silent, either from the stupor of the sudden zombie attack or the way Sylvanas had blatantly stared at Jaina, eyes wide and mouth agape in awe.

Sylvanas doesn’t say anything.

It was the morning after the dance, and in the basement of their manor as they prepared for a round of sparring practice, Jaina listened to Tandred gush over Mishan.

His voice had taken a higher pitch, as it was when he was excited. “She’s just what a woman ought to be. Good-humoured, lively, charming, and - ”

“Quite rich?” Jaina teased.

Tandred gave a little scoff. “Not as rich as Sylvanas, I heard.”

Jaina smacked him on the arm, and he fell into a fit of laughter.

“I saw how you looked at her when she first walked into the dance.” He adjusted his stance, one foot in front of the other, and held his fists in front of his chest.

So they were sparring now.

“As if I hated her.” Jaina threw a punch which he easily avoided.

“As if you liked her.”

“Until her manners gave me disgust. She acted as though she was above our company.” Another hit, this time Tandred took it.

“Admit you find her handsome!”

They exchanged blows, and Jaina reeled under a well-aimed punch to the abdomen.

“Handsome,” she pulled back to catch her breath, “Is as handsome does.” Tandred landed a particularly strong punch and slipped away into the shadows of the basement. “Never have I met a woman so consumed by her own pride.”

“Well, it’s no wonder, considering she is a fine military strategist and a finer woman with family fortune and everything,” his voice echoed. He knocked Jaina onto the ground from behind her. Stepping out of the darkness, he offered her a hand, smirk on his face. “If I may so express it, she has a right to be proud.”

“I can easily forgive her pride, if she had not mortified mine,” Jaina pulled herself up.

Derek appeared then, readying himself in a similar sparring stance. “Pride is a very common failing, I believe. Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously.”

“It hasn’t made me proud without being vain.”

A bell rang above them, signalling the arrival of a visitor, and Tandred slipped away to receive the caller.

“She saved you from a zombie,” Derek continued, delivering a hit to Jaina’s side, and she staggered.

“Go’el was quite civilized!”

Derek got a good hold of Jaina, holding her back against his front, one arm against her neck. “Yield!”

“Never!”

As she broke away from her brother’s grip, Tandred came scurrying down the stairs back to them, a letter in his hand. “The Waycrests have invited me to tea!” He sounded almost child-like.

“Of course they have,” Jaina let out a breathless laugh. “That’s wonderful!”

Before long, Jaina was standing by Derek and their mother, watching as Tandred hauled himself onto the back of a horse.

“Truly, I would much rather go by coach,” he said.

“You had much better go by horseback, for it seems likely to rain, then you must stay all night,” Katherine replied with a suggestive look on her face.

“Mother - ”

“Oh, enough,” Jaina said, knowing there was no changing plans when their mother has had her mind set. “Go quickly now. The zombies spring easily from the weather.”

With a final sigh, Tandred kicked his horse into motion, just as the beginnings of a storm thundered through the sky.

It did not take him long to reach the outskirts of the Waycrests’ estates. He could see the outline of the manor on the cusp of a hill, behind a smattering of woods. Above him, the thunder increased in both frequency and intensity, and Tandred felt coils of disquiet build in his chest.

As the horse drew nearer to the edge of the woods, Tandred heard a sharp squealing of animals, almost as if they were trying to escape from another being. Reaching for the shortsword by his hip, he brought the horse to a stop.

Sure enough, a dog came racing out of the trees, then two more behind it. And finally a zombie trudged through the trees, its arms missing just below the elbow.

The horse whinnied. It reared on its hind feet, and Tandred lost his grip on the reins, falling onto his back. The horse broke into a furious gallop, leaving Tandred behind. Gathering himself back onto his feet, he held his shortsword in front of him and braced himself.

When the zombie came within range, he reached out and slashed at its throat. Another swipe of the shortsword tore through the front of its neck, exposing its larynx.

The zombie fell to the ground with an ear-splitting shriek. Tandred brought his foot up, and with a powerful stomp on its head, its skull split open with a loud crack, blood spurted out and staining his shoes. He stomped on it once more for good measure. When the screeching died down, he took a step back to catch his breath, before kneeling down to slice the zombie’s head off once and for all.

As if on cue, the rain began to pour. A drizzle at first, then it came down in buckets, soaking him through his clothes.

The sound of rain was accompanied by the cry of a child.

Tandred got back onto his feet, and the sight of an undead woman holding an infant by the treeline sent a chill up his spine.

“Tides…” he felt his breath catch in his throat, “This cannot be…”

The woman walked towards him, her pace increasing with each step, and he tightened the grip on his sword.

The following day, Sylvanas was lounging in the dining room of the Waycrests’ manor, nursing a cup of tea, as she attempted to again explain to Mishan the significance of keeping her newfound target of infatuation in a locked room, monitored at all times. Unfortunately, Mishan thought it was discourteous to keep a guest locked up, despite the probability of said guest having been infected by the plague.

The doors to the dining room opened, and the Waycrests’ butler stepped in.

“I present Lady Jaina Proudmoore,” he announced.

Sylvanas stood, Mishan following soon after.

Jaina entered, slightly out of breath, her cheeks flushed. “How is my brother?”

“He was feverish and slept ill last night. I fear he has the flu,” Mishan offered.

“Or worse,” said Sylvanas in a hushed tone.

There was a moment of silence where Jaina glanced at her own feet, and Sylvanas felt Mishan’s glare directed at the back of her head. Then Jaina asked, “May I tend to him?”

“Of course. Mr Colton will show you the way.”

The butler nodded in acknowledgement. With a murmured “thank you”, Jaina followed him out. When the doors shut again, Sylvanas turned to Mishan. “I will not make the same mistake I did at Thrall’s party.”

A deep frown crossed Mishan’s face, but she doesn’t say anything.

The butler left after bringing Jaina up to a guest room where she found Tandred lying in bed, shivering despite the layers of blankets thrown on him. She was informed that a physician had been summoned, and that he should arrive shortly.

Jaina perched by the side of Tandred’s bed. One of his hands was swaddled in bandages, so she clasped the other. It was cold and clammy, much like his forehead, and a layer of perspiration coated it. His eyes were lidded but not fully closed, and Jaina was unsure if he was conscious at all. She murmured soothing words to him nonetheless.

A while later, a series of knocks on the door gained her attention, and a familiar voice called from the other side, “Lady Proudmoore, the physician has arrived.”

The door opened, and Sylvanas stepped in with an older man holding a suitcase in his hand.

Jaina stood from her seat hurriedly. “Please,” she murmured.

The physician stepped around the bed and laid out his suitcase, unpacking its contents. “He was caught in the downfall?”

“Yes.”

The physician nodded in acknowledgement. He placed a hand on Tandred’s forehead, frowning at the chill, and moved to palpate the column of his neck. A buzzing sound made its way to Jaina’s ear then, and it seemed to flutter around her despite her best efforts to ignore it initially. She glanced away from where the physician was now tilting Tandred’s jaw open to examine the inside of his mouth.

Jaina looked around, her brows furrowed. Then she spied a black little thing hovering near the physician - a fly. Then she noticed a second. A third. And a fourth.

At the foot of the bed, Sylvanas lingered a step away from the rest of them, her hands clasped behind her back. The expression on her face was still and void of emotions as she stared directly at Jaina’s brother, almost unblinking. Jaina squinted at the Ranger-General. Just then, a fly ventured past Jaina’s eyes, and her hand shot out instinctively, catching it between her thumb and index finger and crushing it.

She turned around to focus her attention back on the physician, who was now examining Tandred’s forearm and palpating in areas. Another irritating little fly orbited near her, and her hand thrusted out, squashing it between her fingers.

The physician lifted Tandred’s hand from beneath the covers.

Jaina heard Sylvanas murmur, “The wound, doctor.” He removed the bloodied bandages carefully, placing them aside.

Another fly. Another quick reflex of her hand.

The physician held Tandred’s hand in his, turning it from palm to back, inspecting the wound thoroughly. He held it closer to his eyes for a moment, then he reached for fresh bandages in his suitcase and began dressing the wound.

“I see no indication of a bite.”

Jaina’s eyes snapped up to the physician, then they dart towards Sylvanas, who was still standing aside with her arms behind her back. “That was never in question,” Jaina said, watching as Sylvanas deliberately avoided making eye contact. Sylvanas shifted uncomfortably.

The last little fly zoomed out in front of her, and Jaina added it to the pile of dead ones in her hand.

Sylvanas lifted her gaze, her lips pulled into a tight line, and the muscles in her jaw twitched. She turned towards the door as the physician packed up his suitcase. Jaina cleared her throat loudly, and Sylvanas stopped in her tracks to look over her shoulder.

“I believe that these belong to you,” she held out the hand balled up around four very much dead flies, clenching them once more before dropping them into Sylvanas’ outstretched palm.

The butler brought her supper on a tray, and she finished it by Tandred’s bedside. He had finally fallen into a peaceful sleep, bundled under the covers; still shivering slightly, but he was less feverish now. Jaina decided it was safe to leave his side for some fresh air - just for a moment to stretch her legs.

Mr Colton found her as she wandered the halls of the Waycrests’ manor, and politely asked if she would like to be brought to Lady Mishan and Sir Midav. She replied yes.

He brought her to a small drawing room on the lower ground floor where the Waycrest siblings were engaged in conversation with Sylvanas and another woman Jaina did not recognize. As the butler announced Jaina, Sylvanas was the first to rise from her seat, courteously bowing. The Waycrests followed suit.

“How is he?” Mishan asked.

“He’s fast asleep,” Jaina smiled politely.

“I’m sure he’ll be quite well. Please, join us, Lady Proudmoore,” she stepped aside and indicated to the deck of cards splayed out on the table.

“Thank you, but I’ll amuse myself with a book.”

The woman she did not recognize spoke then. “You prefer reading to cards,” she said, something other than curiosity laced in her voice. Something mordacious.

“I prefer a great many things to cards.”

The woman eyed her for a moment. Then she spoke in a foreign language Jaina did not fully comprehend. It sounded elegant and refined, each syllable pronounced with a decorous curl of the tongue - Thalassian, perhaps. But Jaina knew derision when she saw it; especially when it was aimed at her. The woman ended her sentence by fixing a look at Jaina, a smirk on her face.

“I don’t speak Thalassian,” Jaina forced a smile.

“No, of course. You did not train in Quel’thalas. Dalaran, was it?”

“Yes, with the Kirin Tor under Archmage Antonidas. It was there I learned to endure a manner of discomfort.”

The woman blinked. “May I inquire as to the nature of this discomfort?”

“I would much rather give you a demonstration.” The corner of Jaina’s lips ached to twitch into smirk, even more so when she noticed Sylvanas nearly choking on her drink.

The woman seemed at a loss for words, evidently taken aback by Jaina’s response. Jaina turned her attention to the shelves lining the room. She could hear Mishan snicker quietly.

The room is silent again, save the shuffling of cards and the sound of Jaina pulling out a book and flipping through it. Then the woman spoke again. “Lady Windrunner, how fares your sister since she last visited?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Jaina watched as Sylvanas tore her gaze away from her. “She is well.”

“I do not believe I’ve ever met a girl who is so extremely accomplished,” the woman continued without letting Sylvanas elaborate.

Sylvanas sipped her drink. “The word ‘accomplished’ is far too liberally applied to young ladies today, but my sister Vereesa does deserve that distinction. I cannot boast knowing more than half a dozen in the whole range of my acquaintance that is more accomplished.”

“Nor I, I’m sure.”

“Then, Lady Windrunner,” Jaina said, relishing the way the name rolled off her tongue. In the dimness of the room, she thought she saw the Ranger-General’s pupils dilate; she chased that thought away. “You must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman.”

“I do. An accomplished woman must have a thorough knowledge of the fine arts and of modern languages. She must be well-trained in terms of various fighting styles, tactics, and weapons, or the term would only be half deserved.”

“And you know six such women. I wonder how you’re knowing any.”

“Are you so severe of our own gender?” Sylvanas asked, an eyebrow raised.

“A woman is only highly trained or highly refined; one cannot afford the luxury of both in such times.” Jaina turned back to the bookshelf and pulled out a thick tome.

“Ah, The Art of War,” Sylvanas said, and Jaina decided she enjoyed the way Thalassian slid off the Ranger-General’s tongue a great deal more.

She licked her lips. “Have you not read it in its original dialect?”

“Alas,” she shook her head, the beginnings of a little smile forming.

“How unfortunate. I believe some context have been lost in translation.” When Sylvanas merely blinked back at her, and everyone is quiet, Jaina held the book closer to her chest and mumbled, “I should get back to Tandred.”

They retired for the night soon after Jaina had returned to her brother. Sylvanas was prepared for her journey home, but Mishan was determined that she occupy one of the guest rooms instead of risking zombie encounters this late into the night. Sylvanas relented.

Though when she was brought up to the room, Sylvanas found herself restless. Even after washing and shrugging off layers of her clothing, the atmosphere of the room felt muggy and hot. It irked her that the room felt overcrowded despite only having a single occupant.

In a loose-fitting blouse, Sylvanas crept down the stairs of the manor and stepped into the courtyard in the cool night air. The blue hue of the moon glimmered across the length of her sword; the one she found herself using with increasing frequency these days.

Her mind was plagued with visions of Jaina.

Sylvanas slashed at invisible targets in the air.

Of Jaina turning the pages of a book with careful fingers as to not crease them.

She swung the sword through her frustration.

Of Jaina clad in a deep blue dress which brought forth the brightness in her eyes.

Striked at her incompetence to comprehend her own feelings.

Of Jaina manipulating her frosty magic with such ease, as if it was in her very nature to do so.

She replayed their previous conversation regarding accomplishment, and decided that Jaina was undoubtedly a fine example of the term.

With a particularly forceful slash, she accidentally cut a topiary in two. Sylvanas quickly glanced back at the manor to see if anyone has noticed her beheading the poor shrub. In the darkness, she thought she saw the curtains of one of the rooms - the one Mishan had insisted Jaina take? - flitter. Sylvanas blinked at it momentarily, and when there seemed to be no further movement by the curtains, she sheathed her sword and made her way back to the manor.

Sylvanas awoke the next morning when the first rays of sunshine shone through the windows. After freshening up and dressing for breakfast, she made her way out of the room and down the stairs of the manor. At the bottom of the stairs by the main doors, she caught sight of Mishan and the butler unbolting and opening the doors.

Mishan nodded at Sylvanas to join them. When the doors swung open, Lady Katherine and her eldest son stepped in.

Mishan bowed. “Lady Proudmoore, we are so glad to see you,” she smiled.

“Sadly, under such distressing circumstances.”

Mishan inclined her head.

Folding her arms behind her back, Sylvanas asked, “Are you here to take Tandred home?” Much too soon, it seemed, for Mishan’s tastes. She shot Sylvanas a look.

Before either Mishan or Katherine has the chance to respond, the sound of feet shuffling on carpeted floors came from above the flight of stairs.

“Yes, we must not trespass any further on their kindness,” Jaina said hastily, her arms wrapped around and supporting an ill-looking Tandred. Sylvanas watched as Jaina ushered her brother out the doors and into the carriage her mother had arrived in.

Mishan followed them out. “Surely he is too ill to be moved,” she called out, her voice raised somewhat.

Sylvanas sighed and went after her. “Mishan, please, I must protest - carelessness when dealing with a zombie infection can lead to your abrupt demise.”

“Arrogance could lead to yours.”

Sylvanas turned. Standing beside the carriage where she had just helped her brother into, Jaina was peering at her, a scrutinizing expression on her face. Without missing a beat, Sylvanas met her gaze and replied, “Your… defect, Lady Proudmoore, besides eavesdropping, is to willfully misunderstand me.”

“And yours, is to be unjustly prejudice against them,” Jaina thrusted her chin out.

Katherine exited the manor then. As she passed by Jaina, she gripped her daughter by the arm and tugged her away. “Come now, Jaina. Come on.”

Jaina followed, albeit a bit grudgingly.

Mishan huffed, sparing Sylvanas an exasperated look. She approached the carriage, plastering a smile on her face.

“Lady Mishan, I know just the thing to break this terrible tension and lift everybody’s spirits - a ball,” Katherine suggested.

“Out of the question. The security arrangements alone - ”

Mishan waved Sylvanas’ words away. “That is a brilliant idea. When Tandred is recovered, we shall hold a ball. If you please, name a day.”

“I should be honoured.” Katherine gave Mishan a wide smile before settling into the carriage with her children.

Mishan stepped away from the carriage, and the coachmen came up to latch the doors. Sylvanas kept her gaze focused on Jaina, and blue eyes met hers for but a fleeting second before glancing away, her lower lip between two rows of teeth.

She wondered if Jaina would be of the same mind as her, regarding the ball. Perhaps she wasn’t the only person willing to sacrifice an evening of leisure for the assurance of the public’s safety. Intuition told her that this zombie affair was about to escalate into something much more unpleasant and messier than mere blood and gore.

The coachmen settled into their positions up front, bringing the horses to a trot. Jaina lifted her gaze and their eyes met once more before the carriage passed her by, and all Sylvanas could see was the back of the carriage as it left the estates.

Sylvanas’ eyes followed the silhouette of the carriage until it was out of sight, and she was still lost in thought.

At breakfast a few days later, Tandred entered the dining hall later than the rest; Jaina had presumed he wouldn’t be joining them, as it had been the past few days he was bedridden.

At the head of the table, Daelin spoke. “It would appear your health is fully restored,” he smiled fondly at his son.

“Quite recovered, father,” Tandred returned the smile, taking a seat at the table.

“As I was saying, there will be an addition to our party tonight,” Daelin announced.

“I didn’t know there would be someone coming,” said Katherine, though her voice hinted at something left unsaid.

Daelin shook his head at his wife. “The person of whom I speak is a certain gentleman,” he said, buttering a piece of bread. When he lifted his head again, Katherine was already casting a suggestive glance at Jaina, her eyes gleaming with expectation.

Later though, after they had cleaned up post-breakfast, and Jaina is busying herself with a book, and Tandred is browsing the shelves for one, Derek came into the study to report his glimpsing of their father letting in a young man whom he had encountered at a public function some time ago. A Sir Kael’thas Sunstrider.

“I wouldn’t claim he’s odious, but he certainly isn’t as handsome as that Ranger-General you have been eyeing,” Derek winked at Jaina.

Jaina rolled her eyes. “Oh, would you stop that,” she placed her book down. “I do not have some odd fascination for Sylvanas that you all seem to be so keen on accusing me of.”

Derek’s smile widened into a grin, and his eyes were twinkling when he said, “Of course you don’t.”

Dinner came too soon. Jaina found herself only half-heartedly paying attention to the conversation between her father and Sir Kael’thas. Derek was right, Kael’thas could not begin to compare with the Ranger-General’s elegance and beauty; his nose too strong and tall, the jut of his chin and the profile of his forehead off, and there was something about his ears that appeared to be canted in a way that made Jaina uneasy.

He was boasting his achievements and riches in a way that galled Jaina; even more so when he boldly claimed to have a talent for ‘delivering very delicate compliments with an unstudied air’. It irked her that his conceitedness sent an unpleasant taste to the back of her throat when she thought of him, instead of the pleasant buzz she usually felt when her mind wandered to Sylvanas.

On her left, her mother sat up straight and cleared her throat.

“It would seem that all you lack now - ” Katherine paused almost dramatically, “ - is a wife.”

Daelin coughed.

Kael’thas placed his fork down by the side of his plate, and standing from his seat, “I must confess, Lady Proudmoore, that I am enchanted by your daughter Jaina,” he said in a lower voice than before.

Katherine did not bother hiding her absolute delight, Daelin seemed piqued to say the least, and Jaina - she felt something in her deflate.

The following morning, Jaina was sat in the drawing room with her parents and Sir Kael’thas - whom, much to her displeasure, would be staying at their residence for more than a night. They were engaged in conversation that had naught to do with Jaina’s area of expertise, which merely permitted her mind to drift away to grey eyes and resplendent suits and the blade of a sword glinting in the moonlight.

The doors creaked open abruptly, snapping Jaina out of her trance. Tandred’s head popped in. “Mother, father - Derek and I are going into town to tailor outfits for Lady Mishan’s ball,” he announced.

Jaina shot out of her seat. “Why don’t I accompany you.”

Behind her, she could practically hear her mother’s eyes light up. “And Sir Kael’thas too, of course,” Katherine suggested.

“I shall be delighted.”

Jaina’s lips pulled into a tight line.

The journey to town seemed to stretch on and on. Kael’thas had taken upon himself to walk side by side with Jaina, while her brothers followed behind.

“After visiting the tailor, let us look in the shops and we can buy some new pots and pans to take the place of your swords and daggers,” he proposed, as if entirely unaware of the exasperation on Jaina’s features.

Jaina felt her temple throb. She readied a retort, but the sound of wood creaking in the bushes off the walking path halted her words, and soon her steps. It was then she noticed the woods around them was eerily quiet; not the tweet of a bird nor the chirp of an insect was heard.

Derek and Tandred both unsheathed their shortswords, and Jaina shared a knowing glance with them, holding her staff out in front of her. They stepped around the shrubs, finding themselves on the edge of a slope; not steep by any means, but evidently enough to have caused substantial damage should a carriage crash.

The goods carriage was collapsed on its side, with the name ‘McGregor & Daughters’ Wholesale’ painted on the doors. Sprawled around it was half a dozen of crates and barrels broken and smashed into pieces by the impact of the crash. A ways off, Jaina spotted the pair of horses pulling the carriage, both dead on the ground with their innards laid bare. Further on the opposite direction which the horses seemed to have been fleeing from, the coachman was a grisly mess of torn flesh and spilled blood; one leg ending just below the knee in a gruesome stump, and his face marred beyond recognition.

A thumping sound echoed from within the carriage, as if someone was pounding on the door. Then a desperate high-pitched voice cried out, muffled by the wooden walls, “Please help me! Anyone… please…”

With a final wail, the cries stop, and all around them was deafening silence. Jaina readied an ice bolt in her palm.

The carriage door flung open. A woman climbed out of the carriage, her hair matted with sweat and blood and something mucilaginous; the entirety of her mandible seemed to have sloughed off, and wherever skin was visible, so was gore.

“Oh, it was a horrible accident,” the woman’s voice came out a shrill laugh, and she trod up the slope towards Jaina, not a stagger in her step. “But I survived,” she laughed breathlessly, “I survived.”

“Not in the traditional sense of the word,” said Jaina, before the undead woman was too close, and she directed the ice bolt straight into her torso, quickly conjuring another to hurl at the zombie’s head for good measure.

The zombie fell limp onto the ground, plummeting down the slope until it hit the side of the carriage and moved no more.

“It would appear that Lady McGregor will no longer be delivering goods,” said Kael’thas, who had been quiet thus far. “I must confess, I was unaware that zombies possessed the required acuity to set such… traps. Before we know it, they will be dabbling in politics.”

For the first time since they met, his words lingered in Jaina’s mind long after it had been spoken.

Upon reaching town, Jaina was met by the sight of crowds of rangers in their blue and silver uniform, walking in pairs and groups to shops and stalls. The town square was packed with cargo carriages at every corner, waiting to be loaded with crates and barrels.

A figure stood in the midst of it all, dressed in a more adorned uniform, giving out orders to passing rangers. Jaina reckoned he was of higher rank than the others. Beside her, Derek’s eyes lit up when he noticed the man, and proceeded to inform them of his acquaintance with him.

They walked up to him. His blue eyes reflected the light of the afternoon sun; as alluring as they were, Jaina found herself wishing the skies were cloudier, and she thought his eyes would look better a shade more ashen. His hair was shoulder-length and dirty blond, presumably his days in the army prevented regular hair maintenance. Again, Jaina caught herself wanting the blond to be a brighter shade, almost as if infused with sunshine. Not so bright as to be silver like hers though…

Derek snapped her out of her thoughts as he introduced the man as Lieutenant Arthas Menethil, and proceeded to introduce his siblings and Sir Kael’thas to him in turn.

Arthas bowed, and his lips curled into a smile when Derek presented Jaina.

He informed them his troop of rangers had been relocated to Silvermoon to aid the zombie resilience. All while doing so, Kael’thas appeared increasing uncomfortable, his frown worn plainly on his face.

“I’ll meet you at the tailors,” he murmured to Jaina, walking ahead.

Jaina wasn’t sure where the impulse came from, or whether her mind was functioning properly in the moment; perhaps it was seeing Kael’thas uneasy with an air of jealousy, or the sudden urge to prove to her brothers that she had not been charmed by a certain Ranger-General. But she turned to Arthas and implored, “Walk with us?”

Arthas smiled. “I don’t see why not.”

With her brothers leading the way to the tailor’s, Jaina and Arthas trailed behind them.

“Thank you for accompanying us,” Jaina flashed him a smile.

Arthas let out a dry laugh. “It’s a pleasure.”

“How long are you going to be stationed here, Lieutenant?”

“Well, that depends entirely on our esteemed Ranger-General, Lady Proudmoore.”

Jaina frowned. She had not expected having to deal with Sylvanas in a conversation so soon. Arthas grinned at her reaction. Charming, and yet...

Ahead of them, her brothers came to a stop, and she heard Tandred call out a name.

“Lady Mishan!” He hardly attempted concealing the glee in his voice.

Jaina glanced over to where Tandred was peering down a side street, and trotting towards them on a horse was Mishan, with a familiar figure close behind. As Mishan slowed her horse to a stop and dismounted, Jaina noticed Sylvanas tightening her grip on the reins, her brows furrowed in a squint. Jaina followed her eyes to Arthas, only to see him narrowing his, clenching his jaw. How curious.

Mishan approached Tandred. “Are you quite recovered?” she asked, her voice laced with worry.

“I am.”

Mishan beamed. “Then I shall begin preparations for a most glorious ball.”

“Can Lieutenant Menethil come?” Jaina heard Derek ask. She watched as Arthas reluctantly broke eye contact with Sylvanas at the mention of his name.

The hesitation in Mishan’s voice almost slipped Jaina. She saved herself quickly. “O- Of course. An invitation should be sent to all my fellow officers.”

Behind her, Sylvanas spurred her horse into motion once more. At the sight of the Ranger-General riding away, Mishan quickly mounted her horse, and with a quiet “excuse me”, she rode away.

They watched their disappearing forms for a moment, before the sound of Kael’thas beckoning them from the tailor’s not too far away prompted them to continue on their journey. Derek and Tandred wasted no time heading towards the tailor’s.

Jaina turned to Arthas and flashed him another smile. “Please, join us, Lieutenant.”

“No, duty calls, I’m afraid,” he returned the smile apologetically.

Jaina responded with a quiet oh. Stepping closer, she lowered her voice, “I must know, Lieutenant, what is amiss between you and the Ranger-General?”

Arthas looked taken aback. He blinked at her a moment before saying, “Are you much acquainted with her?”

“More than I wish to be,” she laughed dryly.

Arthas looked down at his shoes as if contemplating. “It always brings me great pain to see her. I have been connected to her family since infancy. My father and hers were great companions. Her father treated me like his own son; I cannot begin to do justice to his kindness. He bequeathed me a handsome sum, but when he was slain in the war, Sylvanas ignored his wishes and gave my living to another man.”

“What - ” Jaina shook her head, “What could possibly induce her to treat you so cruelly?”

Arthas shrugged, a helpless expression on his face. “Pride,” he said, “She thought me too low to be worth her consideration, and I loved her father too dearly so I can never expose her or challenge her to a duel.”

From down the street by the tailor’s front doors, Tandred called out, “Jaina! Come now, or we will be late to return for dinner.”

“I’ll be right there!”

When she turned back to Arthas, he said quietly, “Perhaps I shall see you at Lady Waycrest’s ball.”

“Perhaps,” Jaina smiled, bashful. How unlike her.

The ball was held a week after Jaina last saw Mishan, and by extent, Sylvanas. The invitation had been sent to the Proudmoores in a decorated envelope and elegant script, detailing the time and venue.

On the evening of the ball, the moment they arrived at the Waycrests’ manor, her family seemed to have been instantly occupied. Her father was greeted and snatched away by a man around his age whom Jaina assumed was an old friend; her mother left to join a group of ladies gossiping over platters of delicacies and goblets of wine; Derek declared an empty stomach and went in search of refreshments; and Tandred - his eyes scanned the crowd, locating Mishan far too quickly and made a beeline for her.

They left Jaina wandering the Waycrests’ manor; some rooms and halls familiar to her, some less so. She pushed herself between groups and pairs of people, hoping to find a face she recognized.

A servant approached her with a tray of wine goblets, and she took one, sipping as she abandoned the notion of finding a familiar face. She took to standing by the side of the ballroom, watching couples dance and twirl on the dance floor, Tandred and Mishan among them.

The wine had an oaky aroma in the wake of its headiness, and she could taste a hint of vanilla after the wood-smoke flavour faded; it reminded Jaina of a forest with its uneven ground and rough tree barks, of the kiss of falling leaves and undergrowth tangling at her feet. As she sipped, a figure cleared their throat beside her, and she turned to see Arthas beside her.

Jaina smiled. “You came.”

“As I said I would.”

“I had feared that the Ranger-General’s presence would keep you away.”

“If Sylvanas wishes to avoid me, she must go, not I.”

They were interrupted sooner than Jaina had hoped. Kael’thas appeared beside them, a grin on his face.

“I have found you, Lady Jaina. I do hope you have not forgotten about our dance.”

“Of course not.” Jaina forced a smile, looking down at the goblet of wine in her hands, still half full.

Arthas reached out to take the goblet. “Oh, allow me.”

No sooner after the wine had passed hands, Kael’thas slipped his arm around Jaina’s and led her to the dance floor, where the band of musicians was just about to begin a new melody.

The dance went by far too slowly for Jaina’s liking, despite her knowing the tune they were dancing to was one of the shorter ones of the evening. One hand on his shoulder and the other in his clutch, she let Kael’thas prattle on about where he learned to dance, about how the Waycrests were kind to extend an invitation to him, about the other guests and scandalous rumours concerning them.

When the music eventually died down, and spectators started to applaud and partners bowed and curtsied, Kael’thas leaned in with a wide smile. “Lady Jaina, it is my intention to remain very close to you throughout the entire evening.”

A wave of irritation washed over Jaina, so when a voice behind her asked to have the next dance, she answered “yes!” before she whirled around to see who was asking. Imagine the bewilderment when she spun around to find Sylvanas dressed in a black velvet suit trimmed in gold, standing square-shouldered with a hand extended in offer of a dance.

Jaina was so astonished that she found herself temporarily unable to form a response, her eyes simply taking in the sight of Sylvanas in yet another set of magnificent formal wear. She was grateful for the small cough Kael’thas let out, and she vaguely indicated to him. “Um, Lady Windrunner, this is Sir Kael’thas Sunstrider, one of my father’s close connections here in Silvermoon.”

Sylvanas inclined her head and drew her hand back slowly, her features expressionless. Kael’thas, on the other hand, looked pleased at the introduction.

“I have made the most extraordinary discovery, Lady Windrunner. You are the daughter of the esteemed Lady Lireesa Windrunner,” he exclaimed.

Sylvanas was silent for a beat, then she said flatly, “I know.”

“Well, yes, I know you know - ”

Jaina watched as Sylvanas shifted uncomfortably. Finding the atmosphere too unbearable herself, she murmured a quiet “please excuse me” at the same time, it would appear, as Sylvanas. As they both turned to leave in opposite directions, Jaina found a touch of comfort at the fact that Kael’thas, upon glancing back and forth between the two of them, decided to pursue after Sylvanas instead of her.

Several hours into the ball, as the sky grew darker and evening turned into night, Jaina eventually found herself lounging in a smaller sideroom with her mother and Tandred. Katherine was lying with her head in Jaina’s lap, evidently deep in her cups, and Tandred was recounting his evening with Mishan before she had to pull away to entertain other guests.

Despite the hazy look in her eyes, Katherine caught the name Mishan and slurred, “Such a charming young woman! So… rich! Tandred marrying her is bound to throw you and Derek in the way of other rich folk, and then - ”

“Mother!” Jaina cried, reaching to cover her mouth. “Compose yourself, it’s time to go.”

As if on cue, Derek appeared by the doors, looking out of breath. “I can’t find father anywhere.”

“Try the library. I’ll go look around the kitchens,” Jaina said, leaving their mother with Tandred.

The kitchens were void of people, and the lights have been shut off, rendering the area in darkness save a handful of candlelights. Jaina was about to leave when she heard Mishan’s voice growing louder from behind her.

“Mr Colton! Where is dessert?” Mishan came to a skid and stopped when she saw Jaina. “Oh! Lady Jaina - ”

A small door that appeared to lead to the basement kitchens creaked open, and the butler leaned his head out. His facial features were scrunched in distress, and his voice a tremble. “My lady?” he called out, before his entire body jerked and fell limp, and he was dragged deeper into the basement by a being Jaina could not catch sight of.

Jaina cast a worried glance at Mishan.

Reaching for a candle lamp each, they gradually approached the door, pushing it wider open and peering in before descending the stairs. They almost made it down the entire flight of stairs before Mishan suddenly plummeted to the floor. Something yanked at her ankles, and she tripped and fell down the remaining steps face down.

Jaina leapt, rapidly conjuring an ice bolt beneath where the zombie was standing over Mishan. It impaled the zombie through its kneecaps and shot out of its chest, causing it to fall limp in a gruesome angle.

Jaina made her way to where Mishan was lying unconscious on the ground. She scanned the room. Leaned listlessly against the walls of the basement was perhaps ten or so kitchen staff dressed in their uniforms, all bloodied in one way or another; they growled when she levelled the candle lamp in their direction.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed another zombie step out of the shadows above the stairs. Instead of staff uniform, it was wearing a ballgown which would look splendid if not for the tears and splatters blood across the front of it. Beautiful garments were usually more attractive on living beings.

“How did you get in here?” Jaina dared not raise her voice.

The zombie gurgled. “Our new friend showed us the way in,” it rasped. The zombie looked as though it was about to say something else when an arrow pierced through between its eyes, and it crumpled to the ground in a loud thud.

All around Jaina, the undead kitchen staff rose. She glimpsed the familiar black and gold suit first, then the rest of Sylvanas came into view atop the stairs, and she was loosing arrow after arrow at the zombies.

Jaina adjusted her position to hover protectively over Mishan, sending bolts of ice at any zombie that ventured too close.

Sylvanas made her way down the stairs, but one zombie seemed to be more resilient than the rest, and it lurched towards her from behind. Jaina shouted out just in time, and Sylvanas spun around to kick it forcefully in the abdomen. It toppled near the oven; Sylvanas grabbed ahold of the zombie and shoved it into the heat, closing the oven door behind it. Soon the oven was releasing a revolting stench of burnt flesh, resemblance of charcoal and sulphur. Jaina willed herself not to retch on the spot.

In the dimness of the silent basement kitchen, Sylvanas stepped carefully around the bodies to where Mishan was lying unconscious.

Jaina was still catching her breath when Sylvanas came to stand over her, an arrow notched and aimed at Mishan’s head. “Was she bitten?” she asked in a low voice. Then, when Jaina did not respond, she repeated louder, “Was she bitten?”

“No!” Jaina snapped. “No, she fell and hit her head.”

With a huff, Sylvanas put the arrow away and slung her bow around her shoulders. She bent down, and with a grunt, lifted Mishan into her arms in a bridal carry.

She made her way up the stairs, mindful of her steps with additional weight on her now.

In the darkness of the basement with only the light of a candle flickering, Jaina called out after her. “Your abilities as a ranger are beyond reproach, Lady Windrunner, if only you were as good a friend.”

Sylvanas was silent.

Some days after the ball, on a quiet afternoon, Jaina found Tandred in their father’s study alone, a letter clutched in his hands. When she entered, he appeared crestfallen, his gaze downcasted, and he was chewing at the inside of his cheeks.

“I’ve just received a letter from Sir Midav - Mishan’s brother. He informs me that their house in Silvermoon will be closed down for the time being, and he does not know when they will return.”

Jaina was confused. “Why wouldn’t he know when they are to return?”

Tandred held the letter higher and read aloud. “According to Sir Midav, ‘Sylvanas is impatient to see her sister Vereesa. My sister admires her greatly already, and will now be seeing her frequently and on the most intimate footing. Am I wrong, my dearest Tandred, in indulging the hope of an event which would secure the happiness of so many?’”

Jaina let out a long, deep sigh. Stepping closer, she wrapped her arms around her brother in the hopes it gave him some form of comfort.

“Obviously he knows that his sister is in love with you and wants her to marry someone else instead,” she said, as tenderly as she could.

Tandred doesn’t respond for some time, simply closing his eyes and resting his head against Jaina.

Then, in a shaky voice, he murmured, “If Mishan truly loves me, nothing can keep us apart.”

Jaina smiled a bittersweet smile and hugged him tighter. “No one who has ever seen her with you would ever doubt her affection. I’m sure she’ll be back soon, and that there is a good reason for all this.”

The following morning, Daelin had left the house early to meet with an acquaintance in town, so breakfast simply included Katherine and her children. Just as they finished breakfast, the butler entered to announce Kael’thas’ arrival.

Kael’thas rounded the dining table and paused beside Katherine’s place at the head of the table. Leaning in, he whispered in her ear. Then he pulled back and crossed his arms behind his back, and Katherine had a look of contemplation on her features. Slowly, she put down the cutlery in her hands and dabbed a napkin at her lips.

“Sir Kael’thas would like a private word with your sister,” she addressed her children.

Tandred looked up from his food. “What, with Jaina?”

Katherine appeared positively exuberant as she stood from her seat. “Yes, now out.” She signalled for her sons to leave. “Out.”

Jaina glanced between the three of them. When Tandred locked eyes with her as he rose, she mouthed, “Please don’t”, only to be answered with a helpless shrug and a mouthed reply of “sorry”.

The instant the doors of the dining hall shut and they were alone, Jaina made to leave her seat, but Kael’thas quickly stepped in front of her.

“Lady Jaina, as soon as I entered the house, I singled you out as the companion for my future life. I am convinced that marrying you will add very greatly to my happiness. But I must add, I will, of course, require you to retire your combat skills as part of the martial submission - we absolutely can’t have weapons in the home. Now, Lady Jaina,” he paused, lowering himself on one knee, “Allow me to assure you in the most animated language of the violence - the sheer violence - of my affections - ”

Jaina stopped him then, holding her hands out in front of her. “I am honoured by your proposal, Sir Kael’thas, but I regret I must refuse.”

The expression of unexpected shock on his face wasn’t lost on Jaina. After a few moments of deafeningly loud silence, her mother’s voice rang out from the other side of the door.

“Jaina! Are you out of your mind - ” The doors opened and Katherine entered. “Do not worry, Sir Kael’thas, she shall be brought to reason.”

Kael’thas, still on one bent knee, looked bewildered. “Oh good. Oh no.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” Jaina muttered before exiting the room, ignoring her mother as she shouted after her to return.

Presently, Jaina was hacking away angrily at one of the short trees in the front yard. It was on the verge of toppling over when she heard her mother yelling across the yard. Katherine approached her with Daelin by her side.

“Jaina, you will marry Sir Kael’thas. If you don’t, I shall never speak to you again” She stopped in front of her, face red with rage. “You talk to her,” she motioned at Daelin.

He walked up to Jaina, and she flung the axe in her hand across the yard, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Jaina, an unhappy alternative is before you. Your mother will never speak to you again if you do not marry Sir Kael’thas, and I will never speak to you again if you do,” he said, mirth in his voice.

Jaina's eyes shot up, and she pulled her father into a tight hug, burying her face into his chest. Beside them, Katherine positively seethed with fury.

“Who will maintain you when your father is dead? No one! You shall become a poor and pathetic sphincter!” Katherine spat.

Jaina drew herself away from her father’s embrace, tears brimming in her eyes. “Anything - anything is to be preferred or endured rather than marrying without affection.”

She stormed out of the estates, letting her feet carry her wherever they please, as the sound of Daelin’s disapproving cry gradually diminished.

She did not know how long she spent fuming in the woods, but it couldn’t have been long since the sun was still high in the sky. Despite the grey clouds slowly but surely gathering above her head, Jaina had no intention of returning home to face her parents and Sir Kael’thas, who was undoubtedly still there listening to Katherine apologizing on behalf of her daughter’s impertinent behaviour.

Above the branches of the forest, there were murders of crows fluttering and flitting in various directions, seemingly in a scurry. As she approached a small clearing between the trees, a voice called out behind her.

“Lady Jaina?”

Jaina turned to see Arthas walking towards her, an eyebrow raised, holding a horse by its reins.

“Lieutenant?” she said, disbelief in her tone, “You vanished at the ball.”

“Yes, I thought it would have been selfish of me to seek an encounter with Sylvanas; it would have ruined the ball for anyone who witnessed it. I am very sorry I lost the pleasure of dancing with you, though.”

Jaina let out a little smiled as she watched Arthas mount his horse.

“Lady Jaina? I want to take you somewhere very special to me. It’s a secret place I’ve never shown another living soul.”

As Jaina accepted his outstretched hand and he pulled her onto the horse behind him, he continued, “I stumbled upon it by accident when I was first stationed in the In-Between - the area between the city proper and the Ghostlands. But somehow, I believe I was always destined to find it.”

Arthas guided the horse out of the woods, and they rode across fields and plains.

Eventually they approached a bridge that Jaina recognized as Eversong Bridge - said to be the only remaining bridge that connected Silvermoon city proper to the external world. The rangers stationed at the juncture of the bridge stepped aside as soon as they took notice of Arthas, and they traversed the bridge without issue.

The horse brought them across yet another plain, through a patch of woods, and finally, Jaina was able to make out the outline of a small town just beyond the horizon. Arthas urged the horse in its direction, and a sign by the gates labelled it as Fairbreeze Village.

It was odd. Even in broad daylight in the middle of the day, there was not a single person to be seen; no townsfolk walking the streets, no rangers patrolling the borders, no guards by the entrance gates. However, Jaina did notice the handful of farm animals penned up by one of the taller stone buildings in the village that Arthas seemed to direct the horse toward.

Arthas drew the horse to a stop outside the tall building, which Jaina surmised was the town hall. After dismounting and helping Jaina off, he made to tie the horse to a fence post.

“You go in. I’ll join you after I see to my horse.”

Jaina sized up the building with an air of uneasiness, taking a few tentative steps toward it. She felt a shiver run down her spine; not caused by the chillness of the weather, but rather the ominous aura the building gave off.

“Don’t be afraid,” Arthas called out.

“I’m not,” Jaina replied, despite the trepidation creeping into her heart.

With a deep breath, she entered the stone building through the main doors. There was only a short hallway to follow, and when Jaina reached the end of it, the room that came after was designed in a way meant to hold gatherings and meetings, reminiscent of a hall. The hallway opened into the back of the hall, with rows and rows of benches arranged in two columns.

The benches were mostly occupied by men and women and children alike, so Jaina seated herself in the last row - one of the few benches that were still empty. Briefly, she wondered why Arthas had told her he had never brought another person here, when it was clearly filled with people.

At the front of the hall stood a man by the side of a platform. He looked to be around her father’s age, grey hair thinning atop his head, and he was reciting from a thick tome propped up on a stand.

Arthas joined her soon enough, settling beside her.

The row in front of them sat two young girls, with one looking older than the other - Jaina assumed they were siblings. And a very vexing pair they made, talking and giggling between themselves over the voice of the man up front.

Jaina leaned forward to shush them, but they paid her no attention. It irked her.

“You’re quite rude!” she whispered fiercely.

At that, the girls turned around, and Jaina noticed the way necks moved unnaturally slow in an almost clockwork-like manner. Then her eyes were drawn to the blood covering their faces and the way their cheeks were hollow and fleshless.

With a yelp, Jaina instinctively reached for her staff. Arthas held an arm out to stop her.

“It’s alright,” he murmured.

The noise seemed to have alerted the rest of the hall though, and when Jaina looked up once more, all eyes were on her, and none of them belonging to living souls.

The old man at the front finished his recital without paying any mind to them. Shutting the book, he approached the center of the platform where a table was holding a large bowl with stacks of goblets around it. As the first rows of undead began to rise from their seats and make their way toward the platform, the old man lifted the ladle, scooping some of the contents of the bowl into a goblet.

The contents… Even from the back of the hall, Jaina was able to discern its viscoelastic consistency; it was almost spinnbarkeit-like.

Then she saw a clump drop into the goblet, and another - she turned to Arthas, her eyes wide and she looked as though she would retch. “Brains.”

“No, they’re pig brains. You have nothing to fear,” he reassured her.

Later, as they returned to where the horse was tied to a post, Arthas said to her, an earnest gleam in the blue of his eyes: “You see, if they never consume human brains, they will never fully transform into zombies. This is the key to finally ending the struggle between the living and the undead. We must force some kind of understanding.”

“Surely the Crown will support such a venture.”

“The war has almost bankrupted us. I have nowhere to turn.”

The following afternoon, Jaina was pondering Arthas’ words when a letter was delivered to her. Its contents were similar to the one Tandred had received from Mishan not so long ago - an invitation to tea at Lady Lireesa’s estates.

When a carriage came to collect her, with Arthas inside, he informed her of his plans to present the pig brain strategy to Lady Lireesa, and perhaps she would consent to fund this undertaking.

Upon arrival at Lady Lireesa’s manor, a butler guided them to a drawing room where Lady Lireesa herself was seated in a high-backed chair, resemblance of a throne, at the end of the room.

The butler announced them.

Arthas bowed. “It is very kind of you to have us over for tea, my lady. I would hope to confer with your ladyship about a strategy with which to combat the undead.”

Before she had the opportunity to respond, though, the doors open again. Jaina turned at the sound, only to see Sylvanas striding in, her usual formal wear that Jaina was used to seeing her in had been abandoned for a simple maroon tunic tucked into brown breeches, a black half cloak draped around her shoulders, complementing her belt and boots; she looked splendid nonetheless.

“Ranger-General?”

Sylvanas slowed in her tracks, coming to a halt in front of Jaina. “Lady Proudmoore,” she bowed.

An amused expression played on Lady Lireesa’s features. “You know my daughter?” she asked, contemplating Jaina.

“Yes, I had the tremendous pleasure of meeting her through Lady Mishan.”

“I see,” Lady Lireesa rose from her seat, clasping her hands together in front of her as she addressed the room. “Let us proceed to tea, shall we? We can discuss Lieutenant Menethil’s strategy then.”

Tea was an assortment of pastries and scones that nobody at the table was interested in touching.

Arthas started off with more pleasantries, then he fixed his attention on Lady Lireesa. “Your ladyship has perhaps heard that some of the stricken have not succumbed to the urge to feed upon the living, and in doing so have maintained their humane ways.”

“And they have managed to resist these most primal zombie urges, how? Their ironclad constitution?” said Lady Lireesa, and the scorn in her tone reminded Jaina strongly of Sylvanas.

Arthas faltered.

Jaina, noticing this, answered in his stead. “Yes, fortified by consumption of pig brains. The pig brains quench their appetite for humanoid brains.”

Lady Lireesa gave a mocking laugh. “Yes, of course.”

“The Crown’s funds have been drained - ” Arthas began again, only to be cut off by Sylvanas.

“You’re here to elicit money,” she said flatly.

Arthas locked eyes with her from across the table.

“I am here to propose a venture that would end the war forever. These new zombies can be reasoned with. With the proper funding, I believe we can cultivate trust and even good will with these iterations of the undead, who seemed to possess an inherent power over the lower ranks of their kind.”

At the head of the table, Lady Lireesa sneered. “Zombie aristocrats.”

The frown on Arthas’ face grew deeper. “I prefer to think of them as souls lost in warfare. The common hordes look to them for leadership; it takes just one of them to realize their power and then to lead the hordes into battle.”

“The undead are like locusts - they go forth and destroy everything. They have no use for leaders.”

Arthas disregarded her. “If we can negotiate with the select groups of - ”

“Aristocrats? To what end?”

“A treaty.”

“Appeasement? Never,” Sylvanas spat.

“Well, then the living races are surely doomed,” Arthas snapped with equal ferocity. He turned back to Lady Lireesa. “Your ladyship, the undead will always multiply faster than the living can procreate. You must realize if they were to organize, we cannot defeat them. The only hope is to find a way to coexist with them.”

Then he returned his attention to Sylvanas. “Your late father would have supported such a venture.”

Sylvanas lifted her gaze slowly, and Jaina swore she saw murder flash in those grey eyes. “I have tolerated your presence long enough, Menethil. Guards!”

At once, a pair of guards left their post by the doors to flank Arthas, ready to escort him out.

Arthas looked straight at Sylvanas. “Please do remember this moment and the opportunity so glibly spurned. The day of the zombie has already broken, we can face the light or slumber into oblivion.”

With a courteous nod to Lady Lireesa, he followed the guards out.

Jaina frowned. Turning to Sylvanas, she said, “You are as unfeeling as the undead.”

Sylvanas did not look at her. Wordlessly, she left the room.

Despite the dispute during tea, Lady Lireesa had insisted Jaina stay for the night and only return home when a carriage was available the next day. Presently, though, Jaina found herself decidedly restless even as she laid under the covers while the moon hung high in the sky.

In the silence of the night, she could vaguely make out the sound of a sword slashing at what she assumed to be the topiaries in the courtyard, and grunts from a voice that she knew far too well now to be anyone but Sylvanas.

She sat up in her bed, an exasperated sigh escaping her. Perhaps a breath of fresh air would do her good. Pulling on a cloak around her nightgown, she made her way down the stairs of the manor and through the doors that lead to the courtyard.

As she stepped closer to the topiaries where she was certain Sylvanas was, a figure emerged from the shadows, but it was not the Ranger-General.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Arthas’ voice came out of the shadows.

“You didn’t,” Jaina replied quietly.

“Of course not.”

He kept his gaze fixed on her. A moment of silence, and Arthas closed the few steps between them.

“I think you and I understand each other, Lady Jaina.”

She took a step back, a warning look in her eyes telling him to keep his distance.

“But the way you championed me earlier, I thought - ” he began.

“Sylvanas’ treatment of you has been utterly despicable, but -”

“No more despicable than her treatment of you and your family.”

Jaina was puzzled. “I don’t - ” she blinked at him, “I don’t understand what you said.”

“It was Sylvanas that persuaded Lady Mishan to steer clear of your brother and leave,” he explained.

Jaina thought back to the letter Tandred had received, and how it didn’t specify the reasons behind the Waycrests’ leaving. “Why?”

“Because she believes your brother to be inferior to her friend. Sylvanas was convinced that your brother was only after Mishan for her fortune and does not really love her.”

Then the skepticism kicked in. “How could you possibly know this?” she questioned.

“People talk. Sylvanas brags about this with her intimates.” Arthas stepped closer once more, reaching out to hold her hand in his, and in a lower tone than before, he said, “Lady Jaina, run away with me.”

Jaina pulled her hand back and willed her voice not to quiver. “You have crossed a line, Sir Arthas.”

Even under the dim illumination of the moon, Jaina could see something glacial shimmer past his eyes, and they harden. “We are far beyond lines now,” he said coldly. Bowing his head, he retreated back into the shadows, leaving Jaina perplexed as she eventually made her way back to bed.

In the early dawn, Jaina found herself awake earlier than she had expected, given the late hour that she finally gave into slumber the night before. The butler had informed her breakfast would be served shortly, and that she may entertain herself in either the study or the drawing room for the time being.

So the study was where she went.

Lady Lireesa’s study was a long, rectangular room with bookshelves that lined the expanse from floor to ceiling. At the other end of the room sat a wide, wooden writing desk with a high armchair behind it. By the desk was a stand of sorts, similar to an umbrella stand, though instead of umbrellas it held half a dozen shortswords - odd, but Jaina supposed it was not entirely surprising, given the current state of affairs.

Along the shelves were several more armchairs smaller in size compared to the one up front. Upon examination of the shelves, the tomes were mostly Thalassian, but the handful that were in Common were interesting enough to catch her attention, so she pulled one out and settled into one of the armchairs and began to read.

She was midway through the second chapter when a knock alerted her and the doors to the study opened. In came the butler, who gave a short bow before stepping aside to allow entry for Sylvanas.

Jaina placed the book down and stood. This morning, Sylvanas was garbed in a similar outfit from yesterday - clean, white doublet tucked into a pair of deep wine red breeches; the cloak was absent, but the matching black belt and boots were still there.

Sylvanas bowed in greeting. “Lady Proudmoore, you’ve arisen.” She glanced down at her feet then. “There are some words I must say.” She seemed so uncomfortable when she said it that Jaina briefly wondered what could possibly pain her so.

“Please, do be seated,” she gestured at an armchair.

Sylvanas did not sit. Arms crossed behind her back in her typical militant pose, she simply strode towards the wide windows at the end of the room, facing it. She turned around after a moment and cleared her throat.

“Lady Proudmoore, although I do know some consider you to be decidedly inferior, as a matter of your birth, your family, or your circumstances, my feelings will not be repressed. In vain, I’ve struggled. I have come to feel for you a most ardent admiration and regard which has overcome my better judgement.” Jaina watched as Sylvanas lowered herself on one knee. “So now I ask you most vehemently to end my turmoil, and consent to be my wife.”

Jaina blinked.

“If I could feel gratitude, I would now thank you, but I cannot. I never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly.”

Sylvanas stared at her, mouth agape with incredulity. She rose to her feet slowly, clasping her hands behind her back once again.

“Might I be informed why - with so little civility - I am rejected?”

Without missing a beat, Jaina replied, “You intentionally ruined the happiness of my most beloved brother. Do you deny it?”

“I have no wish to deny anything. I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your brother.”

Jaina immediately felt the rage in her flare, and every little frustration that had built up in the past days crashed out like waves on a shore. With a surprising force that shocked even herself, she kicked Sylvanas back into the table.

“How could you?” Jaina snapped. She picked up the book she had been reading and flung it violently at Sylvanas.

Sylvanas caught the book and cast it aside. “Because I perceived Mishan’s affections for him - ” another book came flying at her which she dodged easily, “ - to be far more than his for Mishan.” A cushion this time, and she slapped it away. “I believed him to be indifferent.”

“Indifferent?!” she bellowed. “He’s shy!”

Jaina glanced around quickly for more things to throw at Sylvanas, and she spotted the stand with the shortswords. She retrieved one. She may prefer arcane as her standard go-to when fighting, but her father certainly made sure she was well-trained in the art of sword wielding as well.

Jaina drew nearer to Sylvanas, and the elf hurriedly rounded the table to put it between them.

“Did you suggest to Lady Mishan that her fortune had some bearing on the matter?” Jaina asked, twirling the sword in her hand.

“I wouldn’t do your brother the dishonour, though it was suggested.”

Jaina slashed at her, but Sylvanas leaned away just enough for the shortsword to miss her. With one hand bracing against the table, she threw herself over the desk and pinned Jaina down against it in one swift motion.

“By Sir Midav!” Jaina spat, struggling to free herself from the elf’s grip.

“By your mother. At the ball.”

Regaining her breath, Jaina watched as Sylvanas’ gaze flickered briefly to her chest, and she pushed Sylvanas off of her and lashed out with the sword. “Your character was revealed to me quite some time ago.”

Sylvanas extended a leg out and swiped below Jaina’s feet, and she fell to the floor on her back. Sylvanas closed in, standing above her, and Jaina’s legs shot upward to clutch around the elf's neck in an attempt to throttle her.

“Even Arthas’ misfortunes are at your hand!” she ground out.

“Oh yes, his misfortunes have been very great indeed,” Sylvanas wheezed, hands struggling to loosen the hold Jaina had on her.

Jaina tugged Sylvanas down in a hard pull, and when the elf was within range, she delivered a punch straight to her face. Sylvanas landed on the ground from the impact, blinking away the stars forming behind her eyelids.

Backing against the writing desk, Jaina felt around and found up a letter knife. When she turned back around, Sylvanas was already on her feet.

They spar; the side of her arm hitting well-toned muscles repeatedly, advancing on each other until they are at the entrance end of the study again. At some point, Jaina caught Sylvanas’ hands above her head, and she ran the letter knife smoothly through the line of buttons on her doublet. They popped off one by one.

Sylvanas’ eyes darted up to meet hers, and with a forceful swing of their bodies, she flung Jaina towards the door.

“If that is your opinion of me, then I thank you for explaining it so fully,” Sylvanas said coldly. She picked up the shortsword that Jaina had dropped and slashed at her. One swipe went wide, though, and instead sliced through the laces on the chest area of Jaina’s dress, revealing just the swell of her breasts.

Jaina kicked once at her head, then once under her feet, and Sylvanas plummeted to the ground onto her back. She lifted her arms to bring the letter knife down, but as Sylvanas braced her arms in a cross, Jaina lost her balance and tripped. The elf turned them over and held her down once more against the floor.

Jaina glared at her, panting heavily. “You could not have made the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it.”

Her eyes fluttered, and she swallowed the lump building in her throat. As she pushed herself up in a straddling position, Jaina’s hands shot up, and the letter knife plunged itself into Sylvanas’ chest just below the left clavicle, not deep enough to draw blood, but deep enough that it hurt.

“You’ve said quite enough,” her voice came out barely a whisper, “I fully comprehend your feelings, and now I’ve only to be ashamed of my own.” Sylvanas willed herself to stand. Stepping away from Jaina, she wrapped a hand around the knife and pulled it out with a wince. She dared not meet her gaze for fear of what she would see in them. “Please forgive me, and accept my best wishes for your love and happiness.”

The letter knife dropped to the ground with a muted thud, and Sylvanas turned, her long ears drooped and shoulders slumped ever so slightly.

Jaina closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she was alone in the study. She choked out a sob.

Dear Lady Jaina Proudmoore,

I am not writing to renew the sentiments which were so repulsive to you, but to address the two offenses that you accuse me of. I did not intentionally wound your brother, it was a most unfortunate consequence protecting my dearest friend. Mishan’s feelings for Tandred were beyond any that I have ever witnessed in her, or indeed even thought her capable of. The evening of the dance at the Waycrests’, after overhearing your mother coldly state her intention of having all her children marry favourably, I persuaded Mishan the unfitness of the match. If I have wounded Tandred’s feelings, it was unknowingly done.

As to your other accusation of having injured Arthas, no sooner had my father made clear his intention to leave Arthas a handsome sum, then he was mysteriously infected by the plague, and was left to me, his daughter, to provide him a merciful ending. Still I gave Arthas the inheritance my father left. Arthas squandered it, whereupon he demanded more and more money, until I eventually refused. Thereafter, he severed all ties with me. Last summer, he began a relationship with my young cousin and convinced her to elope. Arthas’ prime target was her inheritance, but revenging himself on me was a strong additional inducement. Fortunately, I was able to persuade my cousin of Arthas’ ulterior motives before it was too late.

I hope this helps explain, and perhaps mitigate my behaviour in your eyes. Of all the weapons in the world, I now know love to be the most dangerous, for I have suffered a mortal wound. When did I fall so deeply under your spell, Lady Proudmoore, I cannot fix the hour or the spot, or the look or the words which laid the foundation, I was in the middle before I knew I began; what a proud fool I was. I have faced the harsh truth that I can never hope to win your love in this life, and so I sought solace in combat.

I write to you from the lands of the In-Between. There is now a cunning design to the zombie attacks. I sense a dark hand is at work here, guiding the enemy. By taking the Ghostlands, they’ve increased their ranks a hundred fold. If we should fail to contain them and they breach Eversong Bridge, it will be as though a great dam has broken and they will reach Silvermoon swiftly, and in overwhelming numbers.

Dear Lady Proudmoore, I implore you to be ready.

Sylvanas Windrunner

It was a day after she had received the Ranger-General’s letter, two days after she had returned home from Lady Lireesa’s estates, and three days after her elder brother Derek had been sent on official notice to Eversong Bridge - or so she’s been told, when another letter was delivered to their doorsteps.

The letter was not addressed to anyone in particular, for it simply bore the name ‘Proudmoore’ on the front.

Unfolding the letter, Daelin read through it and muttered a quiet “Tides” under his breath. Jaina wondered what the contents were, and how people seemed to communicate more effectively through letters than in person nowadays.

Katherine leaned over to take the letter from him, but when her eyes widen upon finishing reading it, Jaina couldn’t help but ask, “What is it, mother? What does it say?”

“Your brother - ” she paused to take a breath, “Derek is being held for ransom.”

Jaina’s eyes shot up. “What? Let me see that.”

She took the letter and skimmed through its contents. As expected, it provided no name or address from which it was delivered, only a location where the ransom was to be transferred. Turning the letter over, she inspected the seal.

She did not recognize it at first, but beside her, she heard Tandred murmur, “Directive Council of Fairbreeze? Of Fairbreeze Village? Isn’t that near the Ghostlands?” and instantly, the sight of the signage in that blighted faroff village Arthas had brought her to flashed in her mind.

“I know who has him.”

“Who?”

“Lieutenant Arthas. I reckon they’re at Fairbreeze Village; he’s brought me there before. The undead there consume only pig brains, and as such they still have a shred of… humanity, I suppose that’s what he would call it. He is convinced that the living and the undead are able to exist together because of this.”

Katherine and Daelin were quiet, both staring at their daughter.

Placing the letter on the table, Jaina stood. “I will go and bring back Derek,” she declared.

“Jaina - ” Katherine began, only to be cut off by Tandred.

“I will go with you.”

Jaina nodded, determination written plainly on her face, despite the futile protests from their parents.

As Jaina and Tandred approached the juncture of Eversong Bridge, one of the rangers stepped up and called a halt to their horses.

“The bridge is closed. It is too dangerous to cross.”

“We have urgent business on the other side,” Jaina announced.

The ranger’s brows furrowed. “This bridge is rigged with all the explosives we have left. It is to be detonated at dawn tomorrow, when the last squadron withdraws from the In-Between.”

“Nevertheless, we must cross over.” Jaina shared a glance with Tandred, and with a nod, they spurred their horses into motion.

After crossing over and travelling for just under an hour, they arrived at a town that had been laid in ruins. It was not Fairbreeze Village, for it was larger than Jaina had remembered, and the familiar tall stone building was nowhere in sight.

As they closed in, Jaina noticed there were only a handful of rangers around - much less than a full squadron should have. The surrounding buildings and structures were charred black and ashen, as though they had been set ablaze at some point. Barbed wire fences stood in rows by the periphery of the village, some had fallen over, and some had broken down.

Beside her, Jaina watched as Tandred brought his horse to a stop and dismounted. He handed her the reins.

She followed his eyes and spied Mishan by a row of barbed fences, a lone figure in the distance bending at the hip to pick something off the ground. When she rose again, Jaina saw sparks ignite in her hands, and Mishan lobbed a spherical object at a pit in the ground.

Tandred quickened his pace towards Mishan, who did not seem to notice him yet. She was about to step away from the pit when a shrivelled hand shot up and grabbed at her ankle. Mishan struggled to kick it free, and another hand grabbed ahold of her other foot.

Tandred sprinted up to her then, unsheathing his shortsword. Just as Mishan was about to lose her balance, he brought the blade down - once, twice, and the zombies loosened their grip. The pit detonated in a loud explosion, and Tandred pushed her away from the pit in time, the both of them toppling onto the ground.

Jaina glanced away, a small smile of comfort gracing her lips. She dismounted and expeditiously tied their horses to a nearby fence post. A ways from where Tandred was helping Mishan up, she spotted the familiar slender build of the Ranger-General across the field, on the top of a squat hill.

Readying her staff in her hand, she made her way towards Sylvanas.

Sylvanas did not see her approach, currently in the process of slinging her bow across her shoulder and exchanging it for a shortsword. She slashed at the pool of undead hands clawing their way through the dirt beneath her.

As Jaina edged closer, she noticed a zombie dragging itself up the face of the hill behind Sylvanas, its legs blown off at the thigh, leaving a trail of slick blood behind it. Jaina tightened her grip around her staff and murmured a quick incantation, and a bolt of ice erupted from beneath the legless zombie, impaling it through the chest.

Sylvanas spun around at the sharp gurgle of the zombie and with one swift movement, sliced its head clean off.

Jaina trudged her way up the hill.

“Lady Proudmoore,” Sylvanas gazed at her momentarily, before remembering her manners and bowing deep. Then she remembered she was still standing in a quicksand pool of zombies, and she returned to slashing at the undead arms reaching for her from under the ground. “I suspect this was a cemetery, and the dead are refusing to stay dead.”

Jaina barely contained her snort.

She waved her hand in a vague motion, and one by one the hands grabbing at Sylvanas slowed and hardened in a sheen of ice. When Sylvanas kicked at them next, the frozen limbs cracked and shattered into smithereens, and she gave Jaina a small smile of gratitude.

Jaina watched Sylvanas cleared the remaining grounds of the undead whilst the evening sun cast an orange hue on her armour. She had always found the Ranger-General breathtakingly charming in her formal wear, but seeing her in full ranger uniform roused a heady sensation in her core. Blue armour plates with silver trimmings, feathers adorning the margins of her pauldron, she reminded Jaina vaguely of the armour she had seen on Arthas, but the one he had worn was nowhere near as resplendent as the one on Sylvanas.

“Lady Proudmoore, what possible cause have put you here, treading in the In-Between?”

Jaina let the corners of her lips curve up. “If adventures will not befall a young lady in her own residence, she must seek them abroad.” Then, deciding there was no harm in telling Sylvanas the truth, she said, “We had no choice. Arthas has Derek with him. He’s likely taken him to where his zombies aristocrats conjugate - Fairbreeze Village.”

“Fairbreeze Village,” Sylvanas repeated slowly, brows furrowed. “I know it well. I saw it razed to the ground yesterday. Your brother could not possibly have survived.”

Her breath left her in an instant. Jaina shook her head in denial, mouth agape but no words came.

“I am profoundly sorry for your loss,” Sylvanas said quietly. She reached an arm out in comfort, but pulled back part way. Just then, a ranger climbed up the face of the hill and approached them, with a salute to Sylvanas.

Jaina did not hear what the ranger said, but eventually Sylvanas turned to her. “I fear I must depart for Eversong Bridge immediately.”

Jaina couldn’t meet her gaze, only croaked out, “Of course.”

She tried to keep her head held high as Sylvanas spared her one last look, before leaving with the ranger.

She stood facing Mishan, each holding a pocket watch as they timed it to the second.

“Let’s see how reasonable his aristocrats are after their appetites have been whetted.” Sylvanas pocketed her watch. “Dawn breaks at five o’clock tomorrow. I’ll make it back.”

“Of course you will, old friend,” Mishan smiled, but it was forced and full of reluctancy.

“The order must be given at first light, no matter the circumstances.”

“I’ll give the order.”

Turning, Sylvanas mounted her horse. She had made sure it was fed and watered sufficiently for the coming journey. Checking once more for the heavy sack she had affixed to its side, she tugged on its reins and spurred it into motion.

It was just after midnight, Jaina and Tandred had returned to Eversong Bridge in the company of Mishan’s squadron.

“I fear I should not have confided in Sylvanas,” she said to Tandred, who had been quiet most of their journey back. She wondered momentarily what had ensued between him and Mishan.

Mishan.

She glanced over to where Mishan was standing alone, staring woefully into the distance. At first Jaina didn’t it peculiar that she was not looking in the direction of Silvermoon City, but her vision seemed to overlook Eversong Bridge as well.

Jaina left Tandred and approached her.

“Silvermoon is behind us, Eversong Bridge is over there. Which direction are you looking at, Lady Mishan?”

Mishan’s eyes did not meet hers. She toyed with her gloves, swallowing hard. In the long silence that followed, the wheels in Jaina’s mind turned, and then she realized -

“Fairbreeze Village. Sylvanas lied.”

Immediately, Mishan reached a hand out to rest on Jaina’s forearm. “To spare you,” her voice was shaking. “She would risk anything for you, Lady Jaina.”

Jaina shook her head.

Behind her, she heard Tandred shouting protests after her as she rode across Eversong Bridge again, urging her horse in the direction of Fairbreeze Village. If there was even the slimmest chance that Derek might still be alive, she would be sure to go to his aid. Moreover, was Sylvanas so self-assured in her martial prowess that she truly believed she could take on an entire village of undead as a one man army?

Confidence and stupidity bordered on a fine line.

The weight by her hip was considerably lighter after she had emptied the sack. Sylvanas made her way to the back of the stone building - the only one standing proudly unscathed among the broken landscape of Fairbreeze Village. The back door was unguarded, and she crept in easily.

A series of stairs brought her lower and lower underground to where she assumed would be the basement dungeon of the building. Eventually a ladder came into sight, and as she descended it, a choking noise caught her attention.

She hopped off the end of the ladder and surveyed the room. The ladder had led to one of the dungeon, with a flight of stairs on the opposite end. In the center was a makeshift chamber with cell bars as its walls, and lying against the wall furthest from her was a figure with barely enough strength to hold himself upright.

His eyes cracked open slowly, and even beneath the unshaven beard and unruly hair, a familiar shade of blue shone through. She had no doubt it was Derek Proudmoore.

Sylvanas easily fragmented the lock on the doors of the cell and cast it aside, entering and kneeling in front of Derek. She removed the gag in his mouth and he heaved, seemingly wanting to say something, but his voice was dry and only a few unintelligible wheezes escaped.

She reached around his back and was fumbling with the cuffs holding him down when a voice echoed through the candlelit dimness of the dungeon.

“By the Light, you are so predictable. I knew by taking Derek you would have to protect the Proudmoores’ honour.” Arthas stepped out from the shadows, his lips curled into a wicked grin. “So, come to kill me, Sylvanas?”

She stepped away from Derek and back on her feet. “On the contrary, I have come to make you an offer. The Proudmoores have authorized me to offer you a monetary commision for the return of Derek Proudmoore, and leaving them for good.”

“Very noble of you to deliver the Proudmoores’ offer, Sylvanas, but I’m afraid my answer is no. You see, money is of no use to me now.” A pause, and his gaze flickered to the chain holding the pocket watch. “Is that your father’s watch?”

“Yes.”

“Give it to me.”

Sylvanas took a few slow steps towards him and stopped with the bars between them. “No.”

Just then, almost theatrically, screams and shrieks erupted above them.

Sylvanas quickly turned her attention back to Derek, breaking the cuffs around his wrists in one forceful strike. On the other side of the cell, Arthas fumbled to unsheath his sword.

She hefted Derek up, allowing him to lean against her shoulder as she guided them back to the ladder where she descended from.

The screams above them transformed into a deep, guttural gurgling, and doors on the opposite end burst open. A horde of zombies charged into the dungeon, snarls and growls filling the space.

Sylvanas urged Derek up the ladder, and she watched as Arthas’ sword strike at the nearest undead, but he was soon overwhelmed. Surrounded by zombies reaching and grasping at him, he shouted, “What have you done, Sylvanas?!”

As she hoisted herself up the ladder, she turned and paused briefly.

“I fed them.”

She and Derek managed to escape a ways from the village hall into the smattering of woods nearby, where she had tied her horse down. The moon was suspended low in the night sky now, threatening to dip below the horizon as she struggled to get Derek on horseback.

He was weakened and disoriented, and every movement of his joints seemed to send jolts of pain up his spine.

“Derek, listen to me, you have to get across Eversong Bridge. Do you understand?”

He called her name, a broken sound, and before he was able to say anything else, the horse whinnied loudly and ran off into the fields, leaving Sylvanas alone.

Not for long, though.

The creak of a snapped branch caused her to whip around, drawing her bow in a fluid motion.

“Our valiant Ranger-General,” a mordacious inflection in his tone as Arthas stepped out from behind a tree, sword in hand. His uniform was bloodied in parts and muddied in others. “Did you really think you can defeat me?”

“I always have,” Sylvanas said, releasing the arrow and sending it through the arm wielding the sword. “You are a traitor, Arthas.”

“No, Sylvanas,” he said, raising his sword, “I am a king.”

She would later realize where the arrow had struck him, he felt no pain.

Dawn crept steadily.

At the juncture of Eversong Bridge, Tandred was resting on a crate, with Mishan standing beside him. A ranger approached and called out, “It’s time, Captain.”

He watched as Mishan retrieved her pocket watch from the inside of her coat. Checking it, she frowned. “So it is.”

Mishan clenched her jaw and sucked in a deep breath.

Tandred couldn’t bare to look at her. He glanced away, and as the beginnings of her order formed, he peered at the outline of a figure across Eversong Bridge. The silhouette was growing larger, and he could see the figure half-slumped atop a horse riding towards them.

As the horse drew nearer, there was no doubt who it was.

Derek.

Another clash of metal against metal, of Arthas’ sword against her armour plate. Her bow had been long abandoned with Arthas keeping their distance too close for her shots to be effective.

Sylvanas dodged out of the way of another strike. In the motion, she found an opening in Arthas’ armour - a small gap by the mid-axillary line - and she drove her sword in deep. He hissed, and Sylvanas twisted the sword harshly.

Arthas reached one hand to hold the sword in place, preventing it from penetrating further in. The other wrapped around her neck, slowly but surely tightening its grip.

She felt her airway constricting involuntarily, the muscles around her larynx struggling to keep it open. Her vision was a hazy blur, but the hand she kept on the sword wrenched it towards her in a forceful pull. She was sure the sword would have fractured in two had it been made of weaker material.

Instead, something else broke. Arthas’ chest plate fell sideways and on sickly pale flesh, she was met with networks of blackened veins and arteries anastomosing. Where the sword was impaled in him, darkened blood oozed out - not in the way Sylvanas was used to seeing; it was considerably thicker.

Arthas tightened the grip on her neck, and the lack of air was causing bright spots to appear in her vision. The blood in her ears was a thundering roar, and with every beat of her heart, her legs began to give out.

She heard Arthas rasp, “You fool, I’ve been one of them all along. If I had the living your father intended me, I never would have been in the army; I never would have been infected. This is your doing, Sylvanas.” He paused, a manic kind of laughter bubbling in his throat. “Suppressing my hunger was easy. They needed a god, and I have my hatred of you to sustain me. The zombie apocalypse is here, and I am the one the undead have been waiting for, the one to lead them. Every life I take, every atrocity I commit - ” he raised his sword, “ - is on your head.”

But just as Arthas’ arm lowered, it fell too quickly.

The grip around Sylvanas’ neck released, and she heaved in a deep breath of air. In her daze, the sight of Jaina on a white horse was almost angelic.

Then she heard a sharp schling beside her, and the ground projected upwards and through Arthas, a nauseating mishmash of blood and ice and flesh.

As Sylvanas staggered onto her feet again, Jaina fixed her a look in between heavy pants, and she cannot name what she saw in those bright blue eyes. They look hungry, and fearful. Almost as if those emotions were for and because of her.

The sun was creeping up the horizon steadily, and Tandred watched as Mishan’s second-in-command walked up to her.

“We can’t delay any longer, Captain. The undead will have reached the bridge soon, and then it will be too late.”

Leaning against him, Derek shuddered and sat up. With hollowed eyes and a desperate, harsh voice, he said, “No, they’re not back yet! You must wait.”

Mishan puffed out a dry laugh and shook her head solemnly. She turned to face her second-in-command. “Detonate the bridge - give the order,” she sounded as though she would choke on air.

Then she repeated louder, “Give the order.”

Jaina spurred her horse faster across the fields with Sylvanas behind her, the horde of zombies from Fairbreeze Village nearly matching them in pace.

They were midway across Eversong Bridge when something behind them exploded. The thundering noise and vibrations sent the horse reeling on its hind feet, whinnying in fear. Then the bridge structure on either side flew apart in a shattering boom, and she saw flashes of white light burst into stars in front of her before she was flung off the saddle, and she could no longer feel Sylvanas’ grip around her waist.

Jaina was sure she would pass out, that her vision would go black, and eventually she would wake up where the Tides were meant to bring her back to.

But she did not.

She woke up to falling debris and a grey sky.

She gasped in sharp breaths. The air tasted of the acrid sulphuric stench of flesh and hair burning, combined with a coppery metallic tang and charcoal combusting in the background of it all.

Jaina rolled her body around, bracing herself on her forearms, and her body cried out in protest. In the midst of fire burning much too close to her, she glimpsed Sylvanas lying face down on the ground not too far away.

She crawled to her almost pathetically, and the sobs that rippled from her throat were even more pathetic still, though later she would claim it was the throbbing pain of her physical body that had caused it.

Eventually she reached Sylvanas, and she kneeled beside her, turning her over. Sylvanas was coated in the dirt and grime from her battle with Arthas, and underneath the layers of filth her face was pale and bloodless. For a fleeting second, Jaina wondered if she would have to put an end to her if she turned out to be infected. The thought of losing her before she’s even had her was nauseating.

She cradled Sylvanas’ face in her hands, patting at her cheeks as gently as she could with the sense of urgency building in her.

“Sylvanas…” she rasped.

But the Ranger-General remained unmoving, not even a single twitch of muscle to indicate consciousness.

Jaina placed an ear against Sylvanas’ chest, slightly to the left where her heart would be, but the sound of blood rushing in her ears was far louder than the faint thump of Sylvanas’ heart, and she wasn’t sure if she had heard it correctly.

She pulled away and gave a frantic scan of their surroundings, but there was nobody coming towards them. No help.

She choked back a cry in between gasps for air, unable to breathe through her nostrils now that they were blocked. The tears streaming uncontrollably down her face were mixing with the dirt and oil from the events prior, stinging the gash on the underside of her jaw. Jaina placed her ear back against Sylvanas’ chest - this time she can hear soft, slow heartbeats, but they are steady, and she allowed her grip on Sylvanas to slacken slightly.

As the last of the bridge architecture fell crumbling around them and the atmosphere cleared somewhat, Jaina gently lifted Sylvanas’ head a few centimeters off the ground, closer to her face. The tips of their noses almost touched, and Jaina broke down and croaked, “The very first moment I beheld you, my heart was irrevocably gone.”

And she placed the most tender of kisses on Sylvanas’ lips. They are cold and chapped and she could taste blood on them, but they were soft.

When she pulled away and rested her forehead against Sylvanas’, she felt empty, and yet full of gratitude, to whatever higher power that had kept both of them alive.

It was shortly after tea in Lady Lireesa’s drawing room. The Lady in question was rested in her throne-like seat above the platform, with Katherine seated beside her, and Jaina and her brothers talking quietly among themselves below.

The butler arrived to announce Lady Mishan, who came in looking decidedly flushed. She entered, courteously bowed, and said, “This is all rather embarrassing, but I would like to request the privilege of speaking with Tandred… alone.”

Katherine was nodding enthusiastically before she had even finished her sentence, and Tandred left with Mishan, looking just as red in the face.

Not a moment later, the butler returned and announced Sylvanas. This time around, her regal armour was gone, as was her resplendent formal wear, and all that was left was a loose white tunic and leather breeches, giving the appearance of her being smaller than all the other times Jaina had laid eyes on her.

“My darling daughter,” said Lady Lireesa, “You laid unconscious for so long that when we heard you’ve risen we feared you had joined the ranks of the undead.”

Sylvanas’ lips pulled into a tight smile, and she was about to reassure her mother when a high-pitched “yes!” echoed from outside the doors of the drawing room. Quite uncharacteristic of Tandred, but it was his voice nonetheless.

Katherine was the first to rise from her seat, and they all hurried out of the chamber to where undoubtedly was good news.

Sylvanas stood aside, arms clasped behind her back as she watched them file out.

The room gradually emptied, with only Jaina trailing behind. She was stopped with a firm call of her name as she passed by.

“Jaina.”

“Sylvanas,” she sounded breathless as she stopped in front of her. “You look as though you’re fully mended.”

“I am, thank you. If it wasn’t for you I’d have surely perished. You have saved me in more ways than one.” Sylvanas glanced down at her shoes and hesitated a moment. “What you said to me on Eversong Bridge…”

Jaina’s eyes widened. “You heard me.”

“I did. It gave me hope.”

“Of what?” Jaina said, all too quietly.

“That your feelings towards me may have changed.” Sylvanas’ words were trembling, and her voice equally soft. “However, one word from you now will silence me on the subject forever.”

Jaina watched as she took a tentative step closer, and she almost couldn’t bare to meet her eyes, for they were far too bright and they were burning right through her soul.

“You are the love of my life, Jaina Proudmoore. So I ask you now, half in anguish, half in hope - will you do me the great, great honour of taking me for your wife?”

Her vision was glazing over, and Jaina smiled. A broken little one, and she whispered, “Yes.” Then again, because she wasn’t sure if she had heard herself correctly.

“Yes.”

The corner of Sylvanas’ lips tugged upward, a smile that was more indulgent than she usually allowed herself.

When their lips met, this time in a softer, more pleasant setting, it felt as though they were approaching the warmth of spring hand in hand, rejuvenating on its own, but tenfold more so when the heart has found its own - and though happiness is not a lasting feeling, Jaina knew their happy days would unquestionably outnumber the bad.