The group traveled in silence, wading through the dense, sickly green fog with trepidation. The once-lively plains before Suramar were now unnaturally quiet, filled only with the sound of multiple pairs of boots shuffling against the dirt. Occasionally, Jarod would gesture to his scouts to monitor their sides, ensuring that they all remained vigilant.

This may have once been their home, but the arrival of the Burning Legion had changed everything.

As they shuffled across the desolate plains, Eliana glanced from side to side, her bow ready in her hands. For once, she opted to use the long-range weapon in place of her daggers; she had no desire to wait until an enemy was upon her to act. A few feet later, as she was swinging her head from one side to the other, a dark, gnarled shadow emerged from the mist. She jumped in surprise, ready to let loose an arrow, until she realized it was only the remnants of a once-great tree.

Her heart sank at the sight, and she slowly lowered her bow back down. They'd come so far into the plains that they'd reached a former settlement, and the evidence of how much the demons had destroyed thus far both angered her and left her feeling despondent. So much culture eradicated—culture that had existed for eons until now; so much destruction, so many lives lost . . . and all they could do was fight back, fight to survive. In the beginning, she'd thought that it would be enough—her hope and undying faith. Now that it felt like they'd been fighting for years, even though she knew it had only been a few short weeks, exhaustion was threatening to overtake her. She now worried that she had little hope left for her people, though she'd never voice that aloud.

The rest of the troop had continued on without her as she'd fallen into her thoughts, and she scurried to catch up with the rest of the party. Cytheas was waiting for her at the tail end of the group, standing beside Il'hadras, and when he saw the expression on her face, he frowned.

"What's wrong, Eliana?"

A quiet sigh escaped her, and she shook her head. "I know that our people have lost much to the demons, but to be reminded of it time and time again . . . It is difficult."

An equally morose expression overtook his face. "I know," he murmured, lifting his arm in an invitation.

In a comfortable, familiar motion, she tucked herself into his side, grateful for his presence and warmth. Though things had been strained between them not so long ago, she thanked Elune that he was still alive and here with her now. She could only hope and pray that the rest of their friends were still alive as well.

A few minutes after they'd mounted up again, the scouting party reached the edges of the settlement's remains. The fog was thicker here, likely due to the plethora of bodies littering the ground before them. Both demons and elves alike had perished, and Jarod glanced around with a grim expression from atop his nightsaber.

"Spread out, but make sure you stay within sight," he instructed, his hands tight around his saber's reins. "And keep your beasts under control."

As if on cue, Kal'Shalla shifted beneath Eliana, likely feeling anxious at their surroundings. Most of the sabers had become antsy the moment they'd descended into the plains, and it seemed like the closer they got to Suramar, the worse they became.

They rode farther into the settlement, and Eliana's stomach churned at what they found. So many bodies covered the streets—streets once clean and filled with laughing young, with smiling elves and the scent of freshly baked moonberry pies. Those welcoming, everyday sensations had now been replaced by the oppressive, acrid scent of death. Even worse, a large majority of the bodies were mutilated. Some were missing a limb, others more than one.

Eliana stopped keeping track of how many were missing heads when she could no longer count them on both hands.

The rest of the group seemed to be feeling just as unsettled. Occasionally, a fellow soldier would grumble to himself, and a few of them made the sign of the Mother Moon, brows furrowed as they stared at the bodies of their brethren.

After what felt like ages, they reached the outer edge of Suramar. The view before them elicited a strange juxtaposition of emotions. It was horrible seeing their home like this—a broken, shattered shell of what it had once been. On the other hand, a surprising portion of the city still stood whole; it appeared that the Burning Legion had not had time to ravage the city entirely.

A small surge of hope flared within Eliana, though she knew that it would take more than that to rebuild. If they could survive this war, win it, perhaps they could still start anew.

Silent and furtive, the scouting party ambled through the remnants of the city's outskirts. It was much the same as before: most of the buildings were destroyed, with the occasional home still intact. Eventually, the group reached the main gates and they passed through the archway, wary of what they might find ahead. Up at the front of their unit, Jarod glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes flitting from one soldier to the next. His countenance was tight, grim; Eliana's own expression was much the same, and she imagined the rest of the party shared the sentiment.

It was upsetting to no longer be able to trust the place you once called home.

Every corner had the potential to conceal an enemy, each broken doorway they passed was a reminder of what they had lost. Occasionally, a building that looked completely untouched by the ravages of war would emerge from the mist. Upon Jarod's command, one or two of the soldiers would search the premises, hoping to find survivors—or some evidence of survivors having come through. Time and time again they searched, but none were ever there.

Nearly an hour into their search, they reached a divergence in the path: one of the colossal trees that had held a residence had toppled over, and the debris was now scattered across the ground, blocking their advance. Despite the fact that Jarod had instructed them to stay together, there was no way their entire group could stick to the same path and get through in a timely manner; much of their allotted time had already passed by.

With a frustrated sigh, Jarod maneuvered his saber around to address the group. "We've no other choice from the looks of things. You three—" He pointed to the soldiers in the left flank. "Head down that path and meet up with us at the other end."

The soldiers in question nodded, and rode off down the path to Eliana's right. Jarod leaned over and spoke with Master Rhonin in low, hushed tones, shaking his head in disagreement to something the flame-haired sorcerer suggested.

Despite the obvious discord between him and Rhonin, Jarod straightened and looked over at Cytheas. "Cytheas, you, Eliana, and these four will head down that path," he explained, pointing at the soldiers behind Cytheas and Eliana. "Master Rhonin, Broxigar, and I will continue down this center path, along with the remaining soldiers."

Cytheas nodded. Before the group separated, Rhonin looked over at Cytheas and Eliana with an intense gaze. "We leave now. Keep together, and avoid going into any homes you are unsure about. You'll have to loop around the wreckage, but we should meet up once more as soon as the route allows."

Again, they nodded in agreement, and without another word, the flame-haired sorcerer led the way down the center path with Jarod and Broxigar in tow. Cytheas steered his mount towards their intended path, and he, Eliana, and the four soldiers assigned to them made their way down the path to their left.

Their landscape now was no different from what they'd just left behind. Skeletons of grandiose, once-blooming homes loomed before them, and the ground was interspersed with the corpses of the demons and their own people. Their path held less prospects than the main one had; the vast majority of the buildings on this end of town were broken shells of their former selves, not giving their small group any hope of finding survivors in the slightest.

With the third failed attempt at searching a home for supplies or survivors, Cytheas let out a deep sigh. It was so uncharacteristic of him, that Eliana looked over at him with cinched brows. She studied his dejected expression for a moment, before quietly saying, "I know it is difficult, Cyth, but you cannot lose hope."

"How can you say that, Eliana?" he asked, looking over at her with dull eyes. "How could you possibly still retain hope after seeing all this? Our home, destroyed; our friends, our neighbors, gone—dead."

Though she herself had been feeling discouraged, she straightened her shoulders. Determined to convince him otherwise, Eliana turned Kal'Shalla so she could look straight at Cytheas. "Because I know that, whatever the cause of this is, whatever reason the Burning Legion has come to Azeroth, no matter what, we can't have been abandoned. Cenarius still walks among us—Malfurion's powers are proof of that. Elune has not forgotten us, and every single one of my sisters and I are proof of that. We cannot lose faith—not now, not yet."

Behind her, the other soldiers mumbled their agreement, making the sign of the Mother Moon over their chests. Cytheas looked over her shoulder at them with a neutral expression, and let out another sigh. He looked away for a moment, studying the facade of the empty home they'd just searched before meeting her gaze again. The corner of his lips twitched upwards, and he offered a slow nod.

"You're right. What would I do without your never-ending optimism, Eli?" he murmured.

With a teasing, hopeful smile, she replied, "Be worse for the wear, certainly." When he chuckled, even though it wasn't nearly as cheerful as she hoped it would be, she rode closer and nudged him on the arm. "Let's keep going, hm?"

He nodded his assent, and their small group continued on. After what felt like eons later, their path wound back around to the center of town. Unconsciously, they all urged their mounts to ride faster, anxious to be reunited with the rest of the party. When they turned around the last bend and saw Jarod, Rhonin, and Broxigar waiting in the center of the path, Cytheas raised his arm in a wave, which Jarod eagerly returned.

Once they were standing across from each other, Jarod greeted them with, "What did you find?"

A frown on his face, Cytheas answered, "Nothing. More bodies, more ruined homes, but nothing of note."

"Damn," Jarod swore under his breath. "Our search was much the same."

Eliana glanced about them, worry easing its way into her expression. "Where are the remaining soldiers?"

Jarod looked over at her, shaking his head slowly. "They've not arrived yet."

Unease filtered its way down into Eliana's stomach, leaving her unsettled. An unspoken pact materialized amongst the soldiers, and they all settled into their saddles, waiting for the three remaining soldiers to appear. At one point, Cytheas looked over at Eliana and caught her eye, his expression grim. Unable to stand the reality in his face, she quickly looked away, gripping Kal'Shalla's reins as she stared down the path opposite her.

Oh, Elune . . . why were we so lucky? Why did we survive, and they did not? she prayed, hoping her question would be answered, though she knew it would not be.

Minutes passed, and Kal'Shalla shifted beneath her, anxious to be moving once more. From the low murmurs around her of the soldiers soothing their own mounts, it didn't seem to be only hers that was feeling restless. In fact, it didn't seem to be limited to the mounts at all. Jarod kept fiddling with his breastplate, Cytheas had been twisting his reins in his hands for the better part of the last ten minutes, and Broxigar kept reaching up to check his axe's handle.

Only Master Rhonin remained completely still, staring off in the direction of the third path.

After another handful of minutes ticked by, Jarod's mount shuffled forward and he raised his hand into the air, ready to command them. Before he could speak, Broxigar unexpectedly raced off down the path, brushing past Rhonin so quickly, the tails of the sorcerer's cloak fluttered in the breeze. Caught off-guard, it took the rest of them a few seconds to realize what was happening, and then they all rushed after him.

Broxigar must have been urging his mount to ride faster than they'd expected, because they struggled to stay on his heels. The orc wound his way through the city, disappearing around the bends, out of sight, more than once. Judging from Jarod's tense shoulders, and the continual shaking of the captain's head, he was none-too-pleased with Broxigar's rash actions.

Finally, the path straightened out and they saw Broxigar stopped up ahead. It appeared as if he was speaking to a figure before him, when, out of nowhere, his saber reared up and pawed the figure, sending it flying. Then, he turned and sped back in their direction, his axe held out to the side, ready to be used if the need arose.

Flabbergasted, Jarod greeted the orc with confusion. "W-What did you just do to him? He's likely dead now, and—"

Brox interrupted him with a fierce growl. "Dead before! Hurry, more come!" he instructed, before darting back the way they'd come.

As if he didn't believe the orc, Jarod looked back down the path, staring off into the mist. Eliana frantically glanced around them, noting for the first time that the mist was significantly thicker here than it had been on their path, or even in the center of town. Worried, she looked back up at Jarod right when the captain gasped in shock and horror.

Farther down the path where Brox had been standing, multiple figures rose up from the ground. Their movements were jerky, unnatural, and once they stood erect, they shuffled forward towards the group, their limbs flailing like rag dolls. Jarod pulled his mount back a step, and his saber let out a low, menacing growl. The rest of the sabers joined in and the warning echoed around them. Still, the group did not move, and Jarod continued to watch the figures approach.

"Cytheas," Eliana warned, clenching her reins. Cytheas glanced over at her, his brows furrowed and a hesitant look in his eyes, though he didn't say anything before he looked ahead again.

It was then that the figures came into full-view, unobscured by the sickly green mist that had cloaked them before. Eliana sucked in a sharp breath once she saw who, or rather, what, they were: beings that had formerly been their brethren, but now with limbs torn off and abdomens split open, shambled towards them with empty, soulless eyes.

Beside her, one of the soldiers muttered, "By Elune . . ."

Finally, at that, Jarod whirled around. "Go! We ride out of the city, now!"

The rest of the group did not hesitate to obey. In unison, they turned back the way they came and rode swiftly down the path, racing desperately towards the main gates. Eliana's heart beat wildly in her chest, terrified by what she'd seen. It wasn't natural, that much she knew, and she thought she'd seen the worst of the Burning Legion's ways.

How wrong she'd been.

From behind her, a shrill, terrified scream rang out through the air, only to be cut short. She looked back over her shoulder; one of the soldiers had been yanked from his mount, and the last she saw of him were his arms falling through the air above him as he was swallowed by the horde. A shiver wracked her spine and she whipped back around in her saddle, palms coated with sweat. Jarod, too, had seen the soldier perish, and Rhonin was having difficulty convincing him to continue on.

Finally, with a grimace, Jarod faced forward again, and the group rode faster. A minute or so later, when it appeared that they would never lose the horde behind them, Master Rhonin veered away from the group with Broxigar in tow, circling around to the back of the party. Concerned, Eliana called out to them, but Jarod slowed down to ride beside her, shaking his head fervently.

"Master Rhonin has offered to buy us time! We must continue on!" he shouted.

"But—" she started to protest, but Jarod cut her off.

"We will wait for them at the city's gates! We will not return without them, I promise, Priestess!"

Alleviated, but only just, Eliana reluctantly nodded in consent. Jarod returned to the front of the group, and she glanced over her shoulder one last time, watching Rhonin and Broxigar ride to meet the undead throng behind them. Soon enough, the two of them disappeared behind the bend, and the rest of the group rode on towards the outskirts.

A few minutes later, they flew under the archway marking the city's exit. They slowed to a halt, and Jarod circled around to face the group. With a heaving chest, he dismounted, shaking his head to himself as if in disbelief.

The rest of them followed suit, taking the rare opportunity to rest and regain their senses. Most of the soldiers simply leaned on their sabers, who were also taking advantage of this brief respite, laying down upon the grass beneath them. Only Jarod continued to pace, anxiously watching the city's gates.

Eliana, too, stared in the same direction. Nervous, and filled with the need to keep her fingers busy, she unbound her braid and attempted to comb out the tangles so that she could redo it. She was in the midst of weaving the strands back together when her view was obscured by Cytheas' chest. Surprised, she quickly glanced up at him, her fingers pausing.

"Are you doing okay?" he questioned, his eyes flitting to her hands.

Of course he can tell when I'm nervous, she chastised herself. Quickly, she finished her braid, and after tossing it over her shoulder, she offered him a tight smile she knew he wouldn't be fooled by.

"I'm fine," she murmured. "Just worried."

With narrowed eyes, he crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Eliana . . ."

She huffed. "I'm fine, Cytheas. If I was not, I would tell you, I promise. I'm just . . . I am worried that they stayed behind, potentially sacrificing themselves for our sake; I am worried by what I saw; I—" She cut herself off, closing her eyes in an attempt to calm herself. Once her breathing was steady once more, she quietly admitted, "I am worried about the things that may come to pass."

With a slow shake of his head, Cytheas said, "I have always known you to have faith, Eliana. In fact, I would count you amongst the most unyielding. This is unlike you—giving up hope."

"I am not giving up hope," she retorted, twisting her fingers. "I am just—we've seen things today that I never thought were possible. Those who have perished have risen again, demons have invaded our lands . . . sometimes I wish Elune would answer my prayers and simply tell me what is happening."

"We will find a way through this, Eliana." He stepped forward, grasping her hands in his. His touch was warm, reassuring, but it didn't completely erase the tight ball in the pit of her stomach. "Us, our brethren—we will survive this."

With a smile she could hardly muster the energy for, she nodded at Cytheas. It seemed like her earlier pep talk had served its purpose, and now he was the one trying to uplift her spirits. After saying he needed to go speak to Jarod, he ambled off towards his fellow captain, leaving her standing beside their mounts. She watched him go for a bit, before turning and absentmindedly running her fingers through Kal'Shalla's downy fur, earning her a low purr.

Minutes ticked past with no activity on the main path. Cytheas didn't return either, wrapped in a conversation with Jarod that Eliana had no desire to be a part of. It wasn't that she wasn't interested, or was averse to hearing it, she simply . . . didn't have the energy. A quiet sigh escaped her, and as she lowered herself to the ground, Kal'Shalla followed suit; her saber was capable of sensing her mood, it seemed.

She supposed that wasn't too strange, considering all they'd been through together thus far.

They both hit the ground, and Eliana rested her back against Kal'Shalla's side. Off in the distance, Jarod was waving his arms through the air to emphasize whatever point he was making, and Cytheas was shaking his head in response. Her vision was unfocused, blurry, as she watched them out of habit rather than true interest. Exhaustion, both physical and mental, wore on her, and she wondered if there would ever be any respite from all of this.

It was true that, by this point, she'd seen enough of the effects of war to last her her indefinite lifetime. However, seeing the bodies in Suramar today seemed to increase her despair tenfold. In battle, the bodies of your fellow soldiers and priestesses falling beside you was something you noted, but didn't—couldn't—dwell on. Seeing the bodies of innocent elves who had clearly tried to flee for their lives, sprawled upon the streets of her city, beside their young, had been entirely different.

As her eyes slid shut, exhaustion finally overtaking her, she wondered if there truly was anything left to hope for.

Eliana awoke to the feeling of someone shaking her, and softly calling out her name. When she cracked her eyes open, Cytheas' face, though blurry, was only inches from her own. She blinked furiously, trying to force her vision back into full capacity. Once he realized she was alert, he rocked back on his heels and straightened.

"I am sorry to wake you, Eliana. I know you must be exhausted."

Reaching up to brush back an errant strand of hair that had fallen into her face, Eliana shook her head and rose to her feet. "It is fine. I hadn't meant to fall asleep, anyway. What is it? Is something wrong?" she asked, looking up at Cytheas with cinched brows.

Cytheas held out his hands, and explained, "No, quite the opposite. Master Rhonin and Broxigar have returned. We're preparing to ride back to camp."

"Oh, thank Elune," she breathed, making the symbol of the Mother Moon over her chest.

Quickly, the two of them mounted up and joined the rest of the party on the main path. When Rhonin made eye contact with Eliana, she offered him a relieved nod, which he returned with a strained smile; the sorcerer looked much worse for the wear. Cytheas motioned to Jarod that they were ready, and without further preamble, they were racing back towards the encampment.

As they raced through the forest, concern flooded through Eliana. Over the course of the past few hours, only the safety of their immediate group—of she and Cytheas, of Master Rhonin and Broxigar—had been on her mind. There had been only the here and now, and if she let herself be swept away by her concern for the entirety of their people, she wouldn't have survived this excursion. But now that they were returning to the camp, concern for those who had not joined them was now at the forefront of her mind.

Had Malfurion and Master Krasus returned yet? How was Tyrande holding up? And, most importantly of all, how was Illidan?

It seemed juvenile and silly to be wondering such things when they were in the midst of a war. She wondered if he was still thinking about Tyrande, and what had happened between the two of them. She wondered if he'd then thought about their last conversation at all, the one they'd had before she'd left with the scouting party.

And yet, even though she knew it was pointless to wonder these things with so many other pressing matters at hand, she couldn't help herself from thinking them all the same.

Sooner than she'd anticipated, the familiar sight of tents lining the horizon rose up ahead of them. Their party raced through the even rows, sending soldiers ducking out of the way as they beelined for Lord Ravencrest's tent towards the back of the encampment. Once they had arrived, they quickly dismounted, and Master Rhonin, Broxigar, and Jarod wasted no time, pushing through the opening flap and heading into the tent itself.

Cytheas moved to follow them, but turned around at the last second and looked back at Eliana. "You likely don't need to be here for this, Eli. If you want to go check in with the High Priestess and Tyrande, you can."

Grateful, Eliana nodded. She rarely said much at these meetings, and truly, it should be High Priestess Dehjana who was present for them, not herself. "I will do that, then. Let me know if anything changes."

With a nod and a quick, one-armed hug, Cytheas left her and headed inside the commander's tent as well. Eliana watched him go until the flap fell, concealing him from her view, and then she pivoted on her heel and headed towards the other end of the camp. Now that they were back in familiar—or at least, safe and familiar—territory, the rapid beating of her heart calmed enough for her to take deep, even breaths. It had been terrifying, seeing Suramar as they had, but being back amongst the remainder of her people filled her with relief.

Up ahead, the sight of the semi-translucent, silver tents of her fellow priestesses set her heart alight. Her steps quickened and she hurried towards the High Priestess's tent, anxious to inform her of what they'd seen in what remained of their home. As soon as she stood outside the High Priestess' tent, she took a deep breath, focusing on schooling her countenance and anxiety.

A few seconds later, in a quiet, respectful voice, she called out, "It is Eliana, High Priestess. May I enter?"

"Come in," Dehjana replied from within, her voice muffled.

Eliana moved the tent flap aside and brushed past, letting it fall behind her. To her surprise, Tyrande was standing beside the High Priestess, a frown marring her normally beautiful face. When she saw Eliana, the lines in her forehead smoothed out and she broke out into a smile.

"Eliana! Thank Elune you have returned safely!" Tyrande cried out, darting across the room to envelope her in a tight hug.

Equally as relieved, and warmed by her friend's reaction, Eliana reached up and returned the embrace. "I am glad to see you as well, Tyrande."

"Tell us what happened in Suramar. Did you find anything?" Tyrande prompted.

High Priestess Dehjana stepped around the small table in the center of the tent, her flowy, elegant robes fluttering through the air behind her. Eliana was surprised to see her out of her battle armor. "Yes, priestess, what did you see?"

With a world-weary sigh, Eliana sank down on top of a crate that was resting beside the entrance. She related the occurrences of their expedition, hesitating when she spoke of the sorcery they'd witnessed as their fallen brethren had risen once more. The High Priestess and Tyrande had mirroring expressions of horror when they heard her tale.

When she finished, the High Priestess began pacing around the tent, looking shaken. "Raising the dead . . . I had thought it impossible, and yet, the Burning Legion does it with no qualms or apparent difficulties. Just what exactly are we fighting against?"

With a fierce shake of her head, Tyrande said, "There is no doubt that they are the demons they appear as, High Priestess. That is the only explanation for this."

Eliana watched the High Priestess as she paced, her mouth pressed into a thin line. A few minutes passed before she asked, "Have Lord Krasus and Malfurion returned yet? I am certain that Lord Krasus would know how the demons are doing this—or at the very least, why."

Tyrande looked over at her with a grim expression on her face. "No, they have not."

Crestfallen for both her friend and the prospects of their success, Eliana dropped her gaze to the floor. There was nothing more that could be said about that, as it was obvious to all what it meant to be lacking Lord Krasus' assistance in the upcoming battles. They needed his power, his wisdom and knowledge, his guidance, and Lord Ravencrest was likely not happy about the mage's absence as well.

High Priestess Dehjana finally halted in the center of the tent, her hands braced against the table. "Eliana, I thank you for informing us of your findings. You may return to your tent now, and as difficult as it may be, I ask that you try to get some rest before we inevitably ride on."

Eliana rose to her feet, dipping into a deep bow once she stood. "Thank you, High Priestess. I will do exactly that."

Tyrande squeezed her upper arm with a gentle smile. "I will come find you later, Sister. Rest—you deserve it."

Eliana returned the gesture before heading back outside. With another sigh, she stretched upwards, trying to ease the stiff muscles in her back. Planning on taking the advice of the High Priestess, she turned and moved to circle around the tent and head back to her own. She'd only taken a few steps when a figure dashed out from around one of the other tents, nearly knocking her over.

She let out a startled cry as she stumbled back, and the person caught her around the waist, pulling her back upright. When she looked up at them, ready to admonish them for running with seemingly no abandon, she was even more startled when she realized that it was Illidan.

Before she could say anything, he scowled something fierce and demanded, "How could you not tell me that you were leaving the camp? Especially for a scouting expedition? Those are dangerous, Eliana, and—"

With an equally fierce glower, Eliana propped her hands on her hips and interrupted him. "And this is war, Illidan. Everything we do now, everywhere we go, is riddled with potential danger. There is no escaping that. I did what I had to."

At first, it looked like he was about to retort, but at the last second, he closed his mouth with a snap. His frown petered out into a slight grimace, and he met her gaze with weary eyes. "You're right. I didn't mean to shout at you, I just—with my brother still gone, and the events of the past few days, I . . . reacted rather strongly."

Her irritation subsided at his words. Illidan had never been one to outright apologize—for anything—but she at least knew him well enough to recognize his words for what they were. She offered a reassuring smile, and he looked away, seemingly embarrassed at being seen through completely.

"I appreciate your concern," she said quietly.

His response was a scoff, but not one of derision. It also hadn't seemed as if he'd been directing it at her, but more so at himself. When he finally looked back at her, he murmured, "As if I couldn't worry."

Her heart soared at his words, and the tiny smile that had been present on her face widened. When he saw her expression, he too smiled, and like fools, they sat there in the middle of the pathway, staring into each other's eyes with matching grins.

A loud horn sounded from the other end of the camp, causing Eliana to jump in surprise. To his credit, Illidan only looked slightly startled, and he glanced over his shoulder in the direction the sound came from.

When he faced Eliana again, he explained, "That's likely the call to move out."

"So soon?"

Illidan sighed, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "I spoke to Lord Ravencrest not long ago—that's how I knew you'd returned. He was anxious to leave, even then. In fact, I'm surprised it took him this long to sound the horn."

Though she knew it was inevitable, she couldn't help but feel discouraged. Would their people ever find a place that was safe? Away from the demons' reach?

Cradling her elbow with her right hand, Eliana slowly nodded. Together, they walked away from the High Priestess' tent and towards where the mounts were stationed. Though she didn't miss the way Illidan's gaze lingered on the tent as they left, she decided not to mention it. Illidan would bring it up himself if he wished to speak about it.

They walked in silence for the first little bit. Illidan kept his gaze trained on the ground, while Eliana kept sneaking surreptitious glances at him. Should she bring up their earlier talk? Or should she remain quiet and let him be the first to speak?

By the time they were halfway to their destination, the tension between them was palpable. A few seconds later, Eliana decided she'd reached her limit and paused on the path, ready to speak up. To her surprise, Illidan turned at the same time and met her gaze, lips already forming the words he was about to say. When he saw that she too was going to speak, he closed his mouth with a snap.

"I didn't realize that you—"

Eliana waved her hand in the air, embarrassed. "It is fine. You can go first."

He hesitated, but eventually nodded. "All right . . . I just wanted to—I had a question for you, though it's a bit unconventional."

"An unconventional question? Those are the best ones," she replied with a wry smile.

A chuckle escaped him and he motioned for them to continue walking, though at a much slower pace than before. "During your scouting party, did you . . . did you see anything unusual? Anything out of the ordinary?"

Eliana cinched her brows. "Aside from the large mass of dead bodies and copious amounts of debris, you mean?"

"Yes," Illidan hastily replied, sounding a bit frustrated. "Aside from all that."

Again, Eliana came to a stop. When Illidan followed suit and stared down at her, she reached up, gently placing her hand on his forearm. Firmly, though not unkindly, she said, "If there is something specific you want to know, Illidan, ask it."

His handsome features pinched, and he appeared hesitant to voice his thoughts. Eventually, he took a deep breath and met her gaze. "Lord Ravencrest mentioned that . . . you and the party had seen . . . unnatural things in Suramar. Things like . . . the reanimation of corpses."

Immediately, a shudder wracked Eliana's body, traveling up the length of her spine. Looking away from Illidan, she studied the clumps of dirt beneath her feet. " . . . Yes, we did."

The amber glow of his eyes intensified. "Truly? How did it work? Did you see it up close?"

There was quite a bit of excitement in his voice, which worried Eliana, and she looked up at him with a frown. "I did not. Broxigar and Master Rhonin would be the ones you should speak to about that. I only witnessed the product of the demons' efforts, not how they went about it. And even if I had, I'm not sure I'd . . . be able to tell you what I saw; I know little about the mechanics of true sorcery."

Illidan's countenance fell ever-so-slightly, and they continued on towards their mounts. Silence filled the air between them, mostly because Illidan appeared to be completely engrossed by his thoughts. Eliana watched him out of the corner of her eye, still concerned about the topic of his questions.

It had never been a secret that Illidan was ambitious, and he had more than enough curiosity to fuel those ambitions. Though it was likely that he simply wondered how the demons had successfully carried out something so atrocious as raising the dead, she was worried that his focus would remain on such morbid things for longer than it should.

Quietly, Eliana asked, "Illidan . . . you don't mean to try to do the same, do you?"

Seemingly caught off-guard, Illidan started, and faced her head-on. "Of course not. Why would you think that?"

She too paused, wringing her hands anxiously. "It's just—I know how curious you can get. I'm assuming that you are asking about what we saw because it's quite the display of power on the Burning Legion's part, but . . . but it isn't the right kind of power, Illidan. Power like that can never be used for good reasons, and—"

He let out a light sigh and placed his hands on her shoulders, rubbing his thumbs along her skin. "I know why you are concerned, Eliana—you don't need to be. Yes, doing something like raising the dead takes immense amounts of power, and it means that the Burning Legion has more magical prowess than we anticipated. But . . . I wanted to know for our people's sake. If they can harness their energy in such ways, what more could we do? How could we try to fight back equally as hard, if in less macabre ways?"

Eliana stared into Illidan's eyes—eyes that were so incredibly bright, so hopeful, and so beautiful—desperately wanting to believe what he'd said. She wanted to trust him without fail, but their history had taught her that there was often more to Illidan's words and actions—hidden meanings that she had to work out, even if that hadn't been his intent.

Eventually, she nodded, and he squeezed her shoulders before pulling away. They continued on their way, and a few minutes later, they finally reached the mounts. It seemed as if the rest of the soldiers were nearly finished packing up the camp. On the other side of the main unit, the Priestesses of Elune were folding up their tents and placing them in the back of their storage wagon. Up towards the front of the ranks, near the opulent banner that marked Lord Ravencrest's position, Eliana spotted Cytheas, Jarod, Master Rhonin, and Broxigar standing beside the commander himself.

Cytheas glanced over in their direction, and when he saw them standing side-by-side, it seemed like he scowled briefly before schooling his expression and raising his hand in a wave. He was standing too far away for Eliana to know for sure whether he had, but she raised her hand as well, opting to smile instead. When she lowered her arm, Cytheas turned back to Lord Ravencrest.

Beside her, Illidan cleared his throat, prompting her to face him. He gestured over his shoulder to where the rest of the leaders were and said, "I should go join them."

"I should join my sisters as well," Eliana said, nodding in agreement.

For the third time that day, they stared into each other's eyes, reluctant to part ways. Eliana let a smile slowly grace her face. Illidan mirrored her expression, taking a hesitant step backwards with his arms held behind him. Eliana took that as a sign and pivoted on her heel, finally making her way towards where her fellow priestesses waited.

She'd only made it a few steps before she heard him coming up behind her. Surprised, she turned back around just in time for his arms to wrap around her, pulling her flush against his body. Her cheeks darkened, and she slowly wound her arms around his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. The warmth emanating from him seemed to seep into her very being, and she let her eyes slide shut as she leaned her head on his shoulder. Was it so wrong to let herself enjoy this? Even if she knew there was still so much to figure out between the two of them?

In her ear, he murmured, "I should have done this earlier."

She let out a quiet chuckle. "Yes, you should have."

He leaned back, and she let her arms fall from his neck. As he cradled her cheek in his hand, he said, "Be careful, Eliana. I expect to see you alive and completely unscathed the next time we make camp."

"The same goes for you," she replied with a knowing quirk of her brow.

His smile widened, and finally, he let go of her completely. With one final nod, he turned around and headed towards Lord Ravencrest, off in the distance. Unwilling to turn away from him just yet, she watched him as he walked away—watched the wide expanse of his shoulders shift with every step he stook, watched the long strands of his ponytail sway from side to side.

A quiet, yet insistent voice at the back of her mind piped up, reminding her that she needed to worry about Illidan. Though their earlier discussion hadn't gone far, she knew that he wouldn't drop the subject until he found the information he was looking for. Not only was Illidan incredibly attuned to all things magical, but his strong desire for success constantly propelled him forward; if there was a higher goal to reach, Illidan would try.

Many would consider his ambition a flaw. While it was one of the many things Eliana admired about him, she knew that, without rigid rules or guidelines to mark the necessary boundaries, Illidan would continue on unchecked. Powerful individuals with no limits, no matter who they were, were always dangerous. She couldn't bear to see anything happen to him, especially as a result of his own rashness.

With a deep sigh, Eliana finally turned away from Illidan and headed towards her original destination.

There was much to think about.