As always with times of war, moments of peace were few and far between. The company hadn't ridden far from Suramar before the Burning Legion caught up with them once again.

Hours of fighting ensued. Eliana, Tyrande, and the rest of their fellow priestesses were soon pushed back from their position near the front lines, no longer able to see Lord Ravencrest's banners from where they now fought. Tired, dejected, and losing morale, the Night Elven forces struggled to keep the demons at bay. As the fighting continued on, seemingly with no end in sight, the entire company was eventually pushed back to the plains surrounding Zin-Azshari.

----

Eliana's blade sliced clean through the delicate skin of a demon's neck, and the creature fell to the ground with a heavy thud. Exhausted, she brushed back loose strands of her hair that had plastered to her forehead, slick with sweat. With her chest heaving, she scanned the battlefield around her, searching for Tyrande who had been at her side only moments before.

A fierce cry rang out from her left, and when she faced the sound, she saw Tyrande leaping off her saber towards an Eredari. Tyrande drove the point of her blade into the juncture between its neck and shoulder, and it cried out a guttural, inhuman sound before collapsing to the ground. Eliana hurried over to her friend's side with Kal'Shalla on her heels, and Tyrande faced her when she neared; her fellow priestess' beautiful features were scrunched in concentration, fueled by adrenaline.

"Are you all right, Tyrande?" Eliana asked, slightly out of breath as she gently touched her friend's arm.

"I am fine. And you? Are you hurt at all, Eliana?"

Slowly, Eliana shook her head. "Physically, I am fine, but . . . we cannot keep fighting like this. There is only so much our troops, and we, can handle before we are spent."

Tyrande sighed, nodding slightly in agreement. "You are right. But what can we do? We've run from the demons in every direction, it feels like, and though we cannot fight forever, we also cannot run forever."

Her optimism fading fast, Eliana dropped her gaze to the ground. Before she had a chance to formulate a response, Shandris appeared at Tyrande's side, seemingly out of nowhere. Eliana shouldn't have been surprised at the young one's close proximity to her friend. Ever since they'd rescued her, Shandris hadn't been farther than a few steps from Tyrande, despite Tyrande's repeated pleas for the orphaned female to stay behind with the other refugees.

"Why don't we push for an offensive?" Shandris suggested, bouncing up on the balls of her feet.

Tyrande seemed to be fighting to hold back a sigh. "That would be highly imprudent. We are far too weak and exhausted to do that, and be successful." Tyrande's face then quickly twisted into a scowl. "Shandris, I asked you to stay behind the front lines, and yet you disobey my request again. Please, go back!"

Shandris opened her mouth to retort, her brows cinching above her silver eyes, when she was interrupted by a quick, sharp whistle. High Priestess Dehjana, in an attempt to alleviate the stresses of battle, had ordered her priestesses to regularly switch formations. It was time for Tyrande and Eliana's group to step back, allowing the next group to return to the front.

None-too-gently, Tyrande grasped Shandris' upper arm and hoisted her into her saber's saddle. "Come. I'll escort you to the back of the group myself," she stated firmly, climbing up into the saddle as well. Without another word, the pair rode off for the back of the company.

Eliana mounted Kal'Shalla to follow after them, shaking her head in disapproval. War was dangerous, and so many of their kind had perished already. Tyrande was trying to help keep Shandris alive by ordering her to stay behind, and the young female refused to heed those orders. Though Eliana knew how difficult it was to simply sit and wait, it was one of the few things ensuring Shandris did not join the numerous dead.

On her way to the rear, Eliana heard the sonorous bellow of Lord Ravencrest's horn. It was a single, short blow, and she glanced over her shoulder in concern as she continued to ride. From where the priestesses now fought, it was impossible to know what the sound had meant, but she could only hope that it meant good news.

They were desperately in need of some.

She quickly reached her destination, but by the time she'd caught up with Tyrande, Shandris was already nowhere to be seen. Her friend was now speaking with another fellow priestess by the name of Marinda, and from the looks on their faces, the topic of the conversation didn't seem too cheerful.

Kal'Shalla's paws padded heavily against the earth, and when she approached the two females, they both turned in her direction. As she dismounted, Tyrande glanced in her direction, and Marinda offered a terse nod.

It may have been pessimistic to assume that something had gone wrong, simply judging by the expressions on their faces, but in times of war, it didn't seem as if good news normally followed such meetings like this one.

Without any preamble, Eliana asked, "What is it? What's wrong?"

Marinda hesitated, her gaze falling to the ground before she looked at Tyrande, seemingly for approval or reassurance. A few seconds passed, filled with tense silence, and Eliana anxiously shifted her weight onto her other foot as she waited for one of them to speak.

Finally, Tyrande met their fellow priestess' gaze, and briefly touched the other female's elbow. "It is all right, Sister Marinda. She needs to know."

That elicited a curt nod from Marinda. "It's High Priestess Dehjana."

"What has happened?" Eliana questioned, stepping closer to Marinda.

"She—She is dead."

Tyrande and Eliana gasped in unison, and Tyrande's hand flew up to cover her mouth. Shaking her head in disbelief, Eliana felt like her heart had sunk into her stomach. Unable to process the information, she pressed her palm against her abdomen and turned away from the other two, staring out at the battlefield below. As if she had floated out of her body, she watched bright flashes of magical energy explode across the plains, faintly heard the clashing of metal, the cries of her people as they died. From far away, she thought she could hear Lord Ravencrest's horn once more, though she was too stunned by the news to say for certain.

Now what were they to do?

Behind her, Tyrande sputtered, trying to form a coherent response. "I—How did . . . How did this happen?"

Marinda hesitated before replying, "During the last battle, she took a blade to the stomach."

"I don't understand. The High Priestess' abilities for healing far surpass my own. How could she—"

"A felbeast caught her before she could attempt anything, before anyone could get to her. By time they reached her, she was nearly dead. Our sisters managed to bring her back to her tent, where she died but an hour ago."

A surge of anger flared through Eliana, and she turned and asked, "How were we not informed?"

Marinda faced her, her expression grim. "The High Priestess had asked her attendants not to tell anyone. She didn't want us to lose hope."

Tyrande shook her head, her eyes squeezed shut. Marinda slowly pressed a closed fist to her heart, and Eliana moved to join them once more, placing her hand on Tyrande's shoulder to call her friend to attention. Together, the three of them kneeled, praying to Elune for the High Priestess' sake as well as saying their own, individual goodbyes. When they rose, Marinda spoke again.

"There is more, sisters. Before she passed, the High Priestess named a successor."

Both Eliana and Tyrande nodded. Naturally, each leader in a position of power had a successor in mind. If the times had been normal, peaceful, there might have been the opportunity to formally consider which of the candidates truly deserved to take on the mantle of High Priestess. With it being a time of war, that luxury did not exist. It made perfect sense that High Priestess Dehjana would have named a successor before her death.

When neither Eliana nor Tyrande said anything further, Marinda presumably took it as a sign to reveal their new High Priestess. After taking a deep breath, Marinda said, "She named you, Eliana."

Shocked, Eliana gasped, immediately covering her mouth with her hand to mask her surprise.

It was true that her mother had been High Priestess before Dehjana, though her tenure had been short due to her untimely passing. Despite that fact, she had held no illusions that she would've been a candidate for the position. She'd only been a priestess for a short period of time, and before that, a novice for even shorter. The only reason she and Tyrande had been promoted to full priestess status was because of the war.

With a genuine smile on her face, Tyrande embraced Eliana. "Congratulations, sister. You deserve this more than anyone else I know."

Though Eliana returned the gesture, she did not respond, choosing instead to address Marinda. "But I don't understand. There are so many other sisters who are more qualified, who have been priestesses for far longer. Why me?"

Marinda smiled as well, clasping her hands in front of her. "That may be true, but even the senior sisters cannot deny your heritage. Your mother, though her time as High Priestess was brief, made many changes for the sisterhood that benefited us all. That, and it is impossible to deny your talent."

Overwhelmed, Eliana pulled back from Tyrande and began pacing in a small circle. "I just . . . there are—I have so little experience."

"That means little," Marinda replied with a shrug. "You've done so much, and yet, you still have the strength to fight, too, Sister."

Eliana paused in mid-step, staring down at her hands in deep contemplation. Marinda took the opportunity to speak again. "Normally, as you both know, we would have a great ceremony to announce your ascension, Eliana. Elves from far and wide would have come to see you, speak to you, and receive blessings from you. Unfortunately, we will likely only be able to do something small, considering the situation. With your permission, I can pull the sisters from battle and—"

Looking aghast at the suggestion, Tyrande interrupted Marinda. "What? But they are in the midst of battle!"

Marinda, though she did not continue her previous train of thought, looked to Eliana for permission to speak. Eliana's cheeks darkened, and she then echoed Tyrande's sentiments. "No, our place is out there, helping our fellow soldiers and doing what we can to help. A ceremony will only distract everyone, and we cannot afford that right now. I will become High Priestess for now, for the duration of the war, but I cannot promise anything after this is all over."

Marinda frowned. "If that is what you wish. We can all reconvene afterwards to speak of this matter. I can bring the robes of state to you—"

Eliana shook her head fervently. "That won't be necessary. I cannot fight in robes, Sister. I will keep my present armor, and there will be no ceremony."

Though obviously reluctant, Marinda nodded in agreement to Eliana's words, and kneeled before the other female, palm against her heart. "Yes, Mistress."

Eliana let out an exasperated sigh, and when Tyrande went to follow Marinda's example, Eliana all but lunged for her friend. "Please! None of that. We are all equal, in heart and in faith to our Mother Moon. Please, don't kneel. Especially you, Tyrande."

Tyrande paused in mid-motion, until she slowly straightened once more. Though Eliana knew that protocol was important to all of their people, she couldn't stand to see her friend kneel before her.

Eliana gazed into Tyrande's eyes, imploring her to agree. Tyrande sighed, before she finally nodded. "Whatever you wish, Eliana."

"Thank you," Eliana breathed, relieved.

Marinda rose to her feet as well. "I will go inform the rest of the senior sisters of your decision, High Priestess. Elune be with you both."

They murmured the same blessing, before Marinda mounted her saber and raced off, deeper into the rear. The area they were standing in fell nearly silent—as silent as the rear guard could be during a large battle. From the front line, the sharp sound of Lord Ravencrest's horn blared in quick succession, prompting the two priestesses to face that direction.

"What in the world is going on up there?" Eliana murmured, more to herself than to Tyrande.

Tyrande stared off into the distance, her eyes unfocused. "I'm not sure," she mumbled, sounding uncertain. A few seconds later, she met Eliana's gaze. "Until we do know . . . for now, I think we should help those who need it—heal, assist the refugees, until we know for certain what is going on on the front lines. It will be sooner than we think before we need to return to battle."

"I agree."

Tyrande smiled. "I am glad you think so, High Priestess."

Immediately, Eliana scowled. "I don't find this terribly amusing," she said under her breath, before hopping atop her mount.

"Still, despite the jest, it is true. You are our High Priestess now, temporarily or permanently," Tyrande replied.

Her only response was a deep sigh.

Together, they headed for where the refugees had been positioned in the center of the rear. As they rode, pained groans from both soldiers and refugees alike filled the air, coloring the ever-present tension with morbid undertones of war. It seemed as if the steady stream of injuries would never end.

When they reached their destination, they dismounted and made their way towards a small gathering of wounded soldiers. Quietly, they announced their presence with murmured greetings, and the soldiers expressed their relief at seeing them, making the symbol of the Mother Moon over their chests.

Without further preamble, they started doing the temple's work. While Eliana could mend the minorest of wounds with few issues, Tyrande left a stream of successful, full recoveries, behind her. It left her wondering why they hadn't named Tyrande the new High Priestess instead of herself. Tradition and heritage were important, yes, but wasn't doing the Mother Moon's work most effectively even more important?

Swept up by the tasks at hand, Eliana and Tyrande soon meandered away from one another. Each of them had their own long line of elves to heal.

Minutes passed, and then hours, before another loud horn bellowed from the front lines. Startled, Eliana glanced up from the injury she'd been tending to, her brows cinched tightly over her silver eyes. That horn could only mean one of two things: they were either being pushed back by the demons, or they had gained the upper hand over their relentless enemies.

Hoping it was the latter, Eliana quickly finished securing the bandage on her ward, before rising to her feet. Tyrande was sprinting over to her from the other side of the clearing with Shandris on her heels.

"Eliana! We should return to the front, see what's going on," Tyrande suggested, her expression grim.

Eliana nodded in agreement before glancing over at the young orphan. Shandris' eyes were alight with excitement. Though optimism was inherently a good thing, Eliana worried that the war would end up break the young one's spirit.

"Let's go," Eliana said, nodding to Tyrande.

Quickly, the three of them mounted up—Eliana on Kal'Shalla, and Tyrande and Shandris sharing a mount—and hurried back to the front lines.

When they got there, the majority of their fellow sisters were already awaiting their arrival. The second Eliana's boots hit the ground, the entire group shifted into a simultaneous bow, much to the new High Priestess' embarrassment.

"Please, none of that!" she exclaimed, flailing her hands through the air uselessly.

Marinda, the priestess from earlier, stepped forward. "We await your orders."

Eliana dropped her gaze to the ground, pressing her lips into a thin line. Being thrust into a position of power amidst the chaos of war was already overwhelming. Having to exert that power so quickly, and on demand, was even more stressful.

Eventually, she took a deep breath and said, "We should . . . We should separate into groups and assist along the front lines." When the priestesses shifted into position, she shuffled forward. "Wait! Not all of us. At least a-a third of us should remain in the back, and continue to provide support for the injured."

Beside her, Tyrande nodded in agreement, though she was one of the few who seemed to feel that way. A great majority of the sisters frowned, clearly wishing to be among the fighters. The apparent, collective discord, made Eliana briefly question her decision. She stepped forward even more, twisting her fingers in anxiety. After taking a deep breath, she spoke from her heart.

"Though I know many of you wish to be fighting, to actively protect our people from further harm. But remember this: there must always be a Sisterhood of Elune. The demons wish to wipe us from the face of this world, but we cannot let them. If we should all stand and fight—perhaps even die—then who will be left to spread Elune's love?"

Her speech seemed to mollify those who had been discontent with her instructions. With a firm nod, now feeling reassured, she turned to Marinda. "I put you in charge of caring for the wounded, Marinda."

Marinda bowed. "Yes, High Priestess."

Eliana couldn't help but cringe ever-so-slightly at her new title. She fell silent, lost in thought. Was this the right course of action? It made little sense to her to send all of their sisters to the front line; she had meant what she'd said about preserving the sisterhood. If they were to all perish, what then? But the voice at the back of her mind, however tiny, still made her doubt her own words.

She could only hope this was truly the path that Elune meant for her daughters to take.

A few moments passed and when she still hadn't dismissed the priestesses, the sisters starting murmuring amongst themselves, confused by her silence.

She knew that, by protocol, she needed to name a successor, in case she were to perish. That was what High Priestess Dehjana had done, like so many others before her. It took little time for her to decide who would replace her. She could think of only one who deserved the title, even more than she herself had deserved it.

Finally, Eliana faced her fellow priestesses, her mouth set in a determined line. "If I am to perish in battle, I name Tyrande Whisperwind as my successor."

Their fellow priestesses gasped in shared surprise, and Tyrande stood frozen in place, her arms hanging limply at her sides. "Eliana, I—I am incredibly honored and flattered that you would choose me, but there are so many other sisters who are more experienced, as you've mentioned before. I think it would be in the Sisterhood's best interests if—"

Eliana shook her head, cutting Tyrande off. "I do recognize that, and I know there are more experienced priestesses than you or I. But I can think of no one else when I ask myself who loves our Mother Moon as much as I do, or who lives and breathes the Sisterhood's best interests as you do."

Tyrande fell silent, her gaze unwavering as she stared into Eliana's eyes. Sensing her friend's hesitation, Eliana approached her and placed her hand on Tyrande's shoulder. "You deserve this as much as I do, Tyrande. If I am to fall, I wish for you to take on the mantle after me."

Though Eliana had no desire to perish in battle, this was war, and she knew there was a high possibility of it. No matter how careful she was, no matter how cautious she tried to stay, if Elune deemed that it was her time, then it was her time. The Sisterhood could not afford to be without a leader throughout all this, if the situation were to worsen.

The same train of thought seemed to be on Tyrande's face, for her expression was somber. Eventually, though, she nodded in agreement.

Eliana, too, nodded, before facing the rest of the sisters. "That . . . that is all I have to say. May the serene light of the Mother Moon illuminate your paths."

With the ancient farewell said, Eliana quickly delegated which groups would return to the front. Marinda was one of the temple's most prominent healers, and so Eliana left it up to the senior priestess to decide which of the remaining sisters she would take with her.

A collective moment of silence settled over the sisterhood before everyone began riding off to their assigned posts. She watched a few of the sisters leave, her shoulders hunched. Another silent prayer to Elune lifted her spirits only slightly, and after a few seconds, she took a deep breath to settle her nerves and self-doubt.

After squaring her shoulders, she faced the small group of priestesses that remained. "We will ride to the front lines with the other groups."

Collectively, the remaining priestesses nodded before mounting their sabers as well—most were the ones originally assigned to Tyrande by the former High Priestess a few days ago. When they were all mounted up, a quick movement caught Eliana's eye. She followed it, and realized that Shandris was mounting a saber just behind Tyrande, out of her friend's line of sight.

Quickly, Eliana cleared her throat, prompting Tyrande to glance over at her. With a subtle tilt of her head, Eliana gestured towards Shandris. Brows furrowed, Tyrande followed her friend's line of sight. When she saw Shandris, mounted up and ready to ride with them, her expression transformed into one of intense displeasure.

"Shandris, what are you doing?" Tyrande demanded.

Much like a child caught in the midst of misbehaving, Shandris jumped in her saddle before tilting her chin up in defiance. "I'm going with you!"

For what felt like the fifth time that day, Tyrande sighed. "No, you are not. The front lines are dangerous, Shandris. I've told you this time and time again. I cannot risk you coming with us. You have to stay behind."

"I won't be in danger! My father taught me how to use a bow! I-I'm probably just as good with one as any of the others are!" Shandris retorted.

Eliana hid her amused smile with her hand, and a few other of the priestesses chuckled. One of them murmured, "That good, hm?"

Tyrande turned her mount around and sidled up to Shandris. Reaching over, she grasped the young female's hand. "Shandris, you stay here."

Shandris' face crumpled. "But—"

Seemingly desperate, Tyrande glanced to Eliana for assistance. Uncomfortable using her newfound authority, but knowing she'd have to sooner or later, Eliana cleared her throat and looked at Shandris with a stern expression. "Dismount, Shandris."

Shandris' lower lip trembled, and she dropped her gaze to her hands. She was gripping the reins of her mount so tightly, her knuckles had paled. Without a word, Shandris acquiesced, her boots hitting the dirt with a soft whump.

Looking relieved, Tyrande said, "I'll be back soon, Shandris. I promise. You remember where to wait?"

Shandris nodded, refusing to meet Tyrande's gaze. Eliana's heart went out to the orphan, but Tyrande was right: it was in Shandris' best interests for her to stay here, where it was safe. There was no guarantee that any of the priestesses could keep an eye on her, not in the throes of battle.

Eliana turned around once more, facing the front lines. A moment of silence fell over the group, all of them likely praying to Elune for safety.

Please, Mother Moon. Guide my fellow sisters, and those I love: Illidan, Cytheas . . . Father . . . wherever you may be, be safe.

Without further preamble, she whipped Kal'Shalla's reins. "Come, sisters. We ride!"

Please let me do my sisters, and my mother, proud.