** 1ST PLACE WINNER in THE ANGEL AWARDS 2017, FANFICTION CATEGORY**
Illidan picked Sarah up, cradling her to his chest. To all assembled he spoke, "We go to Suramar, there we will bring an end to the Legion." Glancing down at the body of the young w...
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Outside a building in western Suramar several Illidari stood, keeping watch, ensuring none of the demonic outpouring in the region reached this seemingly safe enclosure.
The simple dwelling was similar to that which had once been home to the Stormrage brothers. This one thankfully, had survived the Legion's attacks and offered clean though simple shelter. Millennia before, Suramar had been truly beautiful. It's High Elven origins were bathed in tranquil blues, purples and jade. The city had contained exquisite architecture, peaceful canals, singing fountains and beautiful plazas.
In truth, and quite surprisingly, the vast majority of it had preserved the elegance of the Quel'dorei, High Elves - descendants of Night Elves. It still possessed a mystical serenity, and the memory of an ancient, yet noble race.
The only blots on the landscape were the huge fel vortex that drilled down into the palace, the long lost seat of Queen Azshara and the ruined Temple of Elune, which housed the Tomb of Sargeras.
Kayn stood silently as his Lord and Master carefully lay the body of Sarah Metcalfe down on a cot. Illidan stood quietly, studying the mortal. Here was a young woman, seemingly from another world, who had been willing to die for Azeroth. She was ultimately responsible for his resurrection from the Twisting Nether. Although he and his Illidari had sacrificed everything in their crusade to bring an end to the Burning Legion, he now felt oddly humbled by this out-worldly human. By what he'd drawn from her memories, she had succeeded in uniting many different factions, clans and races to fight together in that said same cause.
The naaru had deemed that one who was untainted by magic would serve well as the life force needed to bind Illidan's spirit with his body. The woman had offered herself, knowing that she would perish in the act.
He could have left her there, in the Twisting Nether - condemned her to roam in limbo forever more. She was nothing to him after all, other than a means to an end. But, as he'd listened to her desperate plea, heard her unshakeable faith in him and witnessed her utter disregard for her own mortality, he had made a choice.
As his spirit had hurtled down towards the altar with the woman's astral projection clasped to him, he had fused their spirits together. In doing so he had witnessed her memories, her thoughts, and saw the actions and decisions she had carried out, which had resulted in her being in his arms at that precise moment.
He had smiled at her indignation of the name "Betrayer" being used and how she had chastised those who had uttered it. Even his brother Malfurion, and Tyrande had been at the end of her reprimanding tongue. Ah, Tyrande. His ghostly heart had skipped a beat as memories of days long gone were stirred. But then they were quickly laid to rest.
He saw how she'd willingly trusted Arcaena after the failed attempt at rescuing him from the orc warlock. The Illidari had used her as "currency". The mortal had went out of her way to ensure others forgave and accepted the demon hunter. She and Arcaena seemed to have become good friends as a result.
