Into the Light

08 | A PROMISE

Tyrande dreamed of Illidan writhing in agony, the fel tethers gnawing at him, relentless. In a brief moment of respite, he looked up, right at her. His eyes, dull with pain, filled with hope. He reached out to her, trembling.

"Tyrande?"

The tethers came again, passing right through her. She felt them, as a thousand knives sliced through her, laced with poison, burning hot and searing cold; laden with hopelessness. Darkness snaked through her and she tasted evil incarnate. How could Illidan bear it, even for a moment?

He screamed, thrashing, the tethers pulled his arms and legs taut, spread eagling him, holding him steady. A much larger tether rammed into his chest, probing, digging. He panted, unable to even scream. It yanked free. Horrified, Tyrande watched as it writhed away, carrying a much larger piece of Illidan's soul with it.

The tethers let go, and he hung, exhausted, shuddering in the Void. She drifted towards him, staring at the damage Gul'dan had wrought. Dozens of tiny points of light shone through Illidan, piercing his chest, legs and arms. A Voice filled her mind, like a dagger across glass.

All of this can end. Come to me. Enter the portal, and live again.

Illidan shook his head, crying out in denial. He crawled away, his hands pressed against his ears, trying to escape. The Voice chuckled, cold.

As you like.

Another tether came at Illidan, burrowing into the back of his neck, shoving its way up into his brain. It juddered and another piece of Illidan tore away. He convulsed, his limbs twitching. Tyrande tried to channel the Light into him. Nothing happened. In the dream state, she was helpless. She could do nothing more than observe.

She touched his brow. Her fingers slid through him. His eyes opened. His voice ragged with pain, he gasped, "Please. The Light. Before it is too late."

Tyrande woke. Behind her, Malfurion shifted in his sleep, and pulled her tighter against him, possessive. She thought of Illidan, trapped in torment, fighting--while she lay warm and comfortable in her bed--to protect Azeroth.

She turned and looked at Malfurion, lost in sleep. They had dined nestled together on a thick rug before a brazier cracking with blue flames, sharing the same platter and cup. They had kissed, their love rekindling, a slow burn, awakening after its long dormancy. His eyes burning with need, he had carried her to her bed and made love to her, just as he had done on their wedding night. She shivered, remembering how he had held her against him and whispered her name. She had not felt this close to him in thousands of years. She traced her finger along the plane of his cheek. Why did it have to be now, just when they had found each other again?

She pulled her hand away. Elune had given her answer. The Na'aru was wrong, Tyrande could not stay and hide in Azeroth, not even for the worthy cause of leading her people against the Legion. She glimpsed Iasar sitting on the floor watching her, forlorn. Tyrande's heart clenched. Iasar, ever quick to sense a change in her mistress's state of mind had already comprehended something terrible was going to happen.

Tyrande reached over, and stroked her companion's nose. Iasar crept closer, uncertain, emitting a little cry, a question. Tyrande slipped from Malfurion's embrace and left the warmth of the blankets, drawing Iasar into her lap. She kissed her companion, over and over, her tears wetting the kitten's head.

"I'm sorry little one. But I must do this one last thing to protect our home--" movement from the bed made her look up. Malfurion pushed out from under the blankets and joined her on the floor. He touched her face, tender. She met his eyes, and saw his resignation, his grief, and underneath all of it, his fear.

"Somehow I will come back to you," Tyrande whispered. "I promise."

He shook his head, hushing her and took her in his arms. She clung to him, holding Iasar against her, her heart overflowing with love. Her family. Her home. She would not lose it. She would return to them. Victorious.