Destiny or Desire

Part 2: Home Sweet Home

Zaryinor huddled close against his father as his eyes roved over Silvermoon despite how desperately he wanted to look away or look down.

Silvermoon City was once a magnificent and spectacular city, humming with the power and majesty of the Quel'dorei. The air itself seemed to hold the remnants of their magic, dancing and twinkling in the marble streets like little fairies.

Critters of Eversong Forest inhabited their city as well. Birds would sing on the rooftops or the floating terraces, deer would graze in the grass of the parks, and treants would amble the streets in curiosity of their elven neighbors.

The treants were always a sight to see when Zaryinor passed them. They were walking trees with many birds and creatures calling its mighty boughs home. They creaked and croaked and hooted as a language, friendly to the elves because of the friendliness the Quel'dorei offered in return.

Now, there was nothing left of what Silvermoon used to be. Buildings were toppled, terraces and spires of magic shattered, and trees burnt. The army of Death had passed through their city in their mad march for power. Nothing the elves did or sacrificed halted the moaning and flesh-robbed Scourge from tearing down everything and everyone they held dear.

Zaryinor's father had lost many that day. Zaryinor knew he would never forget that day, no matter how hard he tried. He still had nightmares of it, but what terrorized him the most was how many people he knew as friends, as family, as elves with lives as precious as his. . . just disappeared.

No trace.

No remains of their impact upon his world.

Nothing left of their existence but a memory.

Zaryinor held Vastarien's hand tightly, avoiding the mournful stares of the Quel'dorei that roamed the streets. He felt his father's fingers squeeze his in reassurance, but it didn't stop the dread that clouded the memory of his successful day.

Zaryinor couldn't help hide the feeling of fear that seized his throat at the sight of particular elves. He hid his face against Vastarien's leg to avoid their greedy stares, closing his eyes tightly when he felt his father halt abruptly.

He could feel the beaming stares of the elves as they passed, burning through the safety he knew when he was beside his father. Zaryinor knew these weren't elves. They weren't the noble High elves he grew up with. They were monsters. They were the eyes that haunted him at night, the eyes that made him run and hide under his parents' bed.

They were green eyes. Feverishly green, sickeningly green, wickedly green. They inhabited the sockets of willowy and pale-skinned elves who were affected drastically by the destruction of their font of magic. Their addiction was stronger than rationality, and now these green-eyed elves feasted on living creatures to survive the withdrawals of the disappearance of the Sunwell.

Zaryinor felt his father rub his back and he knew it was sign that the Blood elves had vanished. He lifted his head nervously, practically allowing himself to be dragged by Vastarien. So long as he could remain clinging to his father's long legs, he didn't so much as care if he was being dragged by his pointed ears. His father meant safety.

"They're gone now, Zaryinor," Vastarien tried to convince his son, but Zaryinor remained stuck like glue to his father. He did not like those eyes. He did not like them at all. He never wanted to see them, so long as they held the evil and wicked intentions he always seemed to see emanating from them.

Zaryinor finally released his death-hold on his father once their home came to view. Fortunately, they lived in the half of the city where there hadn't been as much damage as the rest. Most of the areas were still intact, and their home remained safe and unscathed. Vastarien was convinced the Scourge army would not tread through their streets, and it wasn't the first time he was right.