Destiny or Desire

Part 4: Through the Ghostlands

Zaryinor had never felt so helpless in his life.

The two moons shone brightly above, blue and white, an eerie contrast to the golden and healthy forest below. Zaryinor stared at the gleaming city of Silvermoon and all the lively glowing lights that danced in sync with the millions of peaceful dreams. He was not one of those dreamers.

He was now one of the nightmares.

There were other Quel'dorei gathered around them, securing the packs tied to their hawkstriders and comforting their weeping family members. They were not the only ones who chose to allow themselves to be exiled. Silvermoon was no longer their home, despite how desperately Zaryinor wanted it to be.

Zaryinor felt a strong hand clasp his shoulder and he turned to look up into the piercing blue eyes of Vastarien Dawntreader. He swallowed with difficulty, fighting the need to weep again despite already having spent the entire afternoon doing just that with his older brother.

"It's time to go," Vastarien said, his voice gentle and kind in attempt to comfort his sniffling son.

If it were for any other reason, Zaryinor would've been convinced by the tone that everything was going to be alright. He knew nothing was. Nothing was alright. They were walking straight into the wilderness with nothing but what they could afford, with green eyes blaring into their backs as they abandoned the shelter of home.

"I don't want to go," Zaryinor whispered not for the first time. He did not know where they were going to go. They were exiled in Quel'thalas, the only home he had known for years. Now all because of a decision that wasn't his own, he was being forced to leave everything he loved behind.

"I know you don't, but this is for the better. We'll find somewhere better to live, okay? There will be no scolding Sin'dorei, no green eyes that will scare you. You'll be safe with the rest of the Quel'dorei," Vastarien responded, gently taking his son's hand and leading him forward, deeper into the forest and further away from home.

Zaryinor walked beside their hawkstrider, lifting his head to stare into the pained and sorrowful eyes of his brother. Rhothomir could barely walk, and he was the only elf allowed to ride on a hawkstrider. He was surrounded by packs of supplies, but each of them had to carry their own belongings.

He shifted the weight of his bag on his shoulder, clutching tightly the small figurine lynx in the hand that was not held by his father. He was not ready for this journey. He wasn't ready to leave behind his childhood, but it was the only thing he could do.

"There is a Farstrider Lodge near Thalassian Pass, far enough from Quel'thalas to make our exile appropriate," announced a black-haired Quel'dorei. His blue eyes roved over each of them with sympathy but also determination, and Zaryinor knew this elf by the name of Renthar Hawkspear. He was a Ranger Lord, and good friends with his father. He could trust this elf.

He had to.

"We will settle there," Vastarien agreed, his hand tightly clutching Zaryinor's. "We will prove to the Sin'dorei and to Lor'themar Theron that we are strong and will survive whatever challenge he may throw at us."

Zaryinor caught Renthar nodding in approval, and he watched as the second Ranger Lord turned and strode forward with confidence. He would not allow the Quel'dorei to see any traces of fear or surrender, and Zaryinor knew he had to be a good leader. Just like his father.

"Is it Quel'Lithien Lodge we march to?" Rhothomir asked in his croaking voice. Despite his frail body and weak limbs, Zaryinor could see the determination and resilience burn like a fire in his brother's eyes. That boosted his confidence, if only in the slightest.