One night while the troops were heading to the Zora insect nest, Bossia sat on a rock, gazing at the soldiers' camp not far away. A military priest gathered the followers of the Holy Light for a pre-battle sermon and prayer. The priest, around fifty years old, spoke passionately but appeared weary, his uplifted hands trembling as if burdened by his words. He chose prayers that emphasized the steadfastness of the Holy Light, aiming to inspire the soldiers' courage and fighting spirit. However, due to his own frail demeanor, the effect was more comforting in the face of danger than invigorating. Some soldiers grasped and followed the priest's intent, their faces solemn but not overly tense. Others appeared too pessimistic, and some, by their behavior, Bossia judged were not actually believers but merely joining in for some confidence.
In the dim moonlight and the poorly arranged campfire, the scene lacked any sense of sanctity. It seemed as if the priest was spreading not the Holy Light but a unique, somewhat despairing religion of Silithus, born from the white sand and insect bones. Regardless, there was still something about this scene that drew Bossia to keep watching. Comparing it to the religious ceremonies she had experienced in the past was intriguing. When people were in a church instead of the vast desert, the rituals naturally took on a more sacred meaning. Perhaps for a faith emphasizing personal inner light, natural scenes indeed did not qualify as sacred.
A cold wind blew, and Bossia crossed her arms and rubbed them. Moments later, she felt a pair of hands drape a piece of clothing over her shoulders. She was puzzled, as this silent, implicit care was not something Bassario would do, but she still naturally held the hand on her shoulder. In the next instant, she quickly let go, stood up, and turned around.
"Forgive my rudeness, miss. I consider myself strong-hearted, but your slight shiver in the cold wind made it incredibly fragile. For…"
"Take it back." Bossia pulled off the garment and pushed it towards Rahol with her right hand. "And shut up."
Rahol laughed several times. "Look at your expression. I was sincere." He said. "Of course, I knew this would be the result."
"Is it funny?"
"Of course not, it's my fault." Rahol raised his left hand, slowly closing his fingers one by one from pinky to thumb. "This is the most delightful touch I've felt in years. Maybe it's a bit too gentle for my age."
"You've had your fun. I'm embarrassed, enough of this."
"I didn't mean to embarrass you. So, how are things with you two?"
"What do you mean?"
"Have you slept together?"
"No." She glanced back at the nearly concluded ceremony, then looked away from Rahol's eyes. "Besides, what's it to you? Do you know how disgusting you sound? Just now talking about cold wind, heartbreak…"
"I'm just faithfully recreating a psychological process that some people often go through. Like when a noble young man finds out his beloved already has someone else. For the sake of face, he must respond politely, but who knows what he curses in private."
"We're almost at our destination, and you're still making crude jokes, thinking about such nonsense. Looks like we're in for a big trouble this time."
Rahol was the leader of the human mercenary unit for this operation. Bossia had heard he had ventured into the Zora nest more than once.
"I have my ways to prepare, and you have yours." He nodded towards the ceremony site in the soldiers' camp. "If you want to participate, there's no rush. The priest will come over to the mercenary side."
"I don't want to."
"Then what are you looking at?"
Bossia anticipated Rahol trying to dig into her background again, so she stopped talking and walked past him.
"You shouldn't have come." Rahol said behind her. She didn't intend to find out if he meant Silithus or this mission.
Bossia returned to the resting spot Bassario had chosen and sat down next to him, holding his left hand. This was the right one. With the rock wall behind them, the campfire in the center of the mercenary camp cast a dim yellow light around their bodies.
Many mercenaries nearby could see the two of them; she didn't feel there was anything to avoid. Here, avoidance equaled cowardice, and cowardice foretold loss of respect. Even if not for the mercenary code, she didn't care. In fact, she preferred letting others know whose hand she was holding.
During this time, Bossia felt Bassario's life had changed more than hers. He now rarely spent time with other natives, and it wasn't just due to time constraints. Bossia sensed that most people showing clear annoyance at her closeness with Bassario were natives, even if they didn't have the courage to express it directly. Marlis emphasized valuing Bassario but did not mention the native group as a whole, seemingly for a reason. Most of them chose to accept their discrimination, and even the positive aspects of their personal lives slowly conformed to the discriminatory standards. As a mercenary, Bassario was almost the only native not bound by this. Now, Bossia noticed a native in charge of rations watching them from a distance. Hugging his knees tightly, his bent neck turned this way, trying to cover the lower part of his face. Bossia stared in that direction, and he immediately looked away. She knew there was a more primitive jealousy involved—natives rarely had the chance to interact with women. Bossia felt uneasy; her only way to cope with this unease was to prove the legitimacy of her actions, and only she had the authority to judge whether this legitimacy stood.
"Portia, you should go back to the tent and sleep. We have to move in three hours," said Bassario.
"No, I'll sleep right here. Don't move." She leaned against his shoulder, curled up her legs, adjusted her hips slightly, and closed her eyes.
"You can't sleep here."
"Don't move."
She felt him kiss her forehead and then he stopped moving.
Every time she saw a small Qiraji nest, Bossia felt nauseated, but the Zora Hive, far larger than the Cenarion Hold, was a different matter. Her current mood was not so much nausea or panic, but rather a silent and continuous tremor.
Under the cloudless sky, the tall, sharp objects protruding around the entrance emitted a golden light. The smooth purple inner walls of the nest spiraled downward, with a continuous low hum emanating from a depth unseen by the naked eye. It was so massive and deeply invasive to the surrounding environment that it seemed less like the Qiraji insects tormenting this desert and more like an indispensable part of Silithus: one of its eyes. When she first saw it, Bossia thought it was a unique landscape of the desert. It took her a while to realize this was their destination. A few Qiraji insects wandered nearby, but this didn't indicate what the fortress troops would encounter.
The mission was to clear the Qiraji in the nest, especially the broodmother, and to seal off some passages with explosives or other means. Over the years, its size hadn't expanded, which Marlis believed was an ecological limit for the Qiraji. If it could be rendered ineffective, even temporarily, it would have a decisive impact on longer-term battle plans.
The human mercenary unit's task was to eliminate the Qiraji in a deep section of the nest, clear the area where explosives should be placed, and search for branching paths that were expanding outward. Bossia glanced at Rahol, who stood at the front of the mercenary troops. His expression was more serious than she had imagined.
Before entering the nest, they needed to deal with the Qiraji near the exit along with the main force. The Qiraji's behavior suggested an arrogance towards the approaching enemy; the troops stopped on a slope about a hundred meters from the nest, likely within the insects' visual range, but they did not assume a defensive posture, continuing to transport food or engage in other incomprehensible activities.
Commander Marlis stood at the front of the troops, delivering the final battle mobilization. It was hard for the mercenary unit at the back to hear anything. Perhaps it wasn't something they needed, but Bossia found herself eager to understand Marlis' speech.
She didn't get the chance. The troops advanced. As those at the front began to fight, the theory of the Qiraji having collective consciousness was once again validated; within minutes, several times the number of Qiraji on the ground emerged from the cave.
When a swarm of insects began attacking the human mercenary unit, Bossia didn't react immediately. It had been years since she participated in large-scale battles. She was still stunned by the tremors felt underfoot, an inappropriate curiosity rising in her heart as if she were merely an observer floating in the air. It wasn't until she saw a warrior ahead split in two that she snapped to attention. A Qiraji, resembling a giant wasp, flew towards her with a stinger at its head that could easily pierce her. She gripped her sword, preparing to strike, but it was a reflex aimed at ground targets.
"Get down." She heard the voice behind her as she felt the stinger about to touch her head. She immediately dropped, a gust of wind brushing her back. She turned to see Rahol dodge the flying insect and sever one of its wings with a single slash. It crashed to the ground, and other warriors finished it off.
"Do you want to die?" Rahol shouted at her. "Figure out where you are. If you haven't, then fall back."
Bossia stood up. Only then did she realize she hadn't seen Bassario since the battle started. She knew this wasn't the time to look for him. Marlis told her to "stand by his side," and she couldn't misinterpret his words.