When they arrived at Quel'Thalas it was on fire along with the forest. Sylvanas hoped her brother was still alive. She through away all rogue thought and only focused on the battle ahead.
Sylvanas and Zanin pushed forward, the intense heat of the flames surrounding them as they entered the heart of Quel'Thalas. The air was thick with smoke, and the once vibrant forest that had been the pride of their people was now reduced to a hellish landscape of charred trees and burning embers. Sylvanas's heart ached, but she couldn't afford to dwell on the pain. Not now.
She led the charge with a precision that spoke of years of battle-hardened experience. Every arrow she loosed was a death sentence, each one finding its mark with cold, unerring accuracy. The Horde soldiers fell before her like wheat to the scythe, but no matter how many she killed, more seemed to take their place.
Zanin fought alongside her, his blade a blur as he cut through the enemy ranks. He could see the fire in Sylvanas's eyes, the relentless determination that drove her forward. But he could also see the toll it was taking on her, the way her shoulders tensed with each new wave of attackers, as if she carried the weight of every life lost.
The two of them carved a path through the chaos, moving ever closer to the inner sanctum of the city. The spire of Silvermoon loomed in the distance, but it seemed a world away amidst the inferno that surrounded them.
"Keep moving!" Sylvanas barked, her voice cutting through the din of battle. There was no room for hesitation, no time to think about anything but survival. She knew she couldn't afford any distractions—not when the stakes were this high.
As they approached a cluster of buildings that had once been homes to the citizens of Quel'Thalas, now reduced to little more than rubble, they encountered a group of civilians trapped by the flames. Sylvanas hesitated for only a fraction of a second before she acted, directing Zanin to help them to safety.
"Go!" she ordered. "I'll cover you."
Zanin hesitated. "Sylvanas, we can't lose sight of the mission. The Horde—"
"I said go!" Her tone brooked no argument, and Zanin knew better than to try. He nodded and moved to help the civilians, guiding them through the burning wreckage and away from the advancing Horde forces.
As he did, Sylvanas stood her ground, her bowstring taut as she loosed arrows at any who dared approach. She was a wall of defiance, her every movement precise and deadly. But even as she fought, her thoughts kept straying to her brother, to the fear that gnawed at her insides.
Was he still alive? Was he out there somewhere, fighting for his life as she was? The uncertainty was a knife in her gut, but she pushed it aside, burying it deep where it couldn't reach her.
She couldn't afford to hope. Not now. All she could do was fight.
Zanin returned, the civilians now safely out of harm's way. He looked at Sylvanas, seeing the battle-weariness in her eyes, but also the fierce determination that burned brighter than any flame.
"Let's finish this," he said, his voice steady.
Sylvanas nodded, her expression hardening. "For Quel'Thalas," she said, her voice carrying the weight of all they had lost—and all they had yet to lose.
They pressed on, the fires of Quel'Thalas burning all around them, but the fire in Sylvanas's heart burned hotter still.
As Sylvanas and Zanin advanced deeper into the ruined city, the weight of devastation pressed down on them. The once-proud elven structures were now crumbling, engulfed in flames and echoing with the screams of the dying. Sylvanas's heart pounded in her chest, not just from the exertion of battle but from the gnawing fear that twisted in her gut. The fear that she was too late.
They reached a courtyard that had once been a place of peace and reflection. Now, it was a battlefield, littered with the bodies of soldiers and civilians alike. Sylvanas's sharp eyes scanned the area, searching for any sign of her brother. She pushed the thought of him being weak and defenseless out of her mind, refusing to accept what that might mean in a place like this.
"Zanin, keep an eye on the perimeter," she ordered, her voice tight. She didn't want him to see her like this, vulnerable, with the possibility of heartbreak just a heartbeat away.
Zanin nodded, understanding her unspoken request. He moved to the edge of the courtyard, his sword ready, but his eyes filled with concern as he watched her.
Sylvanas moved forward, stepping over the bodies of fallen elves and Horde soldiers alike. Her breath caught in her throat as she approached the center of the courtyard. There, amidst the destruction, she saw something that made her blood run cold.
A figure, slumped against the base of a once-grand fountain, his clothing singed and torn. Sylvanas's heart seized as she recognized the silver hair, the delicate hands that had once played the harp with such grace.
"Lirath…" Her voice was barely a whisper as she rushed to his side, dropping to her knees beside him.
Lirath's body was limp, his eyes closed, his chest still. Sylvanas's hands trembled as she reached out to touch his face, her fingers brushing against his cold skin. There was no pulse, no breath—nothing but the emptiness that death had left behind.
"No… no, no, no," she murmured, her voice breaking as she cradled his head in her lap. The tears she had held back for so long began to fall, silent and unstoppable, as the reality of his loss crashed over her like a tidal wave.
She had feared this moment, dreaded it with every fiber of her being, but now that it was here, the pain was more than she could bear. The Horde had taken so much from her, but this… this was too much. They had taken her brother, the one person who had always seen her for who she truly was, not just the Ranger-General, but Sylvanas.
Zanin, sensing something was terribly wrong, turned back to see Sylvanas hunched over a body. He moved quickly to her side, but when he saw the look on her face, he knew. He knew that the battle had taken more than just a city—it had taken a piece of her soul.
"Sylvanas…" he said softly, not knowing what else to say. His heart ached for her, for the pain she was enduring, but he also knew that they couldn't stay here. Not with the Horde still closing in.
Sylvanas didn't respond. She couldn't. The grief was too overwhelming, too raw. All she could do was hold Lirath close, her tears falling onto his still face as she whispered his name, over and over, as if it could bring him back.
But there was no bringing him back. The Horde had made sure of that.
After what felt like an eternity, Sylvanas finally lifted her head, her tear-streaked face now set in an expression of cold, deadly resolve. The grief was still there, burning inside her like a fire, but now it was joined by something else—something darker.
Vengeance.
"They will pay for this," she whispered, her voice low and filled with a venom that sent a chill down Zanin's spine. "Every last one of them will pay."
Zanin nodded, his own resolve hardening in the face of her pain. "We'll make sure of it," he vowed.
Sylvanas gently laid Lirath's body down, her fingers lingering on his face for just a moment longer. Then she stood, her bow in hand, and turned to Zanin. The tears were gone, replaced by the cold, steely determination of a warrior with nothing left to lose.
"Let's finish this," she said, her voice as sharp as the arrows she carried.
Together, they left the courtyard behind, the flames of Quel'Thalas reflecting the fire in Sylvanas's heart as they marched into the battle once more.
With her heart hardened by grief and her mind focused on revenge, Sylvanas led Zanin and what remained of their forces deeper into the heart of the battle. The fires of Quel'Thalas blazed around them, but Sylvanas moved with a singular purpose, her arrows cutting through the smoke and finding their targets with unerring precision. Every shot was a promise—a promise that the Horde would suffer for what they had done.
Zanin followed close behind, his sword slashing through the enemies that surged toward them. He could see the fury driving Sylvanas, the rage that fueled her every move, and he matched it with his own determination. They had lost so much, but they were not broken. Not yet.
As they fought their way through the burning city, the tide of battle began to shift. The Horde, once a relentless wave of destruction, was now being driven back by the ferocity of the elven forces. Sylvanas's leadership, her sheer willpower, had turned the tide. The soldiers of Quel'Thalas rallied behind her, inspired by her unyielding resolve.
"Push them back!" Sylvanas commanded, her voice rising above the roar of the flames. "For Quel'Thalas! For our fallen!"
The elves surged forward with renewed vigor, their weapons flashing in the firelight as they cut down the remaining Horde soldiers. Zanin fought beside them, his blade a blur as he struck down one enemy after another, his focus unwavering. But his eyes were always on Sylvanas, watching as she fought with a fury that was almost terrifying in its intensity.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last of the Horde forces broke and fled, retreating from the city they had sought to destroy. The sound of their retreating footsteps echoed through the burning streets, a stark contrast to the battle cries that had filled the air just moments before.
Sylvanas lowered her bow, her chest heaving as she watched the Horde disappear into the distance. The victory was theirs, but it was a hollow one. The cost had been too high, the losses too great.
Zanin approached her, his sword still in hand but lowered in a gesture of solidarity. "We did it," he said, his voice quiet, almost reverent.
Sylvanas didn't respond immediately. Her eyes were fixed on the horizon, where the last traces of the Horde had vanished. "We won today," she finally said, her voice devoid of any satisfaction. "But this is far from over."
Zanin nodded, understanding the weight of her words. "We'll rebuild. We'll honor those we've lost. And when the time comes, we'll be ready for whatever comes next."
Sylvanas turned to him, her expression unreadable, but there was a glimmer of something in her eyes—perhaps the faintest trace of gratitude, or maybe just the acknowledgment of a bond forged in battle. "Thank you, Zanin," she said softly. "For standing by me. For… everything."
He met her gaze, offering a small, solemn nod. "Always."
As the flames of Quel'Thalas began to die down, Sylvanas and Zanin stood together amidst the ruins, the weight of their victory heavy on their shoulders. They had pushed the Horde out, but they both knew that this was just the beginning of a much larger war. The true battle was still to come, and Sylvanas was ready to face it—armed not just with her bow and her strength, but with the unyielding resolve of a leader who had lost everything and yet refused to be broken.
For Quel'Thalas. For Lirath. For all that had been taken from her.
Sylvanas would see it through to the end.