In the quiet stillness of the afterlife, Sylvanas found herself in a place of peace she had never known in life. The weight of the world, the grief, the loss—it all faded away. All that remained was a gentle light, warm and welcoming, and the feeling of being whole again. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she was at peace.
And then there was Zanin.
He stood before her, whole and unscathed by the horrors of the world they had left behind. His eyes shone with the same warmth and love that had always been there, but now, there was no fear of losing him, no fear of the battles they had fought together. They were safe, together, in a place where no war could reach them.
"Sylvanas," he whispered, reaching out to her. His touch was real, solid, and when she took his hand, she felt a surge of relief that brought tears to her eyes.
"Zanin," she breathed, her voice trembling with the emotions she had tried so hard to suppress in life. "We're… we're together."
"Forever," he assured her, pulling her into his arms. "There's nothing to keep us apart now."
They embraced, their souls intertwined in a way that even death could not sever. It was a moment of perfect, undisturbed peace. The pain and loss of their lives had melted away, leaving only love and a deep sense of belonging.
But as they held each other, a darkness began to creep into the edges of the light. Sylvanas could feel it, a cold, invasive force that did not belong in this place of peace. It slithered through the light, coiling around her like a serpent, and she felt an unnatural chill spread through her soul.
"Zanin…?" Her voice trembled, fear clawing at her as the darkness grew stronger.
He held her tighter, as if trying to protect her from whatever was coming. "Sylvanas, stay with me," he urged, his voice filled with a desperation that echoed her own.
But the darkness was relentless. It wrapped around her, tugging at her soul with a force she couldn't resist. The warmth of Zanin's embrace began to fade as the cold sank deeper into her being, pulling her away from the light, away from him.
"No!" she screamed, clutching at him, but her fingers passed through his form as if he were made of mist. "No, don't leave me!"
"Sylvanas!" Zanin's voice was a distant echo now, his figure growing smaller and smaller as the darkness dragged her away, ripping her from the afterlife, from the peace she had found.
The light was gone. The warmth was gone. All that remained was the cold, the suffocating darkness that wrapped around her like a shroud, pulling her back to a place she had hoped never to see again.
Pain lanced through her soul, a deep, agonizing pain that tore through her very essence. She could feel her spirit being twisted, contorted, forced into a shape that was not her own. The darkness seeped into her, filling her with a hatred and rage that was not her own, but that quickly consumed her.
She was no longer Sylvanas Windrunner, ranger-general of Quel'Thalas. She was something else, something monstrous. A banshee. Her soul was bound to the will of the Lich King, her mind a prisoner within her own body.
She could feel herself being pulled back into the world of the living, but it was not the world she had known. It was a world of death, of decay, where the light of the sun no longer reached her. Her new existence was one of torment, bound by the Lich King's will, forced to do his bidding against her will.
Time passed, though how much, she could not tell. Days, weeks, months—perhaps even years. It was all a blur of agony and hatred, of darkness and death. She had no control, no will of her own. The Lich King's voice echoed in her mind, commanding her to slaughter, to destroy, to bring death and despair to all who stood in his way.
But somewhere deep inside, buried beneath the layers of darkness, the true Sylvanas remained, clinging to the memories of who she had been, of the love she had shared with Zanin. It was these memories that kept her from being completely lost to the Lich King's will, that gave her the strength to resist, even if only in the smallest ways.
And then, one day, the control began to wane. It was subtle at first—a moment of hesitation when she was ordered to kill, a flash of emotion that was not pure hatred. The Lich King's grip on her soul was slipping, and with it, the darkness began to recede, just enough for her to feel the faintest glimmer of hope.
It was in that moment of weakness that she fought back. With every ounce of strength she had left, Sylvanas clawed her way out of the darkness, pushing against the chains that bound her to the Lich King's will. It was a battle within her own mind, a struggle against the corruption that had been forced upon her.
And slowly, painfully, she began to regain control. The darkness still lingered, the hatred and rage still burned within her, but now it was her own. She was no longer a puppet of the Lich King, no longer bound by his will.
But the freedom came at a cost. Sylvanas was no longer the person she had once been. The woman who had loved Zanin, who had fought to protect her people, was gone. In her place was a vengeful spirit, driven by a burning desire to destroy the Lich King and all that he stood for.
As she stood on the battlements of her ruined homeland, looking out over the desolation that had once been Quel'Thalas, Sylvanas vowed to make the Lich King pay for what he had done. She would hunt him down, no matter how long it took, no matter what it cost her.
But even as she swore her vengeance, a part of her soul remained in the afterlife, still reaching out for Zanin, still longing for the peace they had found together. That part of her would never be whole again, not until she had fulfilled her vow and laid the Lich King to rest.
Until then, she was Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen, and she would stop at nothing to see the Lich King's reign of terror come to an end.