New Sky

I spent ten thousand years staring at night at the same sky.

Artificial stars projected above us. The same constellations, the same features, unblinking and unmoving, held against an almost-imperceptible background of the pink bubble that surrounded us for so long. The star augurs could scry and see beyond the bubble, of course, but when you were outside, it was always the same. The real stars were restricted to the augurs, the dignitaries, the magisterium, and rarely if you were lucky a select apprentice or relative. But for the rest of us? Just the artificial backdrop.

When the shield went up, all that time ago, at first I felt safe. Azshara was mad. The world had been turned upside down. We were all so afraid, refugees in our own land pining for an escape from the destruction we knew was sure to come. When the call came to raise the shield, I helped, like any with magical talent did. We gave our all, and were rewarded with an impenetrable barrier that sealed us within, but sealed the danger outside.

Or so we thought. So we told ourselves. So it felt, for a time.

Ten thousand years is a long time. A very, very long time. Time spent within the same walled-off area, with the same people, the same things, the same styles, the same ideas. With enough time, if there is anything worth doing, you will do it just for a change of pace. Believe me, I’m no exception — I’ve tried everything our city had to offer. Eventually you just run out of things to do. I’d memorized every sewing pattern, learned to cut and shape every stone, read every history book, studied every magical style again and again. You fall into a pattern of thinking, of doing the same things again and again in a cycle, because what else do you have to do? Your world is eternal, but limited.

Looking back on it…what a miserable existence.

I suppose that’s why when things began to change on the outside, they began to change inside too. The augurs, those chosen few who could see the outside world, began to notice everything changing. One planet winked out, then another. The void and the fire encroaching. The Nether itself redirected, a flow that found its way to our very own world. An invading army. War, endless for their lifetimes. Destruction and chaos on a scale that hadn’t been seen since we sealed ourselves away.

At that point the discussions became heated — would we remain safe? We knew they’d breached the Tomb of Sargeras nearby once already. But no, we chose to stay within, and outside of magical circles everything remained quiet. But I think they knew. For the first time in ten thousand years, we’d been discussing new things. And that thought was infectious. Eventually, I think, it even infected Elisande. Given her choices in the coming years, how could it not have?

When the Cataclysm, as they called it, happened, even the average citizen couldn’t keep quiet anymore. The entire world shook. For the first time, it felt like our barrier would no longer protect us — after all, if the ground beneath you doesn’t exist anymore, how can you be safe? Discussions were had, of course: Do we try to extend the barrier through the ground itself, and make it a bubble? Do we drop the barrier and try to defend ourselves with direct action? Could the Nightwell survive the destruction of the planet itself? We feared for our safety and our lives.

I think that fear is what caused what happened next, when Elisande reached out to the Legion. She sought stability, order, the peace that ten thousand years sealed away had brought. The Legion, evil as it may be, represented a pure kind of order — tyrannical, burning, dominating, but ultimately order in its purest form. The chaos around us wouldn’t stand.

When they arrived, when the barrier went down, I saw the sky outside the bubble for the first time in so long I’d almost forgotten it. But, it wasn’t the sky I knew. It was choked with flame, with smoke, with the very danger we set out to hide ourselves from.

I knew this could not be our path.

We rebelled. We fought against what was happening. And in an instant, our entire world changed. The Nightwell was sealed. The entire population began to suffer. Only loyalists, or those lucky enough to be spared by them, could feed off the energies we needed to live. Many withered. Many died. I myself nearly lost hope. I masqueraded as a loyalist for a time, falling beneath the radar of the Magisterium and keeping a level head. I helped who I could, learned what I could of our new Legion “allies”, and generally just tried to stay alive.

When the outsiders arrived in their flying city, and I saw the first among them land in our former homeland, I felt fear. I’d learned of the chaos their existence brought, the war and destruction they left in their wake. But as I’d come to learn, that fear was not of them, but of the change they represented.

Shortly after, the first signs of the Dusk Lily appeared. I joined immediately. Thalyssra had always been kind to me, Occuleth was a mentor, Valtrois was a friend. Their movement represented something I had felt within me for a long time, but had suppressed — a change from the order our lives had become, and an infusion of excitement, wonder, and awe.

I saw the rebellion form. I met the outsiders. I saw myself the forms they’d taken, and what my distant cousins had become. The Kaldorei surprised me, having held such a similar shape to what we ourselves had, our forms drifting apart only because of the differences between our Nightwell and their Moonwells. I held one’s hand and compared it to my own — mine longer, more slender, and darker, but with all the same features as hers. Then I saw the Highborne, what little I’m told remained of them. Fierce, proud, determined…and with a cocky streak that simply couldn’t appreciate how much suffering we’d gone through in such a short time. They reeked of privilege, of how the most elite nobles stood out. Our species may have diverged, but their attitudes certainly could not. I looked in their leader’s eyes, the one named Vereesa, and I saw only contempt. The same contempt that Tyrande openly showed our people, Vereesa hid beneath glassy eyes. I would learn later, she saw her sister’s fall to darkness in our people, despite how we distanced ourselves from our leaders.

And then I met those who truly resonated with us. My first of the Sin’dorei. A paladin girl, a commander among their ranks, who scouted ahead for their leader. She looked so young to my eyes, but beneath her stoic armor was a fierce determination, that I quickly learned was driven by a lifetime of war and suffering. Her people had felt pain beyond imagining — the same pain my own people were feeling. And underneath the determination, I saw kindness. This very girl stopped often, to help the humble servants, to feed our children and our weak, to pull back any who stepped into the line of fire unknowingly. Her Lady Liadrin was much the same, rising to the occasion in moments of need and forging ahead with determination, defending us as if we were her own.

I spoke with another, a member of the Reliquary, who sought knowledge of our people. I traded with him our story, and in return received theirs, and knowledge of their Horde. Fascinating people, brought together through hardship and with the kinds of bonds only shared experience can bring. So many diverse and beautiful cultures, all coming together for protection and honor, a cause like no other. My mind was filled with the stories of glory and loss, triumph and tribulation. Lok’tar Ogar, victory or death. Words that seemed so guttural, so primal, but so determined and true. Bound by blood and honor. A wandering Horde, but to those that understood, a home.

Elisande was defeated. Our people were freed. The Arcan’ador was grown to heal our wounded and withered and restore them to health. We had won our freedom, and with it, a right to choose our fates.

When the time came, and the suggestion was made, I voted in the affirmative. As did nearly every single Shal’dorei. Such unanimous consent had not been granted since the barrier went up.

I toured their grand city of Silvermoon. I met their Ambassadors. I visited the great embassy they set up for us in Orgrimmar. I finally met their leader, the undead elf called Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen. I felt she could see my soul, but she knew I was determined to live my life free, and she rewarded me for my actions with a position near the head of her army. Few words were said, but fewer still needed. I felt the pulse of the Horde within me, and all who saw knew it.

Weeks ago, we began a new expedition. A city was burned, another destroyed by plague and fire. Allies were found, an embassy created, and new lands were set to be explored. Our arrival in these new lands has been noticed, and we are prepared to take everything we learned in ten thousand years and put it to use for the aid of the outside world.

Tonight, I sit beneath a new sky. A sky filled with wonders, changing and evolving. New constellations, new shapes, new things happening.

A new sky for a new life.