The skies above Darkshore were bruised with distant stormclouds as Nyxia arrived at the Sentinel outpost near the coast.
She dismounted in silence, boots crunching over loose gravel. Her panther companion, Loque'nahak, padded behind her, spectral tail twitching as he scanned the ridgeline. The outpost was modest but fortified—stone walls hugged the edge of the treeline, watchtowers gleaming with elven silver.
A pair of Sentinels stood guard at the outer gate. One stepped forward.
"You're early," she said, brow raised. "Name?"
"Nyxia Moonscythe."
The guard frowned, flipping through a thin ledger. "You weren't due for three more days."
"I didn't want to be late," Nyxia said. "Besides, I heard Captain Ilyrianne favors initiative."
The second Sentinel chuckled. "That she does. If you're trying to impress her, you're doing it the hard way."
Nyxia just shrugged.
I'm not here to impress anyone. I'm here to survive what's coming.
"Fine," the first guard said. "We're still finalizing company assignments. You'll be quartered in the southern wing for now. Drill rotations begin tomorrow."
"Understood."
The Sentinel started to turn, then paused. "We don't usually get volunteers this early. What's the rush?"
Nyxia met her gaze.
"There won't be time for questions later."
The guard hesitated, then nodded once, gesturing toward the barracks. Nyxia walked past them, boots silent on the stone. She felt eyes on her back as she entered the courtyard.
She dropped her gear inside her assigned quarters, fed Loque, and stood by the window for a while, watching the sea churn against the cliffs. Somewhere out there, war was already building.
She had one day to spare.
And there's someone I need to find.
The Darnassian trade circle was its usual blur of motion—wind-chimes of polished shell tinkling above archways, incense curling from fruit carts, and shopkeepers half-yelling, half-flirting their way through morning negotiations.
Nyxia knew exactly where to go.
She threaded past the spice stalls and turnberry crates until she heard it—the unmistakable sound of someone dragging a merchant through verbal glass.
"I'm offering twelve gold because it's barely worth ten, and that's me being charitable."
The voice was low and velvety, edged in sarcasm. Nyxia followed it to a stall draped in Moonweave silks and alchemical tinctures. Behind the counter, a red-faced merchant gawked like a stunned boar. In front of him stood Boo—arms crossed, one eyebrow cocked like it was a weapon.
She looked exactly as Nyxia remembered: short for a draenei, but impossible to overlook. Lightforged tattoos glowed faintly beneath her sleeveless vest, and her twin daggers—"whispers," Boo had once called them—rested in sheaths strapped across her lower back. Her tail flicked with annoyance.
"You want Stormwind prices in a city that hasn't seen war yet," Boo said, spinning a coin between her fingers. "Which is adorable, but I have places to be and patience to misplace."
The merchant sputtered, "But the enchantment—this batch was—"
"—Brought in six months ago and sitting in the same crate since. Don't insult me, salt-breath."
Nyxia stepped forward.
"She's right," she said calmly. "This batch came from the Moonglade route. They had delays after a ley surge last season. That tincture's shelf life has already started to degrade."
Boo's eyes snapped to her.
The merchant looked between them. "And who are you, now?"
Nyxia didn't answer. Instead, she turned slightly toward Boo, arms folded.
"Though she is overpaying," she added, deadpan. "You usually open at eight gold, not twelve. Must be feeling generous."
Boo's stare sharpened.
Nyxia stared right back.
"Do I know you?" Boo asked finally.
Nyxia smiled slightly. "Not yet."
The merchant took a wary step back.
Boo tossed him the coin. "Eight. Take it before I start charging rent for my presence."
He caught it and vanished behind the stall without argument.
"You've got some nerve," Boo said as she tied the vial pouch to her belt. "Quoting my own habits at me like we've shared a tent."
"Have we?" Nyxia said, feigning innocence. "I suppose time gets fuzzy when you're this charming."
Boo let out a short laugh. "Cute. Dangerous, too. You don't talk like the others here. Too sharp. Too... tired."
Nyxia shrugged. "Comes with traveling."
Boo narrowed her eyes. "What do you want?"
Nyxia dropped the smile.
"There's a Sentinel unit mobilizing in Darkshore. Things are going to turn ugly—fast. You're a rogue. Fast. Smart. Deadlier than you look, and that's saying something."
"And?"
"I want you there when it happens."
A long silence.
Boo leaned in slightly. "You know something. Something big."
Nyxia didn't flinch. "I know enough to say you won't survive long without help."
That gave Boo pause.
Finally, she tilted her head. "You really believe that."
"I've already seen you die once," Nyxia said quietly. "I'm not doing it again."
Boo blinked. Just once.
Then: "Stormwind's not expecting me back for a week. Guess I've got time to flirt with death."
They walked side by side back toward the barracks.
"Alright," Boo said. "You've got your first rogue. But if this turns out to be some weird prophecy-obsessed cult thing—"
"You'll stab me," Nyxia finished. "Twice."
"Minimum."
They walked in silence for a stretch.
Boo didn't press. But Nyxia felt the question hanging between them like fog.
After a while, Boo broke it.
"So," she said casually, "when you said I died... what did you mean? Like, metaphorically? Or are we talking some kind of future-vision thing? Alternate timeline? Magic prophecy?"
Nyxia hesitated.
Her chest tightened. Her tongue froze mid-word.
"I…" she started.
Pain knifed through her ribs.
She gasped—staggering half a step—one hand flying to her chest. It felt like her heart had just kicked against her sternum, a thundering drumbeat of no.
Boo grabbed her by the arm. "Hey. Hey! What was that?"
Nyxia's jaw clenched. Her mouth opened again, but the pressure in her head spiked. A burning under her skin. Her veins felt hot.
If you say it… you die.
It wasn't a thought. It was a truth. Branded into her.
She couldn't talk about the timeline.
She couldn't say regression. Or loop. Or past life. Not to Boo. Not to anyone.
Not without dying.
"I can't," she whispered.
"What do you mean you can't?" Boo asked, her grip steady but her eyes scanning Nyxia's face for any sign of deception. "You just said—"
"I can't explain it that way," Nyxia said tightly, her breathing slowing. "Something… something's stopping me. Like a wall inside my chest. If I push it—"
She winced.
Boo frowned. "Okay. Then give me what you can."
Nyxia straightened, slowly. "I can tell you that danger is coming. That something will happen. I can tell you where to go. What to avoid. What to trust. But I can't explain why I know. Or how."
"And I'm supposed to believe all this on instinct?" Boo asked.
Nyxia didn't blink. "You will. Soon."
There was no arrogance in her voice. Just certainty. That was worse.
Boo looked at her for a long time. Then:
"Okay. So your secrets might kill you. Got it. We'll circle back to that later."
She started walking again. "You're lucky I like mystery. But if I end up in a nightmare cult again, I'm blaming you and your ghost lungs."