It began with a sound she never forgot.
Not steel. Not shouting.
Wings.
Dozens of them. Cutting through fog like razors. Not birds. Not gryphons.
Gliders. Horde design. Silent. Meant to land before alarms could be raised.
Nyxia sat bolt upright in her bunk, fully dressed, boots on, blades within reach. Loque'nahak growled low at her side, already on his feet. His fur bristled with the tension of something just beneath the veil of noise.
Then—three soft knocks on the outer barracks wall.
Boo.
Nyxia threw the door open.
"They're early," Boo said, not even pretending to smile. She was already buckling her leathers, twin sabers at her hip.
Nyxia grabbed her bow, slung it across her back.
"They're here."
The camp wasn't even fully awake when the first fireball landed on the eastern ridge.
A Sentinel screamed. Then another.
The sky lit with a sickly orange glow. Smoke curled fast and low — unnatural. Alchemical. Designed to spread chaos before the assault even started.
Nyxia and Boo sprinted toward the command tent. Shouts echoed through the trees. Arrows whistled in the dark. Lanterns flared into light too late to help.
A horn blew once.
Then twice.
Not a drill. Not training. This was real.
Inside the command tent, Captain Ilyrianne was strapping on her glaive, eyes sharp.
"Report," she barked.
Nyxia didn't wait for protocol. "They've launched a glider assault from the sea. Expect flanks on the north ridge and a cloaked detachment headed straight for the supply stores. We need to reinforce the northeast trail and move the priestesses now."
Ilyrianne stared at her. "How do you know this?"
"Because if you don't, everyone on that ridge dies in ten minutes."
Another explosion rattled the cliffside.
That got her moving.
Ilyrianne turned to a runner. "Sound the full mobilization. Move defensive units to the northeast approach. I want eyes in the canopy."
The tent exploded into motion.
Nyxia was already running again, Boo on her heels.
"I didn't even bet on this outcome," Boo muttered. "Do I still get paid if the war starts early?"
"If you live," Nyxia said, "we'll haggle."
They hit the ridge in time to see the first wave crest the treeline.
Orcs in red and black. Trolls with poisoned blades. Undead archers, their eyes glowing like coals.
But this time—
Nyxia was ready.
The first arrow took a Sentinel through the throat before she could scream.
Nyxia hit the dirt, rolled behind a fallen root, and loosed two shots in quick succession — one to pin the orc in place, the second to bury in his neck. He dropped like a sack of stone.
All around her, chaos howled.
Smoke curled between trees. Arcane flares burst above the ridge, half-blinding the defenders. The air was thick with the stench of alchemical fire, ozone, and blood.
Sentinels scrambled to regroup, their training barely holding.
And in the center of it — Nyxia moved like she'd been here before.
Because she had.
"Push east!""Don't let them split the line—!""Healers, pull back—!""Where's the reinforcement—?!"
Nyxia shouted commands she shouldn't know. Gave orders like a second lieutenant. But no one questioned her — not when her blades cut faster than thought, not when she pulled one wounded warrior out of the smoke just in time to avoid a falling glider.
She turned, spotted Eurydice.
The young priestess stood trembling, shielding two downed Sentinels. Her ward flickered — weak, unstable.
"Hold the chant!" Nyxia barked. "Focus on breath, not volume."
Eurydice flinched at the command—but obeyed.
The ward stabilized. Barely.
Nyxia darted back into the fray, carving a path forward. Beside her, Boo fought like flame off the leash — blades flashing, insults louder than her strikes.
"Watch your back, treehugger!""Thanks, sewer brat!""Charming as ever!"
They grinned through the blood and fear.
But the forest was losing.
For every enemy they dropped, another pushed through the smoke.
An hour passed in shards.
Battles blurred into sprints. Orders melted into screams. Fires crept up the trunks of ancestral trees and blotted out the moon.
A horn blew again—low and grim.
Fallback.
Shandris's voice echoed down the line: "Regroup at the southern ridge! We hold there or not at all!"
Nyxia reached for her last vial of moon oil.
Gone.
She wiped blood from her eyes, scanned the ridge.
Eurydice was dragging someone — a young recruit — bleeding badly from the thigh. Boo limped beside them, a nick across her cheek, one blade broken.
"Go!" Nyxia shouted, covering their retreat. "I'll hold the line!"
A massive orc with burning eyes charged through the smoke, axe raised high.
Not this time.
Nyxia dropped her bow, drew both crescent blades, and slammed forward into the strike with a Mongoose Bite that shattered his guard. She slid low, swept his leg, and buried one blade in his spine.
He screamed and fell, but two more came behind him.
She didn't care.
This was her line.
And she would bleed for it.
The southern ridge was burning.
Smoke rolled in choking waves across the stone path, where the last of the defenders regrouped beneath silver banners blackened with soot. Wounded groaned in neat lines, shielded by priestesses too tired to cry.
Nyxia stumbled through the wreckage, blood-slicked and limping. Loque'nahak padded beside her, sides heaving, his translucent fur dim from exertion.
A horn blew once — short and low.
The signal to fall back toward Teldrassil.
It had begun.
This is when we lose.
Nyxia reached the command line as Shandris Feathermoon barked orders, her armor cracked along the shoulder, glaive dripping void-touched ichor.
Shandris turned when she saw her. "You."
Nyxia stood straighter, trying to breathe through a rib that might've cracked.
"I need a status," Shandris demanded. "What happened at the eastern flank?"
"They anticipated us," Nyxia said. "Or we underestimated them."
"You gave orders like a commander. You flanked before their scouts even struck." Her voice lowered, not angry — searching. "How?"
Nyxia hesitated.
The mark on her palm pulsed — once, hard.
Pain cracked through her ribs like ice.
She tried to answer. "Because I—"
Agony sliced down her spine. Her mouth locked. She bit her tongue to keep from screaming.
Her knees buckled.
Loque snarled, stepping in front of her instinctively.
Shandris stepped forward fast. "Are you wounded?"
Nyxia shook her head once, jaw clenched.
"No," she gasped. "Just… not allowed to say."
"Not allowed by who?"
Nyxia didn't answer.
Shandris stared at her like a blade ready to draw — and then something shifted in her face. Recognition. Not of the truth, but of its weight.
"You're not lying," she said quietly.
"No."
"You're carrying something."
"Yes."
"And it's killing you to hold it."
Nyxia didn't speak. Just nodded.
The silence stretched between them — thick, hot, and full of things unspoken.
Then Shandris looked away, eyes toward the burning coast.
"I've requested an audience with Tyrande. She'll meet us when we reach the inner bough. If you have anything you can say — anything at all — say it then."
Nyxia swallowed.
"I will."
Shandris turned back. "And if this is some trick, Moonscythe, some curse wrapped in silver tongues…"
"It's not," Nyxia said, voice hollow. "It's regret. With a second chance."
Shandris stared at her a long moment, then nodded once — and walked into the smoke.
The retreat through the undergrowth was chaos.
Fires snapped through the lower boughs. Smoke curled in unnatural patterns — shaped by void magic, not wind. Trees whispered with the voices of the dying. Even the ground felt brittle beneath Nyxia's boots, like the roots of the forest were recoiling from what was coming.
She found them where she feared she would.
Boo, hunched low over a shallow ridge, blood matting her hair, one arm dangling uselessly. She held a dagger in her teeth and a shortblade in her good hand, wild-eyed and grinning like a devil.
Beside her, Eurydice lay half-conscious, the threads of a healing spell tangled around her wrist. A thin barrier shimmered over them — cracked in three places.
An orc bearing the crimson glyph of the Warsong Blades raised a cleaver overhead, aiming for Eurydice's exposed chest.
Nyxia didn't shout.
She moved.
Raptor Strike.Her blade drove up under his ribcage, twisted, pulled. He dropped with a noise more breath than sound.
She stood between Boo and the encroaching enemies, twin glaives drawn, breath ragged.
"You took your time," Boo rasped, spitting out the dagger.
"Had to make an entrance," Nyxia said.
Eurydice groaned softly, her fingers twitching in weak prayer.
Nyxia knelt beside her. "Keep the ward tight. You've done more than enough."
"I didn't…" Eurydice whispered, "want anyone to die alone."
"You didn't let them," Nyxia said, voice tight. "Now let me return the favor."
The three of them moved through the ash-flecked undergrowth, Loque scouting ahead.
Then they saw it.
A shadow, taller than a troll, standing amid the burning trees.
An armored figure. Horde tabard. But his armor shimmered — wrong. As if the textures hadn't loaded correctly. His face blurred. His shape flickered, staticky, like a memory stitched into place.
Nyxia's stomach dropped.
He shouldn't be here.This commander didn't appear until the second wave… days from now.
The figure turned toward her.
And for a moment — just a moment — it looked at her.
Not at the battle. Not at the wounded.
At her.
Its head tilted slightly. Like it recognized her.
Nyxia grabbed Boo and Eurydice, pulling them behind cover.
It's adapting.History is changing. And something is watching.
They didn't engage. The figure didn't follow.
But Nyxia knew.
The world had noticed her interference.
And it would begin to push back.
The last boats departed under a blood-orange sky.
Teldrassil loomed above the shoreline like a sleeping god — massive, radiant, alive. Its violet boughs stretched into a darkening sky, untouched by smoke… for now.
But Nyxia could feel it.
A pressure. A whisper.
It's already begun.
Not in flame — not yet. But in momentum. In decision.
She stood on the cliffs overlooking the harbor, watching as the last refugees scrambled aboard transports. Priests stabilized the injured. Druids turned the sea's tide to give the boats a smoother path. Boo and Eurydice sat nearby — Boo sharpening a stolen blade, Eurydice cradling a child whose mother hadn't made it to the boats in time.
Loque'nahak paced in the shadows, ears twitching.
Nyxia didn't cry. She had no tears left. Not this time.
She just watched the tree.
The first time, she'd watched it from miles away.She'd seen the sky go orange, then black.She'd heard the screams.And she'd been too far. Too slow.
But not now.
Now she was here.
And even if she couldn't stop the match, she could move the kindling. Shield the sparks. Pull hands from the fire.
A familiar shape approached — Shandris, bloodied and soot-streaked, but alive.
"High Priestess Whisperwind has called for an emergency summit," she said without preamble. "She wants reports from anyone who's fought directly."
Nyxia nodded. "Tell her I'll come."
Shandris hesitated. "She already asked for you by name."
Nyxia blinked. "What?"
"She said… someone told her a hunter would come. A mark on her hand. A warning in her eyes."
Nyxia opened her palm.
The crescent shimmered, faint and steady.
She closed it into a fist.
Shandris turned to leave. Then paused. "Whatever happens… I hope you're wrong."
"I was," Nyxia said softly. "Once."
The wind shifted. Carried heat. Carried ash.
Nyxia looked to the sea.
The boats were smaller now, almost invisible.
She touched the hilt of her blade, then turned toward the city.
If the tree must burn, let it burn slower.Let them escape. Let them fight another day.Let this world bleed less.
She would buy that time.
With everything she had left.