“no, you were the reason I kept my light on late into the night turning all those pages, searching for you everywhere.“  — Billy Collins 08 above / deep  — CoL Discord Weekly Drabble Challenge  — WC: 361

Blood pounds deep behind Aderith’s eyes. She takes in Alyss’s elfin features, her violet eyes, silver hair. The tears forming just over the edges of her lashline. I’m going to Argus. When they go, I’m going to Argus. A plated finger jabs upward, at the looming demon-infested planet above.The words had tumbled free from Aderith’s mouth  — behind them, the sizzling hiss of anger threatens to turn the announcement venomous. The Spirit Healer had just explained why she planned on stepping away from her position with the Children of Lothar, so it would come as no surprise to Aderith on Sunday.  All this person did was judge her for drinking. The half elf whisks in and out of her life when she pleases. Arias - Zero -- whoever she was, on an eternal quest for self-identification, never seems to wonder how Addy’s doing. How she feels. How she thinks. Arias understood their goals, what peace they always attempted to give the North. This person? No. This person understands nothing. Arias would’ve never abandoned her for weeks to search for himself - Arias was focused on the fight for the homeland. Arias loved her. When Aderith turns her gaze back, sharp and pointed, the woman’s lips part. The same eyes widen. Alyss begins a broken speech, tears streaming down her face, about how Aderith will die like everyone else. Her words become far away, drowned as if the pair were underwater.

But all Aderith can see is Arias’s cool violet eyes, the way his lips press together disapprovingly when he silently disagrees with a decision, standing behind the female echo of himself. His gaze burns deep in to her eyes. Aderith, stunned, fumbles for any words at all. There are none, even as Alyss rushes away and the spectre of the Alteraci Nobleman fades.

The Stromic woman’s knees shake. They threaten to give out beneath her, so much so that she rests a plated forearm on the brick building’s foundation beside her. Terrified tears fill her eyes, drop free on to the cobblestone alleyway. There is an internal sickness that churns her stomach, lurks deep beneath her skin.

KILLERS ARE CALLING ON ME

gospel - the national “my angel face is falling, feathers are fallin’ on my feet.”

Aderith’s body is soft. The muscle that once wrapped her core, her thighs, her arms had faded. Red roofs meet her scanning gaze. Stromgarde, rebuilt. Nearby, her brothers speak to customers within their father’s storefront. A breath pulls in through her nose, exhaled through slightly parted lips. 

Something up the road catches her eye, causes her jaw to slack. Arias Nerevar approaches her from afar, deeper in the city, by way of the newly paved street. He lifts his brows as he nears. Flanking him are two blonde children with angular features. They dance after each other, weaving in and out of the crowd.

His features are angular and rough, as she remembers them. Long hair curves and threatens to spoil his violet gaze. Everything about him is soft, though - the relaxed way he strides, the lift of his hand as he waves to nearby shopkeeps. From where she stood, no arcanic aura curves dangerously around his slender masculine shape.

Their children look like them.

When he nears, Aderith loses track of her breath. Arias dips to kiss her, pressing lips without urgency. The children tear past them, rush to greet their uncles inside. He pulls her close, hand on the small of her back - her gaze tilted up to study his expression.

“I have to go to Alterac today,” he reminds. “My mother plans on having me over for dinner after I meet with the new kids.”

Words tumble from her mouth, full of knowledge she cannot immediately conjure: “You shouldn’t take on any more apprentices, Arias. The small group you have now is enough. You cannot teach every child from here to Lordaeron how to break spells.”

The constant thirsty thrum of the arcanic tattoos between her shoulders is missing. Aderith doesn’t even consider her ability to conjure fire - it’s as if she’s never been able to, in the first place.

“You and I know well enough that it’s become a popularity, since the Legion’s fall,” he laughs and grins at her. “I’ll be fine. Thom can basically teach others, now, anyway.” He offers a dismissive wave toward the shop. Somehow, he’s talking about their son.

Her arms lift and curve around his neck, pulling Aderith up to plant kisses from his cheek to his temple. 

“Fine, but as soon as you overextend yourself, you’ll wish you’d listened to me,” she murmurs.

He begins walking down the street. Everyone around them has disappeared. A great whiteness sits at the archway separating the Trades District of the city from the heart of Stromgarde, obscuring everything beyond. Before he reaches the blankness, Arias stops. Turns. His eyes meet hers. He no longer smiles - no, he knows. This is fleeting. This is temporary. 

This is a dream.

BLOOD RUSH

The arcanic tug hadn’t bothered her most of the day - she largely attributed this to her morning release of mana. As soon as Aderith rose, she was cold. The silky smooth blankets of the kaldorei failed to warm her thick Stromic form. Green eyes turned around the interior of the small hollow tree as her teeth touched repeatedly from the shivering. Beside her, on the floor, Alasdair snoozed. Near him, various members of the Brigade, unwilling to fork over the gold for a room and willing to take advantage of Darnassus’s hospitality, peacefully slept. Half-asleep, the warrior gave in to the easiest method: her eyes closed, and she felt eagerly for the nearest leyline. Within moments, a comforting warmth spread across her body, from her fingertips to her toes. The whispers from the Twisting Nether, the hunger for arcana, faded with the cold. She drifted to sleep easily, after that. Later in the day, after she was through with the errands necessary to insure the Brigade’s full preparedness, the trollslayer found Arias Emberhearth, her favorite, meditating in the further reaches of the kaldorei city. Several minutes passed once her green eyes locked onto him - he was peaceful, covered in arcane. His eyes glowed. Tendrils, strands, danced off of his lithe shape. Initially, her lips curled up into a sweet smile. Aderith liked to watch him like this - see him at his basic level.  Soon, however, the hunger gripped her insides. It made her feel hollow, a pulsing reminder of her connection to the Nether. Unbroken, but untied - loose and uncontrollable. Addy could feel the nearest leyline - the way it twisted and beckoned her made the Stromic woman take in a breath through her teeth. The closer she came to Arias, the more a dual thirst clawed at her throat - made her hands tremble to the point that she squeezed his digits. On one hand, there was a strange relief that always came when she was near others that actively practiced their magical affinity. She could smell it on them. When she rested her cheek against Arias’s chest, or he kissed her, always gently, on her mouth, she could taste the power on the roof of her mouth. From the time she returned to the provisions onward, after spending several hours curled in Arias’s arms enjoying the lush scenery, Aderith refrained from using her abilities. Additionally, apart from holding his hand, she refrained from taking in Arias’s arcanic aura. This left the hollow feeling to claw the inside of her skull, the edges of her ribcage, building exponentially over the course of the following Brigade-heavy hours. Aderith was excellent at controlling her anger. Her father labeled her a berserker, just like he had once been,  when her older brother died.  “It’s in your genes,” he explained carefully. Her mother hovered behind him, worrying. “Thomadas never exhibited any kind of temper. He always lost his composure when he’d become angry. You’ve never been like that, Addy - you’re my little fire, always roaring and tearing the moor down with her.” He didn’t say this with a stern tone. No, her father slipped his arm over her shoulders, pulling Aderith to him.  “My little roaring flame,” he whispered. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.” The repeated words carried on as she cried. Thomadas had died due to his own failure, but she mopped up his mess. Aderith plowed through twenty, thirty trolls for him, rage coursing through her veins, propelling her through her injuries and giving her renewed strength every moment she pictured his face.

Now, the pulsating thirst - this hollow drawing from her soul to the Nether - made her feel sick. It made her angry. A constant throbbing annoyance, an unscratchable irritant. The only way to satisfy it was to call to it. 

Any time anger bubbled up into her throat, made her choke on her words - which was more frequently than she would ever admit - fire would spring to her soul, travel up through her right hand and out through her sword. Every time she was struck down, every time a Brigade member made the wrong choice, the searing satisfaction of arcane through her bloodstream coursed through her system.

It was one event after another. First, coming up with few clues about the homonculi. Then, Max was attacked. Then, everyone bickered over the body. Then, the elf. Then, Arias and Fauins. Arias and Fauins and the Staff.  She could feel it in her fucking eyeballs. Everything was searingly sweet, so satisfying. The only things that escaped her were growing shouts, erratic motions, until Arias and the Staff.

Her entire hand was on fire, crawling up her wrist, when she pointed. Aderith screamed. “... QUIT WALLOWING IN YOUR OWN SELF-PITY, ARIAS! JUST GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER!” The feeling was unlike any other. A hot, cozy blanket slid across her form, soothed the itching in her brain and heart. When Arias’s cool fingers slid into hers, after the anger subsided by the arcana lingered, there was a cooling hiss past her skin, through her veins.  “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay,” she murmured against his ear, holding him tightly against her. The warrior rolled to the balls of her feet, pressing her hot face against his cool, wet cheek. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s all okay, Arias.”