#darktimes

Clockwork decides the most efficient way for Danny to defeat Pariah Dark… is to have Pariah raise him.

no warning. no context. no explanation.

just toddler Danny, bundled up, dropped at the gates of Pariah’s fortress centuries before canon with a single note:

'' He’s o̶u̶r̶ your baby. – CW.''

and Pariah is standing there like.

'' When did I fuck with the embodiment of time itself?''

'' WHEN did this happen! ''

meanwhile Danny is just blinking up at him with big glowing eyes and reaching up like “uppies.”

and now Pariah —ancient tyrant, nightmare of the Infinite Realms — is stuck pacing his throne room at 3am with a ghost toddler who refuses to sleep unless he’s holding onto his cape.

but here’s the thing.

Pariah is prideful. He is royal. He is not raising a weak heir.

so Danny is trained.

battle strategy taught at bedtime.

sword forms before he can properly read.

history of the Realms instead of fairy tales.

because if this is his child (apparently???) then he will be a prince. and he will be formidable.

and somewhere in the background

Clockwork is watching like :)

...It had been 14 years since that incident.

And even though she had yet to return to that place, she could still feel how the cold seeped into her bones and made them brittle. And how the frigid air stole her breaths until they remained shallow. The screams of House Sunshield's ward, the shouts of the blood knights, and the deep bellowing growls of Nerubians that had ambushed them. It was a trauma made manifest into living nightmares and inescapable thoughts.

"I nearly died that day."

The fact was stated in her mind, but the memories did not cease. It was a progressive ordeal as the batter, weary souls of her comrades made their way home. Quel'thalas, which had been a welcomed sight for sanctuary and hope, yet it was everything but that in a moment.

"You no longer have a place with our House."

The Lord's words forged an anchor within her heart. It lurched downward with the weight of unexpected shock and despair after being discharged. She had thought getting everyone home alive was reason to celebrate. A reason to be praised. A reason to be regarded as exceptional.

But the Ward was injured. And so too were many of the Blood Knights. Of those to be scrutinized and placed under blame, what better choice than a former Silvermoon Guard that was given an opportunity to make a name for herself.

There should have been elation in the fact she was even alive.

But the disappointment in failure made death feel like a welcome prospect. And what better way to kill one's spirit than to drink the pain away and indulge in illegal contraband. The numbness that came from extreme cold now voluntarily claimed her mind and body once more.

She didn't feel her own pain.

She didn't acknowledge her fear.

She couldn't see their disappointment.

She didn't hear their criticism.

She was liberated through her grief.

A sad soul that saw no good by her hand. Cursed by this haunting moment as it lives beneath the skin. And if she thought for a moment, it would escape her notice, it would once again be placed in the forefront of her thoughts with every act and word she carried.

Darktimes propaganda!!