A dream that blooms beneath a canopy of trees well known. Blood red flowers freckled with yellow, bold faces toward the stars. They are poisonous. You know this. Their leaves are sharp at the edges; serrated like a knife. You cut your finger. It was careless of you. You watch the leaf drink your blood and its flowers bloom and bloom and bloom, but it cannot save the others. Mold gnaws at their roots and wilts their leaves despite their beauty. Why are they dying? How much blood can you give?
The canopy of leaves above was familiar to Kyuusei from centuries of remembrances. Nighthaven, Ameth’aren, Val’ sharah. Teldrassil. Arms wrapped about her knees, she sat in a field of blood-red flowers, their blooms freckled with yellow, bold faces raised toward the stars. She knew what danger the brazen colors and sharp-edged leaves threatened.
But still, she reached out in concern, a wrongness drawing her hand until a careless motion drew blood. She watched as the leaf drank her blood, its flowers blooming vibrant and innumerable even as others withered and dulled. Mold gnawed at their roots and wilted their blooms despite their beauty, and Kyuusei reached out again to allow their sharp-edged leaves to cut into her flesh, to drink and become vibrant once again.
The want, the need, was insistent upon her senses. Great trees died in their time, new growth rising where the mighty had once flourished. The rich loam that nourished the woodland floor had once been living things brought low to the cycle by rot and decay. Of every vibrant forest that lived and grew, death was its equal measure. The quiet, persistent call implored Kyuusei to give in her own turn.
It was so easy to spread her arms wide, simple to fall back into the insatiable field of red and freckled yellow blooms. The cycle awaited. How could she give less than all?
Kyuusei.
She grew cold in the dream, warmth leaching from her flesh with each cut, the field of flowers blooming thick and hungry around her. The sting of their thirst slowly grew distant, the pain belonging to some other body. Not her.
You can’t feed them all, Kyuu. Come back.
“...they need this.” Her voice was weak, the canopy fading from sight as she closed her silvered eyes.
I need you, Sei-sei. Come home.
She drew in the scent of mageroyal with her next shallow breath, felt a warming touch take her hand. And from that touch, warmth spread, grew until it was more. No longer just warmth, more than heat.
Fire.
It kindled inside her, a blaze that wreathed her body in reds and yellows more brilliant than any poisoned bloom. The flowers drinking from her shied away, the leaves of the closest withering even as the more distant basked in her radiance. Crusted blood burned away to ash, her rent skin whole once more.
Fire did not only burn, it also brought life. The fire of the sun gave warmth. The trees of the great forests needed fire to toughen their bark, to crack the hulls of their seeds. Breath itself fed the life-fire in every living thing.
Kyuusei carefully raised herself up, eyes bright once more, the ash of her wounds and blood falling away, a cacophony of red freckled with yellow swaying with gentle calm in the evening breeze. The flames that limned her body wavered and slowly faded, lingering on her hand before that, too, dimmed. Leaving only warmth...
* * *
“Land ho!”
Kyuusei blinked her eyes awake at the calling voice, taking a moment to orient herself. A small cabin little more than an oversized storage closet, sunlight blazing through the single porthole to rest warmly upon her hand.
“...Del?” She looked around her, emerging empty from the dream.
The ship’s rolling motion set her hammock rocking, but she extricated herself and found her feet with effortless grace, looking out the porthole before pulling on a vest and leather breeches. Opening the door and padding out to the deck, the druidess’ gaze found a familiar shore off coming into view through the ocean mists.
The lookout raised his voice again, words echoing down from the crow’s nest.
“Jade Forest, off the starboard bow!”
The kaldorei smiled with the recognition of it, running sharp-tipped fingers through her pale green hair. Ironshield had been right; foolish name or no, the Pale Cabbage was a fast ship - they’d made the voyage a half-day faster than the last time she’d sailed aboard Moonlight’s Folly. She was here.
Pandaria.
