Eternity Lost

Streamers of golden light filtered down through the leaves of the World Tree, standing tall and proud upon the peak of Mt. Hyjal, dwarfing the surrounding forest canopy, treetops barely climbing to the top of its massive roots. The gentle light dancing red shadows over the eyelids of the form where he lay nestled into a knot of a root. Slowly he stirred, moving muscles as if they had not been stirred in centuries, drawing in sweet breath that hung laden with the scent of morning dew and the lying beneath.

Slowly Ailac opened his eyes, staring out at dew laden grass as it swayed gently, small flowers of pure white shimmering in its midst. ‘How long has it been?’ Ailac thought, watching flashes of gold dance along the surface of the crystalline waters below him, buried beneath the sprawl of the giant tree’s roots. ‘This peaceful energy, it’s so tranquil. My mind feels as if it is light as a feather.’ Slowly the thoughts dawned upon him, the sudden chill of clarity, where what felt like moments before searing corruption had wracked through him darkening his thoughts and rending his form.

Ailac rose from his position, ‘This stiffness… suddenly its gone.’ Unsure of why the sudden stiffness had fled him, he leapt down towards the ground, his body floating as if a feather, gently landing upon the shore of the lake, amidst two large roots. ’A dozen druids could not wrap their arms around one of these roots… where is this place?’

Ailac turned around, his eyes following the tendrils of light up to the branches soaring overhead, some lost behind light clouds that danced amidst the leaves. The familiar scene of the mountaintop, its enormous tree stretching out to touch the heavens striking cord in his mind.

“But this is impossible” he began aloud, his voice shattering the quiet tranquility of the glade. “Nordrassil was…” Memory crashed into Ailac’s mind, flooding his head with reeling images, his first night awake from the Nightmare. Neyeeva and Cenias had somehow calmed his mind, freed part of his sanity, the other half danced across his eyes. For three hundred years Ailac had writhed in the dream, unaware of what had transpired around him. Nordrassil was lost, sacrificed to beat back the Burning Legion. Eternity was lost with it.

Ailac drew himself up from the ground where he had fallen under the weight of the memories, slowly opening his eyes to the great tree before him; no longer the amber eyes of a druid. Blackness. Blackness that drank in the light surrounding the world tree, as thousands of wisps gathered about its massive trunk, swirling and dancing along it before being absorbed inside. The trunk pulsed and bulged, being forced outwards by the mass of energy gathering within. Bark cracked and splintered, rent apart by glowing white energy, throbbing as if the pulse of the World itself lay within the tree. That steady pulse beat onward, pounding with the blood in Ailac’s ears, until at once it lay silent.

The world itself seemed engulfed in the flash of light that followed. Flames billowed forth coating the land, spreading for miles as they consumed and decimated everything in their path. Thousands upon thousands of chunks of wood tore through the air, larger than the tallest pines and oak. Ailac fell to the ground, curling in upon himself as if for some feeble protection from the maelstrom of destruction milling about him. Seconds passed; seconds without the heat of the fires raging through the forest, without the pain of flesh being torn from bone by debris, seconds that ran into minutes before slowly Ailac rose to open his eyes.

The scene before him was of bleak devastation. The forest rested as far as the eye could see in naught but charred husks, blackened skeletons rising up to the clouded sky with remnants of branches clawing towards the heavens as if pleading for mercy. No grass grew here, burnt to its roots and beyond. The trunk of the great tree itself still stood with huge gaping holes left where the explosion of power had torn the flesh from its body, nothing but black charcoal remained, towering over the desolation below. A cold wind blew through the barren landscape; a crisp clean breeze that carried no hints of smoke, the scene was not fresh.

Ailac stood still, the shock of the scene rooting his feet to the earth as it replayed in his head. The World Tree, the everlasting symbol of life, token of the pledge to fight the powers of the Burning Legion until time’s end, lay in ashes. Tremors wracked his body, shaking to the core of his being under the weight of the loss. Screams tore through the deathly quiet, issuing unwillingly from the lone druid standing amidst the charred rubble, fallen to his knees and clutching at his eyes, as if to burn the images away. Time inching forward until slowly silence fell upon the grave of the forest.

Speckles of crimson fell from the corners of Ailac’s mouth, mingling with those trailing from around his eyes. Drawing slow, haggard breaths he slowly tried to sort out the mire of emotions weighing his mind. Indescribable loss, sadness and pain filled his mind. He was drained; weary and beaten raw by the loss lived fresh within the dream. ‘It’s truly gone…. Nordrassil. Immortality,’ he thought darkly, collapsing down upon his hands in the ashes beneath his feet, bloodstained eyes lifting to the charred trunk of the tree.

A cold wind gusted down about the charred skeleton of the World Tree, swirling ash up into the air and blowing down, a chilled wall buffeting against Ailac’s face. Ash stung his eyes and cuts, but the wind carried on, leaving behind it a nightmare. Out of the ashes a hundred paces ahead a figure rose up, the black flakes not touching her form. The air rushed in, hot and damp, carrying the sickly sweet stench of decay, a taste of spoiled meat coating Ailac’s tongue unwillingly. Behind the figure moss began to creep over the land, unnatural browns, vibrant yellows and poisonous reds creeping over the grave of the forest and spreading to all sides. Bloated, bulging vines rose up from the husks of trees, finger-length thorns dripping venomous acid that ate into the stones and earth below it. What before lay as the graveyard of a forest, now was stained with the corruption of living death.

The figure took one slow, certain step forward, rot spreading beneath its boots so black obsidian would seem a sunrise in comparison. It was an elf, female, slim and pretty; clad in leathers the shade of earth and grass, the armor crept over by thin tendril like vines. Green hair streaked with silver framed a pretty face with silver eyes, eyes that shone with a look of pity. Tiny braids framed her face, beaded and running amidst her loose tresses. Ten paces stalking in silence, eyes never moving from Ailac’s crumpled form.

“Look at you now, poor little Ailac,” it hissed, voice dripping with cruelty and disgust. The owl tattoos on her smooth young face being drawn up by a cruel smile, wings spreading as if to take flight. “Pitiful little Ailac.”

“Neyeeva…” Ailac breathed, barely a whisper. That pitiful look made him want to shrink back upon himself, yet the harsh edge in her voice held him still. He wanted to flee, but instead he was drawn up, pressed to stand and watch against his will as she took another step forward.

“Trapped all alone to watch the world burn.” The pity never left her eyes, yet the harshness in her tone spoke of disgust. She pressed on, ten more paces.

“What’s the matter, little Ailac?” Neyeeva grinned, striding forward confidently. “Mommy isn’t here for you to cry into her skirts?”

Ailac felt the urge to flee press into him, staring at her walking forward. The corrupt growth following her thrashed and wailed in her presence, screeching madly into the night. The wind burnt his skin, perspiration beading across his forehead and along his chests as he was forced into place, unable to even cry out in protest.

“You feel it, don’t you?” She asked, her grin never faltering, just like those eyes. Her steps pressed on, ten more paces as sure as ever, but the corruption wailed. Slowly he could see it, her flesh fading lightly beside her eyes, thin wrinkles of age lining her face and neck. “Mortality,” she cooed with a seductive hatred. “It’s in your bones, in your flesh. It grows in your stomach while you sleep. Death is seeping its way inside.”

Twenty more paces she approached, never losing her gait. She walked straight, yet slowly white began to take root in her hair, starting near her temples and streaking down. The skin of her face sagged, the tight leather of her robe sagging slightly. Age overtook her body, wrinkled now, yet never losing its fierce dignity or its hateful smile.

“You should have stayed asleep little Ailac,” came her raspy voice between cracked lips, her sunken eyes dimming but no less pitiful. “Stayed blissfully asleep, too weak to deal with reality.” She pressed on, twenty more paces, almost upon him now, only a scare few minutes before she would be upon him. Her hair was now pure white, her face so wrinkled it was nearly indistinguishable, the harsh angles of her bones apparent through sunken cheeks.

She pressed on, skin pealing from the flesh of her face as hairs tumbled freely from her scalp, flesh melting away to join the seething rot beneath her feet. Still she pressed on, eyes floating sunken in the sockets of her exposed skull. The remaining meat on her bones began to rot, the blending into the stench of the forest, buffeting against Ailac as she stood before him, slowly walking past. Her breath was ice, freezing beads of sweat upon skin where it touched, melted away by the sickly head of the forest as she passed on.

“They’ve cracked you open, little Ailac,” she softly spoke, her skull seeming to carry that hateful smile. “You spill out of the hourglass, lost into the bottomless black. When will you run out little Ailac? A week? A year?”

She trailed off, pausing before him. Those ethereal eyes staring blankly from the skull devoid of all flesh now, bones upright and looking upon him. She was Death itself staring him in the eye with pity. “Poor, scared, pitiful little Ailac. There’s no escape, is there?“ She paused at the question, eyes searching. The hatred was gone from her voice, replaced only with icy detachment. Her bone fingertips reached up, her index trailing over his face, leaving the flesh beneath its trail from his left ear down over his lips and off the right side of his chin wrinkled and pale, burning in agony. “You can feel it. Feel it calling…”

She strode around him once more; he felt the cold of her eyes take in his form, drinking in its life as if measuring him. She finished her circle, pausing to stare into his eyes, with an almost wistful look.

“Nothing left now for you but to turn to dust…” she breathed, barely a whisper. Her hand reached up, stretching for his face, but bare inches before his eyes her bony fingers stopped. Breathless, thoughtless, he stared on in horror as he watched her turn to dust.