As he neared the Archivist chambers, the subterranean warren just known as ‘The Park’ he stilled, he did not know why. He recognised the figure...Blood Hawk Summerisle, he had no idea why everyone was fawning over him these days, He had only been a Blood Hawk, only one Rank above himself when………
Beside him, a thin figure in the same robes as he, but on her mask ( For you can tell by body shape he had re-learned, ) the number ‘1’.
There was a look of infinite sadness in Blood Hawk Summerisles eyes, as if about to burst into tears at the sight of him, but he had no idea why, he wished he did, such a small elf, so much….older looking than last time he remembered him, back when…….
‘1’ Spoke. “We have a special duty, ‘Eight’, something...worse than anything we have ever had to contain.” She nodded, her mask, identical to his bar the number on it dipping, he knew she sometimes had difficulties remembering things, she too was afraid of Dragonhawks...How odd they had all ended up working here, “The Commandant himself commands it”
Eight nodded, “Is he here? I should thank him for my accomodation for free?”
Blood Hawk Summerisle turned away choking a sob.
‘One’ spoke kindly, “We have this conversation every time ‘Eight’, Summerisle is the Commandant now, he pays for us all, houses us, all of the veterans who hit the ‘Glass Mountain, and many besides. You’re getting closer to remembering, soon you, and I may be able to leave here?”
Eight smiled behind his mask “You were always kind, ‘One’, I would like that” he nodded.
Summerisle just glared “She is your wi...no..I leave you to your duties...you know your business best” With a last look of immeasurable sorrow at the two elves in masks now strangers to each other he swallowed and walked away.
Eight frowned behind his mask “He looks so sad, so small”
One nodded. “He always seems worried, anyway, we have a new puzzle to work out. You will like this one..”
Eight smiled “Is it another code? We broke the last one in an hour and twelve minutes. I enjoyed that”
One shook her head, and for a moment there was a smell to her hair that Eight almost recognised, back from ….before…..
They passed between two Arcane Golems, anyone, even the Commandant not wearing one of their masks would have been ripped asunder by them, as it was the Golems stood impassive. The doors slowly slid open, into the dimly lit darkness and ramp downwards, and then….the stacks...The Nightmare Stacks. The places where every horror, everything the Aerie and its Escadrilles had ever encountered that was deemed too dangerous to leave lying around, yet not possible to destroy was kept. Heretical texts that might become useful, Gems and Phylactery’s, Parts of creatures long vanquished, state secrets, whispers and lies. The Aerie was like a grandmother, who hoarded bits and pieces in a drawer, in case they became useful, and this was the drawer.
Trolleys were dragged as items were placed, and more rarely, withdrawn, all the staff in silvery gold masks with a number on them. Eight wondered how the numbers were assigned, he seemed to remember having been Eleven, and Twenty Two before that, and the smell of One’s hair, that was the same as ‘Five’s and ‘Seventeens’ before that. That smell made him happy, just as the sight of the open sky made him afraid.
One nodded “We have a new problem for you, ‘Eight’. We need to seperate and misfile these parts”
Eight Shuddered. “Everything has its right place, everything must be right, you can’t just….you can’t ask me to misfile things, I don’t know how to...Besides, it is broken, Look!”
The Gem indeed seemed to originally have had six parts, and the four remaining ones pulsed with a malignant energy.
“Its broken! I don’t know where the other parts are!” Eight Wailed.
“You don’t need to, they’re safe” One reassured.
“But how can I fix it?”
“You don’t need to. I will give you a list, just file it where it says to, ‘Eight’ it will all be fine, you will not get into trouble, even if the locker title and number does not match the number on the paperwork”
“But two Pieces are missing!”
“We don’t need to worry about that.”
“But it will not be properly filed”
“It isn’t meant to be...it is meant to be lost...for ever”
Eight didn’t understand, but One was starting to, she was remembering who she had been, before her breakdown, when the Scourge had came, and with it, a dreadful realisation as to what she had become, how far she had fallen, The Aerie looked after its own, even when their minds were broken. It didn’t cast them aside, it gave them purpose, and pay, and a home, and one day, when they were better, they went free. She knew who she was now, Lieutenant Seren Suburst. Fliers grew habits, they had rituals, so when they hit the Glass Mountain, how better to help them than by giving them rituals, things to try and make them remember.
None of this helped Eight, as he seperated the parts of the crystal with absolute dexterity, even though he had never seen it before, and misfiled it. No enemy searching the Archives would ever find a list and be able to reassemble the pieces, they would have to open -every- drawer, some of which were trapped, and even then, they would be two pieces short. He had no idea what this crystal was, or why it was so important, and as with everything filed, he would not remember, unless someone gave him an exact number.
Bit by bit, the trapped soul of Mikaneth, the ‘King of All Skies’ was buried deep below the ground, split and imprisoned, never to see the Skies.
As his soul was diminished he at first felt admiration, grudgingly for the plan, then a sense of unease, then horror, then final dread, as the last spark and his cognitive ability was stripped from him, and he became a howling thing of loss and despair, no reason or rationale.
And this.
This is vengeance.
The War for Azeroth’s Skies had been fought and won.
Vae Victus. Woe to the Conquered.
Eight was finished with his task, and One beckoned him over, she leant towards him, their masks touching, that had never happened before, she spoke softly “I think...I think tomorrow there will be a different ‘One’ to me, if all goes well.”
“Are you ill, One? I have always, you have always been kind to me” Eight asked.
Tears ran down the mask from One’s eyes.
“No, I am...not ill anymore, just carry on as you are, and perhaps we will have that ...perhaps we will both leave...and be other people again”
EIght nodded, as One turned, the smell of her hair so hauntingly familiar, he wished he knew why…
….The Next day… After his normal ritual….
He donned his thick leather robes, and smoothing them three times, he moved to the door, where hanging on it his helm rested. Silvery Gold, featureless, with eyeslots and a slit for the mouth, his had the numeral ‘7’ upon it.
Thats who he was. He placed the helm securely on his head, and tapped on the door Seven times, he was ‘Seven’.
Opening, closing, and locking the door, and checking it Seven times he walked through the Aerie.
Miles away a woman, who had once been ‘One’ looked around their house, how everything had changed since the Scourge came and destroyed their minds and wondered how she would fix things if ever her husband, like her, finally won that war. Ten and more years later, and so many veterans, were still fighting the Fall.
She tapped the table top, before realising what she was doing, and stopped. “One, One, One”
For some people, the Scourge War would never truly be over.