"ʙʟᴏᴏᴍ" ꜱʜᴏʀᴛ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ
➢ ｍｕｓｉｃ ꜰʀᴇʏᴀ ʀɪᴅɪɴɢꜱ - ɪ ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ʜᴇᴀʀ ɪᴛ ɴᴏᴡ | ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ 𝟸 | ᴏꜰꜰɪᴄɪᴀʟ ᴠɪꜱᴜᴀʟɪᴢᴇʀ
Year 30 ADP (year 613 by the King's calendar)
In the once bustling kingdom of Lordaeron, the air hung heavy with a somber silence. The ruins of a once great civilization were now a shadow of their former glory, claimed by the cold embrace of death. The once-vibrant streets and markets were deserted, save for the occasional undead creature that roamed aimlessly among the rubble.
Amidst the desolation, a lone figure in a traveler's cloak made her way cautiously through the crumbling streets. Aedriel had returned to the lands where her life began, to confront the ghosts that lingered in her heart. She was a striking figure, with icy white hair and piercing blue eyes. But despite her conspicuous appearance, this day she donned modest robes, as her mission here was not to reclaim, not to cleanse, but to mourn.
As she walked through the fragments of a place she once knew so dearly, memories of her childhood rushed to the surface. She could hear her mother’s soothing voice, singing the gentle Thalassian melodies that drifted her into sleep each night. She could see her father's tender smile, thought of his hearty laughter echoing through the halls of their home, and his gentle way of sharing wisdom and wonder.
Everything she had endured, the grief, the ruin, the silence left behind, had steeped Aedriel’s heart in resentment. Towards the undead, who had defiled her once beloved city. For the orcs, who had invaded them before that. The demons with their Fel, who had corrupted everything in their path, including her love. Even towards her steadfast mentor, who had convinced her to stay in Dalaran rather than rushing to Lordaeron's aid. However, all this hatred had been deeply buried beneath her diplomatic responsibilities. The Kirin Tor had felt as her only home, and their neutrality would not be compromised.
As Aedriel continued her journey through the remnants of Lordaeron City, she felt a cold wind through the empty streets. She knew that with every step, she was drawing closer to the heart of these forsaken lands. The whispers grew louder, the shadows darker, and the scent of decay more pungent.
Finally, Aedriel arrived at what had been the magnificent castle her family had once called home. Her breath caught in her throat as she gazed upon the tattered banners and crumbling stone, a testament to a life that had been stolen from her.
Her head bowed, weighed down by an ache that had been lurking in the shadows since Leorian's demise. It crept up her spine, settling like a knot in her gut. A pain she had not until now let herself feel. Her knees trembled, no longer able to support her, and she crumpled to the frigid ground below.
For a moment, her breath was stolen, leaving her chest hollow and desperate. As her body instinctively gasped for air, tears welled in her eyes, spilling over the edges and tracing warm, salty paths down her cheeks. The pain in her heart commanded another labored inhalation, each breath a battle fought and won. Gradually, the agony receded, replaced by a numbing emptiness.
Lifting her head, she drew slow, tremulous breaths, her gaze unfocused and distant. Her head fell back, eyes aimlessly staring into the void above, as if seeking solace in the vastness of the sky. Tears continued to fall, mourning her family, her people, her love, and the world that had once been.
The twilight sky seemed to weep alongside Aedriel, as the dying light cast a melancholy glow upon the ruins. As she averted her gaze from the sky, her eyes focused, and she caught glimpse of a single rose, its petals a pure white, defiantly growing amidst the rubble. It was a stark contrast to the surrounding desolation.
She mustered the conviction to rise, her body exhausted and quivering. She went closer to the rose. Its gentle fragrance filled her senses, and memories of a brighter time washed over her. Her mother, tending to the palace gardens with tender care, had always been able to make even the most stubborn of flowers grow. A single rose. A cruel mockery of the life that had once flourished in Lordaeron.
As she turned to leave, Aedriel's icy eyes flashed with anger. How much had she already sacrificed to do what was right? How much higher would the cost rise before she followed her heart? The rose, a symbol of what had been taken from her, would act as a lasting warning of the loss that might arise from failing to follow her convictions.
As the sun disappeared below the horizon, a ghostly mist rolled through, settling near the ground like veil. The wind whispered softly, carrying the faintest echo of Thalassian song. Aedriel always knew that there was nothing but ruins and decay to find here. But now, she knew, in the heart of the city… a single white rose survived.
