The dry, icy wind whips flakes of snow around in the air, dancing in the turbulence created by so many people so close together. It ignores layers of armor, padding, and clothing, slicing across skin and curling deep into its victims' flesh. Despite the growing blizzard, despite the wind and snow hells-bent on toppling her, Fallis' movements remain fluid and firm. She glides over snow and ice along with the wind, blade in hand as she delivers it through one enemy after another.

  Fallis glides back to her mentor and commanding officer's side as he barks orders to the soldiers. Dathol commands the army with the easy confidence of one born to lead, his thundering voice effortlessly carrying over the wind.

  "Commander Valadian," Dathol snaps, lunging forward to drag his blade through the fast-approaching red and gold armor of another enemy soldier, sliding on the ice for a moment as he does so and nearly losing his balance. "Report."

  "We outnumber them for the moment, Captain Krezor," Fallis remarks, skating to stand at Dathol's back and ensure he isn't flanked while they converse.

  "But?" He raises his shield to block an arrow fired towards them, arcing his sword upward to send a whip of wind slicing along the ground and through the offending archer.

  Fallis dives towards the ground, swinging her leg around to sweep another soldier's feet from under him and raking her sword across his torso as he falls. "The Shadis are wiping everyone out to the south, but their focus seems to be us this time."

  "So they finally decided to join us, then?" Dathol spits, grumbling and swiping the blowing ice from his eyes. Fallis carves through yet another enemy attempting to swing at the momentarily distracted Captain, who gives her a nod of appreciation. "How many Shadi do you think you can take, Commander?"

  Her reply is instant. "As many as I need, Captain."

  "Fallis," he pins her with a firm stare, and she freezes for a moment, "How many do you think you can take?"

  She considers the question for a moment, allowing her eyes to slip shut for a moment and feeling her blood pulsing through her veins in perfect time with her heart. She hears the squelching of another soldier slain, but keeps her attention focused inward, willing her breath to slow just a beat.

  In... and out... In... and out....

  There. Hammering against her ribcage.

  Her eyes snap open to meet his. "Safely? Fifty Shadi, give or take a dozen."

  Brown eyes flick over her for a moment, but she holds firm on her self-assessment. Fallis reaches around to grab Dathol's shield arm and raise it to block a swing aimed at his head. Her armored free hand reaches around to grab the blade where it meets the shield, sending a burst of white through the blade and into the attacker, who instantly crumples to the snow.

  "Forty-nine and a half," she corrects.

  Dathol lets out an unhappy sigh, but nods. "Give them hell, then. But be careful."

  Without waiting for him to change his mind, she takes off to the south, skating along the snow with a practiced ease. Her sword remains in her hand, though she's grateful she has no need of it on her way to the southern front.

  The first streak of black to cross her vision is swiftly felled by her blade, muddied maroon blood streaking across her sword and making her wrinkle her nose. Forty-eight. She parries the second's dagger aimed at her ribs, sending their swing wide and swiftly raking her own weapon over their throat. Forty-seven.

  Fallis doesn't hesitate a beat-- not from the stench of blood and bodies, nor fatigue-- while she dances through Darkforge and Shadi foes alike, pulling a stained silver cloak over her bright blonde hair to better hide her passage through the slaughter and snow.

  Darting behind a small boulder jutting out of the snow, she pulls her cloak from her head, breath heaving. She twists to look over the boulder, quickly counting how many people she can see within range.

  Forty-five... and no allies.

  Thank the gods. It's just... just enough that she won't immediately pass out. Hopefully. Unless she miscounted. Or fucks this up. Or gets ambushed in the middle of casting. Or--

  Just do it.

  She wedges her foot just under the boulder, for a semblance of a stable purchase as she widens her stance. Working quickly, she pulls off her armored glove and wraps her hand around the blade of her sword, squeezing and ignoring the bite of steel into porcelain flesh. Golden white liquid drips from her hand, and she pulls the blade through the wounds, coating it in a sheen of gold.

  In... and out....

  In one fluid motion, she stands, spinning, and slices the air above the boulder in front of her, a golden arc ripping out from her weapon. It carves through air, ice, metal, leather, flesh, and bone, as it tears through everything and everyone caught in its path.

  There's a heartbeat of nothing as the silenced soldiers waver where they stand, shortly followed by the prolonged ring and clang of metal hitting the icy ground. The noise rings out across the ice fields, a droning toll for the dead lingering long after their last breaths have stilled.

  Fallis lets out a heavy breath, sticking her blade into the ice to lean on for a few moments as she catches her breath and stares out at the bloodbath of her design. She tries not to think about the absence of living allies in this area, even before she leveled the playing field. They just escaped, that's all. Probably. They'll turn up later. She tries not to think about the gold and white sluggishly dripping from her fingers onto the snow. It's nothing. Cael'thas can look at it later. She tries not to think about how exposed she is out here now, without allies and now without energy or usable magic. Just don't pass out.

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  Shakily prying her weapon from the ice, she begins the trek back north to report to Dathol, though her exhausted shambling through the bodies takes so much longer than her skating across the snow. The thought trudges through her mind to just use magic to do the gliding for her, but she forces it out, knowing better.

  She pares glances at the slain soldiers, a muddy sludge of black, white, grey and red mixing with rapidly refreezing snow from the cooling corpses. She says a silent prayer for the holy souls to find their rest, and offers a curse for the stained.

  She keeps her gaze fixed on her feet beneath her, lest she stumble, slip, and go crashing to the ground. She's not sure she'd have the energy to drag herself back to her feet if she did.

  Just don't pass out.

  In her focus, she almost misses the phantom creep out from the tree line and slowly crosses the ice to intercept her path, a mass of dark shadows and fabric broken only by silver eyes. Fallis' gaze flickers up just long enough to catch their strong, steady strides across the snow and ice. She glimpses the glittering silver clasp pinning their cloak in place as they near: the silhouette of a raven with its wings fanned out and a dagger through its form. Another Shadi... Shit.

  Fallis tries to keep her head lowered, hoping the assassin doesn't know she's spotted them-- though, she admits they would be a piss-poor Shadi if they hadn't noticed by now.

  To her surprise, the Shadi speaks, their voice carrying despite the persistent wind seeking to stamp it out. "Ei fav vfelv, Lady Valadian," they purr.

  Fallis doesn't recognize the words themselves, but at hearing her surname, she glares at the shade, her grip tightening on her weapon. "What do you want?"

  They gesture to the snowfields around them, and the corpses staining the pristine surface. "Can I not admire your work?" they ask.

  "I wouldn't say a slaughter is worthy of admiration."

  The Shadi shade stops a few paces in front of her, and at this distance, Fallis notes the dark bandages wrapping their shoulder, that arm hanging by their side while their other hand comfortably rests on their hip. She scrutinizes the injury, wondering if the Shadi is a survivor of her earlier wrath. The Shadi curls their hand to grip their cloak, pulling the fabric over the injury and blocking her view.

  Fallis turns her glare back to the ice-grey eyes. "Your wound isn't my doing." It's a statement of fact, rather than a question.

  "No, it is not."

  "So what do you want?"

  "To help you."

  "Bullshit. Why?"

  They tilt their head, their hood shifting to bend the shadows across their face and hide their eyes, leaving only the glint of their obsidian skin visible... along with the myriad of scars marring it. "Because you can barely stand." They say it like it's the most obvious answer in the world.

  Fallis' glare turns venomous. "I am fine."

  "Prove it." They pin her with a hard stare, though their tone remains gentle. Fallis half expects them to kill her where she stands when she hesitates a moment. "You are going to report back, yes? Then walk all the way back to Captain Krezor."

  The shade's use of his formal title makes Fallis bristle. "You do not get to call him that," she seethes, though she wills herself to take her unsteady steps back across the ice sheets, reluctant to take her eyes off the assassin. Fortunately-- or unfortunately, Fallis isn't sure-- the Shadi seems content to follow her with long, confident strides.

  Fallis trudges through the snow and wind and ice, keeping one eye on the ground and another on her Shadow following, just outside her sword's reach. Fallis dares not trust her shaking feet to not stumble if she tried to lunge and swing at the Shadi.

  Sneaky bastard. What do you want?

  She's grateful that her... handiwork in the south appears to have incentivized the Darkforge to retreat, at least for now, with the route back mercifully clear. The wind continues to slice at her exposed skin, and Fallis grits her teeth in frustration as an unwelcome shiver crawls through her bones. Fuck.

  Her shadow stops in their tracks, Fallis' full attention following them as their uninjured arm slides beneath their cloak and her own grip on her sword tightens. The moment of distraction from her mission, however, is all it takes for her to stumble and her legs to give out from beneath her.

  Fallis screws her eyes shut, bracing for the impact of the hard ice, but they snap open again when she feels metal-plated arms catch her weight on the way down. The stained silver gauntlet trimmed in blue immediately has her letting out an involuntary sigh of relief, and she cranes her neck up to see cool, white-gold skin with blazing red hair.

  "Aiosk!" As unbecoming as her tone may be, she cannot help her overwhelming relief from flooding it.

  Aiosk keeps his hard, steel-grey stare on the Shadi, though he provides enough support for Fallis to regain her footing, even on the ice. Fallis attempts to stand on her own, though her spinning head immediately prompts her to lean on Aiosk once more to stay upright and close her eyes, a colorful curse slipping from her tongue.

  Fallis allows herself a moment of vulnerability in Aiosk's grasp, focusing on her breath rather than anything else. She can't bring herself to mentally chastise her moment of weakness, either.

  In... and out....

  She distantly registers that Aiosk and the Shade are conversing-- or rather, arguing.

  "You don't get to tell me about dark magic," Aiosk hisses, "Shadi Witch."

  They offer a bemused hum in response to the insult, their voice remaining silky and polished.... too polished. "What is your number again, Aiosk? Dark... Forty-something?"

  Dark...? Fallis pries her eyes open and head up, immediately spotting the short, glittering stiletto in Aiosk's white-knuckled hand. The Shadi's own weapon is drawn, though they hold the dark, violet-streaked dagger in a loose grip, unthreatened.

  Aiosk's response is harsh and clipped. "And how in the hells would you know that?"

  "Dark Forty-Three it is, then," they chirp, "Powerful, but lacking just enough to avoid feeling insecure about it."

  Fallis stared at the Shadi at such a certain and precise declaration. She turns her senses towards Aiosk, feeling the same pulsing through his veins as she feels in hers. The pulse of magic in his veins remains firm and strong, despite being diluted in blood. The way her skin crawls with each beat of his heart tells her all she needs about its polarity.

  But she only gets a glimmer of his number, at least in her current state... somewhere in the low Dark Forties. She gawks at the Shadi-- and missing Aiosk's response to the accusation-- instead noting the complete lack of pulsing magic emanating from them.

  How could you possibly be that precise? What are you?

  She barely hears the quiet flick of a dagger a moment before she feels the tiniest, pinprick of pressure against the underside of her jaw. Her breath catches in her lungs, and her eyes flit to seek out Aiosk's. He refuses to meet her gaze, his blank stare aimed straight ahead at the Shadi. What is he thinking?! One slip and....

  "Aiosk..." the Shadi hisses, tensed and curled around their weapon as they take a careful step forward. A serpent poised to lash out at a moment's notice. "If you think that murdering her in cold blood will stop me from killing you..." they tilt their head slightly, allowing the light to glance off their silver eyes, "then you are sorely mistaken."

  His voice is sharper than the knife against Fallis' chin, and he shifts the point to rest against the base of her throat. Fuck. "You won't."

  "No?"

  "If you were going to kill me, you would've done it already."

  They hum, though it's no longer a silky, soft sound. It's almost a growl. A warning. "You aren't as valuable to us as you seem to think you are."

  "Oh but she is?" Fallis feels the pressure relax a touch, finally daring to release the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

  Her Shadow's face twisting into panic a moment before they lunge towards her is her only forewarning to the sudden impact against her chest, just above her heart. The bolt of lightning that cracks through her is just behind it, burning fire and pain and betrayal ripping straight into her core.

  Fuckfuckfuck-- Don't pass out. Don't pass out. Don't pass out. Just focus on breathing.

  In.... and out....

  In.... and out....

  In....

  And out.