Matthyas exits out of the portal from Dalaran and into the Light’s Hope chapel. To him, it is a beacon of light amidst the darkness and he feels at home here with the other Paladins. A couple of them recognize them and wave at him. “Praise the light!” He coolly replies to one of them. His attention is focused elsewhere as he leaves the chapel. He swings a hexweave bag open and grabs a silver whistle and blows on it. A few minutes later, a white gryphon flies down and responds to the plated warrior of light by submissively knelling down. Matthyas grabs a tuft of its fur and pats him calmly.
“Hey Snowy. It’s time that time again.”
The gryphon seems to respond, knowing what is expected of him. It lays down and Matthyas grabs on to the saddle and straps in. The Paladin barely commands the beast as if a routine has been easily established between the two of them on their adventure. They fly over the decimated Plaguelands and arrive near Garren’s Haunt in Tirisfal Glade.
There’s one dilapidated house on the outskirts that catches his eye. He swings open the rotting door and looks inside the ruined house. Whatever belongings that were in it were long gone. There is no furniture, pictures, or any sign that anyone has lived in here for several years. On the other side of the room, there is one spent large candle left there, the waxy base was all that remained. In a corner, there are many such remnants of candles left there over a long period of time. The Paladin picks up the most recently spent candle, tosses it to that corner, and opens up his hexweave bag and pulls out an unused large candle and secures the base of it. He grabs his fiery sword he named the Fiery Defender, and lights the candle with the tip of it. Satisfied that the candle will keep burning, he exits out of the ruined house.
“My old home. Nothing ever changes here. Maybe one day we can rebuild.”
He looks over toward a patch of blue flowers that are growing on top of a nearby but isolated hill and plucks them. He gets back on his gryphon and they fly to another part of Tirisfal, a graveyard. Something seems different in this graveyard; beacons of light help ward off would be intruders, grave robbers, and worse. Matthyas walks to one of the graves and places the blue flowers down. He carefully grabs some dirt from the plot of land, examining it carefully for any signs it was disturbed. He tosses the dirt aside and walks away, wiping away a tear. The tombstone reads:
“Here lies Trevor Jones, best friend, son. Rest eternally.”