*Did you ever think you’d be here like this?
The Maldraxxi commander had grinned, cuffing her upside the head like a stubborn child. “You’re dead, kid. You can either get used to it and fight, or just disappear into nothingness.”
“Or I can get back, ya big barstid.”
There was an uproar of laughter and she was sent sprawling across the spongy ground. Nynkasi popped right back up, fists at the ready and drawing her hand back as if to draw up the fire she was so used to…
Not even a spark. Not one. Shock, cold and painful in it’s wake, rippled through her. Well. The really shitty thing about dying, Nyn found, was how painfully, hopelessly clear everything was. No fog of hunger or age or the fuzz of time and emotion… no booze. The hurt and the resentment bubbled up again, and barefisted, she ran screaming back into the fray, wheeling her fists now in anger. All the force of uncast magic and yearning rose in her voice, landing several blows on the massive Commander before she was bounced back again. And again.*
She wasn’t good enough. She couldn’t have helped Zaanthe, when he’d been hurt. She couldn’t fend off those traps. In those few moments she wasn’t even mad about being back there. She felt…useless, again.
*The commander chuckled a bit, less amused as the attack went on and more thoughtful. “Are you fighting me, little warrior, or are you fighting the memories.” There was a snap, and with barely a flicker, she was on her back and trapped between two massive spears. Ye *gods*, she’d barely seen him move. But his words stung, and she struggled in vain to wiggle out, even to the point where the sharp spikes along the spear’s length tore at her flesh. Fenix! Godsdamn Fenix! Godsdamn all elementals!*
Resurrect her? Talk to that big firey bastard? She’d thought she’d crawl her way back to Azeroth if she had to, summon him, do…do something. Her brow furrowed. The fire of anger had begun to fade. The memories she’d tried to escape in Maldraxxus had not yet been dealt with.
*You couldn’t escape anything here. You *knew*. The memories would sting and you would fight. She struck out again and again in anger and they never changed. Even her legendary stubbornness was slowly, painfully, being molded by blade and battle, right up until the realms shook and the reserves began to dry up and there was a coup, and she’d managed to flee to Revendreath.*
There had been, though, some sense of purpose, all the same. She marched with the Templars, provided aid. She’d felt the bond of Maldraxxus as soon as she stepped back. She knew the land. The Houses. Seeing the true death of one of the warriors, even of a rival House, had been…hard. Hunting down this enemy had been good. And hearing of this huntress, of seeing desperate need, of wanting to…help. She *wanted* to help. She wanted to be whole again. She looked down and clenched and unclenched her fists. She couldn’t explain, for the longest time, why she refused to die. Why she refused to acknowledge this final transition, even when lightning had filled her veins and she had sunk into the dark, freezing nothingness of the ocean, knowing death.
She needed to resolve this, if she was to be of any use, ever again. She followed that urge to return, stepping through the pain of memory, back to when she had first spoken his name and fire had filled her world.
*You need to know nothing ever comes of bashing your head into the world, little warrior.” There was another laugh, so much later, as her commander her watched her across a campfire. “That’s why we have eyes.” A nod to the sometimes maligned member of the House of Eyes and a grin at his joke, but a spark in his eyes. “That’s why we have our partners in arms. That’s why we fight. You cannot become unless you look at your past and conquer the foolishness it contains.”*
Nynkasi got up, and made her way back into Dawnkeep. She would speak with Mosur then, and Zaanthe, and maybe even that mage…she couldn’t recall. But this would not stand, and although she was gritting her teeth at the thought, she might even need to talk to Fenix.
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