Sylvanas Windrunner : Edge of Night Sylvanas Windrunner : Edge of Night is a short story in the " Leaders of the Horde " series by Dave Kosak . The story jumps around between Sylvanas ' memories as she encounters the Val ' kyr at Icecrown after the death of the Lich King Arthas and events during the conflict with Gilneas in and around Forsaken lands . Sylvanas Windrunner : Edge of Night . " Sylvanas Windrunner drifts in a sea of comfort , physical sensations replaced by the purity of emotion . She can grasp bliss , see joy , hear peace . This is the afterlife , her destiny . The eternal sea in which she found herself after she fell defending Silvermoon . She belongs here . With each recollection , her memory of this place palls . The sound grows distant ; the warmth , cooler . The vision takes on the pallor of a half - remembered dream . But with horrific clarity , the memory always ends the same : Sylvanas ' s spirit is wrenched away . The pain is so intense it leaves her soul forever torn . The grinning face of Arthas Menethil , with his lopsided smile and dead eyes , leers at her as he pulls her back into the world . Violates her . His laughter — that hollow laugh — the memory of it makes her skin crawl ! " " You son of a bitch ! " Sylvanas hollered , kicking aside a shattered piece of the Lich King ' s frozen armor . Her voice , empty and terrifying , cracked under the strain of her hatred . The sound echoed across the peaks of Icecrown , rolling through the valleys like the cloying mists that forever haunted this horrible place . She had ventured here , alone , to his former seat of power . To the very top of Icecrown Citadel , where a frozen throne loomed on a plateau of white ice . Of course that egotistical little boy she knew would place himself here , sitting atop the world . But where was he now ? Shattered . She could no longer feel his malevolence tugging at the edges of her consciousness . His broken armor lay in pieces on the white peak before his throne , surrounded with blackened cakes of frozen gore , the remains of those who had finally brought him to his knees . Sylvanas regretted not being there to see him broken . She picked up a shattered gauntlet , from the very hand that had once gripped Frostmourne . He is finally dead . But why did she feel so hollow inside ? Why did she still throb with rage ? She hurled the armor from the peak , watching it disappear into the roiling mists . She was not alone . Nine glimmering spirits encircled the pinnacle , their masked faces turned toward her , their ephemeral forms held aloft on graceful , insubstantial wings . They were the Val ' kyr , warrior maidens of old , once enslaved to the will of Arthas . Why did they remain in this place ? Sylvanas neither knew nor cared . They stayed out of her way , absolutely mute , immobile even as Sylvanas hollered and raged . Were they watching her ? Judging ? She ignored them and crunched through the snow to the very seat of Arthas ' s power . Someone else sat atop the throne . Sylvanas at first thought it was Arthas ' s corpse , planted mockingly in this place of honor and sealed in a block of ice , but the silhouette was all wrong . She approached the throne and wiped her hand across the surface of the ice , peering at the distorted figure within . Human , yes . She recognized the profile of an Alliance shoulderplate . But the body was very badly burned , the flesh split open like roasted meat . He wore Arthas ' s crown — and his eyes — that flicker of consciousness … They have replaced him . A new Lich King sat on the throne ! Again Sylvanas cried out , shock growing into explosive rage . She smashed the flat of her hand against the ice , then her fist . The ice cracked . The immobile face within split open behind a web of fractures . Her howls faded , disappearing hollowly into the mists that enveloped the peak . They replaced him . Does this mean there will always be a Lich King ? Idiots . Naively presuming that their puppet king wouldn ' t someday begin twisting the world to his own ends . Or worse : become a blunt weapon for something even more terrible . It was a bitter blow . She had expected to venture here in triumph , not to discover another defeat . The victory was hollow . But she backed away from the throne , straightened up , and accepted that the cycle would go on . Arthas was dead . What did it matter if another corpse filled his vacant throne ? Sylvanas Windrunner had her vengeance . The vision that had driven her and her people for years had finally been realized . And not a single fiber of her desiccated , animate corpse cared where the world went from here . It was over now . A part of her was surprised she was even still around , without his lingering presence always tugging at the back of her mind . She backed away from the throne and slowly turned to survey the cold gray world all around her . Her thoughts returned to that place of bliss , her half - remembered glimpse of what lay beyond . Home . It was time . Slowly , she crunched her way to the ragged edge of the icy platform . A thousand feet below , shrouded by the clouds , lay a forest of shattered saronite spikes she had scouted out earlier . The fall alone couldn ' t kill her : her animate flesh was nigh indestructible . But the spikes , the hardened blood of an Old God , they not only would tear the body apart but would obliterate the soul as well . She longed for it . A return to peace . The work she had begun in the forests of Silvermoon was finally complete with the death of Arthas . She lifted her bow from her shoulder and cast it aside . It clattered against the uneven ice . Then she removed her quiver . Arrows spilled from it , cascading down the side of Icecrown Citadel , disappearing one by one into the fog . The empty quiver dropped quietly to the ground at her feet . Her ragged , dark cloak , freed from her discarded armaments , began to whip around her neck in the bitter wind . She could feel no cold , only a dull ache . She would feel nothing soon . She already felt her spirit reaching a place of calm for the first time in almost a decade . Her weight shifted toward the edge of the drop . She closed her eyes . As one , the Val ' kyr silently turned to face her . " Forwar — " the marshal cried , his command cut short as a musketball shattered his lower jaw . The wall before him was broken but still offered cover for the snipers hidden in the rain above . The weather poured from the sky in white sheets , drenching attackers and defenders alike . The marshal toppled over , careening down a pile of rubble like a sack of cordwood , coming to rest in the thick mud below . Like the bogged - down demolishers and meat wagons of his artillery , his troops were making no progress . Any normal man would ' ve been dead for sure , but being that the marshal was already dead , he soon clawed his way up from the mud , spitting coagulated blood and ichor from the remains of his face . To the north , across a long stretch of rutted field and on the other side of a gauzy filter of rain , Garrosh Hellscream tried to piece together what was happening along the front . He could see the gray silhouette of the great Gilnean wall , slotted with enormous diagonal gaps where the Cataclysm had wrenched it wide open . Were his Kor ' kron at the front , they ' d have walked right through . He grunted as a Forsaken scouting party trundled back through the mud , ragged and beaten . Even in victory , the Forsaken looked like corpses ; in defeat , they looked even worse . " Your scouts are useless . I sent them to harass the wall ' s defenses , and they crawl back like whipped dogs . " Garrosh snorted , not even looking at his companion . The great brown - skinned orc was festooned in his most menacing battle garb , his veiny , tattooed biceps bursting out from beneath tusked shoulderguards . Although he stood right in front of his tent , he refused to step back out of the rain . It dribbled over his scowling face and blackened jaw . Next to the great orc and sheltered under the tent canopy , Master Apothecary Lydon looked positively frail . His pockmarked face winced under a matted mess of purple - gray hair as he tried to formulate a response that wouldn ' t earn him another round of verbal abuse from the warchief . " I can assure you they ' re giving as good as they get , " he said in measured tones , his voice rough and shallow . " Gilnean defenses are almost certainly in disarray . " " Then why are your scouts limping back instead of pressing forward ? " Garrosh kicked aside a barrel . Behind him , his own troops weathered out the rain : four companies of elite handpicked orc and tauren warriors supported by five battalions of Orgrimmar ' s hardest . They stretched over the fields of Silverpine , a sea of green and brown faces against a backdrop of bright - red banners . " And where are the promised regiments from Lordaeron ? They ' re to flood the breach . We waste time . " Lydon knew better than to talk tactics with the hard - headed warchief , but he had grown desperate as the hour of the attack had approached . He licked his gray lips with a dark - purple tongue and tried to answer casually , hoping to elicit some reason . " Slowed by the rain , no doubt , but they should arrive soon . They are … absolutely … Lordaeron ' s finest . The very heart of our infantry and backbone of our entire endeavor … " Garrosh stroked the side of his face with his knuckles . He eyed the terrain and mentally positioned the coming infantry and cavalry as Lydon spoke . " But you can ' t just send them right into the central breach in the wall , " Lydon continued . " It ' s a … a chokepoint . Well fortified , closely watched . Heavy armored troops on horseback couldn ' t maneuver through the breach : they ' d be mown down by musketfire from the debris . Surely you can see — " " Of course I see ! " Garrosh answered . " The door is wedged open ; now it must be kicked down . This is what your kind is good for . " Now the warchief looked directly at the master apothecary , his cool eyes fixated on the pale yellow light that filled the latter ' s eye sockets . " You ' re already corpses , nearly impossible to kill . You flood the chokepoint , you open the way for the rest of the Horde to come through , fresh and eager . Rushing over a bridge of broken bodies if we have to . This is how fortifications are breached . How wars are won . " The master apothecary lifted up two bony fingers . " But if we could just use a … just a touch of the plague . Just to open a gap . Not even enough to do any — " just a smudge ! " More to cause fear and panic than any actual — " Garrosh ' s backhand ripped through the sky , spraying the tent with a glistening arc of rainwater as it smashed into the side of Lydon ' s face . The master apothecary reeled as if he ' d been kicked by a horse , but by will alone managed to stay upright after the blow . " If you ' re suggesting using even an ounce of that filth that you ' ve got hidden away , I will burn you and your sewer - city to the ground , " Garrosh grunted . He turned back toward the action . Humiliated , Master Apothecary Lydon muttered a barely audible , " Yes , Warchief , " through clenched teeth . But privately he coiled up his anger . " Where is the Dark Lady , Sylvanas ? " he wondered , turning his empty eye sockets toward the gray heavens . " Why isn ' t she here to counter this beast ? " Sylvanas tottered on the edge of Icecrown ' s peak , her eyes closed . She raised her arms . Although the wind here was biting cold , she felt only the dullest of aches . She sensed a presence nearby and opened her eyes . The Val ' kyr had drifted closer to her , close enough that she could see their weapons glinting against their ghostly thighs . What did they want ? Without warning , a vision filled her head . A memory . She found herself in a warm , sun - drenched bedroom . Shafts of golden sunlight spilled through the window , illuminating aimless motes of dust and casting ornate patterns on the floor . This was her room . A lifetime ago . She had not yet seen her twentieth autumn , yet already young Sylvanas was the most promising hunter in her family . She pulled on her thigh - high leather boots , carefully measuring the laces and decoratively tying them . She adjusted the leaf - patterned embroidery , then bounced herself off of the bed to admire her reflection in the mirror . Her waist - length blonde hair flowed like water , absolutely translucent in the light of the sun . She beamed at the mirror , teasing her hair until it dashed around her long , slender ears in just the perfect way . It wasn ' t good enough to be the best hunter in her family . She needed to take everyone ' s breath away as she ventured out . She was so very vain . It was a strange , forgotten memory , and it brought Sylvanas back from the edge of the peak . What had prompted that recollection ? That life was lost a thousand times over . Another memory flooded her senses . Now she crouched behind an outcropping of smooth stone in Eversong Woods . The autumnal foliage rustled above her , masking the sound of her companion ' s footsteps as he dashed forward and then fell into hiding beside her . " There are so many ! " he barked , falling silent as she raised a finger . " We have only two dozen rangers up there , " he said , his voice now a whisper . " They cannot survive that ! " Sylvanas didn ' t turn her gaze away from the dark mass of shambling corpses crushing its way closer to the river ford . It was the height of the Third War , and hours away from Silvermoon ' s fall at the hands of Arthas ' s army . " They merely need to delay them as we fortify the Sunwell ' s defense , " she answered , her tone measured . " They will die ! " " They are arrows in the quiver , " Sylvanas said . " They must be spent if we are to win this . " " She was brash . Empty ? No — a fighter . She had a warrior ' s heart . " Now , as sudden as the last , a third memory . " Rightful heirs of Lordaeron ! " Sylvanas called out , holding her bow aloft . Her forearm , still slender and muscular , was now a shade of blue - gray . Dead . The scene was very different now . This vision had the cold sheen of a memory lived after death . Before her waited a grotesque , quivering mass of corpses , their armor piecemeal , their bodies broken , the stench unimaginable . Their plaintive , desperate gazes reminded her suddenly of children . They disgusted her . But their need empowered her . " The Lich King falters . Your will is your own . Are you to be outcasts now in your own land ? Or do we embrace the cruel cards fate has dealt us and retake our place in this world ? " Her questions were greeted with gurgles , then a rasping , almost desperate cheer . Bony fists lifted toward the sky . These poor people : peasants , farmers , priests , warriors , lords and nobles … they hadn ' t yet come to grips with what had happened to them . But for somebody — anybody — to assure them that they belonged somewhere was electrifying . " We are abandoned . We are … " forsaken " . But when the sun rises tomorrow , the capital will be ours , " she pronounced . And now they roared . " But what of the humans ? " a young alchemist asked as the din faded . Sylvanas recognized him from the previous night ' s fighting . A cool intelligence flickered in his eye sockets : Lydon was his name . Already he ' d come to embrace his situation , referring to humans as if they were a separate race ; she made a mental note to make use of him . " The humans will serve their purpose , " she answered , her mind already calculating . " They believe they are liberating the city . Let them fight on our behalf and spend themselves for our gain . They are " — she stumbled upon an analogy she ' d used before — " arrows in our quiver . " The heaving mass of undead clapped and coughed and hacked gleefully in assent . Sylvanas regarded the whole mob coldly . And so are you , she thought to herself . Arrows I will aim at Arthas ' s heart . " Still a warrior ' s heart ? She had grown cold . " No , she was the same . In death as in life . Sylvanas shook her head , cleared her vision . These were her memories , but she wasn ' t remembering them . They were being pulled from her . Pulled from her by the Val ' kyr . The mute spirits hovered around her , regarding her silently . " They are probing me ! " Sylvanas realized . " Judging me ! " She drew cold air into her lungs , her eyes suddenly alive . " I will not be judged ! " she cried out , turning away from the edge to face her accusers . " Not by you . Not by anyone . " Her fury welled up inside her . Would her banshee ' s wail work against these … things ? But she didn ' t need to fight at all . She was done . " Stay back , " she commanded . " And stay out of my head ! " Sylvanas stepped back , the wind whipping her hair and snapping her frayed cloak . The memories of who she had been and what she had become closed a knot in her stomach , and she moved now to unravel it . No more would she be the vengeful leader of a mongrel race of rotted corpses . Her work was done , and her long - denied reward awaited her . Longing for that forgotten bliss , she allowed herself to fall backward from the top of Icecrown Citadel . The wind rushed past her , a growing wail . The pinnacle , and the silent Val ' kyr at its peak , disappeared … Her body burst on the saronite stones below with a crushing finality . As if in a dream , the heart of Lordaeron ' s undead army crashed forward . Shouted commands were strangely muted . The heavy cavalry poured through the breach , skeletal hooves somehow finding purchase on the wrecked remains of the wall . The Forsaken struggled to squeeze through , the gap sometimes as narrow as four abreast . Then the defenders ' artillery fired with a dull , echoing crack . Man and horse burst into dust and gore where the shells landed . Musketfire erupted like the tapping of distant drums : row after row went down . But these veterans had lived through the horrors of Icecrown . They poured through , unrelenting , in order to give fight to the defenders beyond . The second wave arrived , hurling grapples to the walltop as oil poured down . All at once , the front burst into flame . Still the gunfire peppered them ; still the Forsaken charged . Some reached the walltop , only to be cut down . The defenders weren ' t human . Those rabid , lupine animals that had been lurking around Silverpine had actually been organized into a fighting force . Where guns and swords failed , tooth and claw tore into the undead army . The Forsaken surged again , weapons spattered with blood and awash in rainwater . The figures who fought were gray in the mist , their cries somehow silent echoes as they were hacked apart . By now , even the defenders were reeling . They had killed so many : could anything be left ? The first wave of orcs caught the Gilneans by surprise . Horde forces rushed forward over a carpet of corpses , lust for victory in their eyes and throats . Everything was silent now . And then it was gone . In its place stood the Bulwark , the half - finished fortifications that lined Lordaeron ' s border with what had become known as the Plaguelands . Master Apothecary Lydon was there , his left arm missing and an enormous gash across his face . He spoke urgently to his people , but no sound came out . He was orchestrating a last - minute defense at the Bulwark , but had little to work with . The heart of the Forsaken army had been sacrificed at Gilneas . What little remained faced off against an organized force of humans and dwarves marching west , fresh from its victory at Andorhal . The ragged force that remained at the Bulwark had little hope of victory . The rest of the Horde was nowhere in sight . This isn ' t real , Sylvanas realized , suddenly aware of her own consciousness observing these ghostly events as they unfolded . She was dead : she could feel it , but her spirit was being held in limbo . What is this ? The last thing she remembered was falling to her demise . These visions — they were like memories of events that hadn ' t yet happened . Where did they come from ? Where was she now ? The capital was suddenly under siege . King Wrynn stood beyond the burning remains of the zeppelin tower , drawing diagrams of the Undercity for his generals . He had stormed the city before ; he was confident of victory . Within the city walls , bonfires raged . Sylvanas seethed ; the Alliance was already burning the corpses . No . Wait . She tried to make sense out of the clouded vision . " The few Forsaken who remain are throwing themselves into the bonfires , " she realized , " rather than facing their executioners . " " This isn ' t real ! " Sylvanas announced , her voice echoing in her head and sounding as it had when she had been alive . Were her people really so weak ? No — no ! Garrosh had all but murdered the best of her troops in his own wasteful campaigns . The Forsaken leadership had been gutted . That was what these visions showed . The mists closed up completely as the future became indistinct . Sylvanas could no longer feel her body . She was floating in some kind of limbo . She realized she could see herself , and held up her hands in silent awe . Her flesh was a golden pink again , firm and luminous as it had been in life . But she was not alone here . With a gasp , she saw that she was surrounded . Nine warrior women drifted in a circle around her , and their beauty outshone even hers . The Val ' kyr appeared as they had in life . Some had raven - dark hair that fell around tan faces and jewel - like blue eyes . Others had blonde manes the pale , brilliant color of sun shining on snow . Their faces were soft , but their jaws hard . Their arms were smooth and muscled ; their thighs wide and strong . Each held a different weapon : a spear , a halberd , a great two - handed claymore that stretched from chin to ground in a shimmering swath of polished steel . Each was the greatest warrior of her generation . They were all just like me , Sylvanas saw . Vain , victorious , and proud . " Yes , we were , " said the blonde Val ' kyr armed with the claymore , answering Sylvanas as if she ' d spoken aloud . Her voice was rich and full . " I am Annhylde the Caller . These are my sister battlemaidens , and we are the only nine who remain . We served the warriors of the north in life , and chose to continue our service in death . " " To serve the Lich King . " The vision of Annhylde rankled . " Did you choose to serve the Lich King ? " she asked . " What is this ? What are these visions ? " Sylvanas demanded . " Visions of the future , " Annhylde explained . " Every life leaves a wake in its passing . This is yours . " " It doesn ' t take a crystal ball to see Hellscream squandering the Horde ' s resources , tearing it apart in his lust for conquest . " Sylvanas felt the old anger welling up again , but couldn ' t feel her body respond . She couldn ' t feel anything . " Where have you taken me ? I should be dead . " " You are , " said another Val ' kyr , her hair the color of coal . " I ' ve tasted oblivion before , " Sylvanas protested . " You ' re keeping me in limbo . Why ? " Annhylde remained patient , her voice soothing and measured . " To show you the consequences of your passing , and to offer you a choice … " " I ' ve made my choice , " Sylvanas interrupted . " Your people will perish ! " said the dark - haired Val ' kyr . She had clearly been the youngest of the battlemaidens in life and was now the most impatient in her undeath . Sylvanas thought about her people . They had come far from their decimated origins , the yearning , confused mob of fresh corpses huddled about the ruins of Lordaeron ' s wrecked capital . The Forsaken were truly a nation now : a fetid , gore - caked , hideous mass of lifeless husks , skilled in combat , devastating with the arcane arts , and unhindered by fetters of morality . They had been honed into the perfect weapon . Her weapon . And they had struck the killing blow for which she had built them . She cared nothing for their fate . " " Let them perish ! " " Sylvanas cried . " " I am finished with them ! " " Annhylde raised a hand to quiet her younger sister - in - arms . " Hush , Agatha . She does not know . She must see more . " The Val ' kyr leader directed her luminous green eyes to Sylvanas , their edges rimmed with sadness . " Sylvanas Windrunner , the oblivion you seek is yours . We will not stop you . " Annhylde ' s eyes closed , and at once the figures vanished into their faceless spectral forms . Then Sylvanas felt herself being pulled away , her senses reeling . Everything disappeared , and time stopped . " She is lost ! " Agatha wailed . The rain continued , unrelenting , turning the ground before the Gilnean wall into a swamp . As Garrosh inspected the ranks of the Forsaken , the paws of his great war wolf sank into the muck . Rainwater dribbled from his face and steamed from the top of his stubbly shaved head . " The Gilneans cower behind their high stone walls , " the warchief called out , his deep voice booming over the din of rain and thunder . " You , citizens of Lordaeron , you know their history . When their human allies needed them , what did they do ? " They walled up and hid . " " Swords clanged against shields . Not all Forsaken clung to their living memories , but those who did held no love for the kingdom that had turned its back to the world in its most desperate hours . Garrosh continued , his head high as his words filled the air . " They live in dishonor . How do you think they will fight ? With honor ? " Guttural laughter . " No , they will die the deaths of cowards and be remembered as such . But your glory today will live in word and song . " Garrosh Hellscream turned to face the broken wall of Gilneas , drawing the legendary axe Gorehowl from his back and aiming its notched blade at the shattered parapets . " " Walls fall , but honor is forever ! " " Master Apothecary Lydon ran his bony fingers through his tangle of hair . The roar from orc , tauren , and Forsaken alike overwhelmed the thunder . " How does he do it ? " Lydon wondered . " My Forsaken brothers cheer for their own destruction ! " Lydon desperately tried to form the words , some last plea for sanity against Garrosh ' s plan . He tried to imagine what the Dark Lady would say , how she would tamp down his bloodlust . His jaw opened , but no words came out . A distant din erupted in the rear of the Forsaken vanguard . Garrosh spurred his war wolf to the side of the army , clearing the way for a charge . " Heroes of the Forsaken ! You are the point of my spear . Lift your arms ; lift your voices ; and do not stop until you lift the Horde banner upon those walls . " Gorehowl dropped down . " Chaaaarge ! " " BELAY THAT ORDER ! " shrieked a voice from the north . The call of the Banshee Queen carried such terrifying power and purity that even the rain itself seemed to cease falling at her command . The sky tore open with lightning , and thunder cracked like a hammer on stone . All heads turned toward her — the Dark Lady astride her skeletal mount , her black cloak snapping with the fury of her charge , her eyes shrouded by a rain - slicked hood . As the Forsaken saw her , they lowered their weapons into the mud , bowed their heads , and knelt . Master Apothecary Lydon did not fall to his knees , although they buckled under him at the sight of the Forsaken savior . He stutter - stepped forward , his long robes dragging sloppily through the mud , and reached up to grasp her reins as her steed slowed to a halt . " Dark Lady , " he whispered , breathless with relief . Then he blinked in astonishment : Lady Sylvanas was flanked on either side by the abominable Val ' kyr , their shimmering bodies held aloft on translucent wings . Garrosh now approached her on the rutted road , the kneeling , quiet Forsaken army stretched out around him like thousands of silent statues . Bloodlust shone in his eyes . Lydon couldn ' t help but shrink away . Yet Sylvanas didn ' t blink , nor did she remove her hood out of respect . She lifted her chin in a subtle gesture . Her words sang out , meant for Garrosh but loud enough for all to hear . " Hellscream . Gilneas will fall . And the Horde will have its prize , " she said . " But if you wish to use my people , we will do this " my " way . " She threw her cloak over one shoulder , revealing her dappled gray skin and the feather - festooned leather plates of her ornate black armor . " My three fastest ships have already been dispatched to the southern coast to divert the attention of the Gilnean capital . And even now I gather reinforcements from Deathknell . " Apothecary Lydon cocked his head at her cryptic remark . So far as he remembered , nothing remained of Deathknell but a graveyard . More importantly , however , something had changed in his sovereign ' s presence . Her voice — always terrifying — now had a definitive edge , as though she spoke with the finality of gods . And what of those Val ' kyr who hovered mutely beside her ? " My lady , " Lydon whispered . " Where have you been ? " She looked down at her subject , and Apothecary Lydon found himself backing away , his quaking hands dropping the reins of her steed . Lady Sylvanas Windrunner tumbled in a free fall . Not in the physical sense ; her body had been obliterated at the foot of Icecrown Citadel . It was her spirit that tumbled , lost , like a rudderless ship in a storm . How had she gotten here ? She couldn ' t remember . Had she been killed by Arthas ? Had she committed suicide ? Had she been sent to judgment by the Val ' kyr ? Time was meaningless here . Her whole life seemed not a series of events but a single instant , a pinpoint flash of consciousness in an infinite void . She saw only darkness . And then she felt — truly felt , for the first time in a long while . She recoiled . In agony . Here she was , her spirit once again feeling whole , only to feel it suffer . To feel once more , only to feel abject pain . Cold . Hopelessness . Fear . There were others in the darkness . Things she didn ' t recognize , because nothing so terrible could exist in the world of the living . Claws tore at her , but she had no mouth with which to scream . Eyes looked at her , but she couldn ' t look back . Regret . She sensed a familiar presence . Recognized it . The taunting voice that had once held her in its grasp . Arthas ? Arthas Menethil ? Here ? His essence rushed to her , desperate , then shrank away in horrified recognition . The boy who would be Lich King . Just a scared little blond child , reaping the aftermath of a lifetime of mistakes . If any part of Sylvanas ' s soul were not at that moment torn and tormented , she might have even felt — for the first time — the slightest glimmer of pity for him . In the grand landscape of all the world ' s suffering and all the evils of the infinite , the Lich King was … insignificant . Now the others had her . Surrounded her . Gleeful , tormenting , tearing at her consciousness , delighting in her suffering . Horror . This was to be her eternity : the endless void , the dark , unknown realm of anguish . Was it a moment or a lifetime before a single thread of light broke through the darkness ? Then they came to her , their arms extended . The nine Val ' kyr , impossibly beautiful after this dark place , enshrouding Sylvanas in a single halo of light . She felt small and naked . Coiled into herself . When she found her voice again , it only sobbed . Sylvanas Windrunner was broken . Yet still , the Val ' kyr did not judge . " Lady Sylvanas , " Annhylde said , her voice soothing . She touched the side of the elven ranger ' s face . " We need you . " " What — what do you want ? " " We are bound to the will of the dormant Lich King . Imprisoned atop Icecrown , possibly for eternity . We hunger for our freedom , as you once hungered for yours . " Annhylde knelt beside Sylvanas , the other Val ' kyr clustering around the pair of them , arms linked . " We need a vessel . One like us . A sister of war . Strong . Who understands life and death . Who has seen the light and the dark . Someone worthy — worthy of power over life and death . " " We need you , " repeated Agatha , her black hair floating freely in the light . " My sisters will be free , free of the Lich King forever , but their souls will be bound to yours , " Annhylde continued . " Sylvanas Windrunner , Dark Lady , queen of the Forsaken … you may walk with the living again through the sisterhood of the Val ' kyr . As long as they live , so too shall you . Freedom , life … and power over death . This is our pact . Do you accept our gift ? " Sylvanas answered , but not right away . The lurking oblivion filled her with terror . Even now , she felt the tempest rage around her . This was her only way out . But she didn ' t want to give her assent out of fear . She waited until she felt something more . A fellowship . A sisterhood . " Sisters . " Separate , they were all trapped . But together , they were free … and with them , she could postpone her fate . " Yes , " she said . " We have a pact . " Annhylde nodded grimly , then rose up , her features blurred and ghostly . " The pact is made , Sylvanas Windrunner , " she said . " My sisters are yours , and you hold sway over life and death . " A long pause , and then : " I shall take your place . " The light was blinding . Then Sylvanas awoke , her body twisted but whole , the enormous column of Icecrown Citadel looming above her like a tombstone . Annhylde was gone . Sylvanas was surrounded by the eight remaining Val ' kyr . As long as they lived , so too would she . " Who are " you " to countermand my orders ? " Garrosh demanded , nudging his war wolf forward . The enormous orc now pressed his great girth into her space , coming up alongside her and glowering at her . Sylvanas did not move or shy away . " I was once like you , Garrosh , " she answered , her voice quiet and steady , loud enough only for the warchief to hear . " Those who served me were tools . Arrows in my quiver . " She reached up and slowly brought down her hood , then directed her dark gaze at him . Her eyes were alive , their oversized jet - black pupils livid with rage , red embers glowing deep within . At that moment , nobody dared look Sylvanas Windrunner in the eye . Nobody but Garrosh Hellscream . What he saw was a great black void , an infinite darkness . There was fear in those eyes , but also something else . Something that terrified even the great warchief . His wolf began to edge away instinctively . " Garrosh Hellscream . I ' ve walked the realms of the dead . I have seen the infinite dark . Nothing you say . Or do . Could " possibly " frighten me . " The army of undead that surrounded and protected the Dark Lady was still hers , body and soul . But they were no longer arrows in her quiver , not anymore . They were a bulwark against the infinite . They were to be used wisely , and no fool orc would squander them while she still walked the world of the living . The warchief sheathed his axe onto his back , his mount sidling away from hers . After a long moment , he finally tore his gaze from those eyes . " Very well , Dark Lady , " he conceded loud enough for all to hear . " We will take Gilneas … " your way " . " He spurred his mount onward and ambled through the mud toward his own troops . " But I will be watching you , " he told himself . " The eyes of Hellscream are upon you more than any other . "