A New Life

She ran her fingers over the lid of dented metal box that the novice had placed on the table before her. Its surface was scarred and battered, streaked with soot and dust - but the name etched on the top was still visible.

Mazal the Valiant, Forward Commander, Shattari Guard.

Somehow, despite all the shadows and cobwebs in her mind, she could still remember the day that box had been handed to her, the way General Ovik's large hands had gripped the box and the sad smile in his eyes.

"We'll miss you, Mazal. I'll miss you. Are you certain that you are doing the right thing?"

Mazal remembered nodding to him - and she remembered the way her heart had throbbed in her chest. It had been such a difficult decision to leave the Guard. She had been a part of that family since they had landed on Draenor. She had been one of the members of the patrol that protected the building site of what would become Shattrath; she had taught every guard that had served within the city's walls. It had filled a part of her soul that had been so empty since Makov's death, since Niko's marriage.

Yet, then, there had been a reason to leave. There had been promise of a new life and a joy she hadn't had since Niko had been a babe.

Mazal began to open the lid of the box, but before the first shafts of light were even able to seep into the long-darkened interior, she slammed the lid back down.

"Novice!" Mazal shouted, leaning back in her chair. "Get back over here!"

The Novice scurried back over, his tail trembling. She handed the box back to him and ignored the look of confusion that crept across his blue-skinned face. "Put this where it belongs."

"Where...-"

"Don't look so confused. Bury it in my grave. My family's grave," Mazal spat back at him. "That person belongs with them. Not here -- with me."

As the Novice hurried away, the box between his hands, Mazal took a deep breath and cracked her knuckles on the tabletop.

How long until this sick joke would be over?