Chapter Text
Why did Sunstrider Cabin still stand?
As Rommath stood before the graceful building, fog clinging at his robes and mind alike, he could think of little else.
For an entire morning’s ride, he had trailed reluctantly behind Lor’themar and Halduron, each riding atop swift hawkstriders that kicked up a trail of dust in their path. He’d wondered what they’d find as they entered a forgotten grove and twisted down a forgotten road leading to the forgotten cabin’s front steps. The fog that descended on their approach hadn’t cleared. Had no intention of clearing. Coalescing over parched earth, it blanketed in impermanent permanence. Shifting, but obscuring. Rolling in wafts like pearled foam on the sea, yet never receding. It pressed on. Around. Clung to his lungs on every breath.
Beyond the borders of the grove, it didn’t dare tread. It dissipated into nothingness. A relief, certainly, to life teaming beyond. Everywhere the fog enveloped in its obscuring, insistent press bore its mark. Death. The battling songs on the wind, carried on unceasing declarations of territory from the songbirds flitting through Eversong—silenced. The reaching limbs of ancient trees—decayed.
But the cabin—
There it stood. Unbroken. Untarnished. Unlike anything else in view. Emerging from the fog like an omen. A warning. A threat cloaked in the trappings of an inescapable past.
He stumbled over the thought, a suspicion teasing at his mind. It flourished and faded in the space of one skipped breath, receding behind a fog of another kind. He released it on a shaky breath. And with it, Rommath found himself drifting back towards a whirlpool of rumination, unrealizing it for the threat it was.
Mere curiosity, a question, a need to know beckoned.
Why?
Why did it stand so proudly? Graceful as ever. Why had the clutches of time been kind?
Time decays. Time is ruthless. Time doesn’t bend its knee for king nor prince.
There are few truths as universally understood by all life: death comes to all mortals when given enough time. It set a quick tempo for some: mere weeks for the karner blues that once flitted through dappled sunlight, a few years for the mana wyrms that once soaked in an abundance of arcane, a century or two for the dragonhawks that once soared between mighty boughs of mighty trees. And for others, it set a slow, stately pace—over a millennia for the husks of arching trees quaking in the wind above. Longer still for the sin’dorei.
Life lives as it is wont to do, but only within the natural confines dictated by mathematical calculation, a predestined weight of sand dutifully counting each irreplaceable second as it slips away. It plays by time’s rules in time’s game at time’s pleasure. It endures. It is shaped in the gentle curve of that steadily rising cup. Then, in equal wont, having sufficiently endured, life steps aside. Death eagerly steps in, and decay, it’s lieutenant, steps up.
And so it continues: life, death, decay, oblivion.
The inevitable can be postponed, and with greater skill, reversed. Repeated. Reimagined. But not without the aid of the arcane. Intentional manipulation. Arrogant interference. And when the play containing a story of humble life folding to limitless oblivion does not come to its natural conclusion, when that curtain doesn’t fall, one could be certain an arrogant being—a puppeteer masked in the safety of obscuring shadow—plucked on strings hidden away.
Even those with greatness imbued in their blood, none greater than that of the sin’dorei themselves, weren’t immune to the natural order; couldn’t escape the stately rhythm. Dutifully, it came to them all. Marching to that steady beat into the darkness waiting beyond: life, death, decay, oblivion.
Perhaps that was why the cabin vexed Rommath so.
They had only just arrived in the shadow of Sunstrider Cabin, Lor’themar and Halduron still tending to the exhausted hawkstriders, and already Rommath found himself spiraling, unable to make sense of it all. An enigma teased the edges of his mind, knowing there was something more than what met the eye. The cabin deceived him, but how?
The ghostly wooden boards he knew to have been constructed in another, simpler life still looked as if they had been newly felled and sawed. As pristine as the day he first laid eyes on it—a day accompanied by a charming, captivating, honorable man—it stood. Proudly. Each board appeared determined to memorialize his failings and stand tall in the stead of a dynasty fallen. It mocked him with its very existence. It stood— unaged— in the face of time. One shining, haunting monument to what should be impossible. It stood in testament to a past that couldn’t be escaped, not even when gripped in the throes of a decaying grove.
It evaded time, unaided.
Decay hadn’t touched Sunstrider Cabin.
Despite its abandonment, it still stood as it had when Rommath first visited in a century past. Elven craftsmanship and more than a little arcane is all it was then—nothing worth so much as a passing thought. In those days, the sun had shone brightly on this forest. Its green trees full of life reaching to the sky as equally as life thrived beneath the ground, digging towards that arcane spring flowing in abundance.
Magic once vibrated in such mesmerizing frequencies under the boughs of this grove, testing time's dominion. Imbued in rushing waters of streams, imbued in nourishing soils of the earth, imbued in the invigorating freshness of the air. Time had stretched impossibly long, bowing graciously to the arrogance of the sin'dorei.
But the arcane in this forest had long since depleted. It withered and retreated, abandoning this valley to the grips of death. Waters evaporated, soils fissured, air stagnated. And before it all, the decay of Sunstrider Cabin had heralded its fall.
Rommath had seen it with his own eyes upon returning alone from Outland. Tucked within a once-verdant grove, he had marched right up to those smooth, blanched steps and saw the decay. The cabin showed its rot—albeit superficial and isolated—but rot all the same. Its once glorious walls had stepped aside for death. It had reeked of decay.
As it was then, the wood should be soft. It should sag under its own weight. Decrepitude should reign within the decay. That paint should peel in such a way no one would question why no one had visited this forgotten remnant of a simpler time.
Time.
Time. The very nature of its name counted each moment slipping by.
Time had taken it as it takes all. Rommath had seen it. The magic protecting it—postponing the arrival of decay—died long ago. Its wielder rested on Quel'Danas. He now rotted just the same as the forests here. So why? How dare it stand proudly when its rightful owner lay decayed? How dare time spare it but not its master? Sunstrider Cabin should not be standing.
Of that, Rommath was certain.
Time decays. Time is ruthless. Time doesn’t bend its knee for king nor prince.
Yet here Rommath stood, endlessly perplexed at what laid plainly before him. Anchored before the cabin, swirling in circular thoughts amidst the shadows of once glorious forests. The trees didn’t live here any longer. Their bare branches shook overhead and threatened to snap with each gust of wind. And above, thick clouds blanketed the sky, sitting heavy over the horizon, ensuring no sun shone in these lands.
But none had told that to the cabin.
It eschewed more than just time’s laws and cast a wide, ominous shadow falling short of where Rommath stood, still rooted before an enigma cloaked in pristine architecture. Walls painted a muted, lackluster white once intended to bend sunlight into spectacular vibrancy simply reflected a void where life once flourished.
With one glance, he knew the living no longer visited here. Nor the dead. Alone, it stood forsaken by all, uniting both realms against its existence.
Rommath was surely the first to stand aside its sinister shadow in quite some time. And already it knew he was there.
As harrowing as a banshee’s shrill, its walls breathed an ominous greeting that rasped with each gust of wind beneath its eaves. Its keen summoned Rommath closer as if its mere presence could enthrall him to take a damning step into its unnatural shadow. And another deeper still. And another and another until his soles met that pristine bone-white oak, and the cabin gripped his soul within its bowels, ready to consume him whole.
Its last owner could do so without speaking a word. Didn’t he always come running with just a glance? Or the promise of a caress. And, oh, when he was beneath his touch, he’d willingly give himself a thousand times over. He would do anything—anything at all—if he willed it.
Enthralled. In thrall—how easily those lines intertwined.
The thought lingered like a haze of guilt, settling into his skin the longer he dwelled on the improbability of returning to his cabin without him. Eyes clenched tightly, unable to bear witness to the outcome of such unwavering loyalty. It offered no reprieve. Darkened vision, instead, delivered a vivid sight he hadn’t been able to escape since that fateful day. As if etched behind eyelids, his mind’s eye filled with the sight of pooled blood. Dried and dark and smeared. He hadn’t been able to escape it, even now as he tried in vain to will it away.
What was this beautiful deception? A part of him should have wondered. A part of him should have seen through it. A part of him should have sensed perfume-cloaked decay. Should have wondered how Lor’themar had come to learn about its well-hidden existence after so long. Should wonder who told him. Should have wondered what brought them here. And above all else, why he had no answers.
Why, why—like heaving gasps between sobs—why?
But the cabin had other ideas.
Overbearing and insidious, it worked without detection. It pulled Rommath into its web. It ensured he wouldn’t escape. And if he tried, if he struggled, if he resisted, if panting breaths of resistance filled his lungs as he labored against those gossamer fetters gripping against ankles, gripping against wrists, gripping at his mind—it promised it would strangle.
Rommath struggled with panicked breath, dizziness threatening to tilt the earth beneath him. An all too familiar darkness encased him in swirling, inky wisps. He pulled his high collar down to free his face to the cutting wind as he forced calming breaths.
Inhale. He focused on the wind over his cheeks, brushing against his skin. Exhale. Shifting between his feet, gravel crunched beneath his weight. The darkness began to recede, his heart began to calm. Inhale. Two deep voices spoke amongst themselves behind him, comforting in their own right, even if he’d begrudge the fact. Exhale. His heart and breath steadied despite the hazy fog persisting over his mind as it persisted underfoot.
Opening his eyes, Rommath accepted the truth standing proudly before him.
Painted perfectly along the front of the cabin were rows of arching windows. Those of the lower level were unworthy of note. It was the upper floor that called to him. Upon that level, his gaze instinctively raised to the far left window. Like the rest, its curtains had been drawn closed countless years ago. He knew where that window led.
His room.
His room. It echoed in Rommath’s mind like a heave as he leaned into the feel of those two syllables. Not a name, but a place. No longer belonging to a man, but a memory. The syllables rolled over, smooth and without an edge to catch on, an entrancing enigma held in two words. A ghost of a memory heralded by a faint toll clasped by twos. His room.
Goosebumps trailed over his exposed arms, the crimson marking over his skin tingling from more than just cutting wind. He couldn’t look away. He couldn’t look away from his room. He couldn’t look away from his room, in his cabin, here without him.
His room.
The hair on the back of Rommath’s neck prickled with the weight of a steady gaze. Hidden, a presence watched his every move. The drapes to his room had been drawn shut like all the others during the last visit of its owner—or mostly so. In the center of this pane, a sliver of darkness divided the two opaque panels and offered a glimpse into the dark of the room. Parted far enough to invite him to peer behind its barrier, yet not enough to make anything out. From so far away, he couldn’t see anything, but it didn’t stop him from searching.
Wasn’t he always searching?
Rommath had long given up hope it might someday stop.
A perpetual search for him came as instinctually as breath. As unstoppable as the beating of his heart. He didn’t know how to stop. After all, how does one stop breath? He could try. He could succeed, for a while. But it was bound to rip through him, more forcefully as he denied it. In a punishing breath, he’d be filled with him as his body shuddered on a stinging gasp. In vengeance, it returned. With scorn, it reminded. He lived. He breathed. He searched for a prince whose chest had stilled.
Rommath breathed, therefore Rommath searched. As always, a hope sparked in his chest—perhaps he might look up and greet a charming smile as if nothing had happened. Perhaps these waking years since that fateful day were nothing but a dream. Even now, hope and dread battled within him, caught between beats of his drumming heart, as he peered uselessly at what remained beyond reach.
He wasn’t sure if finding something staring back would be better or worse. The cut of black upon the pane, a crack into more than a room, drew him into its inky darkness. The longer he lingered in the grips of slivered darkness, the harder he found it to look away. Something called to him from that darkness. From that room. Entranced, a distant part of himself realized he couldn’t look away.
So softly, it called. Sweet, in a way that should carry with it alarm.
It invited him to lean in and forego self-preservation for the rare privilege of knowing what lingered within. Soft. Sweet. Wicked. If he listened, if he lingered, if he gave himself over, it might whisper its secrets.
It called. It called. It spoke a damning name. Entreating shadows crept to his shoes in an invitation no mortal should accept. And yet he felt himself lean into it, eager to know its whispers no matter the cost. What did it expect of him? What did it command? What did it want him to—
A heavy gloved hand clasped roughly over Rommath’s shoulder, startling him from his steady watch. He flinched in response, and with it, the captivating hold of the cabin snapped.
Only then did he finally peel his eyes from the window. His sharp glare met Halduron’s irritating smirk then fell to where his hand still laid over his shoulder before flicking back instinctively to the sliver of black between two curtains. Unchanged from before, but…he frowned, unable to place what lingered out of grasp.
Halduron stood quietly, scrutinizing Rommath.
Already he could see a question forming, having had the displeasure of becoming increasingly acquainted with his mannerisms. Same tells he turned to when he tried his hardest to remain diplomatic, possibly even more aggravating than blundering through in confident stride.
And as Halduron scrutinized him, Rommath returned to scrutinizing the dark sliver of the upstairs window, taking another pensive moment in hopes of unraveling the mystery.
Halduron followed Rommath’s line of sight, unable to see anything but the cabin before them.
“Something the matter?” Halduron finally asked in simple question.
The weight of Halduron’s questioning look fell back over him, waiting for an answer.
“It looks so,” Rommath trailed off with a frown, gesturing to the cabin.
Unable to place his discomfort with the building, he left the thought unfinished.
“Run down?” Halduron offered too hastily, nodding in perceived agreement.
That couldn't be further from the truth. Was staying in the Spire finally affecting Halduron’s sensibilities? Surely, a Farstrider would have endured far worse accommodations than the royal hunting cabin.
Rommath’s frown deepened, answering with a disapproving hum.
“I’m…surprised you're up for this,” said Halduron, giving him no time to unravel the thought further.
In truth, Rommath hadn't been. Before Lor’themar broached the subject nearly a month ago, he thought he’d never lay eyes on this cabin again. On the list of destinations he’d never wish to visit, it ranked high. But the idea of them visiting—digging through the past without a scrutinizing warden—made him uneasier still.
“You’re the one who suggested it,” Rommath accused.
Halduron scratched at a dusting of blond over his jaw. “Yeah, well, that was before I knew.”
Rommath cleared his throat and finally turned his attention fully onto Halduron. “The two of us spending the weekend in such close quarters does sound dreadful, but I'll manage.”
Halduron cracked an easy smile that Rommath didn’t return. Slung over his shoulder were two packed bags stuffed full of his effects. By the looks of it, he carried far more than would be needed for just two nights. It was like him to be overprepared and overeager for a chance at roughing it in the forest.
A soft crunch of gravel approached them as Lor’themar joined. On either shoulder, he carried both his and Rommath’s bags, intent to haul them both into the cabin. Lor’themar looked between the two in a moment of hesitation. Soft, understanding gaze landed on Rommath, sensing his discomfort.
“We can wait with you if you need a minute,” Lor’themar offered.
“Or camp out here instead,” Halduron supplied in the lingering silence.
Rommath scoffed at the idea in overcompensation for how dearly it appealed to him. His rebuttal went ignored, the two rangers looking to him with as much sincerity as their offer held. Truthfully, the idea of turning around and camping outside of the cabin’s shadow wasn’t unwelcome. If they waited with him, it would be easy—so easy—to allow Brightwing an excuse to sleep beneath the wounded sky.
Something wasn’t right here, even if he couldn’t figure out what.
“Unnecessary,” Rommath countered with a shake of his head, reclaiming harsh apathy. “This very well might be the last fresh air of the evening. Who knows if anything has curled up inside to rot. I’ll be right behind you.”
Satisfied, Lor’themar and Halduron continued forward—stepping into that shadow as they closed the distance to the cabin. Nothing happened as they entered its domain. They bounded up the front steps with ease, and Lor’themar fiddled with the mechanical lock. He struggled for a moment, the door jammed shut and lock unwilling to allow entry.
Rommath suspected it was the first time anyone had attempted to open that door since he last spent the night here with—
Rommath’s heart stuttered, unable to finish the thought.
A ringing—soft at first and building to an unbearable hum—filled his ears. He clenched his eyes shut, feeling the wind whip around him. Louder and louder, the maddening sound squeezed. In its center, a soft, sweet, wicked call began anew, pulling him towards despair.
Viscous pooled crimson—the sickly shape of which was burned into his memory—flickered behind his eyelids. Staggered, he took an errant step into the shadows laying in wait at his feet. One step closer to the looming cabin. One step closer to sealing his fate.
Just when he thought the noise couldn't get worse, a soft voice called his name in the distance behind him—a shining beacon to the madness of memory. In a flash, it dispelled the cacophony. Stark reality painted in lackluster white came into focus. The ringing in his ears softened, faded. In its place, muted silence. The wind.
“They left you alone?” Aethas’ voice came from behind, caught on the wind as a crunch of gravel approached.
Turning his back on the cabin for the first time since arriving, Rommath snapped around to confirm Aethas indeed stood behind him. Where Halduron had taken it upon himself to seemingly pack for any possibility, likely hoping for an excuse to sleep beneath the trees, Aethas stood without any belongings with him—not even a mount.
“Evidently not,” said Rommath, each syllable cloaked in ice. “I remember telling you not to come.”
His eyes cut over Aethas’ shoulder to where the three hawkstriders they rode in on preened and pecked uselessly at the barren ground. No morsels were hidden amongst the dirt, yet the birds tried anyway. He wasn’t surprised to find Aethas hadn’t ridden in himself. But, if Aethas had portaled…narrowed eyes landed back on the mage in front of him at the realization.
He hadn’t given Aethas this location.
Lor’themar wouldn’t have invited him—knew better than to meddle in Rommath’s personal affairs. That only left Halduron as a possible informant, working behind his back. Did he really think his influence would escape notice? Evidently it had been too much to hope that he’d behave for one hunting trip.
“You didn’t expect I’d be here, I take it?” Already, rejection filled his face.
“Let me guess, Brightwing suggested it?” Rommath nearly growled in question, sensing a conspiracy with Aethas’ arrival. “Good of him to share, because that’s what forgotten cabins desire—more company.”
“It’s not like you ever visit Dalaran, so…would it be so terrible if he had?” Aethas shrugged. “Besides, you wanted me here.”
Rommath nearly protested.
“It’s true.” Aethas thought on it for a moment longer. “But if you don’t want me to stay, I can leave.”
Rommath turned back to the cabin in time to see the lower floor flicker to life as Lor’themar and Halduron went to work inside. Aethas’ words fell between them, not dignified with attention, much less an answer.
A soft glow that should have felt warm and inviting was cast against the sheer curtains of the lower level. So entranced with it, he missed the frown from behind him. Notice of the disappointed hurt—a common occurrence between them—was overshadowed by something more peculiar.
Rommath had caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. Behind the curtain on the top floor and between that entrancing sliver of a shadow. He thought he saw ...something. But no. As he searched again, nothing was there. Even the light from elsewhere in the cabin didn’t flow into the room, locked as it was from the world.
A trick of the eye, he decided with a sigh.
“Are you feeling alright?” Aethas probed, looking between Rommath and the cabin.
Rommath nearly laughed at the absurdity, unable to recall the last time he felt able to answer anything resembling “alright.” The sincerity behind the question gave him pause. He had seen the look shared between Halduron and Lor’themar on their journey and felt the tension linger in the air when they first mentioned the cabin in the weeks prior. A consensus had evidently been reached on that very question from the others. But here Aethas was without judgement.
“Fine. I’m feeling,” he started, uncertain how to answer.
Exhausted? Definitely that. He hadn’t slept since hearing of the cabin’s rediscovery, and longer still since he had an honest night’s rest. It was more than coincidental that any personal reserve of dreamless sleep potions that once filled his cabinet had long been depleted for non-essential use, even before the news of the cabin’s discovery reached him. And in the weeks since, dreamless sleep and more experimental concoctions all proved insufficient for keeping that very question at bay.
What was this feeling? He had no answers.
“You sure you want to?” Aethas echoed Halduron’s earlier sentiments with well-intended concern. “I know it can’t be easy given everything that happened with K—”
“It's just a cabin,” Rommath snapped. “You shouldn’t speak on things of which you know nothing. Or are you determined to astound me with your ignorance while meddling where you don't belong?”
Aethas politely didn't argue yet Rommath couldn't ignore the flicker of hurt lingering beside him. The young mage wanted to say more, clearly, but remained silent. Perhaps he wished to point out that Rommath lied, even to himself, if he thought he was over the past.
He wouldn’t be wrong. Nothing that brought back buried memories of him came easily.
Rommath sighed with the weight of everything.
“I'm with you,” said Aethas so confidently, so sweetly, it left Rommath no room to disagree.
Isn't that what he should want?
“I don't know how this all feels, but…” Aethas grabbed his hand tentatively, and surprising them both, Rommath allowed him. A smile grew as he laced fingers between Rommath’s. “You can lean on me. No matter what, we'll get through it together.”
That flash of a smile Aethas gave him invited Rommath to believe it. He gave the hand nestled in his palm a small, appreciative squeeze then let it fall from his grasp.
One small persistence lingered in his mind. A nagging, irritating thought. Under better circumstances, he’d think nothing of it, yet he couldn’t quite shake it.
“Does it look run down to you?” Rommath spared a small nod before them.
Though he’d never admit who prompted the irritation, unwilling to admit Brightwing had already succeeded in a game he was unwilling to take part in, he needed to confirm the suspicion all the same.
Aethas took in the architecture, studying its entirety as intently as he surely solved all problems that crossed him. His eyes flicked over every board and window in calculation, approaching it with seriousness that nearly matched Rommath’s concern over the curiously preserved building.
Finally, he shook his head. “I can't say it does. But if it looks worse to you, well, it's been neglected for who knows how long, it’s only natural that—”
“No, no,” Rommath nodded, satisfied. “We're in agreement. It's just…”
He couldn’t place the source of his apprehension. Mere exhaustion? Likely. Halduron was clearly up to his games—inviting Aethas and poking fun at him already—obviously unsatisfied with a weekend of simple hunting and leisure. The fact he'd pluck such low hanging fruit shouldn't be given more than a well practiced eyeroll and immediate dismissal.
Rommath buried the thought, turning to Aethas in seriousness. “You’re to tell no one of this place. Study what you want, but not the cellar. Not the office. And…not that room.”
“Understood,” Aethas waved away the conditions, a reserved smile struggling to remain even.
“Remove nothing,” Rommath warned. “And your discretion is still required, even here.”
Halduron must suspect their involvement if he’d invite him, but he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction if he could help it.
Aethas quickly nodded, agreeing to the reasonable terms with enthusiasm.
Rommath fell silent, willing more confidence to his words than he felt. “Lor’themar might start worrying if I take any longer. And Brightwing is already searching for an excuse to sleep out in the filth. Shall we?”
Without waiting for a response, he stepped forward through the cabin's unnatural shadow, chin high and concerns assuaged. Short, decisive steps crunched in the dry gravel, following the path previously forged by their companions. The sound of hurried footsteps fell roughly behind him, falling into step as they approached the stairs together.
As reality of climbing them became apparent, memories Rommath thought had been well-suppressed—emotions he thought were buried—all sputtered back to life from some dark recess. The full weight of the past came crushing down, stealing moisture from his throat and spreading it to his palms.
Rommath ignored the building pressure in his chest, the catch of his breath in his dry throat. He wasn't meant to be here; none of them were. But awareness of Aethas, and the troubled looks shared between Lor'themar and Halduron, strengthened his will. It was just a cabin, after all.
The creak of the first stair protested beneath him.
The second followed suit.
The third groaned in pain that threatened to give way. Together, it accused him with every step he took, yet allowed passage all the same.
Heart thundering in his chest, he wondered how Aethas hadn't heard. They continued across the veranda, then paused. A bronze crest—all sharp edges of a phoenix—was still bolted on the center of the stately, curved door ahead.
It was just a cabin.
Rommath tried to reassure himself of it, keeping his steady gaze fixed on the door, a façade of indifference projected proudly for no one beyond the affixed phoenix who cast chilling aspersions as Rommath hesitated beneath its scrutiny. A simple truth remained: he would rather face anything but for the memories lurking within, waiting to spring upon him in rabid accusation he possessed no defenses against.
Aethas’ presence closed in behind him in unspoken solidarity against what should be a humorous foe: an ordinary door to an ordinary hunting cabin. Under any other circumstances, Rommath would chastise Aethas for it, but he couldn’t find it in him to do so now. Feeling the warmth of Aethas radiating against him, he mustered the courage to clasp the doorknob.
It was as cold as the grave beneath his hand, not at all how he remembered it. But as he turned it, and despite the contempt of the ever-watchful phoenix keeping guard, the door welcomed him. That willing door sprung open with ease, as if it hadn't fought entry by their Regent Lord minutes prior, and a drawn out creak beckoned him into its depths.
His first instinct was to simply wait. For what—he didn’t quite know. With one step, he’d cross the threshold. As he had countless times before without sparing a single thought. But was he welcomed this time? Certainly there would be no warm invitation, no joyous welcome, no loving embrace.
Before indecision could grip him in his entirety, Aethas cleared his throat, reminding him of the deceptively difficult task at hand. Rommath shook away the thought. Buried it alongside everything else as Aethas waited patiently behind him.
With a deep breath that did little to sooth his hammering heart, his foot passed over the threshold. The soft step was immediately swallowed by silence. Though he hadn’t thought he’d find himself here again, he entered Sunstrider Cabin.