Sindaiseth stood expressionless, his steps faltering, half-shielding Liriel behind him.
Though his posture wasn't aggressive, his body language was firm, exuding an unyielding warning.
He didn't speak first, but instead looked back at Saintess Liriel, signaling with his eyes that it was her turn to perform.
Liriel nodded slightly, stepping forward half a pace, her expression serene, as if she had transcended all suffering.
Her voice was clear and firm, cutting through the surrounding noise: "We are here to help everyone, to save everyone."
"Save?" The male elf seemed to have heard the most absurd joke in the world, lightly shaking his magic staff, scoffing, "By yourselves? A frail woman, plus a man hiding behind her?"
"What exactly gives you the right to save us? Oh, wait, I understand!"
"You must be spies sent by those nobles!"
His words instantly caused a greater commotion and uproar among the surrounding crowd.
"We need mana! We need food! Not empty words!"
"Get out! Liars!"
"The nobles can't even save themselves, and they send you to pretend to be good people!"
The crowd's agitation intensified, pushing and shoving forward.
The few elves in cages were thoroughly enraged, one of them suddenly letting out an inhuman roar, violently striking the wooden bars, almost breaking through them.
Just as the crowd was about to surge forward, a voice suddenly rang out—
"Talon! Stop! Everyone, cease!"
The elf who had been directing from the wooden crate jumped down, rushing into the crowd like a leopard, grabbing Talon's hand that held the magic staff.
He glared at Talon and the agitated crowd, his voice filled with anger and exhaustion:
"Talon! Put down your weapon! Everyone step back! Look at what you're doing?!"
"Now that the nobles have cut off the mana supply, are we still going to kill each other?! Do you want to die faster?!"
His prestige and anger temporarily quelled the crowd's chaos.
Talon reluctantly lowered his magic staff, and the crowd retreated slightly.
The elf who appeared to be the leader first waved his hand, directing others to comfort the mutated elves trapped in the cages.
Then, he turned to face Sindaiseth and Liriel.
His gaze held deep weariness, yet it lingered on Liriel's face for a long time, scrutinizing her unique serenity.
"I am Relian," he said concisely, his tone cold and hard, "I'm pretty much in charge here."
Before he finished speaking, his tone shifted, suddenly becoming severe, yet still maintaining calm and self-control: "No matter where you come from, if you want to stay, you must abide by the rules here."
His eyes were heavy, and he made a gesture, signaling the two to follow.
He led them across the square, towards a secluded spot in the corner.
It was an ancient and twisted large tree, with tattered cloths and vines hanging from its branches.
Relian stopped, leaning his back against the tree trunk, arms crossed over his chest, and continued: "Alright, no one's here now. Now, tell me—who exactly are you, and what are you doing here?"
Liriel gently glanced at Sindaiseth, who imperceptibly nodded.
Liriel took a deep breath, then slowly began: "Who we are isn't important, Relian. What's important is why we are here."
Her tone was gentle, yet carried an unshakable firmness.
Her gaze seemed to penetrate Relian, looking directly at the suffering of the entire commoner district:
"As I said before, we have only one purpose—to save everyone."
"Save?" Relian seemed to have heard an enormous joke, a sarcastic arc forming at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes grew even colder, "Save with what?"
"You don't think I stopped Talon and the others because I believed your nonsense, do you?"
He abruptly pointed to the square, at the elves trembling around the mana crystal, at their compatriots twisting and struggling in cages.
"Look at them!" he roared, "We need mana, we need food, we need a way to cure mana addiction, we need hope to live! Do you have these?"
"Don't talk to me about ideals, hope, or salvation, that kind of garbage." His voice suddenly rose, his eyes almost spewing fire, "We only want mana! Only mana can save us!"
He roared, his face a mix of pain and anger, his expression even faintly resembling those elves who had begun to mutate.
Facing this almost collapsing questioning, Liriel did not flinch.
She merely slowly raised her right hand, and a gentle, golden-red glow quietly lit up on her fingertips, like a faint but inextinguishable spark in the deep night.
"I don't have the mana you want, Relian," she said calmly, her voice low but firm, echoing in his heart like the morning and evening bells.
"But I have something more precious."
"Not the Arcane that led the Quel'dorei step by step to corruption, nor the chaotic Fel energy left by the Burning Legion."
She looked up, her gaze as clear as the stars, the light seeming to emanate from the depths of her soul, illuminating this murky world.
"I bring faith."
At that moment, she was like a saintly image descended into the world, noble and sacred, inviolable, and impossible to ignore.
Relian froze.
That faint golden-red light was not dazzling, yet it seemed to pierce the softest and emptiest part of his heart.
His gaze slightly unfocused, the anger on his face slowly receded, replaced by a momentary blankness and a long-lost tranquility.
He suddenly felt that this mysterious woman before him was the only saint in this world—
Her voice was like a morning bell awakening the sleepers, her light like a lighthouse burning in a storm, and her gaze—it held no judgment, only compassion.
He suddenly remembered his childhood, in the years when Moon Song Forest was still prosperous, the scene when his mother took him to pray.
At that time, they still knelt devoutly before Elune's moon altar, believing that the gods watched over them, believing that gentle divine power would one day favor them in times of crisis.
He murmured, his voice so low as to be almost inaudible:
"Faith—"
As if to chew on the word repeatedly, to see if it still held the warmth of old.
But in an instant, that thin, gentle dream shattered.
The blizzards of reality once again poured into his already scarred heart.
"...No." he said softly, his voice hoarse.
"You don't understand," he looked up, his eyes flickering with the fire of pain and struggle, "We once had faith."
"The Quel'dorei worshipped Elune for generations—the Goddess of the Moon, the embodiment of nature and hope."
"But what did we get?"
His voice began to tremble, his fingertips gripping the tree bark tightly, as if trying to squeeze an answer from it.
"We were trapped in Northrend, forgotten, abandoned."
"Disasters followed one after another, we cried out, pleaded, prayed—but she never responded to us."
"Never."
He gave a bitter smile, as if laughing at his own foolishness, and also as if mocking the cruelty of fate.
"Even Queen Azshara—'Light of Lights,' we once worshipped her as a living goddess, her smile, her will, were the meaning of our existence."
"But what did she leave behind? A fragmented world, a dried-up Well of Eternity, and endless mana addiction and decay."
"It was her 'glory' that reduced Sendarra to this wretched state today!"
As he spoke, his throat choked up, anger, sorrow, and pain all blocked in his chest, almost suffocating him.
"So don't talk to me about faith anymore."
"No matter how sacred or pure the god you bring, I will no longer believe."
He slowly straightened up, using all his strength to distance himself from that tempting warmth.
"Faith cannot provide food, nor can it cure mana addiction."
"Faith—cannot save us."
He said in a low voice, his eyes showing a desperate coldness, building a defense for himself, and also convincing himself to continue living in this cold reality.
Saintess Liriel watched him quietly, without anger or disappointment.
Only deep compassion.
She sighed softly, as if hearing the last cry of an abandoned infant.
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