Hyiacinth's Resurrection

Summary
A short story documenting the moment Hyiacinth Aster came back to life, and the bond that formed between her and her soon-to-be adoptive sister, Gathel Aster.

Hyiacinth's Resurrection
In the warm darkness, time was meaningless.

Hours, days, and weeks passed, or perhaps they didn’t. There was no way of knowing. All Hyiacinth knew now was an endless, pitch-black tunnel and a sensation of falling. Or was it floating? Was there even a difference? If there was, she did not care to know. This place, or lack thereof, was comfortable. It was safe. She did not feel any pain here, which in itself was a mercy.

But now, if a "now" could exist, something had changed about this place. There was a light. A large, round disc that pulsated tendrils of white, illuminating nothing. There was a coolness emanating from the light that became greater the closer Hyiacinth moved to it, or the closer it moved to her. It was not unpleasant-- just a little surprising. She was not entirely sure how she felt about it.

Soon enough the light was upon her like a crashing wave. There was directionless force pushing and pulling at every part of her disembodied form, far too strong to be fought off. Her senses returned with a kick as she drew an unnecessary, gargled breath from where she now lay in the dark, wiry grass that carpeted Deathknell. Some senses, anyway. There was nothing to be seen-- that pleasant darkness lingered in her vision still. It wasn’t a problem. Smells of pine and dirt filled her nose as she drew a contented breath, only to grimace as the bitter meatiness of corpse-stench joined them. She held her breath for a little while, becoming confused when her lungs did not protest as the moments passed. Not that this was an issue-- Hyiacinth was rather thrilled to discover she did not need to breathe.

She both heard and felt movement around her and sat up. The cool wind seemed to chill bones it usually was not able to reach.

“I’m to take this one?” came a voice. It was strained and scratchy, but Hyiacinth guessed it belonged to a woman.

“Aye” replied a second voice, this one deeper than the first and a great deal more animated. “You’ll have to keep her close-- she’s not got eyes, and we used the last good pair on a plaguehound.” Hyiacinth heard the fabric of the speaker’s shirt rustle as he shrugged. “We’ll get some more harvested soon, I’m sure. Otherwise this little one is very well preserved.”

The woman made an affirmative sound and moved to kneel by Hyiacinth while the second speaker seemed to stagger away. A cold hand touched her shoulder, and Hyiacinth turned her head to look where she thought its owner was.

“Hello,” the woman said. “Do you know who you are?”

It was a simple question, Hyiacinth knew, but she had to pause for a good moment-- largely to remember how to speak-- before she was able to answer.

“I’m... Hyiacinth,” she managed, finding her voice far raspier than she remembered. “Hyiacinth... something?” She could not remember her last name, or if she’d had one in the first place.

The woman’s face stretched into a smile-- Hyiacinth heard it in her voice.

“Hyiacinth, what a pretty name,” she said. “It is good you are able to communicate and recall that much-- there is hope for you. Now then, I am Sister Gathel Aster. I am a priestess of the Light, and my allegiance lies with the Forsaken. Do you know what that is, Hyiacinth?”

Hyiacinth nodded. She remembered the people she’d once lived with telling her of these “Forsaken”. Reanimated corpses brought back to walk Azeroth once more by the will of Sylvanas Windrunner, their Banshee Queen. Part of her wondered if she should fear a Forsaken such as Gathel-- but so far the priestess had given her no reason to. Gathel was fascinating to Hyiacinth. She had called herself “Sister”. Had she been one of her sisters in life? It was hard to say, but “Hyiacinth Aster” sounded like a good name.

“Interesting,” Gathel said. Hyiacinth felt her eyes upon her. She wondered what they looked like. “And also fortunate. I am saved the tiresome task of explaining it all to you, and you will be a much newer corpse than I imagined, and-- oh, my, I suppose I should have eased you into that part more gently.”

Hyiacinth merely shrugged-- she’d guessed what had happened to her the moment Gathel mentioned the Forsaken. Evidently she had died at some point and had been resurrected. If anything, this situation was a positive one. Her life had been so terribly boring-- as a child she’d fallen ill and was unable to leave her bed. Every movement had been agonising, and watching her brothers and sisters flower and grow while she remained trapped and stunted had left her with a loneliness so deep she feared she’d never be free of it.

But now things were different. She was sitting up of her own accord-- completely pain-free. Everything was new and exciting. The lack of sight was proving to be much less of a problem than she might have thought, as her other senses were heightened beyond imagination. She was quite sure she could hear Gathel’s dry face move as her expressions changed.

Gathel sat on her heels and watched the younger Forsaken for a moment, speaking again when it became clear Hyiacinth was too deep in thought to reply. Normally such a tiny action of unintentional rudeness would have deeply offended the priestess, but being in the presence of this calm and unusually cooperative newly-undead helped her maintain her patience.

“The Banshee Queen gives all she raises a choice,” Gathel began to explain. “A choice to become Forsaken and serve her, or to take your own path from here, whatever that may be. If you should choose to join, I would be your guardian until you settle into a role within our ranks. I would show you all we have to offer, answer your questions, and guide you through the winding halls of the Undercity. If you choose to leave, then you will do so alone.”

“I’ll join,” Hyiacinth said almost immediately, what little skin she had left around her mouth pulling up into what was meant to be a smile.

Gathel gave her a measured look. “Are you certain?”

Hyiacinth nodded. “Yeah. It sounds exciting-- I’ve never had any sort of adventure before!” Her smile broadened. “If I stay here I get a home, and things to do, and a sister!” She was positively vibrating with a newfound energy now.

“That’s not quite what that--” Gathel began, but stopped herself. Did it really matter if this new Forsaken thought her family? Likely not. If anything, a bond like that might make her job as her guardian easier. That considered, she left the subject where it was and took Hyiacinth’s hand in her own fleshless one, giving it a small tug and encouraging her charge to stand. She did so clumsily and swayed when she stood,  unused to the action. Sensing she might need a little more guidance than a mere held hand, Gathel took Hyiacinth’s arm and looped it through the crook of hers, allowing Hyiacinth to lean on her for support.

“I will be your eyes for now,” Gathel says, slowly leading Hyiacinth along the path out of Deathknell. “In time we can get you eyes of your own, or some sort of seeing-eye pet. Perhaps a plaguehound or a spider would serve you well.”

Hyiacinth nodded eagerly, leaning across and sniffing the air at regular intervals. They were passing trees, houses, other Forsaken-- she could even smell something warm and metallic that she immediately knew would be the scent of living creatures.

Gathel gave commentary on all the places they passed that Hyiacinth would not be able to see, and the young Forsaken was amazed at how much of this sounded familiar to her. Had she been to Tirisfal Glades before? There was no way of telling, and it hardly mattered. Those memories belonged to the old, sick Hyiacinth and therefore must die with her. Now she had been born again from the ground itself. She could move, she could smell, hear, and taste the world like never before.

Azeroth was at last hers to explore.