Syra was, for the first time in a long time, nervous. Not because of Vandercross’s reputation as the First Seat, or due to any fear of battle.

She was worried, because her father-in-law obviously had a deep and caring love for Varrus, and she would hate to disappoint the only other male that Varrus was allowed to associate with.

“Do not be worried. You are a Vandercross, now. Welcome to the family!”

Syra felt her ear tips turn red in embarrassment, yet at the same time, she felt the warmth of acceptance in her heart.

“I will not disappoint you, Varrus.” Syra said meaningfully to herself as she clutched her buster sword with an ever growing determination.

The roar of a thousand Fire Elementals briefly distracted her, and she couldn't help but glance at Varrus to see how he was doing. Her worry for herself, and embarrassment evaporated in an instant as the scent of danger entered her system.

Varrus needed her!

“Focus now, Syra. I am attacking with an overhead, into a stab.” Vandercross intoned as he dashed at her.

Syra inhaled sharply, and took in the rapidly approaching man to be nothing more than an enemy in her beloved’s path. Pushing aside the complicated feelings and other thoughts, she focused on all that truly mattered.

Varrus.

So long as he and her were happy, then she would do anything for him. Even if it meant taking out his father, so that he didn't have to experience that pain himself.

Dashing forward in a display of incredible speed, Syra kicked up a mini dust storm as she moved to meet Vandercross’s attack.

The Elder Elf was still levitating whilst he made an attack of his own, and was much faster than if he had used his legs.

Despite her speed enchantments, Syra barely had enough time to react to Vandercross’s clearly telegraphed attack. His shirt sword went exactly as he had said, yet he moved in such a way that his posture and timing had Syra left guessing when and where he would strike.

Syra dodged the overhead by twisting her body sideways, then batted away the stab with her massive weapon.

However, the attack intended to brute force away the shortsword with her much larger weapon failed when a crystalline edge erupted from Vandercross’s blade, and locked her sword in place.

At the same time, Vandercross reached out with his offhand, and cast an instant spell. Five miniature crystal arrowheads shot out of his fingertips at nearly point blank range.

Syra at this time had a constant aura around her known as Devotion Aura, which increased her defense, and blocked lesser attacks.

The arrowhead crystal attack had its speed dampened from this aura, however, they flashed like so many of Vandercross’s Mana Stone techniques, and absorbed some of the ambient mana within the aura, allowing the tiny crystals to penetrate this defensive structure with ease.

Syra didn't rely solely on this defensive mechanism, and after watching Varrus hurl meteorites at Vandercross, knew that the crystalline magic could be overwhelmed if enough mana was pumped into them.

Instead of making another shield, or relying on the constant shroud of Light that surrounded her body, she went all out on offense.

Her sword lit up with gold and purple energy as she unleashed the terrifying hunger of the Holy Void.

Light and Void magics intertwined, forming a devouring effect on her weapon.

The crystal locking their blades together disintegrated into nothing, and Syra grinned as she pushed her power forward.

Golden purple energy gushed forth like a tsunami, utterly erasing the crystalline arrowheads, and threatening to overwhelm Vandercross.

It was now her father-in-law who was forced on the defensive. His mirror-like armor took the brunt of her attack. It turned black like necrotic flesh, then split off from his body falling to the ground like a lizard shedding its skin.

The entire mirror armor had been destroyed, but Vandercross remained unharmed.

“Clever girl. I want to see more of this Holy Void. Light has the corruptive properties of making one want to sacrifice themselves for the many. Whilst Void makes one want to sacrifice the many to empower themselves. Light opens one up to healing, protection, and unconditional love. Void opens one up to mutation, destruction, and self-doubt. I am impressed by their combination! I truly, truly am happy you married Varrus. I could think of no more a perfect woman than you, Syra.” Vandercross said sternly, yet his words carried a hidden warmth of a gruff father who was truly proud.

Syra wanted to ignore the compliment, but all her life, those who spoke well of her had wanted something from her. Whether it be her blade or her body. However, just like when Varrus praised her, she could tell that Vandercross was genuine.

Holding a hand up to her cheek, she was surprised to find a small trickle of liquid dripping down.

“Ah, mine daughter, thou hast been so deprived by that vile witch, Faedra that authentic praise ist so alien?” Vandercross said with a sad smile as his sword came at her in an ever increasing flurry of dangerous cuts.

“No.” Syra unconvincingly replied whilst she parried his attacks, and was pressed back.

Vandercross locked blades with her once more, causing sparks to fly into the night sky.

Leaning in close, Vandercross had a look of loving pity across his face.

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“Have confidence. Less than 10 Elves in all of Quel'Thalas could match blades with me like this. You are but a sampling less than 100 years old.” The Highlord then flip kicked backwards, and hovered in the air, pointing his blade at her. “Take pride. You are a Vandercross!” The Highlord's magically enhanced, magnetic voice boomed across the battlefield.

“He is right, my love! Hold out but a moment longer. I shall join you shortly!” Varrus boomed back in reply.

Syra felt the tears on her face dry as she witnessed snowflakes and moonlight spill upon her husband.

The chill frost of his magic, and ethereal grace of his form lit a fire in her heart.

Gripping her sword with a renewed resolve, it was Syra's turn to go on the offense!

“Atta girl! This is the dignity of a Vandercross! To never bow, to remain unbroken in the face of tragedy! Come, Syra, immerse me in your newfound mastery of the Holy Void. Demonstrate your new magic that will shake the very foundations of Azeroth. Make Varrus proud!” The Highlord grandly gestured, then bowed towards Syra.

The warmth of love entered Syra's heart. This was it. The feeling of belonging she had yearned for all her life. The experience of being part of a family.

Sparing a glance at Varrus, she knew what she needed, and she would not be denied!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whilst Syra was enjoying emotional support from the first father figure to enter her life, Varrus was facing off against a thousand Fire Elementals that were powered by his own Master tier spell + whatever other nonsense Vandercross had added to the mix.

‘This is some serious bullshit!’ Varrus complained to himself as he Blinked out of the way of a jet of flames.

The ground where he had stood was nothing more than molten slag, but Varrus didn't have any time to consider it as the overwhelming number of Fire Elementals constantly bombarded him from all angles.

Due to the compact nature of an army storming a beach, he could eliminate all the Trolls he fought last week with little effort, by spraying the ground with a Wall of Flames spell.

Unlike the Trolls, however, these Elementals could hover off the floor, and were spread out.

Furthermore, they were unafraid, and lacked the chaos of an entire battlefield to divert their attention. There was no reprieve, or hiding behind the Crossguard’s shields as 10,000 pairs of eyes were focused solely on Varrus's demise!

However, that didn't mean that he was defenseless!

Varrus was an AOE machine! So long as he could fight against trash mobs, or even a mixed group of Elites like these Elementals seemed to be, he had confidence! So long as there were no Heroes hidden in the mix, or acting as the primary spearhead of attack, Varrus had the confidence to wipe the floor with these annoying Elementals!

But first, he needed a second of reprieve so that he could unleash hell. With the constant bombardment and unending deluge of attacks, Varrus didn't have much room to think, much less counterattack.

Since he needed a little space, Varrus tossed up his newest spell. Brick Building. After consulting with the architect the other day, Varrus had ‘borrowed’ some books on construction magic, and ‘ate’ them a’la Skyrim system for their knowledge.

Casting the spell, Varrus pulled a few thousand bricks from his inventory, and constructed a cylindrical tower. A white protective film coated each of them due to the protective enchantments, and they seamlessly fused together like Legos interlocking.

It wasn't very tall, coming at a height of the average two-story house. Nor was it very wide, being the width of Varrus's entire wingspan. However, it was thick. A dozen bricks made up the walls of the structure, giving it a powerful support.

The constant rain of fireballs, gushes of flamethrower-like attacks, and other variations of fire magic superheated the structure, making Varrus feel like he was being cooked alive.

The tower stood strong, however, even if it was made from powerful materials, and enchanted by the equivalent of Common Soul gems, 10,000 simultaneous firestrikes were 10,000 firestrikes, and it would only be a matter of time before the tower fell to the Elementals.

In the meantime, Varrus refrained from deploying his Dwarven Autocannon's, because they shot fireballs too, and fighting a Fire Elemental with literal fire seemed like the height of folly.

Instead, Varrus cast Invisibility, and crawled out of a small crevice at the back of the tower.

The noise created from the fireballs colliding with the tower sent Varrus's ears ringing, yet none of the Elementals were wise to his escape. He even heard a level up for his Sneak skill whilst he moved to a spot bereft of the fiery aspirations.

For good measure, he cast the Illusion spell Vanish, to make sure that he was hidden.

Vanish: All nearby opponents targeting the caster or searching for the caster leave combat.

During this time, he saw the tower continue to take a beating, and begin to slowly melt, and crumble, but Varrus felt pride knowing that it had served its purpose. For such a small structure to survive such a concentrated bombardment from the equivalent of 10,000 WW2 howitzer artillery pieces, he could only admire his craftsmanship.

However, now that he was in a position hidden from view, he could safely cast one of his Master tier spells.

For this large battlefield taking place in the massive crater in/around the broken Sunwell, there was an opportunity for Varrus to unleash the terrifying might of a nearly uncontrollable AOE spell. This was a rare opportunity where he did not need to concern himself with the safety of his allies. Varrus could think of no better spell more fitting for the occasion, than the vanilla Skyrim spell, Blizzard.

From within the cloak of invisibility, Varrus dropped down a storm of ice and snow the likes of which had not been seen on this continent since the Sunwell transformed Quel'Thalas into a land of eternal Spring.

The Fire Elementals who had just finished up blasting the tower in their mindless pursuit of violence were caught unaware by the frost nova.

Shards of magically enhanced ice diced through their flame born forms, stole the heat from under them, and in some cases, froze them solid.

Some Fire Elementals were like the victims of a mosquito trapped in sap, or a caveman locked forever. Despite their ethereal forms, the concept of cold in Varrus’s magic was so potent, that these conflagratory creations collapsed as nothing more than chunks of ice.

Varrus breathed in the storm as it surrounded him, and felt a near brush with death as his spell twisted and churned around him like a cobra eager to escape its box, or a lion tugging on a chain.

Once Blizzard left his fingertips, the very ecosystem around him transformed into a landscape of endless winter.

As the progenitor of this magic, he stood in the eye of the storm, and slight ring of safety no more than an arms length separated him from a cold death.

Breathing out a fogged breath, Varrus gulped as the spell subsided.

Where once there was rocks, and the debris of broken buildings, there was now only snow.

There was no sight of the Fire Elementals, nor of any imminent danger.

However, upon the completion of his magic, Varrus noticed that the rest of the participants in this grand battle had paused for a moment, eying him with caution.

The silence was broken as a pair of combatants were the first to re-engage in their fight.

“That's my husband!” Syra said from a distance as her buster sword met Vandercross’s short sword.

“And my son!” Vandercross matched her raised voice as they continued to clash.

Varrus rolled his eyes at them, but couldn't help but smile. Whatever kind of crazy family this was, he wouldn't have it any other way.