Memoirs of the War of the Shifting Sands
They say the most unbearable time in the desert is midday, when the sun scorches the quicksand of Silithus and the massive, orderly ancient walls the Scarab Wall.
The Bronze Dragon emphasizes the fleeting nature of time; no matter how harsh the environment, exposing the massive outer shell of the Scarab Wall layer by layer to the scorching sun, the relentless waves of heat can never shake it in the slightest.
The priestess Shiroma once told me, "Fandral Staghelm Fandral Staghelm often stood alone in the distance, gazing at that ancient wall, thinking quietly, hoping to find a way to end it all. No matter how he observed, he only got one answer in the end: helplessness."
I am Druids like him. Unlike his kin who defend nature, he only wanted to protect one person—his son. And what about me? I am Valstann's wife, and if it weren't for my pregnancy, I would have been in that damned war too.
Shiroma told me that Fandral Staghelm and Valstann had chosen to fight in the canyons, so that their flanks would be protected by a constant stream of quicksand. Sentinels, priestesses, Druids, and Cenarius's offspring: Forest Guardian and Dryads—every swarm of insects destroyed would be replaced by a new one. I thought of the Burning Legion, but insects were more abhorrent than demons.
As Shiroma recounted the war to me, she gently tilted her head back and gazed at the sky. I wasn't sure if she was praying to Elune, but I asked her to continue: the wings of the insects had obscured the sun's light; the Night Elf Legion had been nearly overwhelmed by the Qiraji Swarm; hope was dwindling—in those terrible months, it seemed no one could survive.
A nightmarish War of the Shifting Sands!
In the final days, more and more insects swarmed in. Fandral Staghelm began summoning reinforcements, calling upon dragons and Tauren. Shiroma and her companions invoked the help of Elune; dazzling pillars of light descended from the sky, blocking the ground forces of the insect horde. Yet, the buzzing sound continued to fill the air, and flying insects appeared in the sky, one after another, leaping over the canyon's edge, hurtling towards the bottom, attacking the Druids' rear lines, unfurling their claws and swooping down in a fierce assault...
Shiroma didn't want to recall the final outcome. All she could hear, amidst the incessant chirping of insects, was a voice seemingly directing the soldiers at the front. "Rajaxx, Rajaxx..."
Rajaxx, that cursed name, I will never forget it.
As night fell, Shiroma said she hadn't slept well all night; the sounds of battle seemed to linger in her ears, even though it was unusually quiet around her.
At dawn, the Night Elf forces began to regroup, preparing to advance towards the distant hills, but an unsettling silence enveloped them. Not a single insect could be seen on the horizon. Just as Fandral Staghelm was about to give the order to advance, more devastating news arrived: Southwind Village was in danger!
Southwind Village, the turning point of everything! I often complain about why Fandral Staghelm, having sensed the problem, still sent his son to rescue Southwind Village. I also blame myself; I should have stayed by his side.
Valstann —my husband—then suggested that his father stay behind with the main force to hold off the insects, while he would lead an advance party to Southwind Village to scout the situation and provide reinforcements. Shiroma, standing nearby, overheard the last part of the father-son conversation.
"This could be a trap!"
"Of course, we can try our luck. I will defend the village, achieve victory, and fight for your honor!"
"Returning safely is more important than anything else. Go."
I don't remember what Shiroma said next, but when I heard that, I felt dizzy and my heart ached. Shiroma wanted to invoke the power of the Elune to alleviate my pain, but I refused. I knew it would work, but I no longer trusted Elune. Why didn't she unleash her wrath against the Qiraji when her darkness descended upon Azeroth at night? Why did she stand idly by when Valstann was captured by the bugs in Southwind Village? Did she just coldly watch her people suffer?
I curse you, Elune, I curse you!
Today, Fandral Staghelm visited Istaria, Valstann, and my child, his granddaughter. But his eyes told me he came seeking solace. The Qiraji have returned, and Priestess Tyrande has formed an alliance with the Horde, hoping Fandral Staghelm will lead the united forces.
Damn it, do those people think that after a thousand years, Fandral Staghelm has been freed from the agony of the War of the Shifting Sands? Whom do they want the Fandral Staghelm family to lose? Him, me, or my daughter?
I advised Fandral Staghelm not to go. Anyone could go— Shandris, Tyrande, or even Malfurion, who sleeps in the cave—anyone would do. The Staghelm Family owes the Night Elf nothing; on the contrary, the Night Elf owe us.
Fandral Staghelm left without saying a word, not uttering a single phrase from beginning to end. I was a little scared; I was afraid he had come to say goodbye to me and Istaria.
But I only relaxed after everything had settled down. Fandral Staghelm didn't go; I heard he had a big falling out with Tyrande over the matter. But who could stand up and condemn a father who had lost his son?
The Night Elf found this outcome hard to accept, but I felt it was only right. The leader of the Allied Forces was Varok Saurfang, a crude and savage Orcs.
I thought that even without Fandral Staghelm's support, Tyrande would do her best to promote Shandris to lead the fight against the insectoids, but she agreed so easily. Why? Has she forgotten the crimes those fanged beasts committed when they invaded Ashenvale and killed Cenarius?
The Orcs have absolutely no idea how to fight. Now, even their marching routes are under enemy control. A female Orcs named Ohan the Ogre Sword suggested to her commander that the allied forces gather in Feralas to reach Silithus as quickly as possible. What a foolish decision! The root cause of this situation is ultimately the incompetence of their leader. I am now even more convinced that Fandral Staghelm's often-repeated words are true: Tyrande doesn't know how to lead our people.
After using up the last bit of ink in her quill, Rayana casually tossed it into the corner. Her daughter, Istaria, twitched her ears, still fast asleep. Her hair was a perfect inheritance of her father's deep green. Rayana tiptoed to her daughter's side and tucked her in with a warm blanket.
Valstann's remains were buried in Astranaar in Ashenvale, the very place where he and his mother now reside. Outside, the wind howled, and Rayana wondered if Valstann was unleashing his fury—against Elune, Tyrande, and Malfurion.