Fly

Flying? What a noble, utterly unattainable dream. Since the dawn of mankind, countless souls had yearned to break free from the shackles of gravity, to soar into the boundless blue. There were no Wright brothers in the world of Azeroth, but there were dwarves, bless their crazy little hearts, who were perfectly willing to risk life and limb building contraptions that looked suspiciously like flying death traps. Ahem, but I digress.

Windrunner – in the world of rangers, indeed, in the entire glorious history of the high elves, that name represented the very embodiment of wind and speed, two extremes of a single, exhilarating force. Yet, a cruel, sad irony clung to their lineage: "The Windrunner cannot truly ride the wind and fly to the sky." No matter how many centuries spun by, perhaps even until their dying breath, the Windrunner sisters would forever carry the same question they'd asked their parents as wide-eyed elflings: "Why can't a Windrunner fly?" Alleria had asked it. Sylvanas had asked it. Even the younger ones, Veresa and Lirath, had echoed the same lament. Even now, with centuries etched onto their faces, even knowing that elves weren't dragons and were naturally grounded, deep down, a hidden, fervent dream, a burning desire, still flickered in their hearts. To fly.

And now, Duke, that audacious human, had the gall to declare, with a straight face, "Take them to show off and take them to fly"? The Windrunner sisters didn't know what "pretentious" meant, but they knew a bold claim when they heard one. As far as they knew, there wasn't a single spell in all of Azeroth that could grant a mortal true flight.

"What in the blazes are you planning?" Sylvanas's emerald eyes sparkled with a hint of wild excitement, a mischievous glint.

"Hmph! If you disappoint my sister, the consequences will be dire, alright?" Alleria, ever the picture of dignified grace, struck a pose, her left hand supporting her right elbow, her right hand propping up her chin. But beneath that mature, steady exterior, a wild, passionate heart beat a frantic rhythm. This wasn't her first rodeo with Duke. His magic always piqued her interest, like a cat with a new ball of yarn. A human who constantly pulled new, fascinating tricks out of his hat could easily win the favor of an active, adventurous Windrunner. Duke was like a truly captivating book, seemingly not very thick, making you think you could devour it in one sitting. But then, as you delved deeper, you'd always stumble upon new surprises, new twists and turns. Her eyes, usually scanning the horizon for threats, were now fixed on only one person: Duke.

Duke, ever the showman, flashed a mysterious grin. "I plan to do this…"

Suddenly, 128 mages, a veritable choir of arcane power, raised their palms to the sky, unleashing a barrage of Ice Arrows at every conceivable angle. No, it wasn't just simple Ice Arrows. This was an icy rain of arrows, a blizzard of frozen death that sacrificed raw lethality for sheer, overwhelming speed. The casting time of a Level 1 Frostbolt was practically instantaneous.

With the support of various metamagic specialties, the casting time for each Frostbolt was reduced to less than half a second. Without the additional injection of frost elements, they were just shards of ice crystal, shot into the sky like frozen confetti. From a distance, it looked like a magnificent fountain of ice and snow, endlessly gushing upwards.

Duke bowed, a half-bow, half-flourish, a theatrical gesture. "Beautiful Windrunner ladies, the magnificent stage is set. Are you ready to step up and perform a 'Dance of the Wind'?"

Alleria and Sylvanas's emerald green eyes widened, sparkling with a shared, exhilarating surprise. They understood completely. Duke wanted them to use these ice crystals as springboards, to leap into the very air and launch their attacks. For mere mortals, this was absolutely insane, the stuff of fever dreams. Stepping onto a fleeting ice prism, leaping to a higher altitude, then stepping onto another, even higher ice prism, using these icy footholds to gain leverage throughout the process. To jump to a height of over 200 meters, then unleash a barrage of arrows on orc cavalry riding red dragons in mid-air? This sounded like pure fantasy, a crazy, suicidal act.

For mortals, perhaps it was. But for a Windrunner? That was a whole different ballgame. In a way, it was no different from the movements they made as they glided through the ancient trees, leaping from branch to branch with effortless grace. The only difference was the height, and… whether Duke could provide enough ice prisms in the right places, exactly when and where they needed them, as their leverage points.

If a stranger had asked them to do this, the Windrunner sisters would have scoffed, probably laughed him out of the forest. But this was Edmund Duke, the super-wise man, the miracle worker who had saved fifty thousand Stormwind soldiers with a magical ice ship.

She didn't ask anything to spoil the mood, no "Can I trust you?" Instead, it was Alleria, the older sister, the one who usually kept her cool, who challenged her younger sibling, a move completely out of character.

"Hey, my dear sister," the heroic Alleria purred, a charming, mischievous smile playing on her lips. She raised her longbow, poised like a hunter about to bag a particularly plump turkey. "Fancy a little competition?"

"Oh, my dear sister," Sylvanas retorted, her competitive spirit fully ignited, the corners of her mouth curling into a challenging smirk. "How exactly do you propose we compete?"

"Let's compare quantity," Alleria said, her eyes flicking towards Zuluhed, who was still hovering at the highest point in the sky. "And, of course, whoever gets the first prize gets bragging rights for a century."

"What's the bet?" Sylvanas countered, a sly grin spreading across her face. "How about whoever loses has to call Duke 'good brother' ten times?" The four Windrunner sisters, even the youngest, Lirath, was over a thousand years old. While the Windrunners weren't exactly sticklers for etiquette and seniority, the thought of calling a young human, barely out of his teens, "brother" was enough to make them cringe.

Duke, ever the opportunist, chimed in before Alleria could even agree. "Deal!"

Alleria, the great devil herself, shot a withering glare at Sir Duke, who was clearly trying to pull a fast one. But finally, almost imperceptibly, she nodded. The sisters didn't bother to state what the winner's prize would be. It was simple, really: for those who loved the wind and freedom more than anything, the ability to truly fly was the greatest prize imaginable.

The next second, the two beautiful figures vanished from their spot, leaving only a shimmering afterimage. Amidst the "chi chi" sound of ice crystals shooting skyward, there were also subtle, almost imperceptible collision sounds. Every ice crystal that veered off its predetermined trajectory was met by a nimble, green shadow, almost impossible to catch with the naked eye, a blur of motion.

"Ha ha ha ha!" "Cluck, cluck, cluck!"

The clear, bell-like laughter, the hearty, unrestrained cackle, the laughter that could haunt a man's dreams – the laughter of the Windrunner sisters rose higher and higher, echoing with the growing roar of the ice crystal fountain, reaching a height of nearly three hundred meters. The seemingly random ice crystals, though they couldn't hit the flying red dragons directly, provided enough fleeting footholds for the Windrunner sisters to close the distance between themselves and the dragon riders, allowing them to unleash their explosively gorgeous archery skills.

Dance of Three Arrows. The Ranger bow skill allowed a skilled archer to loose three arrows in a short burst. In the hands of the Windrunner sisters, this became a magical, almost supernatural feat: three arrows at a time, three rapid volleys, for a total of nine arrows. With one foot perched precariously on an ice prism no bigger than an adult's palm, Alleria bent her toned waist backward, pursuing the perfect shooting angle. Under the powerful flex of her waist and abdomen, her seductive mermaid line was clearly visible, a testament to her incredible agility. It was blindingly fast, and she had clearly dodged a red dragon's fiery breath at the last possible millimeter, simply by the sheer force of her glare. In the moment before she loosed her arrows, Alleria fell into a state of absolute, terrifying stillness.