This story is inspired by the writer's personal feelings of depression and the My Chemical Romance song Fake Your Death

Phetatarei didn't want to wake up. Phetatarei didn't even want to open his eyes. He already knew what he would see. Everyday the same scene for the past few weeks. Wake up, stare at the wall, refuse to eat breakfast, try to fall back asleep. Even though Phetatarei hadn't carried any plate in about a month now, he could still feel the weight pushing down on his shoulders.

They had tried a lot of things. First they wanted to cheer him up. Maybe a good old tale of the Naaru could help? Or campfire stories from his youth in the fields of Nagrand? The latter was a big mistake. Stories of Draenor meant there were orcs involved and orcs meant pain and destruction. The Draenei had lost almost everything to the orcs, but Phetatarei couldn't care about the pain of his people anymore. The only thing he longed for was to be hugged by his mother and father.

Phetatarei wished he could be a child, a normal child without worry. Like he had seen in the streets of Stormwind. Of course the humans of Stormwind had also suffered under the orcs, nothing seemed to be sacred to these green skinned savages. Or brown skinned or any kind of taint, they were all brutes. And instead of being comforted by the sight of happy children in the streets of Stormwind it pained Phetatarei to know what this careless youths could lose within a few seconds.

Karabor had burned, Auchindoun exploded, Shattrath razed, the path of Glory lain with the skulls and bones of so, so many of dead Draenei. Did Pheta wish to be one of them? Sometimes, at least they didn't need to know that after their deaths only more pain and suffering would follow.

Jol entered the small cabin in the Exodar, Phetatarei insisted to call his chambers now. The big sturdy Draenei did not believe that he was allowed any more comfort. To be truthful, Jol didn't really enter his chambers, but halted at the doorway, her glowing face peeking in from a purple lit shadow. Jol had learned that Phetatarei didn't want to speak anymore, so she stopped insisting to start a conversation. Some people just suffer more, Jol thought to herself. Everyone on Azeroth, Outland and beyond knew pain and suffering, but sometimes it's just too much.

Jol remembered what Pheta was like as a child. He had an incredible hunger for knowledge and always wondered what was behind the next hill or which treasures he could dig up with his father next. But Phetatarei was only a child when he got bombarded to being a true paladin. Although the boy was still young, he had to fight for people who were supposed to protect him. Rheia and Satyrikon didn't have any other choice. Their child was supposed to be old enough to hold a shield and mace, so they had to send him to the corps of vindicators.

Jol gathered that Phetatarei worried more about the safety of others rather than his own safety, he was more keen to get punched in the face if that could keep anybody else from these punches. When he was only fourteen years old, Phetatarei and his friends were attacked by a small band of orcs. Phetatarei had insisted on holding the line, he knew there were some Draenei scavengers in Nagrand looking for food. If the orcs would get past Pheta, they would be able to ambush the scavengers. So he stood there, hoofs in the ground and no orc passed.

Phetatarei had almost died that day, his side was cut open and the healers claimed that the boy was very lucky that they didn't crack his ribs open. Otherwise an orc blade would have found the boys beating heart. After Pheta's own recovery the boy was not allowed to fight for a while. So he got to taking care of the sick and wounded. It almost was like the child did not need any sleep. Jol remembered how the young Draenei sat next to some candles, trying to learn the last words of an incantation or trying to learn about the history of the Burning Legion. "We need to understand the past to learn about the future." Wise words for a boy so young.

When Phetatarei did not hiss after Jol looked upon him from the open door, she knew she could open the door some more. A few times she had touched Phetatarei, but that was not the best approach. The big bulky Draenei would flinch and sometimes even riposted in attack. Jol inattentively put her hand over one of the bruises Phetatarei caused on her arms. She kind of understood what the younger paladin was going through, but she didn't fully grasped the pain he needed to live through. 

The Shamans of the Exodar insisted that Phetatarei needed to please his ancestors and that the spirits were in unrest, while the priests claimed that the paladin must have been cursed during the fight at Northwatch Hold. Some claimed that the paladin was just a loser who couldn't stand to live another fight, paladin were not supposed to be weak, so maybe, they shouldn't try to cure him anyway? Other paladins claimed that Phetatarei had lost his connection to the Light. So many voices, so many opinions, but Jol understood that help could not come from outside.

Jol knew, that Phetatarei was not weak, nor that he had lost connection to the Light, what his ancestors would say, she could not know, but this was no disease of the body, this was not a curse, this was a true suffering of the mind. Sometimes she would visit the pained Draenei, open the door and just sit close to him in prayer. Jol did not expect anything from her pupil, she just hoped that her presence could mend him, just for a bit maybe?

Everyday at noon she brought the paladin a bowl of oatmeal and fruit, she knew he wouldn't eat anything else and she had learned that she should not bother him for breakfast nor dinner. More often than not, the paladin refused to eat, but sometimes she returned to find an empty bowl. She mused in hope: a return in appetite could be meaningful.

Sometimes Phetatarei was stuck in nightmare or was speaking in tongues. Jol did not always understand what he was saying, but she knew what probably caused him the most pain. The Burning Legion, the Scourge, Deathwing, Theramore's fall. "They were so innocent." Phetatarei whispered to himself. "They were all so innocent." And after these words he would usually start to shiver. Jol did not dare to touch him when he was like that, he would certainly lash out now.

Then Jol noticed the paladin started talking to someone. Someone only he could see? Was this another of his pained visions, a new nightmare? She decided to sit near to him in case he tried to hurt himself again.

"Phetatarei, are you awake?" A voice he recognized but could not place called to him. I don't want to be awake he thought, I don't want to know if I can ever get up again. I am not Phetatarei, I am no-one, I am the one without Light. I am the power of despair. "It's alright the voice told him. Sometimes we need to choose defeat." What did the voice mean by that? "I have never given up!" Phetatarei roared, blinded by rage, by pain from within. He knew his eyes were open, but still he could not see. "My shoulders hurt", he said in a stressed voice. "I know.", came the reply. "Everything hurts, everyday." How would the voice ever know what he felt? What he was forced to go through? Phetatarei did not really know where he was, but outside there was danger. He just needed a bit more sleep.

"You can sleep everyday all day if you want." The voice sounded stronger now, more defiant. "But it won't heal you from your visions. What has passed can't be undone. I'm sorry for your pain, Pheta." Pheta, the Holy Light, no stranger would call him like that. The voice sounded familiar but oddly strange at the same time. "I wasn't there, I did not see it, but I too understand what pain is." The paladin didn't grasp if the voice was trying to help or was just reprimanding him. "You don't know what I have seen!" He did not speak the words out loud, but he knew that the voice could hear him. "Everyone, just vanished", he went on thinking to himself. "There was no Theramore no more? And at the end of it all, we were still paid as the heroes we are supposed to be. We celebrated because we got to hold Northwatch, but of Theramore nothing remains."

"You turned your back on the horrors and put down your blade." The voice still sounded strong in his head, he thought it was a woman's voice, but he still couldn't be sure. She? She talked to him like a strict teacher, strong resilient, but with a hint of compassion. "I did", the Draenei replied. “I returned to Stormwind, to celebrate with the Longbeards. But I couldn't bear the lion's crest of the king anymore. So many had fallen, just for the idea of a golden lion. I indulged in ignorance and riches, while so many innocents had died. While the war for that lion's image only got reinstated. Wrynn, nor Garrosh will hold back in this conflict." "Tell me", the voice replied, "what is it that you dream of?"

Phetatarei looked around him, and indeed realized that he was dreaming. Or was he? He could stare down on himself and he saw how Jol was sitting next to him. She seemed to be humming, reverberating the stream of Holy Light that seemed to flow all around her. Next to her image of Light, his body seemed nothing more than a vague shadow. "Look around you", the voice invited him. As he looked away from himself he saw a giant staircase, glowing, almost blinding him. "Follow me." Phetatarei followed, he could not see where he was going, but he kept stumbling blindly up the stairs. He had to crouch on hand and knees as not to fall over. The bright Light was pressing him down, it weighed heavy on his breath, but he knew he had to keep on going.

"You chose defeat." The voice kept talking to Phetatarei. "It was wise of you to do so. How could a lonely paladin keep on fighting against the forces of darkness? You see the emblems of the Alliance and the Horde and you understand the conflict to two of them ensue. In this war," the voice ensured him, "There is no right or wrong. There are only victims. Both the Horde and the Alliance pray for their fallen. They dream of peace, but they believe peace can only be established when the other is defeated. So maybe, young paladin, defeat is the right path to peace. Now tell me again, what is it that you dream of."

After reaching the top of the stairs, Phetatarei had to lay down on his back. Heavily breathing, he wondered about the question. "Heroes still get paid." The voice remembered him and Phetatarei could see a smiling dwarf, counting all his riches. It was Cornelius Copperbane, Phetatarei's accountant. While Phetatarei didn't believe that he should go out adventuring for the gold, it was true that he didn't refuse any rewards. Phetatarei remembered how he had traveled to Hearthglen to visit Lord Fordring after the fall of the Lich King. The paladin was shocked by the statue that was raised in Fordrings' honor. Phetatarei did not believe that a paladin should fight for such rewards. "But are you sure that Fordring asked for this statue himself? Maybe the people had more need for this praise, than the leader of the Argent Crusade himself. Was it not Tirion Fordring that had lost everything? His home, his wife and child. He was stripped from his live as a noble. Don't you think Tirion Fordring at that time doubted the way of the Light?"

The visions of the smiling dwarf and the beaming Crusade leader vanished. Only to be replaced by visions of horror. Phetatarei could see himself fighting off some orcs while he was still young. The visions now showed him an army of the Horde, waving banners, not only of orcs, but trolls and Tauren, Blood Elves and goblins. "Even the forsaken returned after death to fight for something they believed in." Phetatarei could see how Sylvanas Windrunner was leading her army of death into battle. "The people of Gilneas turned to dark powers to save their own country. Cursed to be worgen forever, they to had to choose defeat. They laid down their arms and fled towards the people of the Alliance. "Both the Horde and the Alliance forces are able to tap energy from the Holy Light. Are they both worthy of such a reward? Or should they both be punished for misusing the Light's energies for their own benefit?"

"What about Thrall?" The voice asked Phetatarei with a stern tone. "Do you loathe him as you loathe all the other orcs? You say you hate the orcs Phetatarei, but still you helped their former leader in defeating Deathwing. What was there to stop you? You could have judged the former leader of the Horde, while he stood there next to you, but he knew you wished him no harm. Where there is Light, there is dark. Where the void rules, there are still sparks of joy. Do you hate Thrall, young draenei? Do you really hate all the orcs on Draenor and Azeroth? What's keeping you from traveling to their homes and killing as many as you can? Garrosh has decreed that every member of the Horde should join his war effort against the Alliance. And still there are more people that hold their blade than there are people fighting. Thrall too chose defeat. Lady Proudmoore had begged him to intervene in the plans of Garrosh Hellscream. But Thrall knew he could not, he had other things to do. Shouldn't the shaman receive a statue, for the things he did?"

"I am broken." Phetatarei said, almost swallowing the words directly after speaking them. A confession he did not want to make. He still lay there on a floor made of Light, blinding Light, he could see nothing but the golden hue. It washed over him with a terrible heat as if he was lying next to a campfire. Tears welled up on his tormented face. "I... am... broken." Now the paladin truly started crying. How he longed to be held by his parents once more, as if he was just a baby, crying for attention. But there was no comfort. Of course he knew his parents were dead. They got obliterated with the Crash of the Exodar on Azeroth. They had tended to their service until their last breath. "And still you got to live." The voice did not sound reassuring, it pronounced the statement more matter of factly. "And the pain never stopped." Phetatarei did not feel any comfort from the voice, and he kept on crying, now more deep, fighting for his breath.

Minutes on end he lay their on the golden flour, weeping, shuddering in pain. Even with his eyes closed, Phetatarei could still see the golden hue surrounding him, feel the warmth of Light. "Look at all that pain." The voice commanded him this time. "It is time for you to share it Phetatarei, no-one is able to live on, on their own." And as the paladin slowly opened his eyes, he could see the golden Light vanish. And before he met the deeply concerned eyes of his former teacher, Jol, he could see the Naaru K'iru, fading back into nothingness. Jol was holding Phetatarei's head in her lap, she was trying to dry his tears with her soft hands, but they kept on streaming and after a while she just gave up. "The Naaru have not forgotten us." Phetatarei forced a smile on his face and for the first time in weeks he finally felt comforted by the presence of Jol.