Two weeks.
That's how long it took to walk through every temple, monastery, and cursed brewery that Pandaria had to offer. Two weeks of kicking down doors that hadn't been opened in centuries, clearing shadows from places the mists had tried very hard to keep hidden, and discovering that Pandaren brew masters do not appreciate it when you set their barrels on fire. Even accidentally. Even a little.
Four companions walked with her. Not strangers. Not hired blades. Friends, the kind who show up before you ask and explain things patiently when you've never set foot in these places before. They knew every corridor of the Shado-Pan Monastery, every trap in the Gate of the Setting Sun, every cursed barrel in Stormstout Brewery. And they walked Mei Lin through all of it.
She'd never seen any of these places. Every fight was new. Every room held something she hadn't faced before. The first time she walked into the Siege of Niuzao Temple, the mantid came in waves and she panicked, threw totems everywhere, and called lightning on something that turned out to be a friendly NPC.
Nobody mentioned it. Good friends.
But they were patient. They showed her where to stand when the ground turned hostile. Where to plant her totems so the spirits could breathe. Where to aim the lightning and, more importantly, where not to. She fell more than once. Tasted stone more than she'd like to admit. Every time, the water spirits pulled her back to her feet.
"The river does not fight the rock. But the river always gets back up."
Somewhere in the second week it clicked. The storm and the water found the same rhythm, like two instruments that had been arguing about the key and finally settled on the same song. Her hands stopped hesitating. Lightning with the right, mending with the left. Both at the same time. Both because she could.
And then the last piece fell into place.
Shoulders that hummed with something old and furious. The Regalia of the Witch Doctor. Helm, shoulders, chest, legs, hands, all of it singing in the same frequency, like five totems planted in perfect harmony. Athame of the Sanguine Ritual in one hand. Tortos' Discarded Shell in the other. Even the Relic of Chi-Ji around her neck, warm against her fur like a second heartbeat.
She stood outside the Shado-Pan Monastery after the last fight and caught her reflection in a rain puddle. The Pandaren staring back didn't look like the girl who used to chase water spirits through the jade forests. She looked like someone the elements had finished arguing about.
Full armor for the storm. A second set for the water, packed away for the nights when lightning isn't what's needed. Every piece earned. Every piece a story.
One of her companions looked her over and whistled. "Not bad for someone who set a brew master's barrels on fire two weeks ago."
Mei Lin shrugged. "What can I say? I've always had a... spark-ling personality."
They walked away. All four of them. Didn't even look back.
They came back thirty seconds later. They always do.
*— Mist*