Alastor knew he was not normal from a very young age.
He was fairly certain that children should not possess the kind of strength he had, nor the ability to memorize and comprehend vast amounts of information within moments.
Children—even those from royal bloodlines—shouldn't be growing at his rate. Even his elder brother, Varian, had only begun showing advanced physical maturity after he turned twelve.
If anything, Alastor had the instinctive feeling that he could have grown even faster had he been exposed to some sort of stimulus.
(A/N: Primarch's early growth is stimulated by their environments since Alastor was kept safe by his adoptive family his growth was the slowest but the most healthy amongst his brothers.)
And it wasn't only that.
He was fairly certain that no normal person—or whatever qualified as normal by his standards—should possess memories of another life.
At first, those memories appeared only in fragments. Over time, however, they became clearer and revealed more of themselves.
Yet Alastor felt no particularly strong emotions regarding them, aside from a few memories that seemed significant within that past "life."
The world he had once called home was named Earth, which confused him. Why would anyone call their home "dirt"?
Still, putting that aside, he had also learned that it was a peaceful world.
Extremely peaceful.
By the Light, they had only endured two world wars and most of the other "wars" they fought would barely be called skirmishes here at Azeroth.
They also possessed no hostile races that despised them simply for being human, unlike the Beastkin, Orks, and the former Black Iron Dwarves.
Yet he also found that the people of that world seemed strangely limited in certain aspects. More importantly, even the strongest person on Earth appeared weaker than an ordinary commoner on Azeroth.
When the memory fragments eventually stopped appearing altogether, Alastor realized they weren't even complete. Significant portions seemed to be missing, perhaps lost to time.
Still, imagine his surprise when he encountered fictional works that closely resembled aspects of his own life in Azeroth.
Eventually, Alastor came to the conclusion that perhaps, in some strange way, the humans of that peaceful world had glimpsed other realities and mistakenly perceived them as products of their imagination, thus giving birth to these "stories".
However, considering he had seen no evidence of magic whatsoever outside of fiction, he wasn't particularly confident in that theory.
Sadly, there wasn't much information in his memories regarding Warcraft, Warhammer 40,000, Warhammer Fantasy, or the many other fictional works he vaguely recalled.
Most of what remained consisted of broad strokes, with more specialized knowledge coming from videos, stories, discussions, and whatever could be inferred from the source material itself.
That did not mean Alastor found the information useless.
Instead, he carefully compartmentalized everything he considered even remotely useful.
He had even written numerous books and stored information on isolated datapads containing his own theories and collected knowledge, all of which he kept secret.
As for everything else...
He honestly didn't care.
Yes, he might once have been someone else with a life of his own, but that was then and this was now.
At this point, he was simply Alastor Wrynn, the second prince of Stormwind's royal family—even if he wasn't related to them by blood.
He often mused that this was also why, despite possessing such unusual knowledge, he had still been able to act his age from infancy until now.
At his core, he truly was a newborn child growing up in an entirely different reality.
However, his memories had answered one important question regarding his nature.
He was a Primarch.
A "son" of the Emperor of Mankind.
<--------->
And honestly, he felt absolutely nothing toward the Emperor.
He had never known him.
From what little he could glean from his fragmented memories, the Emperor was not someone Alastor imagined he would get along with. As such, he withheld judgment until the day they might actually meet.
If such a day ever came.
Still, he wasn't going to agonize over it or treat it as some grand purpose.
Why would he?
He was Alastor Wrynn, son of Llane Wrynn.
The Emperor's blood might flow through his veins, but his father was the King of Stormwind, and Alastor refused to see it any other way.
Alastor looked up from the book he was reading and casually tossed it into the air.
The book floated toward the bookshelf, enveloped in a faint blue aura, before neatly sliding back into place.
He had also discovered that he possessed abilities that were uncommon even by the standards of the Warhammer universe.
Or perhaps his understanding of that universe was still incomplete.
He remembered that, during the last memory fragment he had received, he had met some sort of "man"—or at least someone he recognized as male.
Much of that conversation had faded from memory, but what he did remember was that this individual was responsible for sending him into this reality.
Before everything had gone dark and his eyes had opened once more within a pod—before he had first seen his father and surrogate uncle—that mysterious man had granted him two gifts.
Along with an unknown third gift that he claimed was a surprise from "someone else."
The first gift was Psionics.
The ability to interact with and influence the world through mental energy and one's own life force, independent of the Warp—or, as it was called on Azeroth, the Aether.
The second gift was Gandálfr.
It originated from another fictional work from his previous life and granted him mastery over any object designed for combat.
From the simplest sword to advanced laser weaponry, and even vehicles, so long as the object had been intended for warfare, Gandálfr allowed him to instinctively understand and master it.
And boy, had that been a shock for his mother.
When she entered his nursery while he was still a baby, she had found him levitating a toy knight and dragon while making them engage in an elaborate battle.
His parents had immediately summoned the court mage, Frederick, to examine him.
Even Frederick had been left speechless when he discovered that the young prince was capable of such feats without drawing upon the Aether.
The court mage had also discovered that, beyond his psionic abilities, the child possessed an exceptional affinity for magic.
As a result, he strongly encouraged the King and Queen to allow their new son to pursue the magical arts when he came of age.
Not long afterwards, rumours spread throughout Stormwind that the prodigious second prince was also a budding magical genius.
Many took it as a good omen for the kingdom.
After all, not only was the current king beloved and honourable, but both of his sons appeared remarkably gifted.
Then there was Gandálfr.
When Alastor turned four, his accelerated growth allowed him to begin martial training under his surrogate uncle and Knight-Champion, Anduin Lothar.
Alastor would not lie.
He admired Lothar almost as much as he admired Llane.
To him, the man embodied everything a knight should be: honourable, courageous, and immensely skilled.
So naturally, Alastor had wanted to impress him.
Using both his physical gifts and the skill granted by Gandálfr, he managed to defeat several adult training partners.
Anduin had been impressed.
Then he had stepped forward and declared himself Alastor's next opponent.
...And proceeded to promptly defeated him.
Alastor had been utterly shocked.
Not only had he lost, but it didn't even seem as though Anduin had been taking the fight seriously.
And then Anduin proceeded to explain exactly why.
Flashback:
"Your skill is empty, and your blade is hollow," Anduin simply said as he sheathed his practice sword, much to Alastor's confusion.
"What?"
"I'll admit, lad, you are perhaps the most monstrous boy I have ever seen in my life—and likely the most monstrous I will ever see until the end of my days."
"Give it a few years and, even without my teachings, you would become a legend through that talent alone."
Anduin had already witnessed many of Alastor's miraculous abilities since his adoption into House Wrynn and had long since learned to take any new surprises in stride.
"But do you know what your flaw is? The very same flaw that many so-called geniuses possess?"
Anduin lightly poked Alastor's forehead.
"You learn too quickly, and because of that, you don't truly see things the way a master does."
"When you attacked me, I would wager that you relied entirely on your strength, speed, and your sudden mastery of the blade. At most, you probably formed a rudimentary plan of engagement."
Alastor nearly blushed in embarrassment at how accurately the brown-haired knight had dissected his thought process and found himself unable to meet the man's gaze.
How could he have forgotten?
Anduin, despite not being royalty, possessed a bloodline that traced directly back to Emperor Thoradin himself. Because of that, his abilities were no less impressive than those of any royal.
Hell, even his father openly admitted that Anduin was the greatest swordsman and warrior on Azeroth without question, his skill surpassing even the likes of Uther Lightbringer and Thoras Trollbane.
He wasn't called Lion of Azeroth just for show, he earned that title through blood and bodies.
Suddenly, it wasn't surprising at all that he had lost.
"Eyes up, Alastor."
Taking a deep breath, Alastor looked Anduin in the eyes.
There was no disappointment there.
No mockery.
No indulgence.
Only understanding.
"Let me tell you what a true warrior is, at least in my view."
Anduin held his gaze.
"A true warrior is someone who not only trains with his weapon to sharpen his skills, but also trains himself—whether that be his body, his soul, or even his mind."
"To walk this path is to walk a road of discovery. You must come to understand not only your weapon, but yourself as well, if you wish to truly grow."
"It's alright if you don't understand now. Just remember these words. One day, you will discover your own path—not only as a warrior, but as a person."
Anduin patted Alastor's shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile.
"In the meantime, let's start small while I help you familiarize yourself with the many other aspects that influence combat."
After that day, Alastor's lessons with Anduin expanded far beyond simple swordsmanship.
He was taught discipline, tactics, battlefield awareness, prediction, instinct, adaptability, and the importance of experience.
Only after establishing those foundations did Anduin begin his formal training as a knight.
Flashback End
It had been a valuable lesson.
Even with the advantages of being a Primarch and possessing these extraordinary gifts, Alastor was not invincible.
Especially not now.
He often reminded himself that many great men and women throughout history had not been destroyed by their enemies, but by their own arrogance.
More often than not, their greatest weakness had been themselves.
As a result, he made a conscious effort to remain humble while still maintaining confidence in his abilities.
One particularly welcome side effect/application of his gifts, however, was something he had only discovered later.
Technopathy.
Any machine or piece of technology he touched, he could instinctively understand.
Its inner workings.
Its design.
Its purpose.
He could even communicate with it and, to a certain extent, command it.
Alastor wasn't sure whether this had been his original Primarch ability or merely a natural affinity for technology that had evolved into full Technopathy through his psionic powers.
Either way, he wasn't complaining.
The ability had also given him a glimpse into what it might feel like to be one of the technological super-geniuses from his old memories.
People like Tony Stark, Reed Richards, Hank Pym etc
Suffice it to say, when one of the Forgemasters of Stormwind's Science Guild arrived at the royal palace at the King's request to teach the prince the basics of his new "hobby" and witnessed Alastor's abilities firsthand...
The respected Forgemaster had very nearly dropped to his knees and begged King Llane to allow the prince to join the Science Guild.
Much to the King's bewilderment.
And even more so when the normally quiet Court Mage Frederick nearly came to blows with the Forgemaster over what he described as an attempt to "sabotage" the prince's destiny as a future legendary Archmage!
The poor King had developed quite the headache that day.
Though he also couldn't help feeling a great deal of pride in his younger son.
Eventually, after discussing the matter with Alastor himself, a compromise was reached.
Prince Alastor would study under the Science Guild.
At the same time, he would continue his arcane education, train under Anduin Lothar in matters of warfare and combat, and learn from Llane and Taria regarding leadership, administration, and honour.
And thus, another three years passed.
Author's Note:
Subscrib—ahem.
I mean, vote, comment, leave a five-star review, and add the story to your library!