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(A/N: Chapter 108 will soon be on Patreon!)
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(Now back to the story!)
The Sunwell.
A fount of mystical power and the spiritual heart of the Kingdom of Quel'Thalas.
When the High Elves first arrived on the continent of Arda and settled in its northernmost regions, they discovered a nexus of energy unlike anything they had ever encountered.
This convergence of power would one day become known as the Sunwell.
At first, the settlers believed they had merely discovered an exceptionally potent ley line.
However, it soon became apparent that even a ley line should not have been capable of containing and harnessing such an immense amount of raw magical energy.
The Sunwell possessed a profound connection to Azeroth itself.
Through that connection, it naturally drew upon the energies of the Aether, using them as its "waters."
And much like the world's ley lines, the Sunwell benefited from Azeroth's own life force.
The psychic energies of the Aether were filtered through the planet itself, purified before being deposited into the well.
(A/N: Azeroth's ley lines function in a similar manner. They draw upon Warp energy, but the planet's life force acts as a natural filter, purifying the energy and making it safe to use even in its raw form. The only drawback is that a mage generally needs to be a highly skilled High Mage or an Archmage to safely wield such power without accidentally detonating themselves.)
Thus, the Sunwell became the greatest reservoir of arcane power on Azeroth.
It was around this sacred source that the first High Elven king, Dath'Remar Sunstrider, chose to establish a kingdom for his people.
Since then, the Sunwell had become inseparable from Quel'Thalas itself.
Not only did it provide the High Elves with an immense source of magical energy, but it also powered the kingdom's barriers, enchantments, and many of its magical defenses.
This was one of the primary reasons why Quel'Thalas had never been successfully invaded throughout its history.
Any would-be conqueror had always been driven back by the High Elves themselves.
It was also one of the main reasons behind their infamous arrogance.
An arrogance that had now been shattered in the worst possible way.
<--------------------------------->
Sylvanas stood within her command center, studying a magical projection displaying the vast territories surrounding Silvermoon City.
Much had changed in the past year and a half.
Most notably, Sylvanas herself.
Gone was much of the carefree confidence she once possessed.
War had transformed her.
She existed in a near-constant state of readiness.
Her mind was perpetually tense, always strategizing, adjusting plans, and preparing herself to issue decisive orders at a moment's notice.
The doors to the chamber suddenly opened.
Two High Elves entered.
One possessed long blond hair.
The other had white hair and wore a mask that concealed the lower half of his face.
Halduron Brightwing.
And Rommath.
Halduron was one of Sylvanas' oldest friends alongside Lor'themar Theron and currently served as the highest-ranking Farstrider under her command.
Rommath, meanwhile, was one of Quel'Thalas' most accomplished Archmages and a respected member of the Kirin Tor.
Following the death of his master and Lord Verath's incapacitation, he had assumed the position of Grand Magister.
Both elves served under Sylvanas by choice.
Even though Rommath technically possessed authority equal to her own.
And like Sylvanas, the war had taken its toll on them.
Halduron's ranger attire bore numerous signs of damage from repeated battles against the enemy.
The normally cheerful ranger now carried an unmistakable weariness.
Months of death, retreat, and grim news had steadily worn away at his optimism.
Rommath looked even worse.
Not only was he similarly exhausted, but he had personally confronted Malak and barely escaped with his life.
The encounter had left him with severe injuries, particularly to his face.
The mask he now wore concealed the scars that remained.
"I ordered not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency."
Sylvanas sighed.
"Which tells me I'm not going to like whatever you're about to say."
Her voice carried equal parts exhaustion and resignation.
Halduron was the first to speak.
"The forces of Chaos have broken through our final defensive line in the inner territories."
His expression darkened.
"We also lost contact with Sila and her group after the northwestern line collapsed."
(A/N: In military terminology, a "group" does not necessarily mean a handful of individuals. Depending on the organization, it can refer to hundreds or even thousands of soldiers and this is in our world not that of warhammer.)
Sylvanas closed her eyes.
For a brief moment, she offered a silent prayer for yet another friend and comrade lost in this accursed war.
She held no illusions regarding Sila's chances of survival.
Not anymore.
Not under these circumstances.
Any High Elf worth their salt would sooner die than allow themselves to be captured by the enemy.
Especially when captivity often meant a fate far worse than death.
Whether at the hands of Beastkin or Daemons.
It was one of the reasons every High Elf fighting on the front lines carried explosives.
If death became inevitable, they would take as many enemies with them as possible.
And more importantly, they would deny the Beastkin the opportunity to desecrate their bodies.
A precaution that many considered necessary.
After all, Elves had always been among the Beastkin's favorite targets.
Male or female.
Living or dead.
"I've lost count of how many familiar faces are no longer around."
Sylvanas opened her eyes and looked toward Halduron.
"You should have gone south with Lor'themar."
Halduron simply gave her a tired smile.
"You know as well as I do that I'd be more useful here."
He shrugged.
"Besides, Lor was always more of a leader and politician than I ever was."
Sylvanas sighed.
A part of her regretted respecting her friend's wishes.
Perhaps she should have simply knocked him unconscious and shipped him south alongside the others.
Eventually, her attention shifted toward Rommath.
Judging by his expression, he didn't have good news either.
"The enemy arrived sooner than anticipated."
The Grand Magister folded his arms.
"Because of that, maintaining our planned rate of attrition will be considerably more difficult."
He gestured toward the magical projection.
"Ban'dinoriel still stands around Silvermoon City."
"Our magical defenses remain fully operational."
"Our armored formations are combat-ready."
"The Magi circles are in position."
"The Ranger Corps and army regiments are likewise prepared."
On paper, it was an excellent report for a city preparing for a siege.
But all three High Elves knew the truth.
They also knew what would most likely happen regardless.
"Give me an honest assessment."
Rommath remained silent for a moment before answering.
"...It's nowhere near enough."
His tone was grim.
"We are vastly outnumbered."
"The Beastkin alone field numerous elite formations, including Giants and Ghorgons."
He gestured toward the projection.
"The Daemon army is smaller in number, but far more dangerous."
"Not only do they possess the leader of the Chaos forces at their head, but they are also supported by numerous high-ranking Daemons and Aether abominations."
His expression darkened.
"Their numbers alone would eventually wear down even the capital's defenses."
"And that's without considering the possibility that the Chaos forces have discovered some method of bypassing the city's shields, even if only partially."
"Or whatever other surprises they may have prepared."
So it was exactly as Sylvanas had expected.
Remaining at Silvermoon was little more than a suicide mission.
A necessary one.
But a suicide mission nonetheless.
"Halduron."
Sylvanas turned toward her friend.
"What is the status of the evacuation?"
"And the groups we sent out?"
"The last of them disappeared from our long-range scanners weeks ago."
Halduron folded his arms.
"By now, they have most likely reached their destinations."
"...Good."
Sylvanas closed her eyes briefly.
At least the High Elves will live on, even if Quel'Thalas falls.
"Where is His Majesty?"
"Lady Sylvanas, King Kael'thas is already at the outer wall."
Sylvanas nodded.
"Then let's not keep him waiting."
Together, Sylvanas, Rommath, and Halduron left the command center and made their way through the streets of Silvermoon City.
Even now, the city remained breathtaking.
Elegant.
Beautiful.
Almost otherworldly.
A reflection of the people who had built it so long ago.
Despite being largely empty, save for the soldiers patrolling its streets, Silvermoon remained the undisputed jewel of Quel'Thalas.
A kingdom's pride made manifest.
"I'm sorry."
Sylvanas suddenly broke the silence.
Neither of the men beside her needed clarification.
"Neither of you..."
She looked ahead.
"None of the people in this city should have to die like this."
Halduron sighed.
"Sylvanas."
He gave her a tired look.
"None of this is your fault."
"The people responsible are already mostly dead."
His expression hardened.
"Though I'm not particularly happy they died before suffering the consequences of their actions."
Sylvanas shook her head.
"I am the Ranger General of Quel'Thalas."
"The duty of protecting Silvermoon and our kingdom belongs to me."
A bitter smile appeared on her lips.
"And now it seems I will become both the last and shortest-reigning Ranger General in our history."
"In that case, I'm not much better."
Rommath chuckled softly.
"I may very well end up being the shortest-reigning Grand Magister as well."
That earned a laugh from Halduron.
Even under the circumstances, he found amusement in the absurdity.
"But what a glorious death it will be."
Sylvanas raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
Halduron grinned.
"Who knows?"
"Perhaps this day will be remembered as the Defiance of Silvermoon."
"The day the heroes of Quel'Thalas stood their ground so their people could escape."
"The day they showed the Fel hordes that even victory would come at a terrible cost."
"The heroes who died to pave the way for the future."
Sylvanas felt the corner of her lips twitch upward.
Even Rommath seemed amused beneath his mask.
"Then let's make sure we give future generations something worth remembering."
Eventually they arrived at the outer wall.
Rows upon rows of High Elven soldiers stood waiting.
Warriors.
Magi.
Rangers.
Engineers.
Every one of them prepared for what was coming.
As Sylvanas approached, the soldiers nodded respectfully.
She returned every gesture.
Together with Halduron and Rommath, she ascended the wall and found Kael'thas already standing there.
The young king stared silently into the distance.
As though carrying a weight invisible to everyone else.
Kael'thas and Sylvanas exchanged brief nods.
Neither was in the mood for formalities.
Sylvanas stepped forward.
Her soldiers looked up at her.
Their expressions were grim.
Determined.
Ready.
"You all know the truth."
Her voice carried clearly across the battlements.
"The chances of us surviving what is to come would require a miracle."
No one flinched.
No one looked away.
"And yet..."
A note of pride entered her voice.
"You brave souls of Quel'Thalas chose to remain."
"You chose to stand as the bulwark against the coming tide."
"You chose to give our people a future."
Sylvanas placed a hand over her chest.
"For that..."
"I thank all of you, my brothers and sisters."
For a brief moment, her thoughts wandered.
To Alleria.
To Vereesa.
To her parents.
To the countless civilians and soldiers she had sent south.
Safe.
Alive.
With a future.
Then her thoughts drifted toward a certain goofy prince.
A man far too kind for his own good.
Far too kind for a world as cruel as theirs.
How she wished there were more people like him.
Damn it.
If I'd known I was probably going to die, I should've at least kissed him once just to see that flustered expression of his.
The thought nearly made her laugh.
Instead, her eyes hardened.
She looked back at her soldiers.
"I'm going to keep this simple."
Her voice rose.
"If it's our time to die..."
She drew in a breath.
"Then it's our time."
A savage grin appeared on her face.
"But if we're going down fighting these bastards..."
She pointed toward the distant horizon.
"THEN WE GIVE THEM HELL BEFORE WE DO!"
The response was immediate.
A deafening roar of defiance and fury erupted from the army.
A roar powerful enough to make even a Dwarf proud.
Halduron smiled wryly.
"Always had a way with words."
Rommath glanced toward him.
"Just her?"
Halduron barked a laugh.
"Oh, hell no."
"Every single one of those Windrunner sisters is something else."
Even Kael'thas managed a faint smile.
Though it quickly disappeared.
His gaze returned to the horizon.
Sylvanas noticed.
"How long until they arrive?"
Rommath was about to answer.
"You don't need to ask."
Kael'thas spoke first.
"They're already here."
Everyone turned toward the distant forests.
Dark shapes emerged from the trees.
Then more.
And more.
Until the forests seemed to vomit forth an endless tide of Beastkin.
Behind them marched the elite formations.
Massive Giants.
Towering Ghorgons.
Monsters whose roars echoed across the landscape and whose footsteps shook the earth itself.
Then came the Daemons.
An endless sea of horrors led by powerful Daemonic commanders.
Many stared at Silvermoon with maddened glee.
Others watched with disturbing curiosity.
Behind them rolled monstrous Daemon engines, including massive Brass Scorpions and other infernal constructs.
Kael'thas, Rommath, and Sylvanas all felt their expressions darken.
The enemy looked less like an army and more like a living apocalypse.
"That's a lot of Daemons and mutants."
Halduron helpfully observed while tightening his grip on his plasma bow.
"Indeed."
Rommath nodded.
"Try to take as many of them with you as possible."
His gaze remained fixed on the approaching horde.
"It has been an honor fighting alongside all of you."
The enemy continued advancing.
An endless black tide swallowing the horizon.
Sylvanas slowly drew her bow.
"FOR AZEROTH!"
The cry spread throughout the walls.
countless voices joined her.
And as the tide of Chaos reached the heart of Quel'Thalas—
The final battle began.
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