Ironforge.
"Cursed surface-dwellers!" A dwarf, short and thin even by the standards of his people, paced in circles around his office, calling down subterranean curses upon the feet of the stupid executors who managed to mess up where, it seemed, error was impossible. "Is it really so hard to handle a simple task?! To seize a child, even a mage—it's not like looking for emeralds in granite!"
Senator Barin possessed bright red facial hair, thanks to which he earned his nickname—Redstone. And now his beard bristled menacingly in solidarity with its rage-filled master. After pacing a dozen circles, he suddenly calmed down and stopped near a table lined with containers of various combustible-lubricant materials, intended specifically for the cast-iron throats of Dwarves. And their steel stomachs, of course.
A mug of the famous binary swill reconciled the fourth in order, but not in importance, advisor to King Magni Bronzebeard.
"Well, fine. If we couldn't pressure Kul Tiras—we'll set the Elves on Dalaran. Did I hire them for nothing? Perhaps the pointy-ears will at least compensate for the incompetence of their mercenaries... Yeah, right—'mercenaries'! Everyone knows all tree-huggers are spies! Still, it's a pity the plan fell through... To frame the Elves as the ones who ordered the kidnapping to Kul Tiras, and to frame the Stormwindians as the employers of their kin to the Elves—such a plan, and it went to waste! And all because of whom? Because of some child who picked up a few tricks in that human breeding ground of stupidity and imagined himself a savior of princesses! Urgh... just remembering what those loafers waste their power on makes me want to retch... I swear by the Great Creator—it would be better if they rolled stones from place to place, there'd be more use in it!"
The Senator began pacing around his desk again, though now he did it slowly, with the dignity inherent to the true sons of the mountains. The mead sloshing in his mug replaced the swill and became a source of inspiration, setting the Dwarf in a constructive mood.
"...By the way, I need to find out how our inventor-allies are doing with the anti-portal device. Over the last year, they've eaten up a month's turnover of our merchants' guild, and they haven't progressed beyond a prototype assembled on a knee, yet we need a refined product that can be put into mass production. And we needed it, as it turns out, yesterday!.."
——————————————————
"So, how did you like your first life-and-death fight?" Lin asked with a light hint of amusement in his voice.
The young man had settled comfortably on the steep bank of the lake, sprawling on a fluffy green featherbed that had "formed itself" at his resting spot. Watching his friend work her magic—there was no other way to put it—with strands of her hair, using a mirror spell from one of her girlfriends, he lazily rolled a blade of grass in his mouth.
"It would have been wonderful if I hadn't failed it miserably," Jaina, having washed up and tidied her clothes a bit after a night in the open air, sat nearby like a ruffled bird, busy restoring her hairstyle.
Having lost both their cargo and their personal belongings, but having significantly shortened the return path to the mages' home sanctuary, the pair of students of the famous Antonidas were moving lightly toward Dalaran, along the shores of Lake Lordamere, which sheltered this famous city.
"Magic that affects the mind is considered somewhat apart from other disciplines. And you can't protect yourself from every spell with willpower alone. From personal experience, I can say that even universal shields can fail. In short, if you want to understand the subject and learn at least to defend yourself, you need to conduct serious training to develop the appropriate reactions."
"Sigh, if only there were twice as many hours in a day..."
"On the other hand, there's one definite plus in this race for knowledge—there will always be roads before you that you haven't walked yet, and horizons you haven't yet looked beyond," toward the end, the intonations of the once-mighty mage's speech changed subtly.
"Horizons—yes, that would be nice..." a similar dreamy tone appeared in the girl's voice.
"Stop torturing your hair! Let me help," the young man finally couldn't stand the sight of her attempts to comb her unwashed head.
In the past, he, like any other Elf, possessed luxurious long hair, which required proper care to remain so. Therefore, Lin had plenty of experience in such matters. The girl, as if waiting for such an invitation, immediately sat closer, turning her back to him.
The pair spent some time in silence. Jaina was occupied with watching the sunbeams playing in the waves and the endless blue sky stretching over their heads, while Lin restored the hair—which hadn't suffered all that much from the past skirmish and the night under the starry vault—to its pristine state. Particles of dirt and dust fell away almost on their own; from simple stroking, the hair acquired a gloss, filled with inner strength, and began to shine and sparkle under the sunlight. After some time, the cleaning work was finished, and Lin simply admired the streaming ripples of yellow and gold, enjoying the sensation of the silken falling flow, letting it pass through his fingers again and again.
At some point, Jaina spoke, without waiting for the end of the hairdressing procedures.
"You killed them, didn't you?"
"The attackers? Of course."
"And what is it like—killing your former kin?"
"Kin or not—enemies aren't always defined by racial affiliation. You don't think I should have taken the side of some strangers just because they have long ears?"
"No, of course not, it's just..." the girl hesitated, trying to find the right words. "You were one of them for a very long time."
"So what?" Lin was too lazy to shrug—his friend couldn't see the gesture anyway, so all he could manage was to move the rather mangled blade of grass to the other corner of his mouth. "In my past life, I killed many Elves, and our belonging to the same race didn't bother me even then. And it shouldn't bother you if humans attack instead of Orcs, for example."
"Yes, there are enemies, and there are friends—the rest doesn't matter," she shook her head, and her hair, as if waiting for this, spilled over her shoulders in golden heaps. "Better tell me something about mind magic."
"Easy! By the way, will the old man do anything to us for losing the staves?"
"Oh, he has half his storerooms filled with those blanks. I don't think he'll be impoverished by one crate."
"Then we should only fear new encounters. We don't know what they wanted, do we? That means they might try to attack again."
"Most likely they wanted to kidnap me—I am a princess, after all."
After the word "princess," something clicked in Lin's head, and his fingers, stroking her head and sorting through her hair, began to move more purposefully, switching to constructive activity.
"Yes, looks like it. Apparently, modern politics isn't much different from the intrigues at Azshara's court."
"You think they weren't just mercenaries, but the Elves needed me for something?"
"Possibly... Next time we'll try to capture one alive. But generally, I meant that politics has always been a dirty business, and I wouldn't be surprised if the clients were Antonidas's rivals for the post of head of the Kirin Tor, or some aristocrats from Kul Tiras unhappy with your family's rule, or someone else."
"Yes," Jaina sighed. "You can't catch the truth with guesses. Let's get back to magic..."
"Of course, Your Highness, as you wish," he mimicked one of her maids quite convincingly.
The girl chuckled but remained silent in anticipation of the lecture, and it was not slow to follow. While his fingers and magic crafted a crown worthy of a young princess from the "golden" material, the lakeshore was filled with the principles of operating specialized charms for countering suggestion, Mind Control, and other mental-oriented tricks.
An hour later, the sun had moved noticeably toward its zenith and began to bake, and Lin realized it was time to end the lesson. Fortunately, his creative impulse had faded, leaving behind what seemed to be an untouched cascade of hair resting on the girl's shoulders with a pair of Elven-style braids on the sides, and a small golden diadem crowning her head. However, although the ornament looked from the side as if made of precious metal, it was actually the fruit of an hour's effort by the self-proclaimed hairdresser.
"...All finished."
Jaina, who had been fidgeting with curiosity for the last half hour, immediately used Evin's fashionista spell again, and a film of a magical mirror stretched before her.
"Wow! Beautiful!" she appreciated her teacher's feats in the name of her beauty.
"And it will be even more beautiful like this," Lin said, looking at the result in the mirror from behind her back, and snapped his fingers.
A light breeze blowing in the girl's face made her squint and instantly turned the light hair into a menacingly fluffed golden torrent, revealing the princess's slender neck. The diadem, without even budging under the pressure of the air, suddenly sparkled with blue fires, as if a dozen large sapphires had ignited in it; another pair appeared in her squinted eyes, turning them into two ice floes filled to the brim with cold, adding a significant amount of sternness to the overall picture. The young princess-sorceress had instantly turned into a true Queen-Archmage!
"Actually, it suits me," the girl said, tossing her chin up haughtily.
"Doesn't it just," Lin nodded in agreement, looking at her sudden transformation along with his friend, and immediately contradicting himself, he formed the shape of deer antlers with his fingers over the girl's head. The picture was exceptionally contradictory, absurd, and therefore very funny.
Along with the girl's laughter, the illusion of the sorcerous fires in her eyes and the crown of "Jaina the Almighty" vanished, and the wind died down. And it was not a stern queen who stood up, but a laughing girl-princess, who immediately shared her good mood with her friend who had managed to rise from his knees, giving him a firm hug and a peck on the cheek.
"Catch me!" Jaina dashed toward the road hidden behind the bushes, about fifty meters from the shore.
The young man looked skeptically after the running girl and scanned the clearing for forgotten items, but it was simply impossible to "forget" on the shore what had remained in the Ironforge Workshop. Then Lin concentrated, only to step out of the aforementioned bushes a second later, directly toward the running mage.
"Caught you," he met his approaching companion with a smile.
"Unfair!" followed her feigned indignation.
"Didn't you know? Elves are the most unfair in all of Azeroth, especially when it comes to playing tag with girls."
Without losing their good mood, which had just been restored after the failed kidnapping attempt, the pair headed toward Dalaran—they still had to report on their mission to their teacher.
***
Lordaeron, Royal Palace.
Arthas looked at the delivered package—a book wrapped in cloth—and frowned in confusion. No, he could well understand why Jaina returned the jewelry set he had sent her as a sign of reconciliation, but he had chosen the second gift wisely, guided not by its value in gold equivalent (though a magical tome wasn't exactly cheap), but by the preferences of the girl he had deeply offended! And now, the tall youth looked at the wrapped book and tried hard to understand how he could have failed her with this gift as well. After all, Jaina always said that magic held a special place in her life. Even when he sincerely believed he led the list of her favorite things, he knew that his fiancée's childhood dream was breathing down his neck, and now he had no doubt at all that it had left him behind... far behind. And it would be lucky if it were only her!
The Prince shook his head, once again driving away gloomy thoughts; his blonde hair, tied in a ponytail during training but currently unrestrained, spilled over his shoulders. After that ill-fated trip, everything had gone sideways, and it wasn't just about his personal life: his father was trying more and more to involve the Prince in the duties of a future king, and Uther, after the notorious visit to Dalaran, had gone completely crazy over training, fortunately spending most of the time on his own. Muradin had vanished somewhere, and there hadn't been a word from him for six months. Even his mother—Calia Menethil—after sending her beloved daughter to Quel'Thalas, remembered her son and decided to surround him with unspent care!
He suppressed a heavy sigh—it wasn't right to complain about difficulties even to himself. Besides, his relationship with Jaina worried him far more than temporary inconveniences: Uther couldn't spend all his time in training, Muradin would be found, his father's lessons would end sooner or later, and Calia would return, and his mother's grip would loosen—but time wouldn't help solve the problem with Jaina! In this specific case, it was working against Arthas.
Finally looking away from the book, he raised his gaze to the image of the young princess standing on the table in a frame. The Prince's appearance embodied the famous stubbornness of the Menethil Dynasty. A single curve of his pressed lips revealed a very persistent man.
"Austin!"
When the door to the Prince's bedchamber opened slightly and a tousled red head peeked through the crack, Arthas continued:
"Prepare the horses and an escort—we are going to Dalaran!"
"Yes, my Prince!"
The book moved into his hands, and Arthas swiftly left the room—he still had to persuade his father for the trip, but he roughly knew what to promise him in return.
***
"Shandris."
"Tyrande? What happened?"
A girl in a cloak with a hood pulled over her head despite the summer heat, with violet-colored curls peeking out from under it, approached her old friend. The latter stood still on the edge of a high ledge, looking out over a vast green plain stretching from the foot of the cliff to the distant mountains barely visible on the horizon.
"We were driven from our native forests, and now we huddle in the depths of the continent, in the center of a valley surrounded by high cliffs, on this tiny plateau, all because we are terrified of approaching Mount Hyjal and the sea shores."
For the first moment, one of the most recognized Sentinels remained silent. There was nothing to counter—everything was as the High Priestess of Elune had stated. However, after some time, the girl realized that Tyrande Whisperwind was in no hurry to continue, so staying silent any longer was pointless: her friend had hardly called her just to stand and look at the endless steppe.
"You said that Azshara advised this—and if she could convince both you and Malfurion Stormrage, then it means it was the only correct decision for our salvation. Besides, I am sure—we will return to our forests, and even if relying on the help of dragons after Malygos's betrayal or on Azshara's help after everything she has done is humiliating, they will still have to enter into an alliance with us. Otherwise, N'Zoth will eventually come for their souls as well."
"I called you for exactly that reason. There is someone else who can help us," Tyrande Whisperwind said, still not turning away from the edge of the cliff throughout the conversation.
The archer pondered. Slightly twitching her long ears, which the hood did not cover, she tentatively guessed:
"Cenarius survived?"
"Most likely, but it's not him. And Azshara said it would be better if we didn't meet the demigod. In this, I suppose, I believe her too."
"Not Azshara, not the dragons, and not Cenarius... I'm confused," but the priestess continued to remain silent, and Shandris couldn't take it anymore. "Of course, I could start listing any significant powers that could theoretically help us, starting from Elune or the Titans and ending with Trolls, Tol'vir, or the descendants of the Aqir, but maybe you could just stop torturing my curiosity?"
Tyrande Whisperwind turned in response to such obvious irony, and the invited Elf immediately noticed that the priestess was holding something in her hands.
"Do you remember what this is?" Tyrande Whisperwind showed a small gray stone pyramid on her open palm, emitting a barely noticeable blue haze.
Shandris examined the artifact closely without touching it, but only shrugged:
"It's hard to remember something you don't know about."
"This is an Artifact of Bonds—it shows the status of the Elf who bonded to it. If it glows, it means they are at least alive..." Tyrande Whisperwind fell silent again.
"A-a-and?" the Ranger prompted.
"During the War, they were very popular. This one was a gift from Illidan Stormrage. And also—until recently, it was just an ordinary stone."
"...!" Shandris opened her mouth but couldn't gather her scattered thoughts, while the priestess calmly watched her old acquaintance's face, waiting for her response.
"Right," the famous archer focused and stated: "So the legendary Demon Hunter is alive. But how can he help us? If even Cenarius couldn't. And will he even want to? He surely hasn't been hiding for ten thousand years for no reason. And anyway—where do we find him?"
"He was always a resourceful and skilled warrior and mage. Knowing his love for magic, I think he must have grown considerably in power over the intervening time," Tyrande Whisperwind began answering the questions in order. "Besides, Illidan Stormrage didn't make himself known for nothing: if he didn't want to be found, the stone wouldn't have activated. As for the last part... the artifact will lead to Illidan Stormrage, but you are the one who must find him."
"Me?!" the girl was quite surprised by such an assignment—in her view, everything had started moving a bit too fast.
"Yes, I cannot leave our people and set off for another continent at such a moment, and by all accounts—he is somewhere in those parts," the gaze of the High Priestess of Elune's light eyes was filled with voluntarily assumed responsibility and sadness. "Besides, everything must be done in secret so that our... kin don't find out about him. And you are the best specialist in stealth and Cloak, my close friend, and also—you are acquainted with Illidan Stormrage and don't hold a grudge against him. It is you, Shandris, who is the best candidate."
"Acquainted, you say... I only saw him a couple of times! I'm not sure he even noticed me—I was still very young back then..."
"It doesn't matter!" the Elf with green hair interrupted. "Take a few sisters just in case, prepare, and tomorrow I will open a portal. I'll try to get as close to the target as possible, but we'll see how it goes. Try to convince him that he is needed by his people again, and most importantly—tell Illidan Stormrage that it is I who am asking for help," she held out a letter...
"And if he's in Quel'Thalas?" the girl clarified, accepting the message.
"It is all the will of Elune..."
Five minutes later, Shandris, though still in a state of confusion, was nevertheless walking confidently through the temporary camp toward the Sentinels' quarters. "How can one Elf change the outcome of a war? Though, if you think about it, Azshara would certainly be up to the task."
Due to her youth, the girl had not been present during the confrontation with the Queen at the second Well of Eternity, during the landmark Exodus of the Quel'dorei from the "land of eternal starlight," but the eyewitness accounts of royal majesty had been impressive then. Although among the common Kaldorei, the Highborne blonde Elf who had let demons into Azeroth was not just unpopular but for the most part hated, that didn't stop them from showing respect for her power... or feeling fear before her.
But despite the fact that Shandris was plagued by doubts that even Tyrande Whisperwind's multi-millennial authority couldn't entirely dispel, she intended to approach her friend's request in the most responsible manner. After all, it wasn't every day you were sent to another continent to find a warrior-archmage missing for ten thousand years—either a Hero or a Traitor—legends differed somewhat in their opinions on that.
***
The "other" side of Azeroth.
The shifting and whimsical world was filled with bright colors in every possible shade of green. Even the blurriness and fluidity of the surrounding space, which gave objects a touch of ephemerality, could not stifle the riot of one of the fundamental elements. Life itself reigned in this place, sometimes taking very, very bizarre forms, such that even a powerful Druid, having been on intimate terms with this element for several millennia, was sometimes surprised by its imagination.
But right now, Malfurion Stormrage, walking purposefully through the ghostly thickets that parted before him, had no time for the wonders of this place. This time he had come to the Dream Aspect in her sanctuary on important business. In fact, he had come to Azeroth's holy of holies for this same business the last five times. From his focused face, lined with wrinkles—more so than oak bark!—one could guess that Cenarius's associate expected to achieve a different result during this visit compared to the previous failed attempts.
"Malfurion Stormrage," a quiet but clearly audible female voice rang out as soon as the Druid appeared at the edge of a clearing free from the madness of the surrounding nature.
"Ysera," the Elf greeted the Aspect of nature—the mistress of this place—in return.
A huge ghostly green dragoness, lying in the center of the bowl-shaped clearing, dissolved into a mist that subsequently gathered into a humanoid form—a young-looking, short, slender Elf. Quite ordinary in appearance, except... If the openness of her green clothing (a narrow strip of a "bra-plate" and pants hugging her slender legs—that was her entire wardrobe) could still be attributed to the self-expression of the young Kaldorei growth, and her glowing green eyes to a strong gift for natural magic, then the pair of horns, at least twice the size of the famous Elven ears and growing from her forehead at an angle backward, were an obvious sign that this girl was not an Elf... or was not only one.
"You come here in vain, Druid. It is not in my power to help you."
"The Emerald Aspect was created by the Titans to preserve Azeroth..." Malfurion Stormrage began to speak, stepping closer.
The girl sighed heavily and interrupted:
"Don't start. I know better than you who created the Dream Aspect, when, and why. I already explained to you and Cenarius that I cannot leave this place. Do you think it doesn't hurt me to see Azeroth suffer? But I simply cannot help you. My entire essence is tied to the Dream Aspect, and it is the foundation of my power—even if I decided to leave this place unguarded and cross into the real plane, I would simply be useless there and could not help you in any way. How many more times do I have to explain this so that you, Malfurion Stormrage, stop nursing empty hopes?!"
"I have a plan. If I lure N'Zoth or his army here, can you deal with them?"
Ysera froze, but not out of delight at such an idea, but rather the opposite.
"Have you lost your mind?! You want to lead the enemy into the most sacred place in Azeroth?!"
"I have no other options. Malygos is a traitor, and the other Aspects don't care about us. Either we try to act according to my plan, or N'Zoth will destroy us one by one. You don't think that when Azeroth falls, he won't try to penetrate here, into its very heart?"
"If you don't see other paths, it doesn't mean they don't exist," the dragoness cooled down a bit, realizing that Malfurion Stormrage was currently only at the stage of working out the last idea, rather than wanting to bring his mad plan to life at any cost, being completely consumed by it. "You could unite with your kin from the other continent. Besides, there are still Humans, Dwarves, Gnomes—they have all gained considerable power."
"Without the help of the Aspects, we have no chance in a struggle against one of the Old Gods," throughout the conversation, Malfurion Stormrage's voice hadn't changed an iota, remaining calm. "If even the Titans themselves couldn't fully deal with them, then we certainly don't have such capabilities. Even Azshara, for all her boasting, doesn't show her nose out of Quel'Thalas. Without the Well—she is perhaps the strongest among us, but at the same time an ordinary mage who is not in the same league as the personification of the Void itself. But you, the successors of the Titans, are capable of this."
"You don't understand, Malfurion Stormrage. Although we, the Aspects, are strong on our own ground, Alexstrasza and I are poor warriors. We know how to preserve and protect, not destroy enemies. Neltharion and Malygos could have helped you with the latter, but the first went mad and is dead, and the second, though he seems to have come to his senses after losing almost his entire flight, has now closed himself behind Magical Barriers in his home and is not making contact. And after your stories about what happened under Nordrassil, this is cause for concern..."
"Nozdormu," now it was the Druid's turn to interrupt the mistress of the Emerald Aspect. "He is the strongest among you. The time he commands can turn defeat into victory."
"Time is not something you can swing around like an ordinary club. Yes, he is its keeper, so to speak, and is capable of much, but the price of using his power is great, far too great. You don't know this, but back then, ten thousand years ago, you didn't manage to stop the demons, Azshara's plan also failed, and Sargeras stepped onto Azeroth. The world stood on the edge of the abyss, and Nozdormu had to intervene. However, changing the past in a new present led to the destruction of the Well. You didn't think you just came and destroyed the demonic portal, and with it the heart of all Azeroth, with some ordinary magic and an artifact, even a very strong one? The world is not so easily thrown out of balance, especially in a couple of moments."
Such information was news to Malfurion Stormrage, and therefore managed to pierce his mask of composure. His stunned face only silently opened its mouth in an attempt to say something, but only shook his beard. But then surprise was replaced by indignation.
"So he was the one who blew up the Well?!"
"What were you listening with?" Ysera frowned. "Nozdormu didn't destroy anything; the Well of Eternity could not withstand such a global intervention in the past, and its energy flows went wild. In the end—it exploded on its own."
It took the Druid about a minute to process the new information and organize everything else, during which the green dragoness patiently waited for her guest to finish pondering her words.
"Is there really nothing that can be done?"
"No!" followed a categorical statement. "Nozdormu will intervene only when the situation becomes truly critical. And it's not clear what Azeroth will have to sacrifice in return for this help. And whether anyone will be left alive to enjoy the fruits of such a victory."
Five minutes later, after more futile bickering, Malfurion Stormrage left the Emerald Aspect. His plan to force the remaining Aspects to take his side under the threat of summoning N'Zoth here had failed. There really was no one there to fight except Nozdormu, whom he had counted on when coming here, but who, if Ysera was to be believed, would not intervene until the very end—the end of Azeroth, not the Elves. And the Life Aspect and Dream Aspect really did not possess outstanding fighting talents, and while here, in the center of the concentration of Life and Nature, Alexstrasza and Ysera could do much, he himself hadn't gone completely mad yet to pave a path for the Void into the Emerald Aspect...
Now he only had a backup plan left.
***
Northrend.
A secluded island in the west of Azeroth's northern continent was surrounded by inaccessible cliffs. Inaccessible to anyone who couldn't fly. However, the mountain ranges were not the only obstacle for those who decided to disturb the privacy of this piece of land's owner. In the center of the island, which bore the resonant name Coldarra, stood a short tower. The valley in the ring of mountains encircling the shore of Coldarra was closed by a powerful magical dome, and the tower itself seemed to sparkle with all sorts of protective charms cast both on itself and its surroundings. There were no doors in the tower, and it was not guarded by anyone except magic, and therefore even from the outside, one could see that inside the only structure on the island—which had only a couple of stairs for an interior—the film of a portal shimmered.
Behind the spatial rift lay the sanctuary of the Life Aspect himself. The foyer of Malygos's dwelling was a massive stone disc, floating in the darkness under the light of distant stars. Both the stars and the darkness were nothing more than a skillful illusion, and the domain of the strongest dragon of the Blue Dragonflight was not limited to a single platform in "space": hidden portals along the edge of the disc led to more specialized chambers. But now, for the duration of the ritual, Malygos occupied this very first platform, access to which was currently blocked even for those rare guests who occasionally dropped by to see the dragon. For several millennia, the latter had consisted only of his family members: his children—Arygos and Kirygosa—and his second spouse, Saragosa. His first spouse, his consort—Sindragosa—had been dead for ten thousand years; however, she was the reason why the foyer of his home was now decorated with numerous magical figures coupled with long chains of runic symbols. Moreover, the secret signs were not only on the stone but in the air: a multicolored weave of runes shimmering in the dark was interspersed with complex three-dimensional figures—both the former and the latter trembling slightly from the Mana overflowing within them.
In the center of this entire composition, a large uncut sapphire hung in the air, which had been the price paid to the Old God for the betrayal of Cenarius. The gemstone contained the soul of his deceased spouse. For several months since the deal was finalized, the dragon had been trying to resurrect his beloved. Justifying his title as the Master of Magic, Malygos improved upon the previous method time and again or found new approaches, and now the time had come for the seventh attempt.
The blue-haired elf (only in this form could he fit on the edge of the platform without disturbing the result of his many hours of work), hiding behind protective charms, loudly shouted the activation word, and the ritual sprang into action. An impulse surged through the magical runes and signs, and they became saturated with Force. The air seemed to ring with tension. Out of nothingness, the silhouette of a massive dragoness coalesced above the runic circles…
There was a hiss, and the entire energy construct, giving a final quiet clink, collapsed into individual elements that quickly faded and lost their shape.
Malygos canceled the defense (this time it ended without an explosion) and ground his teeth as he approached the sapphire. Another failure! It infuriated him that even Humans had learned to resurrect the dead, while he, an Aspect, had been treading water for many days! And although the tasks of returning to life a recently deceased humanoid and a mighty dragoness who died ten thousand years ago differed in complexity like heaven and earth—this was no excuse for his own impotence in Malygos's eyes.
The problem lay in the absence of a body, and it couldn't be said that he hadn't tried to solve it by "ordinary" means. During previous attempts, several of his younger flight members had to sacrifice their bodies, but it was all in vain—Sindragosa's soul could not hold within dragonesses who were not even relatives of his spouse, and returned once more to its temporary refuge. And Sindragosa's kin in all of Azeroth were simply no longer among the living. He could have created a body from scratch, but for that, it was necessary to find the remains of the previous one—a task that had remained unsolved for all the time that had passed since the day he lost his beloved.
The Aspect's thoughts suddenly switched to considering a new idea. After all, with his spouse's soul in hand, the search for her remains should be significantly simplified. And if he met with failure here as well, he could always visit Dragonblight and continue the experiments, but this time with the remains of her relatives. Malygos smiled with relief and, having outlined the paths to solving the new-old tasks, began creating the next ritual, this time specifically to find Sindragosa's body, while simultaneously sending a mental message to several kin with an order to find the remains of very specific individuals at the graveyard—Sindragosa's closest female relatives—his spouse would hardly be happy if he resurrected her in a male body, and that contradicted his own aspirations. The final task—finding the right bones in the vast cemetery—was also far from trivial even for him, which is why Malygos decided to take care of procuring the material in advance, so it would be at hand in case of a possible failure in the search for his beloved's remains…
------------------//------------------
Is'Ney-Azshari.
Azshara was listening to another report from a tall, blonde elf in leather armor—the head of the intelligence network that stretched across all of Azeroth, and in some places even beyond its borders (Kirin Tor wasn't the only one fond of sending expeditions to Draenor)—when she suddenly felt that something was wrong with the Source.
With her Source. Something. Had happened.
The Queen immediately lost interest in matters concerning both the resurrected clusters of Holy—the Naaru, who were a law unto themselves—and the Draenei who had fallen under their influence, whom she still expected to gain as allies, though so far diplomatic overtures had led to nothing...
Azshara enveloped herself in the powerful defense granted by her famous diadem and, without saying goodbye, left the meeting hall, jumping as a precaution not to the closest possible teleportation spot to the Source. Life had taught her that no precautions are ever redundant, and even though nothing indicated an attack on the palace, and only she could teleport within its bounds, the ancient and eternally young elf preferred to play it safe. The delay caused by concessions to paranoia had no impact on the unfolding events. Bursting into the sanctum sanctorum, the queen managed to catch the most interesting part, and she even had to wait about five minutes for the climax itself, during which she, having closed the doors behind her and ensured there was no direct threat, tried by all available means to understand what was happening to the Source.
And the Source—the pool of mana—was in total turmoil. There was no longer a sparkling pillar of mana erupting from its surface, and the surface itself, which had previously pulsed steadily with small, even waves, was now boiling and pitted with breakers and whirlpools. The liquid in the man-made pool was filling with light—mana, instead of rushing upward as before in an attempt to reach the Twisting Nether, was accumulating in the Source.
And this, in Azshara's view, boded nothing good. It was one thing for the kingdom to be left without power—the elves kept storage cells for such cases—but the threat of an explosion or something even worse was highly stressful, leading her to suspect sabotage and the machinations of enemies. Unable to understand anything, but also finding no signs of immediate danger, Azshara decided to take a risk and touch the Source. Through direct contact, she could assess the state of her creation much more accurately—not everyone, like Illidan Stormrage, has the ability to not just feel energy, but to see its flows.
A maiden's palm, shrouded in the multicolored flair of a powerful mage's aura, cautiously touched and then fully submerged into the restless surface of the Source. And it was as if it had been waiting for exactly that!
The dome of one of the most protected halls in Azeroth was literally scorched by a brilliant flash, not of light, but of mana itself—that liquid substance that filled the pool. A powerful gust of energy swept around, but the runic weave covering the ceiling and walls, whose purpose was precisely to absorb and transform neutral power, had been made by Azshara with a large margin of safety, specifically to neutralize the impact of possible Source fluctuations on the kingdom's energy grid. The monstrously powerful impulse was tamed and absorbed, albeit with difficulty, which led to the fact that in the capital, as throughout Quel'Thalas, the magical street lamps that had begun to fade under the wary gazes of passers-by suddenly flared up nearly ten times brighter than usual! For a short time, day came to evening Quel'Thalas.
Azshara, of course, saw none of this, being blinded not so much in her ordinary vision (she had managed to close her eyes just in time) as in her sense of magic. However, aside from temporary disorientation, what happened caused Azshara no other harm. The loss of sensitivity to the movement of mana was restored in the shortest possible time, simultaneously with her sight. The latter came in quite handy: the just-blinking Azshara was shown a beautiful illumination in all its glory. Hundreds of golden grains of sand, formed over the center of the Source after the explosion of its energy, began to rapidly attract each other, forming an elven silhouette. The specks of energy drawing together in the air took on a slender maidenly form, which then filled with volume and began to darken, acquiring a more diverse palette of colors than bright yellow.
And so, before the queen standing frozen by the edge of the pool, who had not yet withdrawn her hand from the Source, appeared a naked elven girl, whose age barely exceeded a single century. Ordinary in appearance, with the exception that her hair, in both color and style, was suspiciously similar to Azshara's snow-white cut. The radiance around the girl who had intruded into the most guarded place in Quel'Thalas faded, and the unexpected guest gently descended into the center of the well. Meanwhile, the mana created by the Source began to concentrate on its surface again, and soon the flow of energy once more rushed upward, to traditionally splash ingloriously but usefully against the dome blocking its path and head not into the depths of space, but through energy conduits for the greater benefit of the elven people.
The newcomer looked around with curiosity, standing knee-deep in liquid mana and fanned by the rising particles of energy. Neither the former nor the latter definitely bothered her, but rather the opposite—it gave her pleasure. The girl looked around, and her gaze fixed on the mistress of the palace. The guest smiled brightly and stepped forward.
Azshara, who had managed to restore her sensitivity, stared in confusion at the creature passing itself off as an elf, for she felt with every fiber of her soul that the girl was not an elf. The queen was also very confused and stressed by the fact that the young visitor had a much stronger affinity with the Source than she did herself, even though, it would seem, such a thing was fundamentally impossible—after all, she, Azshara, was its creator and guardian. It simply didn't fit in her head! But the understanding that the approaching girl was not an enemy was imprinted as clearly in her mind as the fact that something incredible, impossible, but definitely wonderful had happened. In any case, Azshara was overcome by an inexplicable joy, as if from a long-awaited meeting with a long-expected friend (if, of course, one ignored the fact that she had problems with friends regarding their complete absence).
The queen, who had risen to her feet, had many questions, and when the young girl came close and, trustingly blinking amber eyes framed by fluffy white lashes, took her in an embrace with the words: "Mama!"—there were even more…
***
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