As time passed, the continent of Kalimdor flourished under the dominance of the night elves. The great war that once shook the world slowly faded from collective memory, and peace seemed to have settled for a long time. Cities grew, roads were opened, and the influence of the Night Elves spread to every corner of the continent.
By nature, the night elves were a central race in Azeroth's power structure. They held a strong sense of superiority over all other races—except for the elves of Tolkien's world, the dwemer, and the Dúnedain. These three were considered the only ones worthy of respect, for they possessed cultural depth, strength, and history that could not be dismissed.
Yet in regions far from the center of power, the Tauren lived in a very different way. They resided in the High Kaolin region, a mountainous land that was harsh yet peaceful. The Tauren were known as a peaceful, honest, and simple people. The Night Elf Empire, along with other empires, had established good diplomatic relations with them. The Tauren always welcomed guests with sincere smiles, and the night elves who lived in Tauren cities never showed hostility.
The Tauren built their own fortress-city in Highmountain, known as Thunder Totem Heights. Though its architecture was rough and primitive in appearance, there was a natural charm and simplicity felt in every corner of the city. Their buildings were made of wood and stone, adorned with totems and ancestral symbols that reflected their connection to the earth and the elements.
The wise among the Tauren were called shaman-priests. They borrowed the power of the earth and elements to offer gentle healing and spiritual guidance to their people. The Tauren worshipped the generous earth, and in the mountains far from the High Peaks lay the lair of the black dragon king Neltharion, the earth guardian. In that region, it was not uncommon to hear the roar of the black dragon echoing across the sky—a sign that ancient power still lived and stirred.
The night elves and the elves of Tolkien's world were initially intrigued by the energy practices of the shaman-priests. They studied the Tauren's rituals and philosophy with curiosity. But the interest didn't last. They soon lost all fascination. The reason was simple: elves could never worship the earth and natural elements with religious sincerity like a shaman could.
To the elves, their gods were only Elune, the moon goddess, and Silmalorë, the eternal god of magic. The Night Elves looked down on other beings, and thus, shaman-priests would never emerge among them. The same was true for the elves of Tolkien's world, the dwemer, and the Dúnedain. Though they were created by Silmalorë's life energy, they regarded him only as the origin of their existence—not as a god or a being worthy of worship. The concept of "religion" as understood by humans never developed among them.
Silmalorë thought deeply about this. In every famous franchise he had studied in his previous life, elves tended not to need religion. Elves typically lived for thousands of years, even eternally, though they could still die. They had the capacity to witness cosmic events and divine manifestations directly. Because of that, they didn't need faith—they didn't need to believe in something unseen, because they already knew or had seen it themselves.
Many stories portrayed elves as beings deeply attuned to the natural world or magical energy. They felt already connected to something greater than themselves—like the universe, the flow of magic, or the world tree. Religion as a bridge between humans and God simply didn't feel relevant to them.
In Tolkien's world, for instance, the elves are aware of the existence of god-like beings such as the Valar. They even interact with them directly. Because of this, they never built religious institutions or worship rituals. Their relationship is more immediate, without intermediaries. Elves are often portrayed as seeing themselves as superior to humans. As such, they feel no need to worship anyone. If there is any form of reverence, it resembles respect for ancestors or deities—never full submission.
In many works of fiction, religion is born from humanity's need to understand the mysteries of the world. Elves, with their long lifespans, vast knowledge, and closeness to the cosmos, do not share the same confusion. Therefore, religion never developed among them the way it did among humans.
Silmalorë's conclusion was that elves do not need faith because they possess experience, knowledge, and longevity that make the concept of divinity feel more tangible—or sometimes entirely unnecessary. This was one of the issues that frustrated Silmalorë. In the world of Warcraft, gaining power requires belief in divinity, or what is commonly called "faith." But most of the elves he created didn't think that way, which made light magic unpopular among his races.
"What we must do is control power—not worship it, borrow it, or pray for it."
This sentence was not just advice; it had become an ideological mantra systematically instilled by high-ranking elven sorcerers into every young student entering the learning circle. They repeated it with an almost sacred tone, as if it were a law of nature. Yet behind the repetition lay a darker intent—the sentence was Silmalorë's legacy, spread as a tool of mass indoctrination to preserve elven dominance over magic and power.
Meanwhile, the night elves chose a different path. They maintained peaceful and respectful relationships with the earth spirits—ancient entities unbound by government or state structures. According to Silmalorë's observations, the earth spirits had never formed a unified power system. They lived in small groups, short in stature but possessing extraordinary physical strength. These beings, appearing as a fusion of metal and life, led primitive lives on the continent of Kalimdor, far from the bustle of modern civilization.
Rumors claimed they had built a Titan facility called Uldaman—a place filled with mystery and ancient technology. Yet the earth spirits remained silent. They never spoke of Uldaman, even when asked directly. Their secrecy toward the outside world was so extreme that the only way to understand them was to follow their traces in silence, with no hope of open dialogue.
Among all the races that had interacted with Silmalorë, only one managed to establish peaceful relations without prolonged conflict: the pandaren. From the peaks of the Angband mountains, Silmalorë watched the world of Azeroth with a perspective resembling that of a god. He observed the panda race with an unusual sense of sympathy. Though he was not from China, the cultural aura radiating from the pandaren always reminded him of that land—and even of the ancient one from the Marvel universe.
Pandaria, the birthplace of the pandaren, was once under the shadow of the tyrannical Mogu Dynasty. This dynasty ruled with an iron fist, oppressing and enslaving the Pandaren tribes, monkeys, and many others for centuries. The height of oppression came after the death of Lei Shen, the Thunder King, whose power was so immense that thunder and lightning became symbols of fear across the region.
Pandaria itself was surrounded by tall, rugged mountains. During the long age of darkness, despair and fear blanketed every valley and forest. In Splendid Valley, signs of awakening emerged: a call of thunder that shook sky and earth. Lei Shen rose again as an absolute ruler. With unmatched lightning power, he subdued the land and all living creatures around him. The Mogu'shan Palace stood grandly in the sky, a symbol of unshakable authority. All beings bowed, and the slaves could only groan in chains that never broke.
But time never favors tyranny. Years passed, and even the Thunder King could not defy fate. The skies once filled with thunder slowly grew calm. The clouds vanished, and lightning faded atop Kunlai Mountain.
In the power vacuum left by the fall of the Mogu Dynasty, the oppressed pandaren rose. They did not wait for a leader, nor for revelation. They organized themselves spontaneously, forming resistance forces that fought desperately against the Mogu who had enslaved them for generations.
During the rule of Taran Zhu, the pandaren were finally allowed to learn and access knowledge once deemed forbidden. This intellectual freedom grew unchecked, giving rise to the Shado-Pan—panda warriors trained in martial arts and dark philosophy. They became symbols of resistance and guardians of long-buried wisdom.
Ironically, the only thing the pandaren ever thanked the Mogu Dynasty for was its destruction. After the tyranny collapsed, they returned to a dark age of restricted learning. But the doors of knowledge that had been opened could no longer be closed. The hunger for understanding and wisdom continued to grow.
The panda people became smarter, more strategic, and braver in their pursuit of knowledge. They began building independent learning systems and gradually gained support from Pandaria's four wild gods. This support was not merely spiritual—it was ideological, a recognition that knowledge was a power that could not be silenced.
The four wild gods of Pandaria had long been the spiritual and philosophical foundation of the pandaren people. Yu'lon, the Jade Serpent, was the god of balance who taught harmony and the flow of qi. Chi-Ji, the graceful Red Crane, was the god of hope who taught energy control and inner peace. Niuzao, the sturdy Black Ox, was the god of strength who instilled discipline and physical endurance. And Xuen, the agile White Tiger, was the god of courage who taught speed and qi-powered combat techniques.
From the teachings of these four gods, the pandaren began to understand the power of true qi flow. They learned not only to control body and mind, but also to align themselves with the energy of the universe. From this, the monks emerged—forming spiritual and military groups that stood strong within pandaren society.
When the great uprising erupted against the Mogu Dynasty, the monks became the spearhead of the resistance. With combat techniques that fused qi philosophy and physical discipline, they inflicted massive damage on the Mogu forces. Their attacks didn't just shatter enemy lines—they shook the very foundations of long-standing power.
At the same time, a group of pandaren formed an alliance with a unique kind of creature: mystical dragons often used as mounts by the sky knights. Silmalorë, observing from the Angband mountains, didn't quite know the name of the dragon species. But he knew they hailed from the Pandaria region and bore a striking resemblance to ancient Eastern Chinese dragons. In his mind, Silmalorë always imagined these dragons as akin to Shenlong from Dragon Ball—beings that could summon clouds, dispel mist, and unleash massive bolts of destructive lightning.
This group of sky knights became a decisive strategic force in the war for independence. With the support of flying dragons that resembled clouds, they were able to breach enemy defenses and seize key territories. Though the main Mogu forces fell at the Great Wall of Serpent's Spine, the pandaren succeeded in capturing the heartland of Jade Forest and turned it into a launch point for further offensives.
The Mogu Dynasty collapsed. The remaining Mogu tribes fled into the wild mountains and forests of Pandaria, abandoning the power they had built over centuries. The pandaren triumphed. They founded their own nation, and a new free dynasty was born.
But victory came with responsibility. The burden of guarding the Great Wall of Serpent's Spine now fell on the shoulders of the pandaren. The wall was not just a symbol of defense—it was the final bastion against the invasion of mantid demons that continued to threaten from the barren lands beyond the border.
The monks spontaneously formed the Shado-Pan organization. They sent their most elite monks to the Wall's outposts, replacing the Mogu tribes in their role as border guardians. For the next hundred years, the Pandaren and Night Elf dynasties maintained strong diplomatic relations. The Night Elves were highly tolerant of the panda people's nature, and they respected the peace upheld by the race. Compared to the harsh and aggressive Mogu tribes, the shift in power across Pandaria was seen as a positive development.
Today, the Pandaren dynasty is undergoing a transition. The previous emperor has fallen, and Prince Shaohao has ascended the throne as the new ruler of Pandaria. Shaohao is known as a wise, kind-hearted, and charismatic leader. He even forged a close friendship with the Monkey King, leader of the monkey race that had long lived alongside the panda people. Since the dynasty's founding, relations between pandas and monkeys had seen ups and downs, with occasional minor conflicts, but never escalating into full-blown hostility.
Succession in this prosperous world seemed like a good thing. But, as often happens in the long history of the world, things don't always go as hoped. This time was no exception.
According to the rules set by the ancestors, every newly crowned emperor must seek guidance from the wise elders. So Shaohao set out for the Jade Forest to meet a Jinyu elder, hoping to receive advice and a prophecy that could help him lead wisely.
But the result was far from what he expected. The Jinyu sage's prophecy was dark and terrifying.
"Tragedy and disaster draw near. Ancient green fire will fall from the sky. The world will descend into chaos. Earth and continents will shatter into pieces…"
Shaohao and the Monkey King, who accompanied him, fell silent for a long time. A heavy stillness enveloped them, and despair began to creep into their hearts. Under immense pressure, Shaohao decided to meditate for three days and three nights, seeking answers in silence and inner peace.
The prophecy was clear: the night elves would bring a great catastrophe. It was inevitable. There was no place to run.
For the safety of Pandaria and the comfort of its people, Shaohao made a crucial decision. He set out at once to meet the Four Supreme Gods, hoping to gain insight and strength to face the coming threat.