At this moment, Silmalorë was traveling to the continent of Kalimondor alongside the Giant Eagle King Thorondor of Valinor. He knew nothing of the current situation in Kalimondor. His last visit had been more than thirteen thousand years ago, when he deceived the Highborne under the guise of divine revelation—long before the Dark Portal was opened. Since then, he had never truly paid attention to the region's development.
Meanwhile, in Kalimondor, the Night Elves and Highborne lived in grandeur and dominance. They cared little for what was happening in Pandaria. Even when the grim prophecy of the wise Jinyu Waterspeaker spread, they merely laughed at it. To them, it was nothing more than the ramblings of an old madman who had spent too long in the forest.
The Night Elves and Highborne now dominated the entire continent of Kalimondor. The endless power of the Well of Eternity was used entirely for their own benefit. Their society was united, their relations with the Dragon Aspects were strong, and they believed themselves blessed by two great deities: Silmalorë, the god of eternal magic, and Elune, the moon goddess. On top of that, Queen Azshara's glory shone brightly, and the forest god Cenarius's ability to teach the tribes to control nature further solidified their position.
In their arrogant minds, they would say:
"Disaster? What disaster?"
We are the beloved of the gods of Azeroth. We are invincible!
And if anyone tried to challenge that view, linking the prophecy to the Night Elves, they would treat it as a joke. In the current state of the world, they believed no force could shake them.
Yet behind all that splendor, Cenarius, the forest god, was troubled. The problem came from his two most beloved Druid students: Malfurion and Illidan Stormrage.
The two brothers possessed extraordinary potential and talent. If they focused on their studies, there was no doubt they would become the first great Druids among the Night Elves. Malfurion showed rapid progress. He deeply respected Cenarius and had a profound interest in the power of nature. He often communicated with the natural world with awe and sincerity. Cenarius was very pleased and decided to teach him how to enter the Emerald Dream.
But Illidan was different. The impatient young student had even greater potential than his brother. He was intelligent, quick-thinking, and often made unexpected breakthroughs. Yet he could not align himself with the Druidic path and the way of nature. Illidan had no interest in tranquility and harmony. He craved magic. He wanted to master vast, mysterious energies like the Highborne and the elves of Valinor. He wanted to become a respected court magistrate—not a quiet forest guardian.
Cenarius quickly realized that Illidan's mind was not where it should be. He knew his student had spiritually flown to the capital Zin-Azshari and to Suramar, the center of the Highborne. Illidan wanted to study arcane magic. He remained in the forest not out of respect for the ancient gods, nor because of his brother's persuasion. He stayed because of a beautiful Night Elf woman: Tyrande Whisperwind.
Illidan fell in love at first sight. He constantly tried to get close to Tyrande, but she mostly spoke like Malfurion.
"I hope you'll stay here, like Malfurion, studying the ways of nature instead of touching that dangerous mysterious energy," Tyrande said one day.
One sentence from Tyrande had more influence than ten thousand from Cenarius and Malfurion.
Illidan, the lovestruck youth unafraid of the sky, immediately abandoned his plans to leave. He continued studying the Druidic path, though in a clever and manipulative way. He never truly connected with nature, but he knew that as long as Tyrande was there, he would stay.
This was why Cenarius was most concerned.
As the love triangle between the two brothers, Malfurion loved Tyrande, Illidan loved Tyrande, and Tyrande… well, she was supposed to love Malfurion more. Their relationship was like an emotional brawl. The two brothers competed, of course, within the bounds of affection and honor.
Though Illidan remained in the forest, he never truly let go of his fascination with the world of magic. He kept an eye on everything related to the arcane and followed news from the magical world. He knew that one day, he would make a major decision. And that decision would not be based on Cenarius's teachings, but on the burning ambition and love within him.
"The mages of Suramar have developed a new form of arcane release, said to increase magical power by several percent."
This rumor spread quickly among the Highborne. Among them, admiration for arcane advancement continued to grow. The name Silmalorë, the eternal god of magic worshipped by the Highborne, was mentioned again. It was said he only communicated with a chosen few, granting them magical power that defied ordinary logic.
"I truly want to feel what it's like to possess power," Illidan muttered to himself, overhearing the mages of Suramar.
The name Grand Magistrix Elisande also surfaced in the discussion. Promoted to the high council of Suramar, she became a mysterious and controversial figure. Some elves questioned her origins. "Who is she? There's no one like that in the Shen'dralar family. And the Sunstrider family? Maybe she's been in Eldre'Thalas all along," whispered one elf skeptically.
Meanwhile, Illidan had surpassed the boundaries of Druidic learning. The mysterious world of arcane magic had become his domain—far deeper than the natural ways taught by Cenarius. While Malfurion could summon more than a dozen treants at once, Illidan couldn't even cast a single moonfire. Cenarius's instructors often looked at him with helpless expressions, watching a youth who seemed passionate but failed to progress. "Release rage"—that was the only basic Druid spell he had mastered.
Yet with such talent and potential, Illidan's progress should not have been slow. He merely shrugged, his face blank, expressionless. Every night, he shrank into his own home, hiding something no one else knew.
Illidan never stopped studying arcane magic. He was dedicated, focused, and trained secretly every night. Now, he was no longer a Druid. He had become a leading student of the arcane path—not a teacher, but someone rapidly evolving and dangerous.
Outside of magic, Illidan was happiest when Tyrande visited him and Malfurion during her leave from the Temple of the Moon. He watched Tyrande's every movement, frozen in silence, staring foolishly at the elven woman. Sadly, Tyrande never noticed. She preferred talking to Malfurion, asking about his experiences and the wonders of studying the Druidic path.
"Is my persistence wrong?" Illidan asked himself. Tyrande, as a moon priestess, and the entire Temple of the Moon, were deeply resentful of the Highborne and Azshara's arcane mages.
"The Highborne love luxury and indulgence. They abuse magic and always treat civilians as inferior. I don't like them," Tyrande said one day.
That judgment made Illidan question himself. But he remained convinced that what mattered most was having the power to protect those around him—and the ones he loved. Otherwise, what was the meaning of protection and responsibility?
The natural power of the Druids was too slow. And that power itself wasn't strong enough. What was the point of summoning treants? Were they just piles of moving firewood? Better to summon mysterious constructs with destruction power many times greater.
A half-god forest deity? How could that compare to a god of magic? Silmalorë was a true Titan god!
These thoughts he only dared to keep to himself.
At that moment, a chaotic sound from an unknown source snapped Illidan out of his thoughts. He jolted, then quickened his pace to catch up with Malfurion and Tyrande.
"What's happening?" Illidan asked, his tone alert.
No answer was needed. Illidan saw it immediately.
The central square was now surrounded by an extremely strong iron cage. Seven or eight soldiers stood guard around it. Their armor style indicated they were personal guards of Kur'talos Ravencrest, who happened to be passing through the Mount Hyjal region.
Their attention was focused on the creature inside the cage. Illidan had never seen anything like it.
Its skin was green, with tusks like a troll protruding from its mouth. Its body was incredibly muscular, so dense it looked like it could explode at any moment. Its ears were pointed like an elf's, with a gray ponytail trailing behind its head.
The strange creature looked deeply distressed. It slumped inside the cage, eyes closed, ignoring the clear water and fruit placed before it. A tense aura blanketed the square. No one dared get too close.
Illidan stared at the creature with intense curiosity. He didn't know who or what it was, but he knew one thing: something had changed. And that change wouldn't stop here.
"In the end, who is this monster really… Tyrande! Don't go near it, be careful, this thing could hurt you viciously!" Illidan shouted in panic, his eyes locked on the green creature that had just stirred inside the cage.
Tyrande, who had just turned away from the crowd, showed no fear whatsoever. She stepped slowly toward the cage, her eyes calm. Illidan grew anxious, his body tensed, and he rushed forward. He began gathering mysterious energy in secret, ready for any sudden movement from the creature. He couldn't let Tyrande get hurt—not in front of him.
"Calm down, brother. I can feel this creature isn't evil, and it's not hostile," said Malfurion, stepping forward and gently patting Illidan's shoulder.
The guards around the cage saw Tyrande approaching. They didn't stop her. Instead, they saluted her with respectful military gestures. To them, the Moon Priestess was a symbol of sacrifice and salvation—for both civilians and soldiers. There was no reason to block her path.
Tyrande knelt beside the cage. She slowly reached out, placing her hand on the thick, powerful arm of the green creature. A soft moonlight energy began to flow from her palm, enveloping the creature's body. The light calmed its mind, erased its fatigue, and began healing the open wounds.
The creature slowly opened its eyes. Its gaze was calm, not wild. It looked directly at the night elf who had healed it. The orc—Broxigar, a fierce warrior of his tribe—now found himself in a deeply ironic situation: healed by an elf, the natural enemy of his people.
But as a warrior, Broxigar knew he had to honor the "shaman" who had saved him, even if she came from an opposing faction. He had to return to Orgrimmar, report to Warchief Thrall about what had happened, and find out the fate of his missing patrol comrades.
"Thank you, elf shaman," Broxigar said in a deep, sincere voice.
He felt his strength returning. He said something in Orcish, which Tyrande didn't understand, then struck his chest hard as a gesture of respect. Tyrande was stunned. Though she didn't understand the creature's words, she immediately recognized the gesture as one of gratitude.
"He's not a beast. He's wise. And he shouldn't be locked in a cage," Tyrande said as she stood and looked at the guards.
The elf soldiers glanced at each other, unsure what to do. One of them finally responded with a hesitant tone.
"Honored priestess, this is a direct order from Lord Kur'talos Ravencrest. We can only follow orders. This creature… uh, this creature was captured in the forest outside Black Crow. At the time, there was a massive surge of unknown energy."
Tyrande nodded slowly. She knew they couldn't defy a direct command from a general. She also knew the help they could offer this creature was limited.
"Very well, Tyrande. We can only help him to a certain extent," said one of the guards, handing food to Broxigar.
Illidan stood behind them, shaking his head. He had no interest in this strange green creature. To him, it was all just a distraction. He saw no value in saving a foreign being. His focus remained on Tyrande—the woman he loved deeply.