Disaster was about to strike, like hope that kept shining—arriving uninvited, indistinguishable between what would bring ruin and what promised salvation.
The golden age of the night elves was still in full bloom. In the grand palace at the heart of Kalimondor, Queen Azshara received special messages from an unusual direction. The radiant light within light, the light of Azshara's thousand moons, continued to shine. Her life was endlessly prolonged by the mysterious energy flowing from the Well of Eternity. The most beautiful elf was not merely a symbol of beauty; she was not just a vase displayed in history. Her prowess as an Archmage had long been acknowledged, but with her supreme intellect, she never needed to act directly. She simply thought—and the world moved.
As usual, Azshara lounged on the vast terrace atop the palace. She sat gracefully, facing the shimmering Well of Eternity below, gently swirling a moonlit wine glass in her hand. The scent of wine and night air mingled, creating a calm yet tense atmosphere.
"Your afternoon tea, my Queen," said Lady Vashj softly. She placed delicate pastries on a small tray beside the lounge chair, then stepped back respectfully, awaiting Her Majesty's command.
At the terrace entrance, a male night elf clad in heavy armor stood rigid as a statue. The runed enchanted sword in his right hand was never released. He was Varo'then, the queen's most loyal captain of the guard. For decades, he had dedicated his life to protecting the radiant light, shielding his mistress from all threats.
Yet within his heart, Varo'then harbored something deeper than loyalty. He struggled to conceal a possessive feeling toward Azshara—a feeling he knew was inappropriate. At times, he suspected the Queen had sensed it, but Azshara never said a word. She remained silent, untouched.
The beautiful light within light would never fall in love with any elf. There would be no physical union, no emotional bond. She was no blasphemer. She was the embodiment of purity, and only the great gods were worthy to stand beside her. Varo'then convinced himself that his duty was to protect, not to love.
And Azshara thought the same.
Unfortunately, the gods did not respond.
The moon goddess Elune never answered. Her name alone suggested she was female, and Azshara had no interest in same-sex relationships. She did not seek love. She sought power.
And the god of magic, Silmalorë… the so-called great god turned out to be nothing more than a shadow. He never truly appeared. Though the Highborne repeatedly attempted to establish communication, the result was the same as with the dragons: no answer. No presence. No real power.
Even those deemed chosen by the gods could not compare. Azshara held a grudge. A grudge that grew into deep hatred.
Where was the god of magic when the Highborne fought against the elves and the dwemer? Where was he when war raged across the continent of Kalimondor?
Those questions were never answered.
And like a recurring phrase: disaster and hope arrive unbidden. Sometimes, even Azshara could not tell them apart.
One day, a mysterious voice came from the Well of Eternity. It did not belong to any known god. It came from depths never explored. The voice spoke directly to Azshara—and it delighted her. If the gods refused to reveal Silmalorë's whereabouts, she would seek aid from the mysterious entity that had reached out to her.
The voice said that countless spirits and Celestial Corps wished to enter this world. They would purify all corruption and make the night elves the sole beloved of the gods. They would attain the highest sublimation. And Queen Azshara would rule the world forever. She would even become the wife of the gods.
The name of the Forbidden God: Sargeras.
It all sounded so easy. The Queen only needed to command the mages to gather energy, use the power of the Well of Eternity, and transform it into a portal. That portal would welcome the arrival of the Celestial Legion. The heavenly warriors would help the Highborne stabilize and expand the portal until it was large enough to contain the glory of the gods and allow them to enter the world.
Azshara was thrilled. She quickly became addicted. The name Sargeras echoed in her mind.
Sargeras… the great god…
God's wife… Azshara…
It had a nice ring to it.
Thinking of this, Azshara's beautiful face revealed a faint smile. A smile that could not be deciphered—was it joy, ambition, or madness?
Her reign would continue forever.
Yet in her heart, there was a flicker of doubt. Since Azshara had returned from the continents of Valinor and Middle-earth across the sea, she had slowly begun to change. Something within her had shifted. But the change was not strong enough to stop her ego. Azshara's ego was greater than her doubt about Sargeras.
"Varo'then, my beloved captain of the guard?"
The soft yet commanding voice of Queen Azshara echoed across the palace terrace. Hearing her call, Varo'then stepped forward, bowing deeply. He struggled not to let his eyes linger on the sheer tulle gown the queen wore—a gown that looked like moon mist wrapped around a goddess's body.
"I will summon Dath'Remar Sunstrider. Now I must trouble you to deliver this message. Are you capable?" Azshara commanded, her voice calm yet absolute.
"As you wish, light within light," Varo'then replied with reverence.
Without delay, Varo'then took command of his guard and swiftly departed the terrace, his steps firm and resolute.
A few days later, an official decree from the palace was issued across all Highborne territories. Queen Azshara ordered the gathering of the most advanced and influential Archmages to depart immediately for the capital, Zin-Azshari. A noble plan unlike any before was about to begin, and there was no room for delay.
At the same time, a magical message from Dath'Remar Sunstrider in Zin-Azshari was sent back to Suramar. The message contained a list of Archmages summoned directly by Queen Azshara. Those chosen did not dare hesitate. They packed their belongings and departed for the capital, carrying with them unspoken hope and tension.
Meanwhile, Grand Magistrix Elisande remained in Suramar. She was tasked with continuing the city's daily affairs and arcane studies. The Council of the Eye of Ra would fully cooperate with her. To Dath'Remar Sunstrider, Elisande was a promising figure. He saw her as a gifted individual with sharp political insight and exceptional administrative skill.
Elisande wasn't just a quick learner—she had a deep fascination with governance. She mastered it with remarkable ease. Her rise was swift. The appointment as interim speaker was seen as a golden opportunity to sharpen her skills and observe the outcomes of the policies she had implemented. She would wait for everyone to return before making the next decision.
But none of them suspected that this journey would never return.
In the region of Val'sharah, deep in the forest beyond Black Crow Castle, a clearing overgrown with shrubs suddenly transformed into a raging sinkhole. The energy fluctuations erupting from within were so intense they defied comprehension by ordinary mortals.
In an instant, two slender figures were flung from the vortex and slammed hard into the ground.
"Ah… Nozdormu, couldn't he be a little gentler… Poor us… Are we here? The battle of the ancestors? The night before the great schism?" Rhonin shouted, his voice laced with frustration.
Rhonin rose from the ground, brushing mud off his crimson robes, then reached out to help his companion.
Korialstrasz—or Krasus—looked even worse. His blazing red robes were now soaked in mud and disheveled. But he didn't care about appearances. He clutched his forehead, his expression clearly pained.
"I feel… something's wrong. There's some kind of restriction… oh no… I can't transform. I can't return to dragon form. I'm trapped in human shape. This can't be happening… I understand now. There can't be two great dragons in this world at the same time," Krasus cried out in panic.
"Congratulations. Looks like you'll finally understand what it's like to be a regular human walking on muddy roads. But again, Nozdormu sent us here. The mysteries of the gods are never clear. And we're in this place… wait, enemy attack!"
Rhonin, who had been chatty moments before, suddenly changed his expression. He spun around and raised his mana shield.
Damn!
A sharp arrow with black fletching was now embedded in the mud before them. The shaft still quivered, proof that it had just been fired.
"Unknown aliens, state your purpose. Black Crow does not welcome outsiders!" shouted one of the night elves emerging from the trees.
Seven or eight night elves now stood before them, eyes sharp, and one of the mages gripped his staff, ready to strike at any moment.
"Black Crow? Black Crow?" Rhonin muttered, stunned. He and Krasus both understood the elven tongue. They exchanged glances, realizing Nozdormu had sent them to a very specific place.
The eerie ruins of Black Rook Hold atop the Broken Isles. A place steeped in mystery and danger. And now, they had to explain their presence—or face consequences beyond prediction.
---
Dath'Remar Sunstrider was deeply troubled.
It had been over a month since the Highborne began executing Queen Azshara's command. But instead of calm, Dath'Remar's doubt and anxiety grew stronger by the day. He was one of the most influential mages among the Highborne, and he knew well that magic was not merely power—it was balance, caution, and responsibility.
With the power of the Well of Eternity, the mages had been ordered to convert its energy into a portal, to welcome what was called the Supreme God and His Celestial Legion. The Highborne, though deeply devoted to the god of magic Silmalorë, had never held grudges against other deities. But under the will of Queen Azshara—the light within light, revered by all Highborne—they had no choice but to obey.
Problems arose quickly. The Highborne were highly sensitive to fluctuations in magical force and energy. As soon as the first small portal was opened at the edge of the Well of Eternity, Dath'Remar and his mages immediately sensed something was wrong.
What exactly had that god promised Her Majesty the Queen? Purification? Sublimation? A world more pure and beautiful?
Wrong. Terribly wrong.
Though no divine figure appeared, what came instead was the army known as the Celestial Warriors. Their name: the Burning Legion. Yet the Highborne knew nothing of their origin. They only recognized the name from Queen Azshara, who referred to them as the heavenly host that would bring glory.
The energy fluctuations pouring from the portal were tyrannical, cruel, and utterly dark. It felt like a wave of annihilation meant to erase all forms of life.
What had they truly summoned?
Dath'Remar remembered vividly the moment the first forces emerged from the portal.
The small portal burned violently. Strange dark green flames erupted outward, causing the Highborne mages to instinctively recoil. They felt disgusted, afraid, and alert. That energy was not pure magic. It was something far more wicked.
"Prepare to welcome the first wave of the Burning Legion, night elves! The Legion will bring purity and rebirth to your world!" the voice echoed from within the portal.
A massive creature stepped out. Over three meters tall. He wore heavy rune-etched armor, with dark green fire blazing from both shoulders. His body armor pulsed with energy that looked like glowing veins.
Hakkar the Houndmaster. The name was spoken with reverence by the servants of darkness. He was a commander of the Burning Legion, infamous for his ability to summon felhounds—demonic hounds that could rapidly multiply after absorbing energy from living beings.
Brutally, Hakkar swung his long whip of fire and struck the ground with force. In the next moment, dozens of temporary portals erupted around him. From within, savage creatures emerged. Their bodies were covered in spikes, and two long-haired dog-like monsters grew from their backs, just above their front legs.
Felhounds. Hellhounds. Hakkar was known for mass summoning these mage-hunters. The ends of their tentacles were shaped like suction cups. Once attached to a mana-bearing creature, they would devour it rapidly, draining its energy completely, then siphoning its vitality. The victim would die in agony, their body shriveled, their eyes frozen in horror.
After absorbing energy, felhounds would split and multiply. From one to two, from two to four. They were killing machines that never stopped.
Behind Hakkar, the main portal remained open. From within, a battalion of demon guards marched out. They wore thick armor and wielded giant axes capable of cleaving through the strongest fortress walls. Their numbers were overwhelming, and they kept coming without end.
Dath'Remar watched all of this with wide eyes. He could not remain calm. This was not a celestial army. This was not purification. This was invasion. This was destruction.
Her Majesty the Queen had made a grave mistake. And the Highborne, including himself, had become pawns of the demons emerging from the portal.
"You, return to Suramar in secret. Make sure no one knows. Inform the Council of the Eye of Ra, and have them prepare immediately. The information I need to share is inside this crystal. Go quickly. You must deliver it personally, Elisande!" Dath'Remar shouted to the young mages around him.
Standing on the palace terrace, he shook his head, clutching his hair in frustration. He turned, addressed one of the senior Highborne mages, and handed over the video crystal containing recordings and magical analysis of the portal.
The young mage bowed immediately, gathered the crystal, then turned and walked swiftly down the palace corridor with determined steps.
Dath'Remar could only hope Suramar would uncover something useful. The vile creatures kept pouring from the portal, as if there were no end.
After all this, Dath'Remar turned back to gaze at the Well of Eternity below. Around the well, a circle of Highborne mages continued chanting spells. They were stabilizing and reinforcing the portal, unaware that they were opening the gates of destruction.
---
Val'sharah Region, Black Rook Hold Castle.
Lord Kur'talos Ravencrest sat upon his high throne, surrounded by stone pillars and softly flickering torches. The castle's main hall was thick with tension. Not long ago, he had received messages from Eärendil the Mariner and Isildur—two rulers from distant lands—warning that Queen Azshara was bringing demonic forces into Azeroth. The message made his blood boil. Border friction between their kingdoms had sharply escalated. And now, two unknown strangers had arrived at the peak of his fury.
"Enter," Lord Kur'talos Ravencrest said coldly.
The two foreign guests stepped into the hall. Their strides were steady, but it was clear they knew they were walking a razor's edge.
"You two, what message do you bring me?" Lord Ravencrest asked, his eyes scanning their faces with sharp intensity.
Krasus stepped forward, his expression grave. "A great disaster is coming. A wave of darkness will sweep across the world, and in the end, the entire continent will fall. Black Raven Fortress is recorded in history as the strongest military force. My Lord must prepare immediately. Gather the rulers of other regions. Your capital, Zin-Azshari, is currently preparing a wave of destruction. If not stopped, it will be too late."
"Insolent!" shouted one of the elven mages standing at the side of the hall. He slammed the table hard, his face flushed with rage.
Before Krasus could finish his sentence, the mage cut him off with a tone full of contempt. "You aliens never learn anything about etiquette… eh—"
But he didn't get to finish. Krasus, already out of patience, raised his right hand and made a false gripping gesture. In an instant, the mage's body jerked upward, suspended in the air, gasping for breath.
With a single powerful thrust, Krasus hurled him against the stone wall. His body slammed hard, then collapsed to the floor. Two mysterious magical chains immediately wrapped around his wrists and ankles, binding him mercilessly.
Rhonin, who had been standing beside Krasus the whole time, muttered quietly, "Okay… Looks like the red dragon trapped in human form is still choking on the reality that he can't shift back."
Krasus stared directly at Ravencrest. "If you let this go and wait until disaster strikes before you respond, it'll be too late!"
Lord Kur'talos Ravencrest didn't answer right away. He studied Krasus with an unreadable expression. The power of this foreign being was clearly immense. Even the court mage standing beside him had been defeated in seconds. But… could they be trusted?
"Alien, I'm grateful you came here personally. But you must understand—if I act as you ask, it would be considered rebellion. We are loyal to the light within light, Queen Azshara. No ruler is permitted to act without her command…"
"You still don't understand, Lord Kur'talos Ravencrest," Krasus interrupted firmly. "Your queen is the catalyst of this disaster. The night elves must prepare now to avoid unnecessary sacrifice and loss!"
Ravencrest fell silent. He was the most powerful ruler across more than a dozen territories—not just because of his military strength, but because of his sharp political and emotional intelligence. He knew when to listen, and when to act.
After a moment, he rose from his throne and descended the steps. He stood before Krasus and nodded solemnly.
"Very well, Master Krasus. I will heed your warning. I will dispatch scouts immediately to discreetly investigate movements from the capital, Zin-Azshari. I will also send an official envoy to meet Her Majesty Queen Azshara. As for you… and this one, what's his name?" Ravencrest asked, turning to Rhonin, a creature he had never seen before. In this era, humans had not yet been born, so it was natural for him to regard Rhonin as a rare being.
"Rhonin. My name is Rhonin, my Lord," Rhonin replied politely.
"Together with Master Rhonin, you will stay at Black Raven for the time being. And at the same time, I hereby appoint you as Grand Master of Black Raven to serve me temporarily," Lord Ravencrest declared in an official tone.
Discussing the previous matter left Ravencrest quiet for a moment. His expression shifted, slightly troubled.
"Now I hope everything you've said is nothing but imaginary lies… Guards, prepare private chambers for both guests. They will have full freedom within Black Raven."
Then, with a firm voice, he gave orders to his troops, "I will travel to the territories of Eärendil and Isildur. Ready the forces immediately to visit those two spiteful men."
Though Lord Ravencrest had often clashed with the regions of Eärendil and Isildur, he knew that in situations like this, old enemies could become the most valuable allies. If all the information from these two foreign beings turned out to be true, then the world of Azeroth stood on the brink of annihilation.
Great power—especially mysterious power unknown to them—was always the most respected in the age of the Well of Eternity, even if its wielder was a non-elf alien.