Just as Silmalorë was speaking to himself in triumph, a curious voice suddenly rang out from behind him.
"Oh? Is what you said true? How about we test it? Would you survive a fall from ten thousand meters? You'd die," said the voice, casual yet laced with sharp curiosity.
"Huh?" Silmalorë turned quickly toward the unfamiliar voice, his expression shifting to confusion. He was certain that before landing, he had confirmed there were no living beings within several hundred meters. Where had this voice come from?
When he turned fully, the curious look on his face faded into blankness. In the sky behind him, a massive blue dragon hovered, its body shimmering with slow-moving magical patterns across its scales. Its golden eyes stared at Silmalorë with an unusual curiosity.
Silmalorë recognized the figure instantly. "Nope, you can play on your own. Goodbye!" he said quickly, turning and beginning to run away, wanting nothing to do with the infamous Dragon Aspect of Azeroth.
After delivering a series of eloquent farewells, Silmalorë strode swiftly toward Suramar. He knew exactly who that inquisitive little dragon was. The appearance of the Dragon King was unmistakable.
Indeed, the blue dragon before him was Malygos, the master of magic, the great sorcerer from ten thousand years ago. His gleaming golden eyes and the mysterious magical patterns enveloping his body were unmistakable signs of his identity.
"Motherfucker, I already said I can't change the fate of these key figures, especially the tragedy that befell the blue dragons. So I'm not dumb enough to get close to the source of Azeroth's problems. My beloved Windrunner girl is still waiting for me in the future," Silmalorë muttered to himself, half annoyed, half anxious.
Watching the intriguing night elf stride away, Malygos turned and lingered for a moment. But his curiosity couldn't be contained. He flapped his wings and began trailing behind.
"Wait! By the sacred arcane, I swear you won't fall and die. This is purely academic research. I'm very interested in the rule-based power you just used!" Malygos called out, his voice brimming with excitement.
"I don't want to. Don't come near. I'm not going to talk nonsense," Silmalorë shouted, quickening his pace.
"I'm not wrong at all. The rule-based power you just used has never appeared in Azeroth before. Let's study it thoroughly," Malygos replied, still chasing.
Silmalorë began to feel a headache coming on. Malygos circled around him like a fly that couldn't be swatted away. "Is this the wise and cheerful Malygos that Alexstrasza and Ysera talked about? In the Warcraft novels, why does he feel more like a curious baby…" he muttered, half frustrated.
He began to wonder why Malygos's personality was so different from his official Warcraft lore. Was this his character before the tragedy that befell the blue dragon race? Before the blue dragons were slaughtered by Neltharion?
Still, he had to admit that Malygos in this era lacked the arrogant and cold temperament of later generations. Though a bit… quirky, Malygos gave off a cheerful, curious, and confident vibe.
Seeing that Silmalorë had no intention of stopping, Malygos immediately transformed into a night elf with aqua-blue hair. He walked alongside Silmalorë at nearly the same pace, then paused briefly and began asking a barrage of questions that made Silmalorë's head throb even more.
"Why won't you answer me? Are you going to Suramar? I can show you the way. By the way, Suramar is also close to my base, Coldarra. I know lots of noble elves here. What are you doing here? Why? Why are your clothes oddly short, like some new fashion trend among nobles?"
Silmalorë felt dizzy from the flood of questions pouring out of Malygos. He looked up at the sky with a weary, sorrowful expression.
"By Ilúvatar, why didn't anyone warn me about one of Malygos's most important traits? This guy… he's a talker!" Silmalorë replied, half defeated.
---
Throughout the journey to Suramar, Silmalorë endured the chatter of the talkative creature walking beside him. Malygos, the Blue Dragon King, finally quieted down for a while, though the curious look on his face hadn't completely faded.
Suramar, a northern city with a cold climate far from the Well of Eternity, was usually not a primary destination for travelers. Yet Silmalorë was drawn to see it firsthand. He stepped into the outskirts of the city, his eyes scanning the beautiful and majestic ancient night elf architecture. The design had evolved far beyond its primitive origins, reflecting a civilization now well established.
Along the streets, he saw night elves chatting casually in the bustling avenues. From the way they walked and spoke, it was clear that Suramar had not yet been affected by the Burning Legion's invasion. The city was still alive, still confident. The only disturbance on the journey was Malygos's constant talking beside him.
Silmalorë finally decided to respond, trying to steer the conversation toward something more productive.
"I'm a traveler. I want to visit the six great cities of the empire to experience the differences in atmosphere and culture inherited from the smaller towns before them. I've heard that Eldre'Thalas and Suramar are beautiful, and I recently came north to compare them with Zin-Azshari. I want to know if all the gossip is true. Just look at Suramar yourself."
Malygos looked intrigued. "That's a great idea. So what do you think is the difference between Eldre'Thalas and Zin-Azshari compared to this city, Suramar?"
Silmalorë rested his chin on one hand, thinking for a moment. "Well… Eldre'Thalas has a very academic atmosphere. Most of the Highborne living there are scholars and researchers. There are also large buildings in that city. A very big library."
He continued, "Suramar is mainly responsible for storing and researching powerful artifacts. There are many magisters here, but it seems there are some noticeable class contradictions due to the number of high elves. I can't fully judge yet since I've just arrived. I've heard this city holds mysterious relics and various magical weapons. But Suramar feels more alive."
Malygos looked thoroughly impressed. He clapped enthusiastically. "As expected of a well-informed traveler. Your observational skills are sharp. Indeed, as you said, even though the population here isn't as large as in other major cities, the people are always very optimistic and cheerful."
He added, "The conflict between the Highborne and ordinary civilians isn't very pronounced here. But there's one thing… the people of Suramar seem to prefer acting over thinking. Sometimes they do impulsive things they regret later."
The corner of Silmalorë's mouth twitched slightly. "This style… reminds me of a warrior nation. Just as I suspected, they all live in Northland. Simply put, their bodies move faster than their brains."
Malygos asked while strolling through the city's main district, "How long do you plan to stay in Suramar? Where are you headed next?"
While admiring the beautiful crafts sold by merchants in the grand market, Silmalorë replied casually, "I won't stay long. I plan to head to the capital, Zin-Azshari, for the next stop, then turn west toward Ameth'Aran and Ash'theran."
"Right!" Silmalorë suddenly exclaimed, as if remembering something. He set down the items in his hands, then turned to Malygos and asked, "What year is it now? I've been on the road so long I don't remember the exact year."
Malygos lifted his head, trying to recall. "If you're using the night elf calendar to count, I think the Kaldorei calendar is at year 4,900… or something?"
Seeing Silmalorë staring at him with a confused face, Malygos scratched his long blue hair sheepishly. "Sorry, sorry. The concept of time in our dragon clan isn't very clear. I don't know the exact date either."
Silmalorë could only sigh. It seemed the Dragon Aspect was just like him—time was a blurry concept. Ever since Silmalorë became a tree, time felt like an illusion. Back when he was human in a previous life, maybe he could grasp time. But now? Damn it, Ilúvatar. Why a tree? How am I supposed to make the Windrunner sisters happy in the future? They're every Warcraft fan's favorite female characters.
An old man running a nearby stall couldn't hold back his laughter at the sight of the two confused men. "You two are quite amusing. It's year 4,998 in the Kaldorei calendar. One year left. It's the 5,000-year anniversary of this nation's founding. Rumor has it Queen Azshara has something important to announce to the entire realm."
Silmalorë's face instantly tensed. He instinctively guessed Azshara's intentions. Most likely, the queen had already communicated with the Burning Legion. But he didn't know if the demon vanguard had entered Azeroth yet.
Damn it. Hopefully the forces he led—Valar, the elves, dwemer, and Dúnedain—would soon arrive on the continent of Kalimondor from across the sea, from Valinor and Middle-earth. No one knew the true size of the Burning Legion in the real world. It couldn't be just hundreds or thousands like in the Warcraft game. In reality, they'd be facing at least millions of Burning Legion entities of every type and power.
---
Silmalorë didn't know whether Rhonin, Krasus, and Broxigar had arrived in this era. He also wasn't sure if Nozdormu would warn him if he accidentally altered Azeroth's history. But he didn't bother searching for them specifically. He'd think about it later. What mattered was that he had arrived in Azeroth and had created various races from Tolkien's world. Even if his body were killed, his soul would return to the world tree in Valinor, across the continent of Kalimondor.
After Malygos made a promise to travel to the golden capital of Zin-Azshari with Silmalorë, he first teleported back to his lair in the Nexus, bringing Silmalorë—still disguised as a night elf wanderer—along with him.
Inside the vast, glittering treasure chamber, Malygos began rummaging through his hoard. He called out loudly, "I don't know how you managed to reach those three cities without a magic staff. Look at your weapon, just a wooden sword? From your explanation, it doesn't sound like you're bluffing, but that weapon is crucial for ordinary folk. Still, very important…"
Silmalorë maintained a blank expression, even rolling his eyes when Malygos wasn't looking. 'It's true I didn't just talk about it. I really did go to Eldre'Thalas and Suramar… though it was during the time when elves were still primitive and the forests hadn't yet turned into grand cities like they are now.'
"Found it!" Malygos exclaimed excitedly, after digging through the messy treasure pile for quite a while. He finally pulled out a staff.
The staff wasn't like the typical two-handed ones used by magisters. At least Silmalorë felt he could swing it comfortably with one hand. The head of the staff was shaped like a dragon's head with its mouth open, and glowing magical patterns shimmered inside the dragon's mouth. A mysterious blue light radiated from the carved crevices.
Malygos laid it horizontally in front of Silmalorë. "Here! This staff is temporarily loaned to you. It's a weapon I crafted in my early days. My dragonlings don't know why they call it the Grand Nexus Arcane Staff. You can rename it if you don't like it."
Silmalorë accepted the staff with a mixed expression. He could feel the power flowing from it, and he could swing it smoothly with just one hand, just as he imagined. The mysterious breath emanating from the staff confirmed that this was indeed a formidable weapon.
Truthfully, the life energy he possessed was already vast and didn't require a catalyst like a magic staff. But seeing Malygos so generous, he didn't dare refuse. It was decided: this staff would be used to deceive the elves he had created. Who knows—by becoming a false priest, maybe they could return to the light.
What kind of religion would he build? The world of Warcraft was full of gods and cosmic entities. Logically, a new god could be created if enough living beings believed in its existence. Even if they didn't worship it, collective belief would manifest a new entity. Once he demonstrated miracles from this new god, they would understand that the deity from his fabricated world would truly exist. All of Azeroth would believe, even if not all worshipped. The god would be born, though not yet strong enough to possess intelligence or speech.
"…Your Majesty Malygos, have you never suspected that your sons and grandsons are teasing you? How did this staff get so big?" Silmalorë asked flatly.
Malygos patted his head nonchalantly and burst out laughing. "Oh, you're really joking? Better you name it yourself."
"By the way, it's too much trouble to say 'Your Majesty' every sentence. Since we're entering the night elf kingdom for fun, just call me Megrar. That's my mortal name."
"Okay, Megrar," Silmalorë replied, trying to swing the Nexus Arcane Staff. He launched a series of mysterious missiles, and their speed and power clearly surged.
"Oh, of course, the mage still needs help from his staff."
Malygos slapped his forehead and shook his head helplessly. "Aren't you talking nonsense? You're not a magic expert like me or Azshara. That staff is still very important for you. Honestly… how lucky you were to wander the wilderness for years with nothing but a wooden sword."
Silmalorë's mouth twitched at that remark. Was he belittling the wooden sword made from his own body? That sword was better than any iron blade. But he could only close his eyes and restrain himself from responding.
Eventually, Silmalorë renamed the staff to Whistling Blue Naga. Malygos showed no reaction. Though he'd said the staff was only on loan, he clearly had no intention of taking it back. It would be petty to snatch it from Silmalorë's hands, and the new name naturally stuck, as the wanderer wished.
Silmalorë held the staff for a while but still felt off-balance. "This is a typical one-handed staff. I always feel strange when the other hand isn't holding anything. When I get to Zin-Azshari, I'll need to go to the market and buy a shield…"
Yes, wasn't that the classic adventurer setup in other worlds? Staff in one hand, shield in the other. But then he remembered something that made him curse under his breath.
"Damn it! My gold coins probably won't work on this continent of Kalimondor. I mean… basically, I'm broke!"
Luckily, Malygos waved his hand impatiently. "Not a big deal. And what kind of mage carries a shield anyway?"
As he spoke, he pulled something from the magical backpack he carried and tossed it toward Silmalorë. It was called a weapon, though its appearance was so dazzling it raised suspicion. The blade was made of translucent blue arcane crystal, its design elegant, and powerful magical energy flowed through its hollow core. It looked more like a work of art than a weapon.
"Isn't this the hailstone I got over and over back then? In the Warcraft game, just toss it at me like this…"
But at that moment, Silmalorë realized what Malygos had just said. He stared at the one-handed sword in his hand and couldn't help but complain.
"Doesn't look like a mage holding a shield? What does Malygos mean by that? Honestly, it looks even worse holding a sword. Come on! What kind of image is this—sword in one hand, staff in the other…"
'Do you want me to be Gandalf Greyhame or Gandalf the White?'
"No. I need to erase Gandalf's combat style. With how I look now, I'll be laughed at in Valinor by the Valar."
Malygos laughed indifferently and said, "Don't worry about the details. People who care about details are idiots. Besides, that sword is good to use. Don't tell me you can't wield a sword? I can tell from the calluses on your hands that you've used melee weapons plenty."
Silmalorë helplessly wrapped the beautiful Hail sword in a sheet of blue rune cloth and strapped it to his back. He sighed and said, "I know how to use melee weapons, but I only ever used short knives…"
"I don't have thief weapons! A mage should be bold. What kind of short knife is that? And wear this robe—when are we leaving?"
Malygos finally donned a beautiful sky-blue magical robe. From the mysterious energy flowing from it, it was clear the robe was no ordinary garment.
Silmalorë, already buried in debt and out of options, didn't bother refusing. Worst case, he'd let Malygos study his vector rules himself. He simply named the robe Malygos casually offered as the Spellweaver's Robe, then said, "Wear it on your body."
The robe seemed to have an automatic size adjustment function. Silmalorë looked quite fit wearing it, and it finally covered the too-short noble costume he'd been wearing.
Malygos circled around Silmalorë, nodding in satisfaction. "Alright, you finally look presentable. Let's go. I haven't been to the golden capital of Zin-Azshari in years."
Golden Azshara, the capital of the Night Empire, meant "Azshara's glory" in the Kaldorei tongue. Just hearing the name made it clear that the Night Elves fully supported Queen Azshara.
Since Azshara took power, the Dark Night Empire had expanded its territory many times over. The Queen's immense power, her elegant demeanor, and her unparalleled beauty had left a deep impression on the people.
"Queen Azshara was born to be the ruler of our Kaldorei!"
This view wasn't just popular among the Highborne. Even the Night Elves, considered pariahs by the Highborne, supported it unanimously.
Over the past thousands of years, under Azshara's leadership, the Kaldorei Empire—originally evolved from dark trolls—had grown rapidly. They not only crushed the surrounding trolls with overwhelming military force, even the supposedly invincible Zandalari could only swallow their rage.
The empire's territory now spanned more than half of ancient Kalimondor.
Azshara believed the prosperity of the Dark Night Empire came from the Well of Eternity that nourished them. She began intensifying efforts to command the Highborne to study the well's mysteries. Waves of her magical power even spread into the Twisting Nether, drawing countless demons to Azeroth like moths to flame.