Eliones did not speak at once. She stood near the tall arched window of her manor, gazing out at Suramar's eternal twilight.
Arcane lanterns drifted silently beyond the glass, their glow reflected faintly in her violet eyes. For a long moment, only the distant hum of the city's mana network filled the room.
Leylin waited. He had learned by now that silence was often deliberate with Nightborne nobles.
Finally, Eliones turned. "There is something I did not tell you about the soul you are meant to retrieve," she said calmly.
Leylin's fingers paused mid-motion as he adjusted a spatial rune on his wrist focus. He did not look up.
"You've already admitted that much," he replied. "If you intend to correct your story, now would be the time."
Eliones did not bristle at his tone. Instead, she walked slowly toward the central table, placing both hands upon its polished surface.
"The underground location I mentioned before does exist," she said. "But it is not my true objective."
Leylin straightened and finally met her gaze. "So it was a misdirection."
"A test," she corrected. "And a precaution." She lifted her chin slightly, noble pride evident even in confession.
"The soul I want you to reclaim is Kur'talos Ravencrest, High Commander of the Kaldorei during the War of the Ancients. His spirit is not sealed beneath Suramar… but within a fortress tied to his bloodline."
Leylin's eyes narrowed faintly. "…Black Rook Hold."
Eliones nodded once.
"In Val'sharah."
For a brief moment, Leylin said nothing. Val'sharah.
A land older than Suramar itself. A place intertwined with druids, Wild Gods, and the Emerald Dream. Even ten thousand years after the Sundering, it remained one of the most spiritually sensitive regions of Azeroth.
And Black Rook Hold— A fortress now overrun by demons, satyrs, and fel corruption.
"You do realize," Leylin said slowly, "that sending me there is equivalent to throwing me into the Burning Legion's backyard."
"Yes," Eliones replied without hesitation. "That is precisely why I am sending you."
Leylin let out a short, humorless laugh. "So the earlier talk of underground palaces was nothing more than bait."
Eliones did not deny it.
"I needed to confirm your capabilities before revealing the true mission. Kur'talos Ravencrest is not merely a heroic soul—he is a symbol. Elisande would never allow me to touch it."
"And if I refuse?" Leylin asked.
Eliones' gaze sharpened.
"Then Suramar loses a rare opportunity," she said. "And you lose access to knowledge you cannot find anywhere else."
Leylin studied her carefully. This time, her ambition was not hidden behind arrogance. It burned quietly, dangerously.
After a long pause, Leylin nodded. "I'll go," he said. "But I do this on my terms."
Eliones inclined her head. "Of course."
Leylin prepared quickly. He packed only essentials—arcane containment vials, alchemical preservation seals, and several spatial markers that could be activated instantly in case of emergency. Shadow Stalker followed him silently, its body partially blurred by shadow-aspected runes.
By dusk, they departed Suramar.
When Leylin finally stepped beyond Suramar's barrier, the shift was immediate. The dense, artificially stabilized arcane environment vanished, replaced by raw leyline turbulence. Mana flowed freely here—but without regulation.
He welcomed it. As he traveled westward, Leylin deliberately slowed his pace. This was not merely a journey—it was reconnaissance.
Every few leagues, he stopped to observe. Fel-scorched soil. Warped vegetation. Demonic residue lingering in the air like a stain that refused to fade. Leylin etched markers into his personal magic map, noting concentrations of Burning Legion activity. Each concentration point was also carefully logged into his mental archive.
"These are not scattered incursions," he murmured. "They're building infrastructure."
Shadow Stalker padded beside him, occasionally stopping to sniff the air or scan the treeline. Leylin crouched at one location, pressing his palm against the ground. Leylines pulsed beneath the surface—interrupted, diverted, corrupted.
"They're anchoring their presence," he concluded. "Preparing for long-term occupation."
By the time the forest began to change, Leylin had already cataloged over a dozen demonic activity nodes.
When the forest finally changed, Leylin knew he had arrived. Val'sharah was different. Val'sharah announced itself subtly. The air cooled. The mana shifted.
Ancient trees rose higher, their bark etched with faint natural runes formed over millennia. Even corrupted areas resisted fully succumbing to fel energy, as if the land itself were fighting back. Leylin slowed, eyes narrowing. "This place is still alive."
At that instant—
[Sign in Successful]
[The host obtained: Hawk Transformation (Druid Skill) - Common]
[Hawk Flight Form is a druid shapeshifting ability that enables its user to fly.]
Leylin froze. A rush of information surged into his consciousness—bone structure alterations, muscle compression, mana-flow redirection, instinctive aerial control. Unlike arcane manipulation, this skill was fluid, natural.
Efficient. Leylin exhaled slowly, absorbing the knowledge.
"A reconnaissance transformation," he muttered. "Silent… fast… perfect for forests." Shadow Stalker looked up at him, tilting its head slightly.
Leylin allowed himself a faint smile. "This will make scouting Black Rook Hold much safer."
They moved deeper into Val'sharah. It did not take long before they encountered resistance.
Satyrs. Twisted creatures emerged from between trees—horned, hunched, their bodies etched with fel scars. Leylin immediately restrained his magic.
"No unnecessary combat," he whispered. Instead, he observed. Their movements were patterned. Their patrols overlapped deliberately.
"These aren't random," Leylin noted. "They're guarding approach routes."
Shadow Stalker vanished into shadow, silently circling the perimeter. Leylin remained hidden, committing every detail to memory. As he continued forward, fragments of old knowledge surfaced in his mind.
Val'sharah… druidic sanctuary. Home to ancient groves. And in the north—His gaze lifted instinctively. "The World Tree."
Though still distant, its presence was unmistakable—a vast, ancient pulse resonating through the land. Even wounded, it radiated power. Leylin clenched his fist slowly.
"And somewhere between here and that sacred ground…"
His eyes turned toward the looming silhouette of distant cliffs. 'Black Rook Hold.' A fortress of stone and shadow. A nest of demons. And the resting place of a legendary soul.
Leylin exhaled. "Kur'talos Ravencrest," he murmured. "Let's see what ten thousand years has done to you."
Shadow Stalker stepped forward silently. Together, they vanished into the forest, shadows merging with ancient leaves as the path toward Black Rook Hold slowly unfolded.