Kingdom of Stormwind, capital Boralus. Year 11 since the opening of the Dark Portal.
A stocky man in a naval uniform and an admiral's tricorne nervously fiddled with his short beard, shifting from foot to foot before the door to his daughter's room. At the past parental council, a peremptory decision had been made that the changes concerning the political course of Kul Tiras would be conveyed to the fourteen-year-old teenage girl specifically by the husband. And now Daelin Proudmoore was mentally rehearsing his speech in an attempt to smooth out the rough edges: his daughter did not often return to her homeland from Dalaran, where she was undergoing training in the magic art, and the father very much did not want to let a child offended by her parents leave after the holidays. Very much did not want to... but he could delay no longer—he had already waited almost a whole year for his beloved daughter to grow up.
"Sweetie, you see, the situation has changed, and now we and Lordaeron are best friends forever, and we no longer need a political marriage, but a mighty sorceress... Why? Because Queen Azshara said so, and she doesn't throw words to the wind; if she said friends, it means friends and that's that. Therefore, the benefits from your marriage to Prince Arthas... are none. You love each other? That... of course, that's an argument, my Little One, but you see how it is... You wanted to become a mighty sorceress, mistress of the elements, fire, water, and something else... What's that? Yes, yes, and wind, and fire, and earth, and holy, and darkness... Hey! Young lady! What's this about darkness?! Don't joke like that with your old father! Young? Yeah, young, sure... only in spirit, maybe. So, you know, a princess has a lot of other duties... Which ones? Well, calculating taxes, battles with the mother-in-law... raising children... marital duty... Eh??! Forget what I said!!! Phew, let's try again. So, you know, a princess has a lot of other duties... yes, take my word for it, well, just a whole lot! And you absolutely certainly cannot be both a princess and a great magess at the same time... A magic-user? Fine, let it be a magic-user... Yes, yes, the great magic-user Jaina Proudmoore. Menethil? No, no, sweetie, I'm telling you—either a princess or a sorceress. You want to be a princess?! But... but what about commanding mighty storms and fire rain? You want to be a Very Great Magic-user again? Oh, you're my clever girl! And I'm not saying you have to stop being friends... be friends to your heart's content! (Only at a distance, far away from each other) What? No, I didn't say anything, you imagined it... By the way, did you like any of the elves? They're all handsome as can be and every other one is a lord or a prince... What? There's one? He confessed l-l-last year?! (Anchor in my throat! He went after a child! I'll kill the su...!!!). What did you say his name was? Er.... I've gotten distracted again. Well, besides elves, there are many other, no less worthy candidates... Here, for example, Rhonin—young, good-looking, almost an Archmage already, and most importantly—unmarried. Maybe you should go to him as an apprentice? You don't like bearded ones? Why, Antonidas's is ten times longer! He's old, he's allowed? But... but what about me? I have a beard too! You love me?.."
Interrupting the mental monologue at the point of the answer to the sacred question, the door near which the admiral was loitering opened slightly. A girl's head with thick, disheveled hair the color of ripe wheat poked out of the opening. Blue eyes stared intently at the frozen father.
"Dad, why are you mumbling outside the door?"
"Oh... sorry, Little One. Did I wake you?"
"Almost," the teenage girl answered evasively, not hurrying to throw the door wide open, which the admiral took as confirmation of his guess.
"And I was just coming to see you... 'So no elves, Rhonins, or princess duties... No elves, Rhonins, or princess duties...'"
"...?"
"Eh? What, sorry?"
"I'm saying, what happened?"
"Well, here's the thing... How... How are things at school?"
The girl stared with suspicion at her hesitating father. Adding the shifty gaze to the question about some school (even though she was studying at the academy), Jaina instantly saw through her father, whom she knew inside out. The question remained unanswered; an awkward silence fell. Gazes crossed, and a tense battle of family stubbornness began... Nevertheless, the winner was already known: for the great admiral loved his blue-eyed daughter very much...
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Mount Hyjal. Approximately the same time.
No matter how enormous the tree towering over the highest peaks of the Hyjal mountains was, even it could not block the path of the starry and lunar light with its crown. However, even if it were otherwise, the myriads of lights swarming around the trunk and fluttering in the distant crown would not have allowed the surroundings to plunge into darkness. But despite the existing lighting, this night was filled with a premonition of disaster, and the wind did not rustle gently, fingering the young shoots, but rushed anxiously among the old dried branches, filling the air with a threatening creak.
Evil had come to Kalimdor. And it would be one thing if some metaphorical entity lay behind all these premonitions, but no, this time it had decided to visit the Night Elves in person. Had it been daytime, one could have seen the black streaks of pulsating veins gripping the huge trunk of Nordrassil...
An unremarkable patch of ground trembled, heaved into a small mound, and a black tentacle appeared from beneath the earth, very similar to an ordinary tapeworm, except the color and size did not match in the "slightest." Writhing convulsively, it tried to climb to the surface. And after some time, it succeeded. Without wasting a second, the uninvited guest began its mission. It shook with a fine tremor, and at some point, in place of one, two others appeared, slightly smaller but identical down to the last flagellum of The Darkness. The ground around turned black, and some of the plants crumbled into dust, while others withered. Behind the appearance of new "life," there was always a price... in whatever form it was expressed.
The offspring crawled away from each other, and the same tremor seized them. The patch of gloom on the ground began to expand... But suddenly it turned out that this scene had an observer. A tall silhouette stepped out of the shadow and turned into an elf... or was it an elf? Horns and a long green beard are not the most reliable identification marks among the ever-living. However, there were exceptions to this rule. The great Druid watched the Enemy's actions with disgust but gleaned nothing new for himself. The site of the intrusion was lit by a green glow. The air immediately smelled of spring freshness. Not a trace remained of the alien "life." Beings consisting almost entirely of Void energy could not resist spiritual cleansing—a spell of the Spirit school, which is one of the branches of Natural Magic—perhaps not an antagonist of the Void, but standing somewhere nearby in the gradation of cosmological Forces. Having ensured the destruction of the parasite, Malfurion Stormrage created a portal and departed, without having uttered a single word during the entire session of restoring natural Balance.
A few night hours of purging later, a meeting of the Kaldorei leaders took place, whose personalities had already become legendary among the common folk. At first, the conversation did not go well at all: everyone was perfectly aware of the existing problem, and therefore it was pointless to voice it. However, someone had to start anyway, and this duty was taken up by the eldest, voicing the thoughts floating in the air:
"Nordrassil is desecrated."
"Are the dragons still silent?"
Not one of those present raised their head to follow with their gaze the huge silhouettes clearly visible even in the pre-dawn twilight: over the past months, they had seen enough of the sky lords.
"They say they need more time to deal with the cause."
"Let them drag their lazy backsides here: it must be difficult to deal with underground problems while flying in the clouds."
"Tyrande..." Malfurion Stormrage said reproachfully.
Over the past millennia since the disappearance of the main jester, it was the High Priestess of Elune who had become responsible for sarcasm in their group. However, against the background of the problems growing year by year... what am I saying—day by day, such a transformation of a calm girl into a nervous individual, being caustic with or without cause, looked dull.
"What's wrong? As if you think differently."
Malfurion Stormrage sighed heavily but did not have time to answer: the teacher intervened.
"A decision must still be made."
"I will not turn to that... bitch for help!" the girl flared up immediately, sensing which way the wind was blowing.
Based on the context of this short remark, one could already guess that it concerned the former queen of the Night Elves. What was surprising was that the suggestion that they needed to ask Azshara for advice was first made by the most irreconcilable fighter against her rule—Cenarius himself. Apparently, time changes even demigods... This epochal event had occurred a few days ago, during which heated arguments flared, offenses arose, and apologies were voiced.
"Perhaps... no," Malfurion Stormrage forced himself, "it is absolutely certain that we were wrong about her. And the fact that we haven't been enslaved by demons over the past ten thousand years speaks for itself."
"That's not an indicator—just try misbehaving when a couple of thousand flying lizards capable of casting spells are watching you. Although... if they watch Azshara the same way they diagnose Nordrassil, then I'm no longer surprised by anything."
"You know they can hear you, right?"
"If they spent their time doing their jobs instead of eavesdropping on others' conversations, they would have dealt with all the problems long ago."
"And if someone had better guarded the Source entrusted to them, this wouldn't have happened," a dispassionate voice suddenly rang out behind the girl.
Tyrande, not hurrying to flinch, turned around. They were honored by the presence of Malygos himself—the Guardian of Magic, appearing in the form of a blue-haired elf of quite a stern appearance.
"If someone hadn't botched the job while growing Nordrassil, no N'Zoths would have been able to reach its roots," the High Priestess of Elune was not the least of the elves, but, naturally, she did not intend to be brazen aloud while standing face to face with one of the powerful Aspects.
Not waiting for an answer to the claim made regarding the quality of the guard, Malygos continued:
"We have located the source of the infection. It is deep in the depths of Mount Hyjal. In our true form, we cannot penetrate there, and in the guise of elves, our capabilities will be severely limited; therefore, you will have to deal with the desecration yourselves. Besides, it will be fair: you failed with the guarding—you must fix it."
The rebelling soul of the ancient... young elf could no longer withstand such disdain. "Found himself some servants, has he... And where were they all these millennia?!"
After a small pause, Malfurion Stormrage nodded in agreement:
"To take back the Source from the Enemy is our duty and a matter of the race's survival..."
"Illidan would probably have a good laugh if he heard about the Source and the survival of the race in one sentence from his brother's lips. If anyone, the creator of the Source would appreciate such a turn," despite the flickering thought far from the topic under discussion, she managed to wedge herself into her spouse's speech before he said too much:
"...But we need to discuss this with Elune. To consult."
Hearing about Elune, the haughty dragon lost his composure, and his face twisted slightly. And in principle, there was a reason: Elune was a specific goddess, especially in terms of interacting with her flock. She did not often respond to requests for guidance, unlike calls for help: hiding in the shadows, strengthening spells with moonlight, making day into night—all this was much easier for her than saying a couple of words to her flock. But the Night Elves did not lose hope; it was not for nothing that every address to Elune began with the words: "Goddess, guide me on the Path." In general, as a rule, the degree of her participation in the lives of her elven wards was minimal. In fact, "to consult with Elune" had already become an established idiom and meant taking a pause in the conversation... for an indefinite period.
This time, the dragon made the hesitation before answering, but it wasn't very long either.
"Consult... but not for too long—it is, after all, in your interests."
"Yeah, in 'our' interests to climb who knows where... As if the Aspects aren't absolutely concerned about what happens to their creation!"
"Do you mean to say that you don't intend to support us down there?" Cenarius frowned.
"That is exactly what I said. I repeat—you will have to manage with your own forces."
At that moment, the dragon's face seemed so haughty to the immortal girl that she was seized by a sharp desire to somehow wound this arrogant one. Tyrande remembered by association another brazen face, removed the unnecessary emotions from her voice, and coldly said:
"Then we will be forced to turn for help to our kin... from the other continent."
In doing so, the legendary maidenly memory allowed her to lose sight of the fact that not five minutes ago she herself had been expressing a stormy protest against such a proposal.
Malygos frowned and, pursing his lips, stared at the trio of elven leaders with a crushing gaze.
"Since you have so little faith in your own strength that you are ready for such a desperate step... very well, the Blue Dragons will extend a wing of help to you: two of ours will assist you in the darkness of the dungeons."
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"I have done what you asked. It is time to fulfill what was promised."
"You will receive what you desire only after I see the elves on the threshold of the cave. The agreement was about that."
"..." If you deceive me... You know what I will do."
"The agreement."
"The agreement."
***
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