Three years after the dissolution of the Horde, Dalaran was once again the sparkling jewel of the northern territories. Returned to its rightful place alongside the southern shores of Lordaeron's Lake, the city's spires stretched into the sky and glittered in the afternoon sunlight. Dalaran itself still floated within the sky, but beneath its shadow, a lakeside town was steadily growing to support the efforts to restore the Hillsbrad Foothills - and the work of the mages within the city itself.
Dalaran's streets were filled with the hawking of merchants and the daily conversation of citizens rebuilding their lives without the threat of war looming over their heads. The people of Azeroth were finally at peace, and if Jaina Proudmoore closed her eyes and tilted her head up into the southwestern breeze, she felt transported back to the first time she'd ever stepped foot into the heart of the Mage's City.
Then her eyes opened, and the reality of the years between her arrival and this homecoming were stark and ever-present. The streets of Dalaran were divided still, though not as harsh as the rigid separation of the Horde and Alliance. No, instead, there was an undercurrent of tension between those who had dedicated themselves to the Army of the Light and those who hadn't.
True, as far as Jaina knew, all of the recruits within the Army had joined willingly, but the ranks of the Lightforged grew exponentially by the day, at a rate that concerned her. Still, she preferred this. It was the tension and bickering of priests and academics - the debate about how to best lead their collective people into a better era. This was not the bloody wars of Azeroth's recent past, or the tense truce waiting to be shattered by a opportunistic Horde. It was progress.
A jostle against her left shoulder shook Jaina from her thoughts. She scowled, stumbled off-balance as one of the Lightforged Draenei themselves materialized through the Dias - the arrival point of any magical travel into the city. The massive paladin must not have noticed her, for he continued without pause into the main street itself. Just as well, Jaina mused, she had an entire checklist to complete before the sun set; starting with the acquisition of an appropriate room for her stay. Briefly, her gaze flicked up toward the Violet Citadel; and she wondered if she walked into the entrance hall, would Khadgar offer her a place to stay? For a heartbeat, she risked the idea, but the allure and luxury of the Citadel had faded sometime around the Purge. No, she shook her head. She should stick with simpler accommodations. It would make everything easier, for everyone.
Simpler accommodations turned out to be a good quarter-mile into the city at the Legerdemain Lounge. The inn was one of the busiest human-run in the city, and if Jaina wanted to get lost in the crowd, she knew it would be the place to do so. As she was dressed in a simple travel cloak with the hood pulled tight around her face, it would take more than a simple glance to discover her identity among the throng of patrons and frequent adventurers.
Sure enough, the Quel'dorei bartender, Arille Azuregaze, barely glimpsed up past the gold set upon the counter for a week's stay before he handed Jaina the runestone needed to enter and ward her room. She didn't even get halfway through a 'thank you' before he was off and focused on another patron requesting a refill.
Suited Jaina just fine. She shouldered her pack and made her way upstairs. She'd gone for one of the rooms that opened onto a private balcony that oversaw the Arcanist Gardens several hundred yards across the street. It gave her enough space to spread out the various scrolls and books she'd brought along to assist with her work without sacrificing a place for herself. The decorations were soft purples and silver over polished wood.
She busied herself with unpacking, though she had little to spare beyond the outfits needed for diplomatic meetings, and the scattered Tidesage codexes she'd been allowed to take from the Stormsong Monastery - gifts from one of the Alliance Champions who understood that knowledge alone was not a threat to be destroyed. Most of her clothes were plain-tailored, easy to slip in and out of, and easier still to blend into a faceless crowd. She allowed herself one small luxury, the anchor pendant that stood for her house. She unwrapped it from its cloth casing and clasped it around her neck. The metal was a pleasant chill against the mild heat of the late afternoon climate.
Unpacking finished, she found herself at a loss for what to do next. She had at least an hour to herself before she needed to set out for the Citadel and meet with the Concordance that oversaw the developments of the northern territories. She briefly thought about catching up on the latest research concerning the connection between the arcane and the elemental forces of Azeroth but found the thought slipped from her mind as quickly as it arrived.
Dalaran had once been her home. A sanctuary where she'd bloomed into a promising apprentice. Once, the city at sunset brought her nothing but peace.
Now, though, she was restless. Alone, her thoughts had a tendency to overwhelm her, just as they were beginning to do now.
Well, there was always the traditional method of drowning out one's inner monologue: she plucked a glass and the welcome bottle of Dalaran Red from the cabinet and headed out onto the balcony itself. The fresh air was not filled with the cry of seabirds and the salt of the ocean, but instead by the overlapped conversations of the streets and the various activities of the nearby craftsmen. Even with the revolving populace the city's seen over the decades, things never really changed - much like Boralus' port, Dalaran's streets were alive with the hawking of wares, the haggle of merchants and their too-canny customers. Craftsmen and smithies laid out their goods for perusal while tourists gawked at the splendors of life outside the small villages and outposts that most in Azeroth hailed from. Adventurers of the various Alliance races roamed the streets and fueled an economy that had evolved to exist around their constant forays into the dangerous parts of the world.
From the waist-high gnomes, the feral worgen, to the towering Draenei, the Alliance was more non-human than human now, but it stood united and strong, and the unity and peace it brought to the people of Azeroth was one of Jaina's dreams realized.
The Kirin Tor still stood guard, but among the spellweavers, Jaina noticed that some bore the telltale golden brands of those who had been Lightforged. They stood among their fellows, wearing both the Violet Eye of the Kirin Tor and the crest of the Naaru. Since when had the Army of the Light begun to recruit outside the Draenei?
Jaina continued to people-watch for a while longer. After her second glass was near empty, she spotted a familiar mane of white-blonde hair exiting the craftsman's circle. Even at a distance, the slender, elongated ears of an elf were noticeable. She grinned and Blinked down to land several feet from where Vereesa's Windrunner's path led.
Vereesa, for her part, barely blinked. Her ears twitched and swiveled back against her skull momentarily, like a cat spooked by a sudden noise, before they pricked forward and genuine interest and fondness twinkled in her arcane-touched eyes. "Jaina!"
Vereesa looked no different since the last time Jaina had seen her. The elves were ageless, beautiful and timeless. Jaina wondered how the years changed her in Vereesa's eyes as she crossed the distance and embraced her old friend. Vereesa returned the hug without hesitation, and the two swayed slightly as the crowd moved around the reunion without pause. "Vereesa! I didn't know you were in Dalaran still - I thought you'd -"
"Return to Silvermoon?" Vereesa finished for her, pulling back just enough to make eye contact. She paused, and rested her forehead against Jaina's for a second, then pulled away. "I haven't taken the offer yet. The twins have finally settled into their training, and I don't want to pull them from one style of teaching to another halfway through their first year." Her ears twitched as she spoke. "I'm surprised to see you here, though."
Shame briefly twinged over Jaina. She supposed a good friend would have written ahead to inquire and inform Vereesa of her arrival. If not for the wine lowering her guard, she probably wouldn't have done anything to catch the ranger's attention. "I'm here on business, actually. There are some old Tidesage texts we uncovered at the Shrine of the Storm, but they're untranslatable with any cipher we know about. I'm to ask Khadgar if I can borrow some from the Kirin Tor -"
"Which he'd gladly offer you, I'm sure."
Jaina wasn't as sure. Unlike Veressa, Khadgar had never understood, nor condoned any of Jaina's recent activities, and their differences in opinions in the last several years had eroded much of what had been a growing camaraderie. Add in Jaina's lack of support during the Final Invasion - as the Legion's advance was now being called - and the Kirin Tor themselves had grown cold to their ex-Archmage.
"Your brother? I thought you had been given the title of Lord Admiral?"
"I had - I am Lord Admiral - I just … we rule jointly. He's a beloved Fleet Admiral and …" Jaina trailed off. She didn't need to explain the frustration of residing in an older sibling's shadow to the youngest Windrunner. " … Kul Tiras is all the more healthy for it, and that's what matters."
"Of course," Vereesa answered diplomatically. She tilted her head up and sniffed at the air. "Now, I can practically taste the Dalaran Red you've opened. If you're free, can we continue talking over a glass or two?" She grinned, exposing her delicate fangs, "or a bottle or two, I should say?"
Jaina hesitated, then shrugged off her worry. This was Vereesa. Even after the horrors of Theramore where Jaina's choices had doomed Rhonin to a pointless death, the elven woman had never stopped extending companionship. Their lapse in communication was on Jaina's shoulders, not Vereesa's. She cracked a sheepish smile and gestured for the ranger to follow her back towards where she'd observed the city.
While the inn relatively ignored Jaina, Vereesa's passage through the ground floor was met with interest, of both the good and ill sort. The few Quel'dorei in the room offered the elven ranger a fair greeting, and Vereesa smiled at them in return, but the human patrons - and the oddly numerous Ren'dorei stared at Vereesa with something akin to suspicion. Jaina waited until they were upstairs and behind the warded door before she broached the subject.
Vereesa's laugh was a brittle bark. "You noticed, did you?"
Jaina winced, but the other woman waved off her apology before she could begin to form it.
"It's … complicated, Jaina, and trivial, really."
"It doesn't seem trivial."
Vereesa's ears pinned low, and she crossed the room towards the balcony and the open bottle. "How much do you know about the Ren'dorei?"
"Very little, I'm afraid." Jaina followed her friend outside. She leaned against the railing, turned to watch Vereesa pour them both a glass. "Just that they're a sect of elves that are entwined with the Void, somehow."
"You make it sound so harmless," Vereesa's nose crinkled as she took a drink. "Like they're on an afternoon's dalliance."
"I do hail from an island nation where our strongest magic users have been quietly listening to the void for a while now, apparently," Jaina responded. "I suppose the whole affair is a little flippant for me."
Vereesa gave her a look. "Magic affects elves differently than humans." Her voice took on a droning air like she was giving a lesson to a fresh-faced squire, and not Jaina. "Your … Tidesages … might listen to the Void, but they don't … how do I explain this? They don't absorb it - become one with it. Give an elf a strong enough influx of a magical source, and they'll adapt to it …" she trailed off, her expression morphing from a droll explanation, to confusion, to sheepish apology when she finally noticed the look Jaina fixed her with.
"Really?" Jaina drawled, tucking a hand underneath her chin. "That sounds utterly fascinating and I have never once seen it in action. Tell me more about this strange, mysterious ability -"
"Shut up, Proudmoore." Vereesa stuck her tongue out but took the ribbing gracefully.
"No no, please, go on!" Jaina waved her free hand for Vereesa to continue. "It's not like I'm an archmage or anything, with far too much research about the theories of magic under my belt."
Vereesa's ears pinned back, but her grin was playful and her eyes twinkled with amusement. She'd also gone stock still, and Jaina's suspicions grew when Vereesa's expression shifted to completely transparent innocence. It was like watching a cat decide when it wanted to pounce. Jaina waited and waited, and when she figured that whatever Vereesa's look implied wasn't going to come to pass, she yelped as her propped arm was swiped out from beneath her.
Vereesa cackled merrily as Jaina struggled to regain her balance without looking like a fool.
When Jaina was upright and her dignity was somewhat restored, Vereesa offered her a refilled glass.
"So, that means you'd understand if I mentioned the current state of Silvermoon and the lovely debate on if the Sin'dorei need to be recategorized yet again. Last I checked, it's a strong tie between 'Alar'dorei' and 'Belore'dorei.'" Vereesa waited for a beat, took a long gulp of the wine. "I personally support the 'Enough'dorei.'"
Jaina didn't know how to answer that, so she waited. She didn't have to wait long.
Vereesa sighed, "of course if it's not an argument about what to call Light-Elves, there's always the Void. Alleria's gone for years, left Quel'thalas when -" she cut herself off, flashed Jaina a bitter smile, and drained the rest of the cup in one swig. "Give it another ten years Jaina, and the Quel'dorei will live only in depressing stories and war memorials."
"That's -"
"We've been friends for a while, Jaina, so I know you're smarter than whatever you were about to say." Vereesa fixed her with a look, then poured herself a second glass. She fixed a happy smile on her face, then changed the subject. "Sorry, the ren'dorei are a touchy subject. I tend to forget the little manners I've learned when they come up."
Jaina took the offered out gratefully. "You learned manners when I was away? I'm impressed, Vereesa."
Vereesa's laugh was far more light-hearted this time. "Let's start over, shall we? Hello Jaina, I'm incredibly happy to see you again. The boys and I missed you terribly."
"I missed you, and your boys. They're - goodness, they're teenagers now?"
"They're troll-spawn is what they are," Vereesa muttered, though her voice was fond. "They've hit that age where I embarrass them just by breathing in the same room."
Jaina smiled. "They love you dearly, I'm sure."
"Oh, I know. I was the same way at their age, so I hope they age along the human axis through this part of their lives all the same."
"Not interested in going through what your mother did?"
"Belore, no! I was an absolute brat!" Vereesa stared at her, aghast at even the implication of what Jaina suggested. "One, I had two older sisters who essentially took all the burden of responsibility off of me," she ticked off on her fingers, "two, I had a little brother who was the perfect partner in crime, and finally an entire forest to run havoc through. Any aging my mother did was caused by her children. She fought on the front lines to get a break."
"Vereesa!"
"I wish I was exaggerating." Vereesa grinned. She flopped gracefully into one of the chairs and stared pointedly at Jaina until she followed suit. Jaina did, and the conversation flowed between them as if the years apart had never happened.
They stayed away from the heavier topics: things like Theramore, new family matters (especially concerning certain sisters), and the political state of the elven people. Instead, they discussed arcane theory and the archeological research that Vereesa had found an interest in a year or so back. While relations were still tense, Vereesa did split her time between Dalaran and expeditions into the untouched sections of Silvermoon where the elven city gave way to a troll temple-city complex that seemed built on an even earlier foundation. Some of it was Titan-inspired, but the rest was from an unknown era.
Vereesa off-handedly mentioned that she'd opened up channels of communication with the Farseer of Azeroth - a Darkspear shaman. The woman had more knowledge about the elemental planes and the bizarre history of their kingdoms that perhaps there could be answers found there.
As the afternoon faded into a gentle evening, and then to a star-studded night, the first bottle was replaced by another, and by the time that the first patrons of the inn made their way out onto the street to return to their homes, Jaina felt lighter than she'd been in years. Her reflexes were shot, and she was pretty confident that her current defense of the summoning of a water elemental by a frost mage versus the summoning of elementals by shamans was mostly on-the-spot speculation fueled by a hefty dose of alcohol.
Vereesa's out of her chair and half-balanced on the railing when Jaina finally registered the commotion down below. She leaned up carefully to see what had snagged the ranger's attention.
A crowd had formed a loose circle around a prone, convulsing figure. It was hard to make out who it was due to the shadows of the Lounge, but the strange pallor of the skin, the dark, twisted tendrils of the void that cracked through the cobblestone, and the gibbered Thalassian told Jaina that she was watching one of the ren'dorei fall apart.
Just like the Alliance feared.
Was this the first time? Or had there been similar collapses over the years? She turned her head to ask Vereesa, but the ranger was entirely upon the railing now, and her bow unslung from her shoulders. She lifted it up, an arrow already nocked upon the string as she pulled it back to her cheek. "Jaina," she said, her voice surprisingly steady despite the wine they'd consumed all evening. "Manage the crowd."
"Manage the - Vereesa, what are you talking about?"
The arrow's let loose. It flew over the heads of those in the crowd, towards two encroaching Lightforged Draenei. The two blazed as bright as lighthouses, their brands gleaming against their alabaster skin. They had weapons unsheathed, and were utterly focused on reaching their target. So the sudden bind at their hooves threw them even more off-guard. The right one, a male Draenei with a broken horn, stumbled to his knees as the magical webbing threw off his balance. He snarled as he hit the cobblestone, looking around for the unexpected attack. He found it when Vereesa let loose another warning shot. Her arrows were blunt-tipped, meant for concussive force and deterrence than true harm. Jaina's been on the opposite side of a ranger wielding them - she knew the bruises they left well.
"Jaina - please!"
Jaina's attention snapped back to the crowd. They were closing in upon the unarmed ren'dorei. Some had taken the Lightforges' approach as their own, and weapons were being pulled out. Magic crackled along staves, and the creak of another bow-string eased into the night.
She blinked down, and as she felt her feet connect with the solid stone, let out a wave of frost that locked the crowd in place. Arrows whistled overhead. There was a whisper of magic, and Jaina noticed the ice weaken about the knees of a paladin. She lifted her gaze to meet his own.
Human. Like her. He had the burnished skin of someone born in Stormwind, or perhaps Stranglethorn. He bore the medals of someone who fought the Legion, fought in Northrend. She vaguely recalled him standing in the crowd honored as the vanguard into Icecrown.
Now, again, he stood opposite of her. Only this time, she stood between him and his duty. She whispered an apology, then flicked a ribbon of magic toward him. She had wine in her system, and it slowed her down. But he'd been drinking too, and he had to swing his weapon to reach her actively.
She just needed to will her intent into being.
His hammer clattered to the ground as a sheep studied her from where the paladin stood.
Above her, Vereesa was shouting. "Fetch Alleria - now!" Who -
A ren'dorei further out from the mess, turned on her heel and opened a void rift. She disappeared within an instant.
"Stay back! My next arrows won't be blunt!"
The Lightforged were close enough now that the glow from their brands broke through the throng like streaks of sunlight through clouds. Even at a distance, the Draenei were tall enough to be observed over the heads of the people between them. The one with the broken horn scowled at Vereesa as she loosed another arrow his way.
"They have succumbed to the Void! It is a light-given mercy to put them down before the madness infects others -"
"You don't get to make that call," Vereesa growled. She pulled the string back against her cheek once again and waited. True to her threat, Jaina could see the razor-edge of the nocked arrow. It would penetrate through plate mail without trouble.
The other Lightforged tried for the less-aggressive tactic. Like his counterpart, his brands flared with the Light, but he held out his hands placatingly. "Lady Windrunner, it is not a duty we take lightly -"
"I'm pretty damned certain it is not your duty at all to be judge and executioner of a citizen in the street." Vereesa's voice shook with emotion. "Especially an elf. You do not get to choose how my people die."
"Be reasonable, woman!" Broken-Horn snapped, and surged forward, ignoring his companion's hand upon his shoulder. He strode to the edge of the frozen crowd and pointed his axe toward the ren'dorei behind Jaina. "We let this one live, and we will have Voidspawn in the streets! One death versus many more - ARGH!"
Scarlet blossomed in the space between his shoulder pauldron and his breastplate, vivid and bright against the crisp white-gold of his armor. Vereesa already had another arrow ready and glowered down. "Stay. Back."
Broken Horn didn't stay back. He snarled, ripping the arrow from his shoulder to toss it down onto the street. Blood dripped along his arm, and he lifted his axe up to point it toward Vereesa. "It is too late - the void's madness has touched her as well! First, the abomination - then you."
Broken-Horn met Jaina's gaze, and she felt chilled by what she saw within them. There was only zealotry. He cracked his neck and offered her a grim 'move'.
Move?
Broken-Horn roared and charged forward. The ice shattered as his momentum threw people from their feet, knocked others to the ground as he shouldered past them quicker than she expected from him.
More arrows peppered into him, now to hold him off of Jaina and the trembling ren'dorei, but warriors had a way of ignoring pain.
All Jaina could see was the keen edge of the axe catching the light, and the rush of air as the massive weapon swung high in an arc meant to end somewhere behind her - or in her if she didn't - there wasn't time to think. She had a second, maybe two to decide her fate. She readied the blink spell, desperate to avoid being cleaved in two.
Time warped and slowed around her.
Sounds became distant. She heard Vereesa shout something indistinguishable, her voice cracking with emotion; she heard the crowd gasp and screams of terror pierce the night. She heard the sibilant whisper of slithering voices from fissures that were splitting through the ren'dorei's arms, chest, neck.
He was going to die, and something else was going to live.
"I'm an idiot." Jaina turned her back on the oncoming axe. She flung herself at the ren'dorei, stumbled and scraped her knees on the cobblestone as she awkwardly gathered him to her.
A white-hot flash of pain ripped through her shoulder as ice flurries exploded into existence around her and her newfound charge. She tasted copper on her tongue and felt cold emptiness steal into her bones as her hands closed around the ren'dorei. She looked down out of instinct and found herself staring into an abyss that was opening up underneath split flesh.
She wasn't Khadgar or one of the Nightborne - she couldn't manage time the way she needed to right now!
So she did the next best thing.
She teleported them to the only place in Dalaran that could stop time.
The world wrenched around her, and this close to the Void, it disorientated her. The last thing she saw before blackness overtook her was the shimmering bars of the stasis-cell.
And all she could think was: good.