Illidan's wings folded back as he stared over the edge of the dais. The usual fel energies that swarmed around the temple seemed to be fleeing. Bending away. Draenor, for whatever reason, was descending rapidly into the Twisting Nether.
It was maddening that yet another world he tried to save and salvage was crumbling away, figuratively and literally.
Vashj, in all her loyalty and stupidity, had tried to set up a base in Shadowmoon Valley. After a few weeks of her Naga drying out, she humbly asked if they could move north, into Zangarmarsh.
Illidan didn't refuse her the rights to protect her people. The only reason he stayed on Draenor, now known as Outland, was to protect his own. Keeping the portals shut to the Legion had proved an exhausting, painful task. Many young men and women had died for that very cause.
Everywhere he went, he left a wake of destruction.
The only people that seemed to be improving, in fact, were the Blood Elves. They were learning more and more about magic and controlling it, finding new ways to feed their arcane addictions. Outland helped them not only survive, but thrive as a dominating force.
For a moment, Illidan saw his earlier life in the Blood Elves. Curious and naïve, strong and stubborn, they dug deeper into their minds and powers to learn not only how to be stronger, but how to protect their reputation and each other.
He could feel Suramar's large trees and their shade. He could hear the laughter of his two best friends. He could smell the fresh fish and talllstrider meats being brought to the markets, and even taste the breads and pastries the local bakeries made and sometimes gave to the kids for free.
The shrill shriek of a nearby Netherdrake shot the memories down. A Fel Orc's angry shouting at the drake for being such a disobedient imbecile pierced the stunned, silent air a moment before Illidan's thoughts returned.
The Blood Elves, or Sin'dorei, had brought him the closest he had been in thousands of years to having family. He remembered the day he met Kael'thas Sunstrider.
His thoughts drifted back while he watched the red and green lines of the Orc mount the prismatic Drake.
"Illidan Stormrage, Betrayer of the Kal'dorei, you are under arrest for the slaughter of thousands of innocents!" Maiev shrieked, her circular glaive waving back and forth at her waist.
Illidan, feeling all but dead, simply stared at her with his green, flickering 'eyes.' He had failed to destroy the Frozen Throne. He had failed to save his people. He had failed to please yet another leader. And worst of all, he had failed to get away from the craziest bitch the universe had to offer.
"Shut up Maiev," a cold, familiar voice growled. Illidan's frown deepened, his eyes fading. Not only had he failed himself, but his twin brother. The ice suddenly bit at his knees a lot harder.
"He killed High Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind and you still expect to have a brotherly chat with him?"
"I intend to give him at least the chance to expla—"
"You dare accuse me of killing Tyr, you bitch?" Illidan hissed, his warglaives lighting up as his hooves dug into the ice. "If anyone killed her, it was you!"
The third aura, both unfamiliar and uninteresting before, stepped forward boldly. Still unfamiliar, but fascinating, it formed into that of an elf. Shorter than his brother or Maiev, but much more vibrant in colors and movement, it became clear that this man was not only good at magic, but dependent on it for survival.
"I can't say that the High Priestess is dead, actually," he stated, glowing a bit brighter when his gaze found Illidan. "In fact, neither you or I saw her die. Simply fall in a river."
"What!" Illidan and Malfurion shouted at once, their focus on Maiev, who was fuming bitterly. For a brief moment, it was as if all of Northrend went silent.
The strange man spoke again, bolder still. "She fell into a river, and Maiev Shadowsong, here, demanded that I fulfill my oath to her in tracking down Illidan Stormrage. She made no effort to save Tyrande, saying that she was obviously lost and would quickly be devoured by the Scourge."
Malfurion, usually calm and patient with even the most obstinate creatures, latched his almost feral hands around Maiev's neck, lifting her into the air and growling at her. His eyes were slits and his aura radiated golden rage.
"Who is the Betrayer now, bitch."
Kael'thas had done more than save his life and reputation. He'd revived the relationship both Illidan and Malfurion presumed dead. He'd made them more than just two men with the same last name.
He'd made them brothers again.
Though it was hard for Illidan to admit, impossible for him to say, he felt obligated to not only protect Kael'thas, but repay him somehow. He owed the Sunstrider family two generations before, when in madness, he had nearly boiled Dath'remar Sunstrider alive.
Illidan's hand curled upwards, a small ball of light twisting in his palm. Lady Vashj and Kael'thas had saved him multiple times. The three of them shared the same broken past, the same bitter history. Fate may not favor any of them, but by bringing them together, gave them at least someone to depend on during their last days.
Two vials—one with an image of Queen Azshara in her perfect elven beauty, one with an intricate emblem of the sun and moon—appeared in his hand. They contained the last droplets of the original Well of Eternity. The place where, it seemed, everyone's madness overcame them.
Being bound by the tragedy of the events from the War of the Ancients, Illidan nodded to himself, ignoring the scream of the Orc who had been flung off his mount past the final boundaries of Outland.
As a sign of trust and symbol of power and care, he would give his two lieutenants a vial each. Vashj would receive the vial with her Queen on it, and Kael'thas the one with the heirloom signets.
Perhaps, he mused, the three of us can succeed where each of us has failed.
