She thanked the Anchorite with another bow, and was just leaving the broken shell of spaceship debris that made up the walls of the study, only to hear,

'And we will go with you, little one.'

It was Vindicator Aalesia, fluid of movement and speech, despite the bulk of metal she carried as armour. Tracker Lyceon was scowling beside her.

'Can't let you have all the fun, now, can we?' the powerfully-built Vindicator Kuros joined in, his armour clanking heavily with each step.

'I do believe that would be most unfair,' the familiar voice of the Anchorite Paetheus startled her from behind. She whirled round to see him in his battle-cloak, staff in hand. He was holding Nolkai's Lantern. 'I wager you might need my services, young ones.'

'A welcome sight,' chuckled one of the rangers. 'Seems we are ready. Off we go.'

Lyceon's squad joined her, without objection on her side or question on theirs, on her quest for Nolkai and his people, but it was a squad no longer. The small group had grown into a platoon of fifty fully armed, seasoned veterans in their respective styles of combat. Owing to a group of this size taking action, a report had been sent to the Exodar regarding the details and purpose of their march. The sun blazed red as it sank into the sea.

They returned again, to the beautiful temple infested by the Naga. First, the stealth fighters went in and thinned the numbers of border patrol guards down to nil. Then the ranged combatants picked off the sentries in high places before they could raise the alarm, all at once, all the while the main body of the platoon moved forward. They tore their way through the remaining Naga forces at the temple, she and her fellow spellcasters burning a path through them with arcane magic till their leaders and their entire forces were decimated. The hill Naga were killed off so quickly and quietly that they managed to reach the shore Naga forces unannounced and unexpected, with similar results. They were bolstered by further magics when they had to cross the water, floating silently over it, under the cloak of an invisibility spell upheld by all their casters. Thus they traced Nolkai's people to the shore, underwater, and further afield to yet another set of isles that could have once been connected as one land to the main isle, perhaps broken by an earthquake, cause unknown.

There they found naught but spirits, yet these spirits could do harm owing to their deep-seated grudges. They were oddly-shaped. These were small, green scaly beasts, but with wings, there was also a vengeful ghost of a fully grown, massive black elder of their kind, whose spirit was only bound to that far-off isle out of sheer hatred, roaring out as it circled the peak of the hill that crowned the isle.

Having reached the isle of spirits by following the traces of Nolkai's people, they came upon a partially submerged tower, just as was drawn on the map that had started this whole adventure. There they found the spirit of yet another creature, one that stood upright, had two long ears like the fel-thirsty enemies on the isle, but had an altogether nobler bearing. The platoon stood still for a while, and when he turned towards them, froze in place as one. Had he seen them? Could he see them? Arathai was the first to speak.

'Are you Nolkai?'

After a pause, the spirit answered with a deep, velvety voice, with much indignation, 'Nolkai? Are you mad? Look around you, mortal. Do you not see that you stand upon sundered earth? Leave this place lest you suffer as my people and I have...'

The Draenei looked at each other, then at the speaker. 'Mortal'? What did he mean? Arathai was not daunted.

'Why do you suffer?'

She realised too late it was a stupid question when the spirit replied,

'Are you blind as well as insane? I am a ghost - a cruel reminder of a civilization that has long ceased to exist - anchored to a land that I failed to protect.'

The Draenei shifted uneasily, their arms and armour making a small sound. The spirit spoke.

'Long ago - ten-thousand years past - I was flesh and bone, just like you. I was prince of this land and a dragon rider, blessed by Ysera of the Dream.'

'Drag-on Rider?'

'Do you not know what a dragon is?' the spirit asked incredulously.

'We come from another planet,' Arathai replied simply.

The spirit must have blinked, for the burning light in its eyes was shut off for a split-second.

'These are the spirits of dragons,' he indicated the small, green, scaly winged things.

Arathai looked. The Draenei platoon looked. For all they looked, the small things did not seem to be very convenient to ride on.

The figure took one look at their faces, and understood.

'Those are whelplings.'

Stares.

'Their young.'

A collective 'Ah'.

'When they grow to about that size,' he indicated the massive brute circling and roaring above everything and everyone else. 'We ride them to battle. Or did. It was a bond between us and the green dragonflight.'

'Dragon-flight?' peeped Arathai.

Everyone else's face repeated the question, silently.

'Yes, there are several dragonflights, each guarding and representing a different aspect of life...What is that?'

'A recording crystal,' the crisply-accented voice of Anchorite Paetheus explained as he set the device onto the ground. 'It will make a copy hologram of you, if you do not mind, sir.'

'A copy ...?'

'Holo-gram. Ah, there we are.'

The crystal scanner radiated out a magenta cone of light, with which it scanned the figure, whose exact replica shimmered over it, precisely mirroring its movements, in less than three seconds.

'Amazing. You are a wonderful folk.'

The entire platoon bowed as one.

'I am Toreth, Prince of Loreth'Aran.' He indicated Bloodmyst Isle.

Silence.

The entire platoon knelt as one, armour making a sound in harmony. The Prince was startled into standing very still in disbelief. In that silent moment, he would have probably choked back the emotion that would have welled up in him, had he still been alive.

'You are a courteous as well as wonderful folk,' said the Prince. 'Rise, noble warriors from afar.'

They all stood again.

He saluted them according to the protocol of his people.

They returned his greeting according to their own.

Arathai was the first to break the silence, against order of age and rank, but with her eyes still to the ground. Her heart was beating fast. This was the leader of the people of Nolkai!

Her eyes shone. She spoke up.

'If it please Your Highness, forgive our ignorance. What is Ysera and how were you blessed?'

Prince Toreth blinked.

'You are new to this land. Have you not heard of Ysera? Guardian of nature? Aspect of the Dream? She is the matron of all green dragons! Aye, it was Ysera herself that gifted my kingdom with her brood. We stood shoulder to shoulder with the noble creatures and they allowed us to ride them into battle against our enemies. All was well for many centuries... until...'

The Draenei focused fully upon him, then. Fifty-one pairs of starlit eyes gazed intently upon him as he spoke. Here came tell of 'the enemy' they had heard of.

The Prince did not falter under their gaze. On the contrary, he took further strength from them, but his visage and voice were grim and bitter.

'Deathwing's brood... Ysera's benevolence raised the ire of Deathwing - patron of the black dragonflight. They attacked us in our sleep! Many died on the initial surge but the greens rose to protect us.'

He made a sweeping gesture around the island.

'The bones are all that remains of the once great dragons. None were spared.'

A silence fell, again. Arathai tried to speak, but her voice broke, and she lowered her head, trying to muffle her sobbing.

'Great and terrible is your loss, Highness,' it was Vindicator Korus. 'So why are you still here?'

The Prince gazed upon his lost realm.

'I was the last to die. As I felt my spirit leaving my mortal shell, I swore a blood oath.' He shook his head.

'A pact was made between this land and I: My blood for this world. I became the sole keeper of the history of my people.' He lifted his gaze, looking out over the horizon.

'I cannot rest until I am secure in knowing that the story of the Dragon Riders of Loreth'Aran is not lost in the passages of time.'

This struck at the heartstrings of the Draenei. They knew all too well what it meant to be displaced.

'You may rest, Your Highness. We have recorded your image speaking your voice in the name of your people. Your story shall be added to the annals of our kind, and be propagated to our allies, who are all of this planet. This, I, Paetheus, Anchorite of the Draenei, do vow.

'As do I, Korus, Vindicator of my people.'

There was a breath of silence, and then the entirety of the platoon then made a vow together, all starting with 'As do I, ...' and each stating their role among their people as one. All but Arathai. She was crying outright.

So this was how Nolkai's people had fallen. 'The Place' now, had also a name, Loreth'Aran. The name alone gave enough of a hint of the past beauty of the place.

'Forgive this little one,' the voice of the Anchorite broke past her thoughts as he lay a hand upon her head. 'Arathai was the one who led us to you and your people. She is a persistent one, and will no doubt spread your tale.'

Prince Toreth looked at the young Draenei, and bowed to her. 'My thanks, Arathai of the Draenei. Long may you live and prosper.'

Arathai looked up at him, eyes bleary. She lowered her head and blinked the tears away, standing upright. "Our people would have gotten along quite well together," she said, voice shaking. 'For you also are a wonderful folk,' and bowed formally to the lost Prince in return, making a silent vow as she did so.

Prince Toreth smiled. 'You may find our cousins, yet. Not all life is lost.'

She looked up, hopeful.

'Indeed, Highness,' the Anchorite said. 'Your tale will be copied and given out amongst our allies. These...Humans,...the...Gnomes..., the...Worgen...and...these...Night Elves..You have our word of honour. If you will permit me, I shall lead a rite of remembrance,' he turned to Arathai. 'Mark the day. We shall repeat this here every year.'

The Draenei all put their hands to their chests, and began to sing a chant led by the Anchorite. The music was eerie, alien and distant, yet it had a certain dignity and sense of hope. The atmosphere around them paled into a barely tangible arc of light. Prince Toreth took a step backwards, before steadying himself. As they sang, the arc of light opened a pathway through the heavens, and he felt his bonds with the earth beneath him weaken.

Could it be? Were they releasing him of his oath?

No, it was not a complete release, but the bond definitely weakened. The chant ended, and they all made a sign before bowing to take their leave.

Over the years, the rite was repeated for the Prince, after an exchange of news of worlds past and present was made. The chief ambassador of this occasion was none other than An'dora, 'My child' as Arathai was now known to the immortal Prince. Each year, the Prince's bond was weakened, and heart was strengthened, so he could return to the realm of his first people.

As for the Draenei, many, many more things were discovered and done with many, many more nations of Azeroth. Names were given to things unknown. Bloodmyst, she later found out, was actually Silvergale. The tale of Prince Toreth of the Dragonriders of Loreth'Aran was entered into the annals of the Draenei, as well as the official records of each and every capital of the humans, night elves, dwarves and gnomes. And regarding Arathai herself, it would be not long afterwards that she would discover and embrace the surviving kin of the lost Prince: The Kaldorei, or Night Elves, who were sworn in allegiance to her people. It would seem her intuitive attraction to their culture was not misplaced, after all, for this bond existed as a formal oath of fealty by the entirety of the Draenei. These 'new old friends' as Anchorite Paetheus so fondly described them, had a similar history of their own.

With great power came great responsibility, and equally great greed. The elite of the Kaldorei ancestors had tampered with the way of things, as had the Eredar of her own nation. This they did in obeisance to their rather shimmery, slippery Queen of the time whose tastes in spouses or consorts, and visions of perfection led many peoples to misery, in cooperation with none other but the very same corrupted ancestors of the Draenei themselves, but that is another story.

Suffice to say she has kept Nolkai's Band, and the memory of his people's last stand- ever since that day.