Author's Notes: As I said two chapters ago, this chapter will close the 'first act', if you want, of this story. Following, there will come a short saga of four mini-chapters concerning past events that played a part in shaping the current situation in Azeroth. Though I'll keep their themes a secret for now, because I enjoy being all mysterious and stuff, I'll at least tell you the title of the first one – it's called The Raven's Flight, and concerns Medivh's fate after the end of Warcraft III: The Reign of Chaos up to his recent reappearance.
-eiko: Well, while I certainly do need advice in case I forget or miss something, and I'm sure that however carefully I've planned this story I'll come across those things eventually, but other than that, it's mostly stuff that you liked or didn't like, or stuff that you'd like to see, or anything like that that you can write about.
-Shadow of What Once Was: Rhonin will need to pull some serious Kirin Tor hax out of nowhere to beat this one. Either that, or external help.
-BoromirDefender: Unexpected is what I live for.
-Seproth: Kael's subjugating the Dreadlords… Liadrin believes he was referring to taming a naaru's power, but as we know from other characters' perspectives, it's unlikely that he has managed to do this thus far, so… who knows, really?
Anyway, this here's a special chapter… it came out longer than any other chapter I've written so far, simply because there were so many loose ends to tie off before the interlude. Take a deep breath and enjoy this, and try not to hate me too much for the cliffhanger _.
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Chapter X: The Shadow in the Sky
An astute tactician and strategist, Rhonin had immediately realized the danger those dragons posed was greater than the Scourge had, even though their number was less than one hundredth of the forces that they had disguised themselves as. He had learnt enough of dragons, either from his own experiences or the words of his mentor, Krasus, or Korialstrasz as the true name of the Red Dragonlord stood, to know they were one of the first races to ever populate Azeroth, and had been chosen by the Titans to preserve the newly-shaped world. The Infinite Dragonflight was an aberration, a miasma to the entirety of the Dragonflights, yet they were dragons nonetheless, and their unpredictability made them even more dangerous.
Considering all this, Rhonin felt lucky that they were faring as well as they did.
He had assembled all the Mages of the Kirin Tor in a circle surrounding the central point of the wagons. The five Archmages that were designated to protect them were now working fervently to unravel the seal that had been placed around them – a barrier woven not of mortal magic, but by the might of the Dragonkin. Rhonin and the rest of the strongest wizards were acting as guides for the combined flow of mana from the rest of their forces. They were split in two groups – one was maintaining a spherical barrier around their location which prevented the Infinite Dragons' attacks from wiping them out, and the others led their own counterattacks through openings in the barrier. Coordinating through magic, although straining and even another diversion, allowed them to time their efforts just right to leave almost no opening for their adversaries. Rhonin himself was responsible for directing the entire defense, and simply having to align so many different signals was taking a huge toll on him. Moreover, they weren't having much success. Though their planning was nigh flawless, some of their attacks inexplicably failed to hit home. Respectively, regardless of their efforts to maintain the barrier's integrity, somehow weak points were found and exploited before Rhonin had a chance to address them, and in the end, more mages lay dead than dragons. The truth was, they needed help, and fast. Either that, or Rhonin's farfetched plan about using their weapon against the dragons had to work. Either was extremely unlikely.
Suddenly, the attacks against them stopped. The barrier around them dropped. Their own attacks diminished. Nothing moved, or spoke, or breathed – not from within, or without the protective circle the Silver Covenant had formed around them. Everyone's heads were turned to the same direction, Dragons and mortals alike. Rhonin did not pay any heed. His whole attention, every inch of himself, was absorbed by the thing that had frozen everyone in place. Trembling, he whispered the words that crossed everyone's heads.
"What is this… this horrible sensation? Who… what… is wielding this…"
"…this monstrous amount of magic?!"
---
Everyone had frozen in place. Noone even dared to move. Far to the west, the sky was black, darker than black. A storm raged, a storm not just of lightning and hail, but of huge surges of magic, energies that could erase a citadel the size of Undercity as if it never existed flailing around wildly, uncontrollably, hundreds, thousands of them, an amount of magic unheard of. Lor'themar didn't know what was causing it, and he didn't want to find out – but he was certain about one thing. If Azeroth's existence was to end at some point in time; that time was now.
Compared to that chaos, their battle here was insignificant – everything was insignificant, except grasping that small chance of survival, holding onto it for one moment more, resist that immense fear that the next second would be their last as everything would be sucked into that mad destruction. However, Lor'themar still had a little mind to notice his surroundings. Everyone, from the undead to Kael's elves to the Dreadlords, to Kael himself and his own forces, was staring transfixed at the point where this huge mass of arcane magic, a quantity to make the Sunwell look like a drop before the ocean, originated from. Fear, was the primordial of expressions worn. There was also something else. Lust? Desire to touch that huge mass, even for a second, even if it meant they'd be burnt to cinders where they stood that very same instant? Perhaps. Lor'themar felt it call out to him, as well, and he had never much to do with spellcraft.
But as he watched Kael's eyes, blood-red with agony and pain, he realized that in front of that temptation, those that had left the traitor prince were far better off than his ilk. Every single one of the felblood elves, made to crave demonic magic as a substitute of what they had lost, was now looking westwards with frantic reverence.
And then the mass of magic multiplied a hundredfold, and every other thought was lost to Lor'themar, everything drowned except a desperate effort to keep his feet in place, to prevent his body from involuntarily rushing off to that direction. A pillar of light, piercing the heavens. The echo of an explosion in the distance, far enough that Lor'themar thought nothing short of a second Breaking could have caused it.
The end of the world.
---
"Yer timing is right on spot, old pal." Brann said heartily, slapping High Tinker Gelbin's back with his hand, which called the gnome to nearly fall flat on his face. Well, dwarves weren't known for their delicacy.
"You could've shown your appreciation much better by not knocking me out cold!" The gnome leader growled. But the nonchalant cameraderie between them soon extinguished into seriousness, as they began inspecting the battlefield whose face had changed so much in those last few minutes.
Noone had seen exactly how or why, except perhaps those that had stood close to them at that time, and they were too far away to question, but both the Lich King and Darion Mograine had vanished – judging from the massive hole that was visible even from such a distance as the dwarves stood, plummeted to the depths of the Earth. Though it was too soon to write them off as dead – the Lich King moreso than the Deathknight, but still – the fact remained that without Arthas there, their chances of victory had vastly multiplied. True, the leaders of the Argent Crusade and the Ebon Blade were valuable assets, but it was a complete, if brutal, truth – were they both to have sacrificed their lives to destroy the Lich King, there was not one man amongst them that would disagree; it was a small price to pay.
Either way, they had to follow up on that sacrifice.
"Prepare for counterattack!!" Muradin yelled. Like one, the dwarves that had stopped their retreat upon the sudden arrival of reinforcements, turned back and begun their counter strike. The Scourge, disoriented by the sudden removal of their leader from the field, were incapable of retaliating against the wave of small, but immensely powerful dwarves, who hacked at them with axes, smashed their skeletal bodies with hammers, or fired explosive mortars at them. Mechanical constructs, driven by the battle-hardier Gnomes, joined the fray, shooting down or simply stomping on the ranks of the undead. They were not the only ones.
Cairne led the assault on both the Tauren and human fronts – with a frown, Brann noticed the distinct absence of any of the humans' figureheads. Tyrande Whisperwind had also again assumed leadership of the Night Elves, plowing through the Scourge with relative ease. Everywhere, the wicked undead were retreating. Though many of their leaders still stood, trying to hold their ranks in place, the Crusade was winning. The reinforcements that had arrived had cut off a large portion of the undead army and were systematically destroying them. The remainder was crushed against the Icecrown Citadel. In a matter of minutes, the fight had turned from suicidal to easy.
Too easy.
"Attack, my warriors! Slay them all, for the glory of the Lich King!!"
Brutal warcries that brought rather unpleasant memories to Brann and Muradin, but also to any seasoned warrior there who had fought in Northrend for any extended period of time, echoed from the North – a black mass of massive shapes began rapidly descending from the mountains that sealed off the Ymirjar citadel from the rest of Icecrown. And it was exactly those Ymirjar, huge, powerful Vrykul warriors, chosen by the Val'kyr battle-callers, one of whom was now floating just out of bowshot urging her troops on, as the elite of the Lich King's armies. Stationed in Ymirheim, those beasts were at the beck and call of their master. And here Brann was wondering where he had kept them for so long.
"Watch yer backs!" He yelled at the others, while at the same time whirling around to face this new threat. Gelbin's hand gripping his wrist, though, stopped him.
"Wha - ?" He turned around questioningly, only to see the gnome pulling an object from his pocket, a rune that glowed a bright blue.
"When I was in Sholazar trying to get those damn brutes to help me", he vaguely pointed in the direction of the Frenzyheart warriors that were killing abominations via the simple method of swamping them from all directions and cutting them to as many pieces as they were formed from, "I met that huge, huge woman." Brann immediately realized what he was talking about – he had already met the Avatar of Freya once, and she made a Tauren look like a flea by comparison. To the miniscule Gnome, it should have been a… hilarious experience. "She gave me this thing, claiming she could not get out of her lands to aid us, but this would summon something that would. What say you, we give this baby a try?" Brann shrugged.
"Ye know me. Always the risky type."
"Aye." Muradin said. "Those Ymirjar are strong. This looks like a good chance."
"Alright." Gelbin said. He raised the rune overhead. "ACTIVATE!!"
Brann sweatdropped. "Ye know, that's not how ancient, Titan-made artifacts are supposed to be – " he cut out with an audible gasp, as the small object began glowing fiercely, and a portal opened, revealing from within –
"The Etymidian, at your command." The giant's mechanical voice was almost as imposing as its form, looming over the miniscule dwarves and gnomes like a siege tower. "Who will lead me to battle against the Scourge?"
"Uh… I will, I guess." The High Tinker said nervously, so busy looking up in astonishment that he did not even notice when he was swooped up by the construct's arms until he was well over a hundred feet into the sky.
"SOMEBODY HELP ME!!" The tiny Gnome flailed around wildly, closing his eyes. Brann swallowed a chuckle as he watched the Etymidian put Geblin on the 'cockpit', of sorts. This should fit the Gnome well.
"I am so going to die… wait, what?" Geblin was still yelling, although his tone soon changed from fear to surprise to curiosity to excitement as he inspected his new surroundings. Being able to operate that thing obviously made the crafty Tinker quickly forget the huge distance between him and the ground.
"Go! Let's tear them apart!" The Gnome said savagely, and every dwarf on the field raised his arms and voice with enthusiasm, as the ancient weapon of the Titans set off under the guidance of the last lord of Gnomeregan to fulfill its ancient task – ward Azeroth of all those who would cause it harm. Brann could only watch with no small degree of surprise at the ease the giant demonstrated in dealing with the Vrykul – they fell by the dozens, and soon, the Etymidian began charging what looked like a very powerful blast from its hands – under that strike, they would no doubt –
The storm that was gathering between the giant's hands exploded violently into a burst of sparks, covering the entire battlefield, but few sought cover, even though most of those standing close were torn asunder by the magical release. That amount of power was nothing, nothing at all to what was happening far, far to the south. Even to Brann, who had almost a faint, non-existent feel for magic, it seemed as if all the leylines of the world were suddenly redirected into that point, but even if that was the case, nothing could justify the existence of such an immense amount of magic being wielded, not by one person, not by thousands, not by anything that had set foot into this world since the Titans themselves! All the magic, all the power that had been wielded in Icecrown since the battle began, that had been wielded in Azeroth since the Third War began, could only amount to a mere fraction of what was happening at that very moment. In Brann's eyes, there were two possibilities.
Either the Titans themselves had returned for some reason, or soon, the war against the Lich King was going to become the least of the world's problems.
---
On the wings of the storm flew the Red Dragon Aspect over Dragonblight, soon leaving behind the frozen wastelands of Northrend and crossing the ocean in what seemed an eternity to her, but was probably only the blink of an eye for a mortal creature – such was her haste in reaching the Emerald Dream through the only way that was now possible for her, in reaching Ysera before the Dark Gods' grip around her tightened. For though the Infinite Dragonflight were not ones to be trusted, this time, the sense their leader's words made was undeniable. Ysera was in danger, and if she fell, then the entire Dream would collapse, and with it… Alexstrasza couldn't even begin to ponder on the consequences. It was with a very troubled mind indeed that the great leviathan reached the northern outskirts of Ashenvale, and the portal to the Emerald Dream. Just some time back, she could have entered the Dream at will, just like any other versed into its ways, but with the so-called Nightmare wandering along its boundaries, that soon became dangerous and later impossible. Unfortunately, Alexstrasza did not find the portal unguarded – but she hadn't really expected it to be.
"Let me pass, Emeriss." She said in a firm voice, eyeing the enormous shape of the Green Dragon guardian of the portal, now dragged into madness by the touch of the Nightmare, the handiwork of the Old Gods. The fallen wyrm just growled at her, releasing a stream of toxic fumes which Alexstrasza simply incinerated with her fiery breath.
"Stand aside, Emeriss!" The Aspect commanded, putting every ounce of her power and authority into her words. "The Dragonqueen commands it."
"You… are a DISEASE to this world! Your vain pride shall be the downfall of your hopes! I will destroy you, before your foul schemes can further harm these lands!" The gatekeeper took flight, releasing another acidic breath, apparently not even realizing who she was talking to.
"So it has come to this… I hope you will forgive me, Emeriss, and that Ysera will as well. I truly have no other choice." Flapping her wings, Alexstrasza found herself a thousand feet above her adversary, who looked bewildered around to locate where she had vanished to – but Alexstrasza had already opened her jaws, and a sphere of flame, the purging flame of destruction and creation, was flung downwards, growing until it enveloped all, and Emeriss's scream reached the great Dragon's ears as she was burned to dust. Tears of sadness left Alexstrasza's huge eyes, as she descended from the skies to enter the now accessible portal. How many Dragons had been destroyed today by the hand of their very own queen? The duty bestowed upon her was not easy, and the choices she had to make even less so. But there was still hope to cling to. Still.
As Alexstrasza dove into the Dream, though, all such hope was extinguished – behind her, an arcane torrent to dwarf the power of a world's creation rose, a quantity of power to make her own Titan-enhanced strength look like a fragile leaf in the middle of a raging storm – she wanted to turn back, back to the world she was supposed to protect; moving her wings frantically, she tried to push herself out, but she was already halfway through the gate, and the pull was too strong for even her to resist – soon, the serenity of Ysera's world overwhelmed her, and she stepped into the Emerald Dream.
---
From across the darkness of the Twisting Nether, through the Dark Portal, the arcane burst that petrified every denizen of Azeroth reached out into the wastelands of old Draenor, reached into the senses of the former kaldorei champions who were now fighting side-by-side against a common foe, but it was only the afterglow, a faint whisper of something happening far, far away, not nearly enough to shake either Maiev or Illidan off their intended purpose.
Another one, though, who could observe such results, knew better.
Alleria Windrunner, former Ranger-General now Felknight of the Legion, idly tested her bowstring as she observed the battle below. She was stationed atop one of the huge mountains surrounding Shattrath on Nagrand's side, and it was only due to her sharp eyes, with pupils now glowing a deep scarlet, further enhanced by her acute senses, multiplied when she was bound to the Legion, that she could discern what was happening from such a distance. Her armor was black, inscribed with crimson runes, and covered most of her body. A cloak was wrapped around her, sticking out on her large shoulderpads, and would reach all the way down to her feet had she not been sitting cross-legged at the moment. Black, steel-plated boots, heavy enough to tear solid iron apart with a kick but strangely hardly impending to her walking. Though she wore no helmet, the most obvious change lay at her forehead – a crimson-colored gem, occasionally glittering with greenish felfire, was embedded there, as a natural part of her skin – though she could not recall how or when it had been put there, her face hardly felt any different – if she had not looked into a mirror, she would have never realized. Yet now she could sense that this was reacting to the arcane energy raging somewhere in Azeroth. She could not tell the source, exactly, but she knew it had nothing to do with her demonic masters.
Speaking of which, Alleria could not say exactly how she felt about the whole affair. She only had vague recollections of her life before, and all that remained from the intermediate space was a sense of… numbness. And, for lack of a better word… contentment. As long as she was given assignments that she could complete, she felt no worry clouding her mind. Even now as she thought those things, regardless of an inner voice whispering to her that she had to be more worried, she only felt a mild wonder at her situation.
But, there was nothing to do. Kazzak's orders had been to stay put and only intervene at the last moment, if either the Night Elf Warden or the hybrid Demon Hunter seemed to pose a danger to him. Kil'Jaeden's had been quite different. Though Alleria did not care about who she received her instructions from, Kil'Jaeden clearly stood higher on the food chain, so she decided to follow his directions instead. So she once again checked her ebony bow, ensuring it was ready to be used with perfect precision. It would not do to disgrace the title of Ranger-General of Quel'Thalas – or that of the Burning Legion's personal executioner, either.
Frowning, she once again turned to the north. The arcane pulse was intensifying by the moment. Though there was not much room left in her mind for worry or fear, somewhere deep within, Alleria felt really thankful for the fact that she was not in Azeroth at this particular time.
---
"Rhonin, wait – " Vareesa's mouth was left open, hanging in mid-sentence, as she felt space and time warp around her, and the nauseous feeling in her gut that came with instantaneous teleportation. Once the spell was completed, she quickly looked around – her surroundings looked nothing like her former location, she was now standing in the middle of some mountain range, and none of her comrades were in sight. But wait… a key piece to the puzzle was missing. Her feet stirred, then hesitantly tapped.
There was nothing underneath.
"You've got to be kidding me."
The echoes of her yelp struck against the walls of the extremely narrow hole she was descending through, falling through immeasurable distances into what she could easily imagine as the core of the Earth, cursing her bad luck, Rhonin, and the damn fact that she could still find the situation comical at the very same time.
Her fall ended abruptly, very abruptly, as she was immersed in a cold that froze her to the very core. Too late did she consider that, with the speed she had plummeted into it, if this underground lake was deep enough, she could get carried too far away to be able to make it to the surface alive, and in panic began to resist the force of her free fall. At that moment, though, her butt hit the thankfully soft bottom with a thud that was almost audible even inside the water.
"The next time I see you, I'm going to butcher you!" She growled at an imaginary Rhonin as she pushed herself out of the freezing waters. Taking a look around, her suspicions were confirmed – she was located in the middle of a relatively small lake, who-knows-how-many feet underground. With no point in delaying, she swam to the edge and climbed to the rocky ground. She was freezing. The temperature here was enough to make even an elf chill to her bones, and she was soaking wet to boot. Taking off her clothes was out of the question – though she really doubted there was any reason to be concerned about decency this far underground, she had no way to dry either them or herself, and she'd just end up in that much worse a shape. Unable to hold back a sneeze, she cursed Rhonin for the umpteenth time.
"But where exactly is this place?" The question came to her lips as she looked around. The underground cavern was huge, and dark. The only light seemed to come from a corridor leading right in front of her. With the other ways out looking gloomy and black, Vareesa decided it made sense to follow that. Nervous, aware of the echo her footsteps made in this forsaken place, she began walking, heading towards an unknown destination.
And cursing her mule of a husband a few more times, just for the principle of it.
---
The impact was such that the solid rock underneath their bodies cracked and shattered into a small crater. If they hadn't been who they were, they'd both have died on the spot, but as it happened, both the Lich King and the Death Knight survived. Mograine didn't think he would have, but thankfully for him, the undead overlord's body had absorbed much of the force, and as he fell on top of him he managed to escape with a few bruises. The Lich King's breastplate was battered and broken, and Mograine detected some difficulty in him getting up, but he was not delusional – he was in a worse shape, and even if he wasn't, his good luck had just about ended. He was going to die.
"You will pay for this… this insult, worm!" Arthas growled and raised his arm, clenching his fist – before Darion could retaliate, invisible chains wrapped around his body, suspending him in mid-air, barely able to breathe; let alone move. The Ashbringer clung dully as it struck the ground.
"This is as far as your power has taken you… I will commend you on remaining an obstacle to my plans for this long, Mograine. Few have managed that. But this is the end of the line for you. First, I will destroy this." The Lich King raised his sword, the dreaded Frostmourne, and prepared to slam it into the sword that lay on the ground.
"The Ashbringer… the only weapon in the world that can defeat this." The Lich King muttered. "A horrifying amount of truth, hidden inside such a tiny hope. But it ends here." The runeblade came down, aiming straight for the crystal that served as the core of the Ashbringer's power.
"What?!" Mograine held the Lich King yell. "How is this – " His words were cut as everything exploded in light, and the Deathknight felt his body being pulled by some immense force that shattered the Lich King's binding spell, dragging him with unbelievable speeds through unknown corridors of the Nether, to finally be ejected into the mortal plane again.
Darion looked up in awe, as his new surroundings came into his field of vision.
---
"Aegwynn, will you come with us?" Jaina asked. She was more than a little overwhelmed by the grudging standstill the ex-Guardian had forced between the two warring armies. The Archmage presumed such force of will came with the status of being a Guardian. It would be far from the first time Aegwynn had impressed her.
"I don't think so." She replied with a smile, eyeing the portal Jaina had just finished opening to Northrend. The cold snows of Icecrown were visible through the shimmering sheet of magic, a desolate place a fair distance away from the spot the battle was carried out – it would be particularly unwise, and fairly dangerous, to open a portal right into the middle of the Scourge, or their allies for that matter. The armies of the Alliance and the Horde were ready to march just behind their leaders. "I won't be of much use there, now, and the excitement might be a bit much at my age."
"It is as you say. Well then, shall we?" Jaina glanced worriedly at both Thrall and Varian, who were still glaring daggers at each other – it seemed that Aegwynn had gotten through to them, though, and their expressions quickly turned meek as sheep once they caught her looking. As one, the King of Stormwind and the Warchief of the Horde, accompanied by the Ruler of Theramore, walked through the portal into –
Jaina felt a vast amount of Mana being molded into a torrent of proportions untold of. With a cry of warning, she tried to step back, but it was already too late – Thrall, Varian and herself were caught between her own, miniscule work of magic and the residue of the cataclysmic spellcraft that had suddenly broken out far to the east. The portal snapped shut, and the three heroes screamed in conjunction as they were taken somewhere far, far away from their intended destination.
When the world stopped spinning around her head, Jaina jumped to her feet, arcane fire already on her palms – she was not faster than Varian or Thrall, who were both standing on either side of her, the first holding both his swords in front of him defensively, the second with his hammer raised preemptively overhead.
"Where… where are we?" Varian said, and though no fear shook his voice, his unease was obvious.
"I don't know." Jaina replied nervously. "Something caused that spell to malfunction." That huge output of energy, and it had vanished since they came here. That much magic should be felt all over Azeroth, from the peaks of the highest mountains to the deepest caverns, in one of which they appeared to be now. So why was there nothing? Even if that had ended, whatever it was, the afterglow should be clearly felt for days to anyone with the least amount of arcane affinity. It still felt like Azeroth… the magical leylines were still aligned to Jaina's sorcery, as proven when she could easily form her fireballs, something she shouldn't have been able to do with such ease if she had been suddenly transported to a different dimension altogether, but…
"Jaina? Jaina Proudmoore?"
Now when you've been teleported in the middle of nowhere by a portal spell gone awry, the last thing you'd expect was someone to suddenly appear and call out your name. All three turned to face this newcomer, only to confront a Vareesa Windrunner, acquainted to Jaina from her days in the Kirin Tor, a Vareesa who managed to look annoyed, relieved, imperious and angry all at the same time. And wet like a cat that just had a bucket of water upended on her head, too.
"Vareesa!" Jaina exclaimed, trying not to laugh at how disheveled the noble High Elf looked. "What… what happened to you?" She asked. "How did you get here? Wait – where is here?"
"I'm here because of the idiot I have for a husband." Vareesa growled, and Jaina once more had to suppress the urge to laugh, while wondering what Rhonin had done to make Vareesa mad at him again. "We were fighting… oh, there will be time for that later. We have more important things to deal with right now. Where we are… I don't know, but unless that man managed to miss with his teleportation more than I believed him idiotic enough to" – at that point, Jaina sweatdropped, recalling it was her own blunder that brought the rest of them here as well, even though it wasn't really her fault – "we should be somewhere below southern Icecrown."
"Wrong." All four turned to face the newcomer, who just walked in the small chamber they stood from a corridor ahead. "We aren't in Icecrown."
"Undead!" Thrall growled, and raised his hammer, only to be stopped by Varian's sword held in front of him.
"Get a hold of yourself, Orc." The human king said calmly. "This is Darion Mograine. He was once a Paladin of the Alliance, and now the leader of the Ebon Blade. Lower your weapon." Finally recognizing one of the most important leaders of the Northrend Vanguard, Thrall lowered his hammer.
"Darion, do you know where we are?" Jaina asked. It was nothing less than a miracle that the five of them just happened to randomly stumble at more or less the same point in the most unlikely of places, but that could wait.
"I was inspecting the ruined gates that lie in the room ahead when I heard your voices." Darion shrugged, raising his shoulders. "Ancient artifacts, and from the style and architecture… though I cannot understand how exactly I got here, there is only one possible place we could be right now."
"This is the entrance to Ulduar, the vault of the Titans, and Yogg-Saron's ageless prison."
---
The sea was black. The sky was black. From within that all-consuming darkness, arcane lightning cackled madly. The Maelstrom raged like never before. Reality itself was torn asunder, as volumes of magical energy incomparable to anything the world had seen since the Sundering itself were released from within, pushing the boundaries of the ever-spinning whirlpool that sealed away the center of the world, expanding it into an apocalyptic storm that threatened to swallow up Azeroth in its entirety.
Just as abruptly as it had begun, it ended. Where the Maelstrom had pulsed, the ever-beating heart of the world to remind the mortals of their forefathers' sins, an endless calm sea, reflecting the clear azure of the skies above, reached out to the horizon in every direction.
And from within its depths, a vast army of innumerable black shapes, serpentine men and women, along with other, less humanoid creature, rose to the surface, thousands of them, a black patch in the middle of the ocean.
The Naga had risen from their watery prison after so many centuries. Queen Azshara, proudly standing atop her coral throne carried by a dozen Myrmidons on the head of her vast armies, watched intently the horizon, a wide grin splitting her face, framed by living snakes, in half, giving her an even more monstrous appearance. Once, she had been called beautiful, but all of that beauty had now been mutated into her new form. Four arms, green skin, golden eyes and a lower body that ended in a long serpent tail. And a force of presence so vast, a magical power so enormous that either could make a mortal squirm in fear, beg for death rather than confront her.
This was Azshara, Daughter of the Moon, Light of Lights, Queen of the Naga, the Eternal. She had finally managed to bring the indomitable power of the Maelstrom to heel, free herself from the bonds that held her to the bottom of the sea. And now, the rest of the world would feel the tremendous fury she had had ten thousand years to cultivate.
The end of the world began that day.