Deathwing was mustering his last forces for an all out attack on Wyrmrest temple. The Dragon Aspects were gathered to empower the Dragon soul to hunt down the Aspect of Death. He was drawn to the idea of reclaiming the artefact as his own, but the potential danger he would subject himself to was great.

The mortals had forced the naga to retreat and restored the world pillar. Blackwing Lair and the Firelands had vanished in arcane fire. The hour of twilight was undone piece by piece, but his dark masters would not grant him rest, would not allow failure. Their sinister whispers held his mind in bondage, forcing him to pull all his remaining twilight dragons together. He was to throw in his lot with the machinations of the old gods. Their manifestations and faceless had already begun to rise from underneath the dead continent into the freezing cold air of the Dragonblight. The mad creatures still held sway over some powerful elementals and together with the remnants of the twilight cultists they might yet deal a critical blow to this cursed world.

Stormwind

The path was clear Wrynn thought. His spies had confirmed that the silithid were on the move by sea. They sailed north, to the frozen wastes of the roof of the world. The Allinance had endured many losses, but the twilight cult was losing. Whatever these insects where sent to do it was nothing minor. The number of ships was uncountable. But what if he was wrong? What if they distracted them from the real threat and while he chased after them, Garrosh or Deathwing would use the opportunity to strike? The World was one immense battlefield; tipping the balance anywhere would invite severe losses for the Alliance. The Nightelves had still to recover from their losses on Hyial, while the Dwarfs were fighting amongst one another and spreading themselves thin on two front lines. He would have to bring his own men and women and they would have to succeed without reinforcement.

Outland

The unholy weapon brimmed with unbridled power. Roth took hold of its hilt and let his divine power tame the beast. Its wide array of magic bend to him and he felt a sudden thrill as their might rushed through his body. His senses expanded even more, hazy visions of the future without chronology suddenly became clear to him. He could see the millennia this demon ravaged land had endured revealingly lucid. Even his knowledge and memory of his own past was suddenly shed in a clearer light. He noticed little details his mortal senses had neglected, but his dormant divine unconscious had filed away and dug even deeper into the malevolent torrent of chaotic power contained within the nucleus of his very being.

The glaive, chained to him through his blood had become an extension of his own body, as if he had gained a new organ or limb.

His powers had always been impressive, but he had never revelled in them, for they bore the insidious mark of his shadowy masters, endlessly reminding him of what he could no longer have, what he no longer was. His eyes were a black void, just like their power, their influence. The glaive was different. The power he accessed was like a maiden, pure and taken willingly as his not forced upon him. He indulged in the study of the glaives abilities and one in particular would, he hoped; unshackle him from this broken world. He used the glaives power over time to peer into the past, to learn of the destruction his clone had wrought, while simultaneously searching for the thread to his own timeline, buried under and infinite myriad of other worlds other times throughout the multi-verse. His own time eluded him, but others caught his attention. Particularly fascinating was the immaculate detail in which he could observe them all.

Among the timeways

They moved without noticing him, with infinite purpose. He could do little more than observe, lost in their splendour. Time was set in its ways. Despite the glaive he could not turn back time, could not affect what was supposed to happen. He saw the events unfold an infinitesimal amount of times, every slightly different to the last one. And yet they all lead to ruin. In each he acted as the catalyst. He always plunged the world into darkness. In some timelines he did so unwittingly in others he was seeking it out actively and in some he was apathetic, indifferent to what transpired. But he was always there, the first step into madness. He watched for centuries until he was sick of it, but there was simply too much. The grip his divine mind held over the glaive loosened and he let himself drift subconsciously across time. Suddenly, after a long, long eternity he regained his senses. He could see himself walking arm in arm with her, hear the sweet sound of her voice, admire her delicate features and enjoyed the simple yet enchanting way her dress fluttered in the wind. And there it was again, that feeling of powerlessness of yearning for something he could never have, not even if he roamed time forever. This was nothing but an Illusion, a trick that was played on him.

Roth despaired until his vision shifted again, to that accursed moment, when her chest was ripped open and he was once more unable to stop it. But it was his hand that took her life that buried hastily and greedily with ease through her body, carved from it her essence and stole his vengeance. His fake laugh reverberated through the nucleus of unrelenting possibilities, madness and pain echoed in his voice until it subsided and gave way to desperate and frantic cries of anguish. He could no longer sustain his mask of cruel indifference and sadistic glee. Tears, how long had it been since he last shed them? They ran down his face, pouring from his widened eyes. This was not how it was supposed to turn out! Never he had sworn on his damned soul would he delve into emotion again! He had left behind his human feelings to fully tap into those dark, malevolent powers he was cursed with to sabotage the old gods! He did not care who they murdered, who they starved or drove to madness, what countries they burned, whose families they broke and who they manipulated to bring about their freedom. All he cared about was to stop them from achieving Liberty, not to save Azeroth, but for his own personal satisfaction. They were a worthy opponent, one he could battle endlessly, have entire armies massacred in combat against them and relish the chaos that ensued. He wanted to show them their grave error when they had given him life, when they had toyed with him! But his conviction to discard all was not enough. Shivering in his dreamlike form he inspected the blood that suddenly appeared on his hand further, her blood. It smelled so sweet, a fragrance never meant for one such as him. Not for a monster like him who got excited beyond reason, beyond control, from the mere idea of slaughter. All this time she had paid for in blood, killing off her own emotions. For what? There was no because, no reason, no explanation, if loyalty drives a human being to sacrifice herself like this. He saw Shaws plot. The feeble idea of protection he promised himself for sending in his most dear agent to infiltrate the cult of madness. He felt the touch of desperation once again, his own impotence. No matter how far he went, or how much power he attained it would never be enough. All this was worthless if he could not undo what was done to him. He had prevailed, seduced by the promise of revenge. But he would not be able to gloat. His vision shifted once more. He saw himself and her. This was what could have been. A future, now made impossible. Or was it? He just had to reach out with his arm and he could touch her. They moved with infinite ease. They did not just idly pass the time, instead Roth felt as though they headed somewhere particular. To Friends? A Celebration? A Festival? He wanted to believe there was a point to all this, he honestly wanted to. He wanted to have a piece of that innocence back he lost in that dreadful night. A piece of those peaceful, naive days, which were shattered so easily. Broken forever. There was no point in believing in anything, if you are constantly denied what you want. No this was not what he had wished for. Where had he gone wrong? Where had everything gone so wrong? He had himself allowed to be swallowed whole by the darkness. What had he wished for? He had wanted revenge. To smile forever in ultimate deprivation, never to be weak and powerless again. Never to be betrayed again, to die broken and stunned in confusion, drenched by his own blood. He had no right to regret now. Existence is a circle, ever repeating, no matter where you are, you are at the end of the old and the beginning of the new, acknowledging life once, means to acknowledge it forever. But that is not alive which can never die and he was certainly not dead, but he could not remember what it felt like to be truly alive. She is dead, but before her death she had wanted to tell him the truth, even though all she ever did was lie to him, he now wanted to hear, to believe what she would have told him.

Ulduar

Saxia studied the orb with a mix of awe and fear. This was capable of drowning the planet in fire to melt and reshape it from scratch. And it was in her possession. Her doubts forgotten she did no longer find it odd Roth had not procured it himself sooner.

She no longer paid any heed to the corpse of a god beneath her, nor to the instructions it whispered to her brethren from the dark.

Feralas

Ysondre fled as fast as her feet would allow. Blind, she searched the jungle of feralas for a refuge from the all to familiar horror chasing right behind her. While she tried to cross a small stream her feet got caught in the underbrush on the other side. Quickly she pressed herself to the ground. Cursing the fact she was unable to change into her draconic shape she listened to the wretched wheezing and growls of the abomination hunting her. Sweat ran down her face while she desperately tried to silence her own frantic breathing. Caged in her kaldorei form Ysondre felt the terror of its fragility. The mad creature she had tried to banish with the help of mortal heroes had ambushed them instead. Ysondre had listened panic-stricken as her companions flesh had been melted by poisonous gas. Their screams of agony had pierced the night like a blade. She had heard their desperate cries turn to mad gagging in the darkness as they tore their own throats to shreds.

A tree broke just a few arm lengths behind her. She could smell the stench of the monster. Her body grew limb with fear and so she tried to concentrate on the one thing that had given her solace in her long life. Even though the Emerald nightmare had corrupted her mind and body she still felt the urge to try and delve into the dream.

Even if the dark had come to take her away, she wanted to spend her last moments in the embrace of the dream she had not dared to return to. She had retired in self imposed exile, in the hopes that maybe someday she could pass away hidden amongst mortals. The shame she felt when confronted with one of her own kind was unbearable. For the same reason she had sought out help to end the last remnants of the Nightmare Dragons. To end Taerar. But fate would have her murdered instead. While the mad dragon searched for her in the darkness, she concentrated, to feel that familiar wave and ensuing weightlessness, as though she was carried by some great, but gentle wave. Away from reality through the lands of sleep into the dream.

Roth once more beheld the vision he witnessed after the firelands.

The night was dark, but the forest was bright. It was alive. At least it had been for as far as Roth could discern. With every step he took deeper through bush and roots he noticed barren spots, free of life and tainted.

Then he saw her.

A slender figure, undoubtedly female sat at a small pond.

Roth could not see her clearly because she was half hidden behind a tall tree, but he made out golden ornaments on her robe. The robe itself bore several shades of green and was wrapped around her body tightly. Her head hang low over the water surface and Roth noted a band covering her eyes.

He approached carefully not wanting to alert her.

A Tall figure stepped into view, until then hidden behind the tree from Roth's eyes.

The figure had an imposing male physique, with broad shoulders and long hair.

Roth stopped and noticed two bodies lying on the ground right next to the two.

All four of them, both dead and alive were elves.

The woman reached into the water, while the man behind her placed his hands around her neck.

She pulled something from the deeps, another corpse, holding his face just above the water surface, the rest still submerged. Was she crying? Roth was not sure what to make of it, but he was sure the third corpse was not elven, in fact it looked human to him. Then water splashed violently and the human corpse grabbed the Elf holding the woman in a stranglehold. He freed her from his grasp and then turned to Roth.

Roth Immediately recognized him.

It was himself.

Feralas

The forest was still once again. Ysondre felt the relief of the dream washing over her, cleansing her of fear. She knew Taerar would discover her body any second now, but at least she would not see, would not feel his fangs dig into her flesh and eviscerate her body. No, the forest was quite once more. There was nothing but tranquility in these primal, ethereal woods. And yet Ysondre felt something watching her. Could the abomination have realized what she had done, and instead of ending her, followed her into the dream to taunt and torment her? But she felt there was more to the lurking shadow between the trees. A glimmer of independent thought, shone through the darkness, she perceived, despite her ruined eyes. Ysondre was terrified. What she beheld was so dark, so undeniably malignant and corrupted; she was repulsed with all her being.

"If you hesitate here, it is the end." Ysondre raised her head startled. In the physical realm she moved merely by sound for in her madness she had lost the light of her eyes, but in the dream you did not need eyes to see or ears to hear. A human boy stood before her, barely a man. He appeared naked, but quickly a black haze obscured his skin. As though donning a cloak of dark he stood before her. He reached for her, offering his open palm. "If you want to live, I will save you" He whispered to her. The green Dragoness hesitated for a long moment. Then she reached out.

Mannorocs coven

Ysondre stood stunned before the demonic giant. The creature was invisible to the naked eye, enveloped in powerful magic, shielding it from outside influence. Said magic emanated from a peculiar object hiding away in its grasp. The glaive! She thought. She approached the sleeping demon carefully. Roth had assured her it was harmless; without a soul unable to act independently. When she was just an arm length away from Kazzak's body, she reached out slowly. His skin was freezing cold when she touched it, as though the creature was dead. Ysondre breathed in deeply while concentrating on the tendrils of the emerald dream around her. Once she had access Roth was once again by her side in his dark ethereal form. He in turn reached out to her, establishing a connection to the physical realm, to Kazzak through her.

Wrathion had not talked for a long time, lost in his scheming. Lavina hardly cared for the meagre dragon. Both of them were following the illusive Roy as he stumbled confused and helpless through Stormwinds streets, unnoticed by anyone. Wrathion suddenly broke the silence, wondering aloud why no one reacted to the wounded disoriented boy. They pursued him to his home where they watched him rage madly at what had just transpired. Lavina watched him demolish his home and scream with anger, desperation and sadness. When his anger had expired, his desperation turned into fatigue and his sadness turned to apathy something changed. His demeanour was no longer that of a victim. She watched him set fire to the only thing remaining of his mother, the place he had called home all his life. There where again those dead eyes of his, that he had when he killed Derrick with the flick of a finger. Those mad empty, bottomless orbs, which did not see anything but violence, cruelty and betrayal. Completely blind to beauty, trust and love. The eyes of someone who was no longer alive, but cursed to walk the earth. The eyes that had bored into her just moments before she had been mortally wounded, so different to the eyes that had watched her die.

And he smiled.