Jaina woke with a gasp. She was freezing, shivering uncontrollably, but her eyes burned when she blinked and her tongue was hot against the roof of her mouth.

She wasn't in bed; she lay on a hard surface, hard and cold. She drew another shuddering breath. The ground was uneven and smooth in turns. The contradiction of sensations made her dizzy and dizziness was followed by overwhelming nausea. Jaina clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes closed.

I blacked out. Terror, animal fear as she clung to consciousness and felt her grip slowly loosen, thread by thread.

My head hurts. Beyond the fever, there was a sore spot in her hairline and she knew she was bleeding. The shivering continued and her skin burned with cold. She opened her eyes again. She could see one leg of some furniture; polished wood, chipped from use, and beside it a single sheet of note paper.

I was working. She'd pulled out the lending register from the Scholomance, gently shaken the charred, brittle papers that she had gathered up from the destroyed library onto the desk. She had been studying a drawing, a diagram of an unfamiliar spellmap.

Did it curse me? She knew that wasn't what happened even as she hung onto the thought, tried to get mad at some long-dead mage or necromancer or warlock who had punished her curiosity from beyond the grave.

No. It wasn't the Scholomance papers. Jaina had pushed away fatigue and forced herself to concentrate on the fragile scraps. Pushed it back and back until her will couldn't hold it and she had burst into wracking coughs. She remembered blood splattered on the burnt pages as the darkness closed in.

Jaina fought for another breath.

She couldn't move.

Panic crystallized in her veins and she stared, wide-eyed, at spots of wax on the stone floor of the lab. Her focus was inhumanly clear; she saw every bubble and dimple in the wax, the sloped edges where it adhered to the black stone floor, tiny bits of dust stuck to the surface.

And then darkness came for her again and Jaina managed to stretch out one hand, clawed at the floor, wax curling under her fingernails, struggling as her vision closed to a single spot of black stone, still brighter than the swallowing void.

"No!" She spat out the sound in more of a cough than a word. "Nnnn…"

She squeezed her eyes closed and it felt like the hardest thing she'd ever done. Then with even more effort she opened them again. The black at the edges of her vision greyed and wavered.

She forced a deep breath into her lungs, felt it swell her chest, ribs pressing against the stone. Another breath to drive light into the tunnel vision.

"Not here…"

She put all of her energy into pulling her elbow against her side and used it as a wedge to push herself onto her belly. More deep breaths, another burst of strength, and she got her knees under herself. Pause. Breathe. Heels of her hands shoved against the floor and she was up on her elbows.

Sweat mixed with blood and ran down her forehead.

Breathe, push- her balance failed and she fell against the side of the desk, catching herself with her shoulder. For several minutes, she sat with her back against it and calmed her breath. Then she twisted, grabbed the edge, and pulled herself up. Her legs shook under her but she rested her weight on her elbows, against the desktop.

There were books and papers under her clutching fingernails and forearms damp with sweat and blood.

I'm making such a mess.

It took her some minutes but she levered herself up until she stood with only two fingers braced against the desk. She pitched herself toward her chair and fell into it, panting with effort.

"Okay," she said. She ran her hands through her hair, blinked hard, and focused on the Scholomance papers. She had ripped some and crushed the dusty edges of others. It was a relief to see that although there was blood on almost everything, it hadn't activated any hidden spells.

For a while she stared at the paper in front of her. It wasn't the one she had been studying; that had been displaced by her collapse or her efforts to rise. There was nothing special about this one. It was just a drawing of a tauren skull, each bone labelled. There were no animation points, no grim description of its collection.

She turned to search for the paper she had been reading and hesitated. Her vision swam and she braced herself against the desk.

No. I need to rest. She tentatively touched the bump on her hairline. And I need a healer.

Kel'Thuzad.

What's wrong?

I need a healer. She paused. Ysadéan is at the Frozen Throne.

She concentrated on breathing, each breath as important as they had been in Deathwing's wake, and closed her eyes.

Kel'Thuzad arrived with Ysadéan in tow and the druid made only professional conversation. Did she pass out? How long? Did she remember hitting her head? Where else did it hurt? And where besides that? And when was the last time she slept well? When and what had she eaten? Was she drinking more than coffee?

Jaina answered faithfully. She couldn't hide pain or illness from a healer and finally she admitted that she didn't want to hide it anymore.

"How long do I have left? Truly. How long?"

Kel'Thuzad and Ysadéan looked at each other. Ysadéan gestured for him to speak.

"I don't have enough experience observing the course of a terminal illness to give you an accurate estimate. A year and a half. Maybe two."

He nodded to Ysadéan.

Her voice was gentle. "A year, perhaps. If you fight as you have been, it will happen sooner. You stay awake too long. You push your body. Do not do these things and you will live longer."

"You said my will-?"

"Yes! Your will is strong but that does not mean you must use it to fight. You are a smart woman. Use that strength to-" She paused, then looked to Kel'Thuzad and said something in Darnassian.

"Prioritize."

"Yes. Use your strength to prioritize your goals. Organize your mind. Focus your will. And-" She reached out and rested her hand on Jaina's, "-do not hesitate to call on me."

She looked like she wished to say more, but stayed silent.

"Thank you," said Jaina.

"You never need to thank me, Lady Jaina."

She rose, made a shallow bow, and left the room.

Jaina settled her cheek on the desktop and wrapped her arms over her head in a desperate self-hug. Her hair, loose and tangled with blood and sweat, made a curtain inside the hug and she concentrated on keeping her breathing even.

"Jaina."

"I'm fi-" She swallowed the rest of the word. "I'm not fine."

She rose and turned in the same clumsy motion, half-tripped on the chair and half-fell into Kel'Thuzad's arms. He pulled her against his cold chest, and she clung to him with panicked strength.

"I am not fine," she said through chattering teeth. "I am not fine and I am so, so scared."


After months with Ysadéan as his only companion, Soffriel found the activity and noise of the Citadel both refreshing and a little overwhelming. Even his hazy, broken memories of Acherus weren't this busy or diverse. The people around him spoke in tongues he didn't recognize, wore exotic clothes and jewelry, ate strange food, and had incomprehensible body language.

Soffriel immersed himself in it. He sat in the mess hall for hours and watched people.

He looked for druids. Those he saw were mostly adventurers, grandly attired in armour meant to advertise their skill and experience. He didn't know what most of it meant but they were beautiful and their presence comforted him.

Some were young, in modest armour or none at all, and a few had a druid's aura but made their livings in some other capacity.

His view was suddenly eclipsed by the draenei death knight who seemed to think they were friends.

"You look like you need a fight." She grabbed his bicep. "Sparring time!"

Soffriel had learned it was easier not to argue with her. Or with the Sunwalker who materialized at the word 'sparring'.

"Don't worry, the big bug is sitting this one out." The tauren clapped him on the back.

"But there's new blood! Couple of warriors who think they're hot stuff-"

"-and a shaman with a pair of nice axes but no style-"

"-and three mages but we don't care about mages."

She flung the door to the northeastern courtyard open with a flourish.

"Behold! Fresh meat." She rubbed her armoured hands together.

"That one's mine!" The Sunwalker pointed to a fellow tauren in a half suit of plate mail, carrying a sword taller and wider than Soffriel himself. "You-" he gave Soffriel a shove, "-get the human."

Said human was a burly warrior in fancy silver armour, eyes hidden beneath a half-helm that left only a frown and a blond beard visible. He carried himself with the sort of subtle confidence that came with experience.

"It'll be my pleasure to knock you around, elf." He gripped a pike with both hands and had a short sword sheathed at his side.

Carrying his runeblade was a habit ground into Soffriel during his training in Acherus and so far he hadn't managed to undo it. He reached over his shoulder and drew the weapon.

"Very well."

The human was fast. He feinted in and out, whirled the pike between his hands, bounced on the balls of his feet. Soffriel blocked his attacks and watched his footwork. Side to side, advance, retreat, side-step, turn, slide, lunge-

The pike collided with the runeblade and the human twisted it, trying to force the sword from Soffriel's grip. They wrestled for it and the warrior head-butted him with a laugh. Soffriel retreated.

"Are you afraid? Come at me!" He beckoned with both hands. "Come on, death knight! Show me what you're made of!"

Soffriel ignored him and continued to react to his attacks. Eventually the human would lose interest and the match would end-

But somehow, in blocking his attack, Soffriel knocked the human off balance. He stumbled back.

Weakness.

The hunter's instinct, ever present, flared to life at the back of Soffriel's mind. The weak, the young, the old- they were prey. This one is prey. Soffriel shook his head, focused on the solid hilt of the runeblade in his grip, the bright sunlight. This was not a real fight. The warrior was not a real threat and he certainly wasn't prey.

The warrior quickly regained his footing and attacked again. They traded a flurry of strikes and counters, but now Soffriel had the measure of his strength and speed. The hunter circled, hungry, and watched for an opening.

They clashed again and Soffriel rebuffed the attack with ease. He was stronger than the human.

I need to end this.

The human redoubled his efforts, pressed Soffriel until the inevitable happened and he made another mistake. The runeblade leaped forward almost of its own accord. Soffriel wrestled it back, swung wide, left himself open, but his opponent missed the opportunity.

Soffriel bared his teeth.

Surrender, walk away.

He lunged and slammed his armoured fist into the human's chest. The blow knocked the wind out of him, he staggered back, and almost fell. Soffriel struck again, faster, keener, focused on the pulse in his neck. He sensed bruised knuckles beneath the gauntlets, blood spreading beneath his skin.

Blood.

It was Soffriel's fight now. What were once a hunter's instincts had been sharpened and twisted into indiscriminate bloodlust by the Lich King's magic. Soffriel advanced and advanced again. He didn't need the runeblade. He had claws, and teeth- he could draw blood without saronite and steel.

The next blow broke the human's nose. Blood smeared Soffriel's fist. The runeblade was forgotten on the ground somewhere behind him and he saw the courtyard through a veil of red. The human was speaking but his voice was drowned out by the thud of his heart, the rush in his veins, the fear in his eyes. Blood!

Then something smashed into his back and Soffriel landed hard, face-first, in the dirt. The bloodlust only heightened and he rolled over, already rising, snarling.

The Sunwalker hit him again, this time in the chest, and when he staggered the tauren put a hoof on him and set his full weight against it. Soffriel's armour creaked.

"It's all or nothing with you, isn't it? Down in seconds or scrapping like a rabid cat." He shook his head. Soffriel squirmed and twisted under his hoof but despite the howling bloodlust, he couldn't free himself. The tauren's hammer glowed and Soffriel distantly understood that he had something more than physical weight pressing down on him.

Nevertheless, he writhed and fought until something inside of him gave way and all his movement weakened. The veil of red faltered but Soffriel didn't stop snarling.

The Sunwalker took his hoof and his holy might off Soffriel's chest, grabbed his collar, and pulled him up. He could stand- barely. All of his movements were weak, like trying to run through deep water. He went for the tauren's throat anyway and was easily rebuffed.

"Up we go." The tauren hitched Soffriel's arm over his shoulders and mostly carried him out of the courtyard.

"You need to find a middle ground, my friend." The draenei death knight had joined them. "Get your mind right before you murder someone who doesn't deserve it."

Soffriel recognized where they were; in the hall that led to the laboratory. The tauren booted the lab door open.

"Anybody home?"

Kel'Thuzad, seated behind the paper-strewn desk, looked up at them over his spectacles.

"Shouldn't you two be here with twenty or so friends?" He narrowed his eyes. "And better gear?"

The Sunwalker and death knight glanced at each other.

"Sorry for the intrusion!" The tauren gently deposited Soffriel on the floor and the pair beat a hasty retreat.

Soffriel managed to get on his feet, lips peeled back from his fangs in furious threat. He made a series of stumbling lunges until he reached the desk, in range to use his fists, his claws-

Kel'Thuzad gestured and Soffriel was abruptly lifted off the floor.

He hissed and made futile struggles. Kel'Thuzad watched, impassive.

"Soffriel."

Soffriel growled and thrashed.

The invisible force that held him tightened until he could no longer move. "Soffriel. I don't bleed."

He blinked and his lips quivered, then lowered over his fangs. His vision began to clear.

"I've wondered why you lied to me, the day you begged to be my apprentice. And I thought perhaps you had never seen a necromancer at work. But no."

Kel'Thuzad let him go and Soffriel fell to his knees.

"I didn't lie-"

"Yes, you did. You told me that you didn't know a necromancer could heal the undead. But you know that you can heal yourself with the blood of the living."

"No." Soffriel stared at his hands. "It's different… it's different. You only used magic-"

"Stop. You knew it was possible."

"It's different! I killed people-!"

"It is different only in materials, not in theory. Let that be your first lesson." Kel'Thuzad held out a hand. "And now I know how you survived." He pulled Soffriel to his feet with inhuman strength, and looked him up and down. "You need to stop letting people step on you. That hoofprint isn't going to buff out."

"Yes, sir."

The lich pointed to the same low stool where he had worked before on Soffriel's injuries. "Sit down, armour off."

Soffriel did as he was told.

Kel'Thuzad began searching through the shelves of equipment and materials along one wall.

"If it's this easy to break your back, you need more work than I gave you before. I thought Anu'Shukhet only severed the connective weaves but she may have done more serious damage."

Soffriel touched his chest. His sternum and some of his ribs were caved into his chest cavity. It would be a fatal injury for a living person, if a healer couldn't reach them in time. Even if they did it would take a healer of great skill to repair such terrible damage. He wouldn't have been able to heal it or even save himself, novice that he had been.

He shook the thought from his mind.

"What does that mean? Connective weaves? What are they?"

Kel'Thuzad returned with a bowl of water, a packet of salt, and a small, black knife.

"An undead body is not so different from a living one in structure. But a living body takes in material from the environment and turns it to energy to sustain itself. An undead body doesn't take in energy naturally; it must be maintained through other means. Without maintenance, the body begins to decay. Physical decay and magical decay."

He poured the salt into the bowl and stirred it with the knife.

"Water, salt, and iron- a poor imitation of blood, but workable in a pinch, or if one objects to procuring real blood." He held up the knife; the edge was dull, the tip rounded. "I assume you would object."

Soffriel nodded.

"Where was I? Ah, yes. Some types of undead creatures decay faster than others: ghouls and the like, those with only their physical form reanimated." He returned to mixing the salt and water. "Cannon fodder, servants, and messengers. Why maintain them when new ones are easy to come by? Others are more complex reanimations; those with some shred of their former selves- with talents if not personalities. Our mages and lieutenants. We maintain the most useful and let the others wither."

He pointed at Soffriel with the iron knife.

"And then there are those like you: a whole person, with some or all of their personality and skills intact, and some will of their own. Death knights are valuable soldiers and we maintain them. As for me, I can pull material from the environment to maintain myself. It isn't, shall we say, natural because I must consciously do so, but it is possible."

"Is that true of all liches?"

"No."

Kel'Thuzad's lips curved into a sharp smile that showed a glimpse of fangs. Soffriel felt a surge of affection- not for Kel'Thuzad but for someone else he couldn't remember who also smiled with his teeth.

"A death knight, or another undead of similar calibre, has a three-fold resurrection process: first, we build structural weaves, the spells that replace your deep muscle groups. Second, we build connective weaves- the spells that link the structural weaves to each other and to your will. Third- and this is the part that sets it apart as resurrection rather than simple reanimation- we pull the person's soul back into their body and anchor it."

Soffriel furrowed his eyebrows. "So Anu'Shukhet broke a spell that… holds me together?"

"Yes, and it looks like she broke a structural weave as well."

"But she doesn't wield any magic. How can a physical attack affect these spells?"

"Look at you, asking all the right questions."

Kel'Thuzad dipped the tip of the knife in the salt water then began to draw carefully across Soffriel's palm and down his forearm.

"Spells are finite. Magic decays. Enough trauma- physical or magical- will hasten decay or break the spell entirely. Anu'Shukhet, as you've discovered, is strong enough to do so." He looked up. "She broke my arm a few months ago. Think about that next time you face her."

"I… don't think I'll be facing her again."

"Oh come on, she's fun."

"You spar with her?"

"Now and again. She's a smart lady- she tests herself against unusual opponents, learns how they fight in case she should ever have to face their like in battle. In your case, it seems she severed the structural weaves between your vertebrae- she broke your back. However…" He let go of Soffriel's arm and cocked his head. "One of the structural weaves in your spine was already damaged and poorly re-worked. And now that I look at you more closely, the structural weaves binding your collar bone to your shoulder blade and humerus are also torn… Hm. Someone broke your back before and dislocated your shoulders, after you were resurrected." He raised his eyebrows. "Care to tell me how that happened?"

"I… I don't remember."

Soffriel was certain Kel'Thuzad saw through the lie, but he didn't pursue it.

"Well, I can guess at why they decided to fix you, bloodthirsty berserker that you are."

He patted Soffriel's knee.

"I'll fix the structural weaves for now. We might see to the connective damage later."

Soffriel watched him draw lines and sigils on his broken chest with the wet blade. "Is there a way you can- a way to remove the bloodlust?"

Kel'Thuzad shook his head. "It's part of you now. You can only learn to control it."


Kinndy showed up outside the lab at exactly sunrise. She carried a pink and gold staff and looked scared out of her mind, but gamely attempted to appear at ease.

Jaina smiled. She had probably looked the same at her first lesson in battle magic.

"I'm ready!" Kinndy swallowed. "I think. More or less. Yep. So ready!"

"That's the spirit." Jaina gestured for her to follow. "While you're learning the basics, we'll use an open area. It's less intimidating to face an opponent at a distance."

"Okay," she squeaked. "Thank you."

She led Kinndy up the stairs, leaning heavily on the cane with every other step, and hoped Kinndy couldn't see how pale she was.

"We don't want to make a spectacle of ourselves, either. Fortunately the Citadel has empty rooms large enough to accommodate our needs."

Her chosen theatre of mock battle was a wide, high room largely untouched by the siege that dethroned her predecessor. She had directed a crew of ghouls to fill it with random pieces of debris: broken glass and gravel, empty oil drums, a chunk of stone large enough to shield a mammoth, furniture, melting ice shards, random bits of armour, and a few decaying animal carcasses.

Kinndy wrinkled her nose and pointed at a half-scavenged snow bear. "Ew!"

"Battle means bodies. It's a grim reality of this field of study."

"That makes sense. Still ew."

Kel'Thuzad materialized to Jaina's left and leaned closer to Kinndy. "I can bring fresh ones next time."

Kinndy half-swallowed a screech of alarm and brandished her staff. "Stop doing that!"

"I see we'll have to work on your situational awareness," said Jaina. "But today will be basics of engagement." She looked around, found a small table that looked sturdy enough to support her, and sat. Kinndy had been too preoccupied with Kel'Thuzad to notice her shaky grip on the cane.

"All right. What do you know about battle magic?"

"Well, just that it's for, y'know, killing people. And that you can get expelled from the Kirin Tor for teaching it to novices."

"You're right about the last part," said Kel'Thuzad. "But it's about more than killing."

Jaina drummed her fingers against the cane. "There are three schools of battle magic, but it's the flashy, offensive spells that everyone thinks of first. Fireballs, and such."

Kinndy was nodding, attention glued to Jaina.

"The first school is support magic. Think of-" She paused. "Think of Deathwing's attack on Stormwind."

"O-okay."

"He destroyed buildings and set things on fire. There were people trapped in those buildings and fires burning out of control across the city. We think of support roles as non-magical: Stormwind's firefighters and medics, the guards who led the city's population to safety, and people who helped dig through the rubble for survivors afterward. But a support mage is incredibly useful: they would use spells to find people who were trapped, to bring them water, food, and sometimes air. They could create illusions to hide people, make portals to help them escape, and prop up crumbling walls with magical force to give the medics time to reach survivors."

"I never thought of that as battle magic."

Jaina nodded. "Everyone who studies battle magic learns support spells. Everyone." She pointed at Kel'Thuzad. "He's great at illusions. I'm good at portals."

"I thought portal magic was an advanced part of conjuration?"

"The technical aspects, yes, but most application falls under support magic."

Kinndy was quiet for a moment. "Like Theramore. Rhonin made a portal so we could escape."

"Yes." She started to force her mind away from the memory of Theramore, then remembered Ysadéan's firm words about pushing herself and relented. Grief and guilt flooded her mind and she closed her eyes for a moment. "Yes, like Theramore."

She cleared her throat and continued.

"The second school is defensive magic. In our Stormwind example, defense mages will shield others from harm, and guard the medics or firefighters while they work. On a battlefield, defensive mages hold the line against an enemy, or draw their attention away from civilians or supports. They use attack spells, like fireballs, but they use them to defend, not advance." She pointed to herself. "I am a defensive battle mage."

"But you fought Deathwing like three separate times."

She nodded. "I was there to distract him or hold him so others could attack or escape. Offensive battle mages are the ones who press the advance. They attack, they push, they invade. Offensive mages start a fight or join a fight by striking at the enemy, not protecting those under attack."

She paused to cough, praying that she could clear her throat gracefully, without falling into a full-on fit.

Kel'Thuzad took over. "Defense and offense do blur together. A defensive mage could make a pre-emptive attack if it means shielding someone or something from harm, and an offensive mage could hold a position to antagonize an opponent. Of course, these are large scale examples. In one-on-one combat, a mage is all three, though their personal fighting style will tend toward offense or defense. For example-"

He rolled up his sleeves and rubbed his hands together.

"Throw something at me."

Kinndy took a step back. "P-pardon?"

"Throw something at me. A rock, a spell, whatever you want."

She glanced up at Jaina.

"Go on."

Kinndy kept her eyes on Kel'Thuzad as she leaned down and picked up a fist-sized rock. "Are you gonna, uh, gonna fight back?"

"Throw it and find out."

"He's not going to fight back."

Kinndy reared back and whipped the rock at Kel'Thuzad with admirable accuracy.

The pattern on Kel'Thuzad's robes suddenly shimmered and sprang free of the fabric. Metallic thread glinted, twisted into links, and a line of silver flashed across the path of the rock, cutting it to pieces.

Kinndy yelled and scrambled back several steps. "What was that?! What did you do?"

Kel'Thuzad gestured to the chains that floated around him in a slowly turning helix. "What do you think?"

Kinndy clutched her staff. "Oh my god! I thought that stuff was decorative!"

"Don't worry too much about the details right now," Jaina advised. "Focus on how he responded to your attack."

Kinndy blew out a deep breath and nodded. "He cut up the rock."

"Right. The rock didn't reach me because I destroyed it. That's an example of how an offensive battle mage defends themself." Kel'Thuzad made a beckoning gesture. "Try it again."

Kinndy threw another rock and this time a mandala of sparkling light appeared and the rock bounced off.

"That's defensive magic. Because you made a shield."

Kel'Thuzad nodded. "Offense strikes, defense repels." He folded his hands behind his back and began to pace slowly. "As I said, in a real fight, you use a mix of all schools but it is worth understanding the differences. The more you understand, the more you find which school fits you best, the more you tailor your spells, and the stronger you become as a battle mage."

Kinndy nodded, pigtails bouncing.

"In a one-on-one fight it's important to identify your opponents stronger school so you know what sort of attack and response to expect." Jaina eased herself off the table and stood beside Kinndy. "For example, because Kel'Thuzad is an offensive battle mage, he's more likely to destroy projectiles, attack your shields, and break spells. That takes more energy and effort than placing shields and re-directing strikes. A strong defensive mage can wear out an offensive mage."

"But then how do you win against him? Just by waiting for him to get tired? How would you take him down?"

"Remember not to focus on details for now. We're not Kel'Thuzad and Jaina, we're just attack and defense."

"Okay, but really? Like… how would that work?"

Jaina clearly remembered debating with her peers which members of the Council of Six would win in a fight. It was a frequently discussed topic during their first months of battle magic training and everybody had a favourite, usually their mentor. Their contests were mostly based on conjecture since few apprentices at that time had seen their teachers in a real fight and it was always an event when anyone on the Council chose to spar. Jaina would admit that some money changed hands afterward.

She glanced at Kel'Thuzad. He was attempting to suppress a grin and failing.

"Well…"

"The only predictable outcome would be a staggering amount of property damage."

Kinndy looked disappointed and Jaina hesitated. A real battle between them would be over quickly- Kel'Thuzad was her subject, bound to serve her will, and as strong as he was, Jaina could still wrestle him under control. Would it cost me my life?

"When we spar," he began and Kinndy's eyes lit up, "she keeps teleporting me to throw off my spell-casting or move me to awkward terrain. That's not something another mage would have the stamina for. She also punched me in the face once."

Kinndy gasped.

"That was an accident. I almost broke my hand!"

"It worked though. For a second I thought you decided to fight dirty."

"Not my style but he keeps grabbing innocent bystanders-"

"-they know the risks when they choose to watch."

"It's a cheap trick!"

"And you fall for it every time-"

"-no, I choose the moral high ground because it makes a match more complex and difficult."

Kel'Thuzad put his hands on his hips. "More difficult? You should try managing these things." The chains glittered and peeled away from his robe again.

Jaina tilted her head. "Hm. Sure, let me try."

"Indeed?"

"Yes. Come on." She beckoned to him, then looked over to Kinndy. "This is how our matches go. We fight until one of us does something interesting and then we get distracted examining the spell. Learning something new is the best outcome of a sparring match, in my opinion."

Kel'Thuzad shed the chains and looped them over Jaina's shoulders.

"Lighter than I expected." She ran her fingers down the links. "Ah, I see. They're part magic and part real material. You shift the mass to whatever part will contact a physical object? That's very clever."

"Now try animating them."

The chains lifted, froze as Jaina figured out the spell, then slithered into the waiting helix. She gave them a tug.

"I like this!"

Kel'Thuzad held out his hand. "See if you can grab my wrist."

Jaina bit her lip. The hard part of the spell was shifting enough of the physical material into the necessary shape while maintaining an unbroken string of magic. After a few minutes and false starts, she wound the chains around Kel'Thuzad's forearm and pulled them tight.

He looked to Kinndy. "Another important part of mastering battle magic is learning from your opponent. Now Jaina knows exactly what this spell is and she can defend against it more effectively."

"I kind of want these now."

Kel'Thuzad snapped his fingers and the chains returned to his robe. "They're not difficult to make. I'll share the spell."

Jaina turned back to Kinndy. "All right. We got a bit side-tracked there. Now, each time you attack Kel'Thuzad, you'll see the chains or the shield. Your goal today is learning to sense the difference between the offensive and defensive spells."

Kinndy grabbed another rock. "Okay. I'm ready."


Jaina held up the singed paper and frowned.

This was the page with the unfamiliar spellmap that she had been looking at several days ago when she passed out. Inside the normal, circular base of the spell was a diamond. Arranged inside was an asymmetrical pattern of glyphs so small she could barely decipher their shape. Once she found a magnifying glass, they became even more mystifying. They were meaningless in every magical language she recognized.

But the diamond made her think. It was an uncommon shape in arcane spells because energy could be trapped or lost at sharp corners. The sort of spells that did involve shapes with corners were typically destructive, but this particular map didn't have the necessary charge points to add energy for a blast or a projectile.

She turned the page over, as though further information might suddenly appear after several minutes of checking. (It wasn't an entirely futile action; sometimes elements of spells were hidden and only accessed through actions, code words, or specific materials touching the paper. So far she had eliminated page flips and blood as possible activation methods.)

"Hold on a second…"

Jaina scoured the bookshelf for, yet again, one of Kel'Thuzad's books. It was a dictionary of magical language.

She paged through it until she arrived at the section on warlock glyphs. Though the dictionary was mostly single symbols out of context, it did have examples of how they might be arranged, and every single warlock spell was drawn in a diamond.

She compared the glyphs. None of them were in the dictionary, except-

"They're mirrored!"

Jaina flipped the page in front of a lantern. With the lantern and magnifying glass, she was able to transcribe the symbols and find them in the warlock dictionary.

They still made no sense to her. Nor could she understand why- or how- a warlock spell would be embedded in an arcane spell.

Jaina let her vision turn inward, then spread it out through the Scourge. She found the front door guardians and compelled one to page through the census until she found what she was looking for: a name and an occupation.

Zaphine - warlock.

Find them.

In the meantime, she worked out the use of the arcane part of the spell. It was a shield, an older version of the simple mandalas that Kel'Thuzad cast against Kinndy's rock throwing.

"Ma'am? Your servant bid me to speak wit' you. I am Zaphine."

Jaina stood up to greet the warlock and stopped short. She remembered how Khadgar took pause when they met, how his eyes flicked to and away from her scars. The young woman in the doorway stared just as Khadgar had, but Jaina stared back with equal surprise.

The womans silhouette said night elf: tall, long eared, with a mane of turquoise hair. But her face said something different: her eyes didn't glow; her pupils were gold. She had elegant kaldorei cheekbones but a prominent, aquiline nose, thin, feathery eyebrows, and most telling, short tusks that protruded past her bottom lip.

"Please, come in."

Zaphine approached the desk and took the seat Jaina offered. She never took her gaze off Jaina.

"It is an honour, Lady King."

Her accent reminded Jaina of the first person who called her 'Lady King'; a troll death knight who died his final death defending her kingdom.

"Thank you for answering my summons. I have need of your knowledge."

"Of course, Lady King. What can I do for you?"

Jaina showed her the spell.

Zaphine's thin eyebrows drew together. "This is a peculiar thing." She traced the arcane circle with a clawed finger, then tapped the diamond. "But this part, this I know. It takes life from one and gives it to another, to the spell-caster." She looked up. "That is what I know."

"Takes life?"

Zaphine nodded. "Yes. Steals the life-force of an enemy to heal yourself." She underlined half of the tiny glyphs with her claw. "The other part, I cannot say."

"It doesn't make sense or you can't read it?"

Zaphine paused. "It doesn't make sense to me. I am only a student, Lady King, and a new one at that."

Jaina paused to consider. Zaphine was the only visitor in the census who declared themself a warlock. "Do the glyphs have any meaning individually?"

"This one is 'open' or 'accept'. This one 'return'. This one 'meet' and this 'star' or 'light'. Together they are meaningless."

"Those are directions for building a shield with arcane magic, and that's what this circle describes as well."

They both studied the diagram in silence for a moment.

"Thank you, Zaphine. May I ask you something unrelated?"

"Yes."

"You've been here for a month. Why stay?"

She shifted in her chair and her gaze darted aside before she answered. "The Warchief says Orgrimmar is only for the orcs now. He is making the other peoples leave."

Jaina gasped. "Hellscream is forcing non-orcs out of the city?"

"Yes, Lady King."

"Where is everyone going?"

"To their ancestral lands, to other cities." Zaphine had a thick gold ring on her thumb with another band of metal held inside the edges. She spun the inner band as she spoke. "Some have nowhere. My teacher- of alchemy, not a warlock- she is tauren. She lived in Orgrimmar for ten years. Where can she go? Her life is there. Her home is there."

"By the Light..."

Again Jaina slipped her will into the door guard and flipped through the census. For the last month, the number of Horde visitors to Icecrown increased- as did the number who stayed. Three quarters of the non-Scourge population was now Horde.

"My god. I didn't know. But why here?"

"All are welcome here. Your army- human, orc, troll, dwarf- all are alike in death. You let the bugs come here, and the wolvar. You only banish those who do bad things, who steal or hurt or kill." She chewed her lip for a moment. "I could have gone to my father, in Sen'jin village, but it is not a good time to be strange, and near Orgrimmar."

Icecrown is not a home, but a place to rest. What if it becomes a home?

Jaina thought of the big, empty room Kinndy used for her battle magic lessons. It would take some serious renovation but it could house a handful of people in comfort long-term. There were other rooms, too, that could be converted like Kinndy's apartment. The Citadel had no shortage of empty spaces, and it also had no shortage of labourers that could work 'round the clock.

"No," said Jaina, "I imagine it isn't a good time to be anything but an orc near Origrimmar."

"I am no student of politics but this is bad for the Horde. The Horde is more than orcs." She looked down at the spellmap. "Hellscream is bad for us."

Jaina hesitated and chose her words carefully. "Is that a feeling that others share?"

"I can only speak for those I know."

"Thank you for this." Jaina spread her hand over the spellmap. "And- thank you for sharing the news about Orgrimmar. Sometimes Icecrown feels so far from the rest of the world."

"Sometimes that might be a good thing, Lady King."

A/N: thank you for reading! 3 I hope quarantine is treating y'all as well as possible.