This city is nothing like Stormwind.

It's nothing like any city I could have imagined. I have no base of comparison for it, not even things I've seen in fantastical movies and paintings. The closest thing I could compare it to would be something out of Disney.

It's tiny, maybe the size of one district of Stormwind. The roads, buildings, and sculptures are all formed of beautiful rose-tinted marble and cream stone. It's cleaner, sunnier, and colder. I wonder how high up on a mountain we must be for the weather to be the way it is; I'd like to explore to the outer edges and maybe see over the walls, but we haven't had time. The wind here gusts and whistles through tall, spiraling towers unending, and half the time I've been here, we've been surrounded by cool mist and fog that blankets the roads.

That's not to say I've been here very long, however.

We first arrived through a portal set up by vibrantly-dressed mages on the opposite end of Stormwind from the Mage Quarter, which I thought was a bit odd. After Ferris led us to a giant tower in one corner of the city, he took us inside to a colorfully-curtained, comfortable, low-lit room and asked us to wait there.

Fyr and I have now been waiting in this room for what feels like ages at this point, and all our belongings are sitting in a pile next to one of the sofas. Ferris recommended we bring everything in case we ended up needing to stay in the city, so literally everything I own in this world is with me. It's not much, of course, but it's different when you have nothing.

Whoever this Khadgar is, he must be particularly busy to issue a summons for someone, and then make them sit and wait.

He has provided refreshments, though, and I'm delighted to notice small, sweet pastries and wines sitting on a small, round glass table in the corner of the room. I take a chocolate treat and nibble at it while observing the intricate designs and lavish, ornate detail in the decor of the room. Even the seats are cushioned armchairs with velvety, royal purple upholstery and rich gold. The lanterns are magical and levitate, slowly floating around the room and providing an even, soft glow.

The chocolate flavor swirls in my mouth and distracts me, and I close my eyes for a moment to relish it. I haven't had chocolate in so long, I'd nearly forgotten the taste.

I peer back up at the floating lights, gazing with interest.

"This is the city of mages," Fyr explains to me, watching the way I stare at the lanterns, "Of all the places for someone like you to find help, this would definitely be your number one. It didn't occur to me, because any mage worth his or her title costs a fortune simply to consult; Ferris, being an outlier. I just didn't expect you to ever be fortunate enough to gain the envied attention of Khadgar himself. Though," he pauses and says more quietly, "who's to say it's positive or negative attention..."

"Who is he, anyway?"

"Arguably the most powerful, respected, and accomplished mage alive." His rich voice is casual.

"Oh, is that all?" my eyes widen. "Considering why he summoned me, should I be worried?"

"I don't know," Fyr visibly fidgets. "I'm sorry, I wish I knew more."

"S'okay," I sink further into my seat. "Nothing you could do either way anyway. But, thanks for being here."

As he nods, Fyr takes a pastry for himself, and it looks bite-sized between his giant fingers. He pops it in his mouth, chews, and smiles. "Really can't find delicacies like these anywhere other than with the magi."

I can tell he is trying to distract me, and I appreciate the effort.

I smile slightly and sip the rose wine. It has a distinct flavor of berries. This is only my first glass, but I'll admit it is helping me relax. I don't want to be that person that drinks every time anything important happens, but it was the only beverage offered in the entire room. Fresh water is rarer than alcohol here.

Yeah, good idea, Ava. Get tipsy before the biggest, baddest magician in the world comes to punish you for exploding a building. What could go wrong?

I really am feeling a whole lot warmer and looser, though. Loose enough to start complaining by the time it's reached at least two hours of us waiting, and I have to pee after having drank as much as I did, now that one glass has turned to three.

"You know," I start up. Fyr has been sitting across the room reading an old book he found on the table, but he looks up at me.

"We could be off in a tavern recovering from the horrible day we had yesterday, but no—o. Here we are, cooped up in a tiny room like children at a principal's office. I don't know about you, but I'd rather be back in the comfort of an inn, nursing a proper drink until what's-his-face decides to finally show up and not make us sit here, beer-less, bored to death, and without bathrooms."

Fyr looks like he's trying not to burst into laughter, but my train of thought is interrupted when from the veiled doorway behind us travels a loud, charismatic, and intentionally over-dramatic announcement.

"Such mistreatment indeed! This despicable injustice must be righted immediately."

I quickly twist in my seat, stunned, staring as a handsome silver-haired man dressed in silky, iridescent robes swirls his hands around and conjures in one of them an ice-cold glass of what appears to be…beer. He hands it to me, and I can't even say so much as a 'thank you' as I reach out and take it without thinking.

"Archmage Khadgar," Fyr, after sending me a teasing smirk, greets the man who just beered me.

At least Fyr has the decency to greet, stand up and shake the man's hand—as well as that of a tall, frosty-robed, white-haired night elf with a huge beard who entered slightly behind Khadgar. I, on the other hand, just sit there with a magical beer in my hands, feeling exceptionally embarrassed.

The night elf beside Khadgar notes the wine on the table and looks at Khadgar accusingly, "You've been serving my Nightrose wine to guests again, haven't you?"

"Only the best for visitors who have traveled from so far," Khadgar reaches out and takes my hand to shake it, but I force myself to put down the beer and stand up first. Then, I shake his hand.

"H-hello, sir," I choke. "Sorry about what I was saying, I think I let the wine go to my head..."

"On the contrary! In vino veritas; that's a saying from your world, yes? I find Latin particularly charming."

I blink. "You know my world?"

"I know of Earth. You didn't think you were the first to cross the dimension between yours and ours?"

"I…can't say I had any idea either way." I glance up at Fyr, who looks just as surprised as I do. That makes me feel a lot better. "Does that mean you know how to get me home?"

"I just might, with proper study. I've only ever assisted in the return of one other Earthling, and it was decades ago, so we may need somewhat of a refresher on the ordeal. However," Khadgar stands straighter, "your origin is not the most pressing issue at hand here, is it?"

He's right.

I frown, "Not when there's a frozen demon portal back in the Mage Quarter."

The white-haired elf behind him folds his arms approvingly but doesn't say anything, just waits for Khadgar. Khadgar brightens when I mention the portal.

"Correct. You caused quite a storm in Stormwind, Miss Warner. Ferris told me you're the accidental source of the portal."

I nod. I'm comforted he acknowledges it's accidental. Maybe this means I'm not going to be thrown in jail again; I feel like this time I won't have a James to break me out.

"Would you please relay to me exactly what happened and when?" the salt-sprinkle-haired man requests. His voice isn't demanding at all, just thoughtful.

I take a deep breath, glancing at Fyr for reassurance, and also with a little nervousness. He hasn't heard this either, so it'll be new for all of them. And I can't be sure how they'll react to realizing it literally came down to me just being flighty and untrusting and panicky.

But, for the first time going all the way through, I explain everything that happened with the demon, from the very first nightmare until the opening of the portal. I include how confused and lost and scared I felt, what feelings influenced me, and my lack of trust towards Fyr. I include the way people told me not to trust him, the way I always felt sort of on my guard when traveling with him… I leave nothing out, except for the fact that he has demonic runes tattooed over his skin. I don't want to get him in trouble.

I admit, I feel terrible confessing that I trusted a spirit over Fyr, but I try not to let that feeling overwhelm me. He doesn't seem to have taken it personally, or so I can tell. The man can be so hard to read.

When I reach the part about the opening of the portal, how I read the demon's words aloud, I think of how I ultimately got those two people killed and so many injured, and I feel a lump form in my throat which forces me to stop there.

Thankfully, Khadgar fills my sudden silence.

"Demons are hateful creatures capable of great destruction. You are fortunate your friends and even you yourself are stronger than you realize, Miss Warner; it sounds to me like the demon's influence was slowly seeping into your mind. That is the only way it could have successfully opened a portal through you, at your will. You did not do that yourself. You were being poisoned. Corrupted, even. I am impressed that an outlander like you was able to fight it without the slightest inkling as to what you were even fighting against."

My eyes widen. "I let him into my mind?"

"On the contrary, it sounds to me like you fought against it for nearly a month. You subconsciously channeled your fear and panic into other outlets, repeatedly draining your energy into, say, teleporting you and your friends all over Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms." He laughs at this. "Though it was unintentional, your instability may have been the sole thing keeping you all safe for as long as it did, with as little damage as it did."

"And the amulet I had?"

"It sounds like it prevented your magic from overwhelming you, but it still, once worn, allowed you to accumulate enough power for the demon to bend through fear into something vile and powerful, while still keeping it controlled until the very end, when you removed it."

"The amulet worked against me..." I drop my eyes in thought.

"It seems so." Then Khadgar glances at his wristwatch and startles. "Oh, I am late yet again!"

He abruptly begins to speak almost too fast for me to keep up.

"Now, then. Would that I could go to Stormwind right now and take care of this nasty business, it would be over with by midnight. But the Council and I have this ordeal regarding the Tomb to deal with, and I have a meeting I really cannot miss taking place in less than ten minutes. So, I am leaving my trusted friend and ally, Archmage Edoril Frostweaver, to assist you in closing the portal in Stormwind. As for your return home, I will send out summons to others I know of from your world. You will be contacted once everyone is collected. Until then, hold tight, close the rift, and get comfortable. We will call on you when we need you next. Good luck!"

I blink at the onslaught of information, both excited at the first true promise of getting home, and somewhat distressed that, as I feared might happen, I am responsible for closing the portal. Yes, I opened it, but I have no idea what I'm doing. And apparently, I had a demon poisoning my mind and helping me. How am I supposed to do it now that I'm just plain old me? Plus, I apparently had a generous amount of time to 'save' my magic. So how long will it take for me to do that again? Or, will I even need to?

My thoughts jump back to the present when Khadgar nods at his friend, gives us a fleeting wave, sweeps out the doorway, and vanishes in a vibrant crackle.

I'm still trying to process everything while the other elf, Edoril, addresses Fyr.

"Aerefyr, what are the chances I'd find you escorting an outlander?" he chuckles, and I glance between them. Fyr smiles back, and I realize they know each other. Of course they do. Of course Fyr knows everybody on the damn planet.

Fyr agrees, "Cannot say I meant to get caught up in something like this, but...hey, gotta keep busy somehow."

Edoril nods and laughs in agreement. "Are you still in the armed hire business?"

"Bounty hunting. And how is your son? I heard rumor of his role in the fights against the Iron Horde years back. I was surprised; the boy had always been so pacific, it was a shock to all who knew him to hear he'd gone military."

"Domestic bliss, now, as far as I'm aware," Edoril smiles. "His war hero days are hopefully behind him."

"Glad to hear the drifter grew roots."

I mostly have no idea what they are talking about. I'm staring at them at this point, still kinda tipsy and feeling the bewilderment at two old friends catching up and sharing small talk while I feel the full weight of duty on my shoulders...and also my bladder.

"So..." I put in when I catch more than two seconds of open silence. "About this portal I'm supposed to close?"

Edoril flicks his strong, glowing stare over to me. I can tell he's so much older than Fyr; I know they're supposed to be immortal, which makes me wonder seriously how old this dude is. He has age lines around his eyes, and his voice is strong yet ancient.

"Yes, the portal! By using Khadgar's written volumes on demonic rifting, I will instruct you on how to close it; because you summoned it, it holds your magical fingerprint. Closing it will be far easier for you than anyone else."

"Don't worry," Fyr nudges me with his elbow, "he knows what he's doing."

"Oh I don't doubt that; I just doubt my usefulness," I frown, unsure whether I'll be able to control my magic when the time comes. "But, I'll do my best."

"That's all we can ask for," Edoril smiles at me. "You're both free to go for the night. Meet me back in front of this building at 8:00 in the morning, and we will return to Stormwind to reverse what you started."

"Thank you," I shake his hand, not sure what else to say. I wish I could have thanked Khadgar as well, but apparently, I'll be seeing more of him, so I haven't missed my chance.

I turn to Fyr once the mage leaves, and look up at him expectantly. Before I can ask him where we're headed, he lifts a brow at me.

"I think Miss Drinky needs to sleep off some of her wine," Fyr hides his expression and scoops up our bags, swinging all of them over one big shoulder easily.

"I'm not 'drinky'," I take his bait and argue as I follow him out the doorway, but immediately hate my timing. My foot catches the silky curtain in the doorway, and I stumble, hopping loudly twice and falling to one knee before I can untangle my leg from the fabric.

Ever the gentleman, Fyr sputters into provoking laughter at me and escapes down the stairs, and I throw angry curses at the curtain, slapping at it for good measure. Then I wordlessly follow the elf into the marble city.

"You will need to focus and recite this spell within fifty meters of the portal, and it will banish the rift," says Edoril casually, as if explaining how to replace a flat tire or something. "If it were me trying to do this, I'd have to pull out all kinds of transference spells and siphoners, but because you are its sole charge, you have made our lives much easier."

Then he hands me a large potion, like the red healing ones Fyr had given me last month, but almost silvery blue in color.

"Drink this; it will prepare you."

I take it like a shot. I don't feel much of a difference, other than my arms and legs and mind all feel a slight degree more alert. But that might all be in my head. I look around.

I'm standing here next to the remnants of the Blue Recluse inn, staring at a large, shimmering, greyish green tear in the air, trying not to let it intimidate me into losing my nerve. I created this thing. Me. I can get rid of it in the exact same way I made it: just by reading words off a page. It is really that simple. Don't mind the gathering crowd of people behind us, or the fact that heavily-armored guards are swarming the area, all watching me like I could explode any second. For all they know, I'm just another mage trying to help, right? They don't even know what I can or have done, and they still know not to trust me. Still, though, the guards only let us in due to this guy Edoril informing them it was a direct order from the Council of Six. Whatever that is.

I take a deep breath as Edoril lays the giant book out before me, outlining the words I need to recite. They are nothing like the ones I spoke to create the portal. The syllables are smoother, not as 'jagged' feeling, with softer consonants and more long vowels. More 'normal', said simply.

I read it once in my mind to rehearse, and the simple action of doing so awakens the magic in me. It's had a couple of days to recharge with no amulet to control it, and although I've become used to the feeling of constantly having static electricity under my skin, it's still weird to feel it come to life.

It hums in me, awaiting orders. My emotions are controlled enough that I'm still fully in charge here, not the magic. I'm not even afraid I'll launch myself a thousand miles away afterward, because I'll be drained enough from reciting this spell that I won't be capable of that anyway for at least a few more days. Win-win.

I force my mind to stop distracting itself. I have a job to do and people counting on me to do it.

I recite the first line of words quietly, and my magic buzzes at my fingertips, surging up and down my arms and shoulders.

Edoril nods encouragingly at me, and he and Fyr both step away from me. I hear the collective feet of the crowd around us following their lead and backing away from me.

Second line. The magic trails into my feet, then back up into my hands, and doubles in strength.

Third line. I feel it seeping from my fingers outward to the portal, and I mentally will it to find its target, attentively holding my hands out in front of myself to steady it.

Fourth line. It's an invisible barrier that begins to surround the rift on all sides, like a forcefield.

Fifth line. The barrier collapses inward, and somehow in my own way, I understand how it's working. It's suffocating the door. It's cutting it off, disconnecting its signal, snuffing it out. It gives me a feeling of absolute finality.

I put everything I have into that now, draining my energy directly into destroying this thing. I can feel it pushing against me, but I push harder.

The green rift flickers, darkens, blinks, and disintegrates into a grey mist that implodes into itself, receding smaller and smaller until there's nothing there. The crowd behind us gasps and begins to cheer, and a collection of what looks like burly carpenters and masons standing around underneath a large makeshift tent (which wasn't there yesterday) immediately begin to swarm into the area, clearing out rubble and preparing to rebuild. They really don't waste time.

My magic tethers finally break, and suddenly I'm left so drained of energy I feel like my knees will give out. Shit. It's not hard for me to guess what's about to happen next.

Somebody catches me before I hit the ground, but my eyes are so heavy that I can't keep them open.

Rough hands gently pat my cheeks after what feels like a quarter of a second later, and I jolt my eyes open, which feel dry and swollen.

My travel guide's angular, glowing eyes hover twelve inches above mine. "Wakey wakey, Princess."

I blink twice. "Stop," I try not to laugh, and shove his chest. "Why'd I pass out? That's kinda embarrassing."

"'Cause you're a newbie," he teases, still sitting over me. "Still can't handle the heat."

I realize I'm lying down in the grass, face-up, with him kneeling with his legs on either side of me and his head blocking the sun out of my eyes. Flower petals from the apple trees around us float lazily in the air, and one of them collects into Fyr's vibrant amethyst locks.

I gather my bearings and send him a smirk.

"You've got me trapped, you oaf," I push at his unsettlingly-muscular thigh, and he grins.

"You're right where I want you," he leans down toward my face, and for a moment, I think he's about to kiss me. I'm even more bewildered when I realize that I want nothing more than exactly that.

But, he simply kisses the tip of my nose playfully, and then helps me up. I feel a flutter of pleasure at the affection, but disappointment that I didn't get more.

"You would be right there in her place had you performed that spell," Edoril defends me to Fyr, and I send him a grateful sigh.

"Thank you, finally someone's on my side," I shoot Fyr a side-eye while standing upright, and then I survey the area.

The portal is indeed gone. I'm both shocked and delighted that everything went as smoothly as it did; after every flop I've experienced since arriving here, this is a nice change of pace. It gives me hope for the future, rather than despair after what has happened. These mages know what they're talking about, and they just proved it through me and the fact that all I had to do was recite a spell they gave me, and it fixed my mistakes.

Well...not all of them. I can't bring those people back to their families. I wonder if this is in any way close to the guilt Fyr felt when he was young.

I don't realize my expression has darkened until Edoril alerts me.

"I would like to continue your magical education while we await Khadgar's process. Would you?"

"What, you mean training? Mage training?"

"It might at least give you some sort of outlet, some way to feel more in control. And I would also like to study deeper into why you are capable of such a vast magical capacity without...well, without disintegrating, to put it bluntly. As far as Khadgar was aware, anyone who crossed over here from Earth prior to you was nonmagical; they simply were in the wrong place at the wrong time and ended up here."

"No one before me even used magic to get here?"

"They did, but it wasn't their own. Typically, it happens in a wormhole anomaly: An unlicensed or careless mage here in Azeroth might accidentally tear a hole between the two dimensions, and someone can fall through one way or the other. Of course, it's not like it happens a lot around here. As far as Khadgar is aware, only three times in his lifetime has he encountered someone from Earth. You, now being the fourth." Edoril smiles as if to laugh at himself, "But back on our original topic lest I spew an entire manuscript at you in the middle of the square: would you be interested in training?"

"Yes," I blurt without even having to think about it. Considering how I felt when in better control of my magic, I know it's something I need for the sake of my own sanity. There aren't proper words to describe how great that security felt after so long of feeling vulnerable.

Beside me, Fyr doesn't look as enthused as I do about this, but he doesn't interject.

Edoril is visibly pleased. "We will study in Dalaran; I have all my tomes there, ranging from simple to complex. You and Aerefyr both may stay as long as you'd like in my guest suite. Separate bedrooms, plumbing, food, anything you need can be addressed."

I stare at him slack-jawed. "Wh-"

"Thank you," Fyr interrupts my questioning and shakes Edoril's hand, "That's incredibly generous."

I like how Fyr accepts gifts without question, like he knows a good deal when he sees one, but I'm still sitting here shocked that we were even offered such a thing by someone we don't know. Or, well, someone whom I don't know. I guess Fyr's lack of surprise at Edoril's kindness is a compliment to the guy.

"Bah, the suite is collecting dust. Ava's education will be a welcome project, considering everything my colleagues and I have been up against this past year. 'Twill be nice to have a proper hobby. And as for you two, you look like you need a steady roof and a change of clothing."

I don't mind being called someone's hobby, I decide, when he's a polite, helpful man who only wants to fix my problems and keep his mind busy.

"Thank you so much," I force the words out amidst my thoughts, as well as the remainder of shock that he'd just offered to house and feed us both.

Edoril nods happily and sets off back toward the Dalaran portal. As we fall in line behind the mage, I give Fyr a look that reads, Who is this guy?

Fyr just offers me a knowing smirk and walks on.

~ . * . ~

Three weeks fly by in a whirl of studying.

…Well, studying, with a side of my lower abdomen trying to kill me. Mother nature paid me a visit the day after we settled into the suite, which threw me entirely off-guard. I'd completely forgotten that entire aspect of having a uterus, and it was stupid of me to brush it aside, as if being on a different planet changes the laws of nature. Not to mention, I am fairly sure it came late, and I didn't even realize it; the last thing I'd have needed to bring back to Earth was a mini-James from a one-time mistake. Fortunately for me, the maid who works here was kind enough to help me address the issue discreetly. Apparently, the women of Dalaran prefer enchanted self-cleansing liners, something I couldn't have imagined up in my wildest dreams. But once I'd managed to purchase a set of three of them from the nearby tailor shop, I knew they were heading back home with me. They weren't cheap, but after having used them for the whole week, I understand now that they are very worth every silver.

As for the studying, I find that I'm more excited every day to learn new tricks and spells, waking earlier and earlier every day, until today, I'm up before Edoril himself and am now waiting in his study, poring over the tome we started yesterday about conjuring and freezing water.

A large mug of the Zandal roast coffee Fyr bought for me rests on the desk beside me, its hot, lazy vapors filling the warmly-lit room with its rich aroma. I sit in a comfortable armchair, cross-legged and slightly sideways.

Edoril hasn't yet taught me any offensive or defensive spells; he's on the contrary been helping me to control my magic, understand it, and has given me little incantations that help separate my magic from my emotions. On the first day, he ran 'tests' on my magic to understand its potency, and confirmed that it was stronger than anyone's he'd encountered before - or, at least, anyone untrained. So most of this week has been me learning to control myself, as well as little manipulations of matter like starting a small campfire, and putting it out with frost. Edoril says that any training at all will help me prepare for what's ahead, considering we don't yet know how much magic will be required for me to return home.

Just the fact that he says it's possible at all is enough to lift my spirits higher than ever.

He also tells me that telekinesis is within the abilities of most mages and that we might work up to it, which really excites me. I'll feel like a bona fide Harry Potter witch by the time we're done with this.

I've just begun reading a paragraph about the dangers of mixing hyperhumidity and frost magic when the heavy door of Edoril's study creaks open, letting in a draft of cool air that unsettles dust on a stack of books beside the doorway.

Expecting Edoril, I'm surprised to see Fyr slip through the entry and let the door close behind him.

"You're up early," he folds his hands behind his back and walks casually toward me, observing the various open books strewn about with mild interest. His boots thud softly against the thin rug underneath them.

"I could say the same for you," I take a sip of coffee. "What's up?"

"Just wanted to see how you're faring. You're out all hours of the day, it's a wonder I see you for the five minutes I do in the evenings before you disappear into your room with an armful of books," he says this conversationally, but it makes me laugh.

"Lonely, are we?" I say, setting the book aside and sitting back in my armchair, crossing my legs as I hold my coffee under my nose to hide my smile.

He bites the inside of his cheek to avoid smiling at this and peers at the book I was just reading, coming to lean his narrow hips against the desk beside me. He's so tall though, it's more like he's sitting on it.

"Frost, huh?"

"He's teaching me how to subdue my excess magic in the form of frozen barriers and armor. It requires a constant upkeep, but it's not as volatile or explosive as heat energy or arcane."

Fyr looks impressed. "That's smart."

I take another sip of my coffee, watching Fyr. He still hasn't made direct eye contact with me and is currently fidgeting with the page on the book, way too focused on it and yet not at all, as if he's got something he wants to say and isn't saying it.

A few seconds tick past quietly, and I continue watching him, letting my smirk grow and bobbing one foot habitually.

"Have you come here to be a very large, in-the-way statue, or is there something you need?"

He finally flicks his eyes to mine.

"No, I came to ask you something."

I sip my coffee again expectantly.

He straightens up, folding his arms again.

"Four days ago, I accepted a fairly expensive contract to find a missing person, and I think I may have tracked her down. But it'll be somewhat of a trip; she's in Highmountain."

I'm about to confess that I don't know where that is, but he keeps going after two seconds of pause.

"So, I know that you're devoted to your training, and I know that this is somewhat futile of me to ask, but would you...perhaps...be interested in coming with me?"

He exhales, like holding that question in was far too difficult.

It's everything in my power not to grin at him. This four-century-old elf just reminded me of a high school boy asking a girl to a dance. Minus the flowers and the overall feelings of teenage frustration.

He then starts speaking very quickly when I don't immediately answer.

"It may take a few days, but we can bring your tomes, and I would be happy to provide help and suggestions where you need them. I just think that it might be an experience you wouldn't want to pass up, considering you may never have the chance again. It'd also be a good way to pass the time while Khadgar works to put everything in order. And," he puts in last, speaking a degree quieter, almost a mumble, "your company isn't the worst in the world."

I set my coffee aside, now unable to stifle a tiny smile. "So I'd be coming with you on a real job?"

"It's not dangerous; the woman I'm tracking went missing from the city ten days ago, but all my sources have directed me to Nesingwary's camp in the north. Which," he adds in, understanding how lost I am, "is about two hours away if we ride by gryphon."

Gryphons. I know what those are, now. James explained it to me on the journey through the Wetlands: they're half-lion, half-eagle beasts trained to carry great weights, including people, over vast distances. The next time I see one descending from the sky, I'll do my best not to panic and teleport Fyr and myself into a snowy wasteland.

I glance around me at the books, comfy chairs, coffee, and candles, then back at Fyr.

"It's too bad we can't take all these nice things with us when we go," I comment as I stand up from the armchair.

Fyr sends me an approving look. "Unfortunately, you're correct. But I can bring the coffee."

"At least you have your priorities straight," I pat his arm teasingly and reach around him to grab the tome I was reading. "Is Edoril aware that you plan to whisk me away?"

"I spoke with him before I came to you."

"He's awake?"

"Mhm."

"Guess I should pack?"

"Absolutely," he says high-spiritedly and steps aside, letting me pass.

I know that the last time I saw a gryphon, I overreacted. But that is absolutely not to say that they are non-threatening creatures. They're easily the biggest beasts I've ever seen in person, and their calculating golden bird-eyed stare is terrifying to catch, considering that a beak that size could snap my forearm in two. I have to put nearly all of my focus into maintaining an invisible frost barrier charm in order to keep my magic under control; we certainly wouldn't profit from teleporting randomly right now.

Fyr and I are standing off to the side of a large, circular stone landing that reminds me of a helipad, though three times larger, and much more decorated. Beside us are stable hands who work quickly to saddle and prepare our gryphon, a tawny and white-colored monstrous half-eagle, half-lion beast that seems better-trained than any animal I've ever encountered. The stable hand tells it to lift a front leg in order to loop part of the harness, and it does so without hesitation. This obedience might be the only thing keeping me as calm as I am.

The obedience, plus Fyr's calm presence beside me.

What he said last week about things changing without the demon around was more right than I could have realized at the time. I went from always being on my guard around him to feeling a sense of peace or safety with his familiar and constant presence. Just knowing that there's a seven-foot-tall bodyguard no more than ten feet from me at all times is a comfort, as it would be to anyone.

Once the stable hands have finished, they give Fyr the reins. He takes my shoulder bag, lent to me by Edoril, and straps it snugly into a set of iron hooks by the rear of the saddle. Then he does the same on the other side with his own tattered bag, and climbs into the seat. I tentatively climb on behind him, sinking down snugly into the leather. It's far more comfortable than when I rode the horse with James; the back of this saddle has a little more support, like it's made for long rides. The only downside is the huge feathers pricking my legs, as the creature's wings are folded hard against its side, and the huge wing feathers are almost as stiff as plastic.

Fyr then pulls two cords from each side of the saddle where my legs are resting and essentially straps me into the seat by the thighs.

"For turbulence," he explains calmly, and then leans forward, "You'll want to hold onto either my belt or around my waist. The air current behind you will be like a vacuum as we pick up speed, so hold on tight."

I can feel my heartbeat in my ears. The gryphon is antsy to get going, and I have no idea what to expect. I can't see anything but clouds around us, so we must be incredibly high up. And somehow, this animal is going to carry us through the air for two hours.

I'm not prepared for what happens next.

The gryphon lurches forward, and I grip my hands in tightly at the loops on either side of Fyr's belt, leaning in close to where I'm nearly pressing my head against his back. Wind whips on either side of us as the animal picks up speed alarmingly fast, its legs pounding against the stone landing, and then, suddenly, we're falling.

I feel as if my heart has simultaneously leapt into my throat and also fallen out my toes.

I can't help but let out a cry of surprise as my whole body feels instantly weightless. My thighs pull at the straps; if not for them, I'd have floated straight off. Fyr's gripping the gryphon's sides with his knees and holding onto stirrups, which keeps him snugly in the saddle. I scrunch my eyes shut and cling my arms around Fyr's stomach with everything I have, trying my hardest to take slower breaths.

Then, as suddenly as it left, gravity returns, and the bird has leveled out.

Thanks to the wind, I receive a face-full of Fyr's ponytail, which whips over my eyes and blurs my sight. But what little I can see, as I open my eyes and attempt to peer back at the city we just left, is astonishing.

Dalaran City is not, as I assumed, attached to a mountain. We're miles, at least, above a vast stretch of blue ocean, and off in the distance, fractured islands rise out of the water like beacons. Fluffy white clouds drift lazily beneath the floating city, and morning sunlight ignites everything in the sky in warm pink and yellow, including us.

I tighten my grip around Fyr's abdomen and take a deep breath.

Nothing in this world is normal. Not the city we just 'fell off of', nor the creature we're riding, nor the man whose waist I have enclosed in a death grip in my arms. A small part of me feels a streak of appreciation for this, but I stamp it out quickly. I really can't afford to get attached to this place.

Or its people.

For the first time since arriving here, and with a jolt of shock to boot, I feel a pang of impending regret in going home. The mixed emotions are intense enough for me to nearly forget the fact that I'm currently passing through a cloud miles above an ocean, kept safe by nothing but straps on my legs and a very large man acting as my anchor.

Am I truly so attached to this person in front of me that the idea of going back home, back to everything I know and love, has been tainted by the idea of leaving him?

Or, perhaps, is this an odd form of Stockholm Syndrome, where I learn to love the place that's imprisoned me, and by extension its people?

I can't let that happen. I have a family back home. An entire life left in the dust. I wonder what my absence is doing to the people who care about me. I wonder if they think I am dead. The idea makes a knot tighten in my chest.

And I wonder if, when I get home, I'll realize too late that I miss this place as much as I miss Earth.

I inhale the clean, cold high-altitude air and dare to look down again. We're soaring at frightening speeds, slowly descending toward the closely-packed, mountainous islands that peek above the vast expanse of crystal blue ocean.

The wind whips my face and eyes if I peer too far past Fyr, so I use him as my shield against the elements and press the side of my face to his back, turned away from what is now a vivid morning sun shining directly onto us and the rest of the world.

We fly on for what feels like ages. The creature we're riding seems to have barely put in effort the whole time, resorting to coasting slowly toward land by gliding his great wings and allowing gravity to pull its own weight, so to say.

Before I know it, we've crossed the threshold between sea and land, and now, as we pass over an abrupt forest of red, pink, orange and golden trees, we are but half a mile above them. In comparison to the vast altitude of the floating city, I almost feel like I could reach down and touch the tops of the trees. But I don't have half-mile arms, so that idea is shot down.

Far off in the distance ahead, obscured by atmosphere and clouds, I see a great shadow of a mountain stretching far above the colorful forest, and I quickly deduce that that's exactly where we are headed.

"That's Highmountain?" I have to shout.

"Yes," Fyr's deep voice is nearly lost in the wind.

I decide not to try to further the conversation, simply because I know that most of it will likely consist of me shouting, 'What?' every ten seconds.

Sure enough, after about thirty minutes of us speeding along above the treetops, the gryphon begins its ascent, and I can tell that this is where the real challenge begins for the animal. It beats its wings with incredible force, launching us upward with jolted movements as it begins to circle up what's almost a perfectly vertical cliffside. Scarcely even trees can find outcroppings large enough to grow here, but at one point I am shocked to see a small ledge attached to a cave with manmade torches lining the entrance. Where this cave leads, I have no idea, but the ledge leading to it can't be more than three feet wide, with no safety.

But we pass the cave without slowing, and I secure my grip around Fyr for good measure.

I want to adjust my seating position and stretch my legs more than anything by the time we finally round the top of the mountain, which I'm surprised to see is not so much of a peak, but a plateau. Before us stretches an expanse of fir trees and rushing rivers, occasional snowy peaks rising up off in the distance in all directions. Our mount drifts effortlessly over miles and miles of this until finally slowing and circling down into a clearing amidst pines, next to a steep mountainside.

I'm glad Fyr told me to dress in layers. My hands feel stiff with cold, and my cheeks are most definitely red from wind burn, but the rest of me has survived the trip well enough.

Our gryphon thunders to a rough landing near the edge of what I now see is an encampment of mostly dwarves.

I'm helped off by a stout woman with a braid as long as she is tall, and she helps me grab my bag from the snug hooks on the gryphon's saddle as Fyr does the same on its other side. Stable hands immediately set to feeding and watering the spent animal and removing the saddle, and I try to walk on wobbly legs after Fyr, who apparently has his destination in mind because he walks with purpose toward a large tan tent in the center.

As he walks, he retrieves a water skin and hands it back to me with a knowing smile, and I set to rehydrating as he seeks out and begins questioning a busy-looking dwarf with a thick golden beard. Fyr asks if he's seen a human woman with raven hair, and he offers a small black and white picture of her for reference. I'm shocked to see what looks like a polaroid in Fyr's hand. Do they have cameras here?

The dwarf nods, but says she left the camp early this morning. He also gives me a funny look, glancing between me and the photo.

"You humans all look the same. If I weren't payin' attention, I'd think she was you."

Fyr thanks him and moves on.

I myself am surprised at how quickly Fyr has centered in on this person, who has apparently been missing from Dalaran for a good while. I wonder how much effort Fyr had to put into finding her whereabouts in the past week before coming to this point. While I was learning how to manipulate ice, Fyr was definitely researching.

Fyr pushes further, asking more and more people what they know of her plans, if she told anyone where she'd be, what she'd be doing, etcetera. But just when I'm fairly sure he's about to resign to the idea of setting up camp here and waiting her out, a very large bull-man (Fyr tells me they're called Tauren) with great antlers like a moose reveals that this woman, whose name I've learned now is 'Amanda', left to harvest a rare, medicinal fungus from the nearby caves.

Fyr's renewed energy boosts my own, and I find myself excited as he and I head out of town. I struggle to keep up with him.

"Do you...know...the area?" I ask in bursts, panting, as at this point I'm nearly jogging.

He slows just barely. Sometimes I feel bad for making him walk so slowly, but a much more important part of me appreciates the relief it gives to my poor shorter legs.

"Yes, I was here only eight months ago. I think I may know just the cave she's exploring. It's not far."

I don't ask any more questions. At one point, we reach a narrow, fast-moving river, and Fyr manages to walk across a tactfully-placed fallen tree with the grace of a cat. I take twice as long, more than once nearly slipping and falling into the white, frothy water churning below.

But that's the only excitement in the whole trip. Just pine trees, pine needles, more trees, and more needles. I don't see a single animal or hear anything aside from birds twittering in the trees.

We walk along the tree-lined slope of a mountain for nearly fifteen minutes until we come across the open mouth of what is apparently the cave we are looking for. Fyr stops me in my tracks, though, and holds an index finger to his lips.

Footsteps are approaching from within the cave; one pair, if I'm not mistaken. They're light, but noticeable, and I subconsciously shrink behind Fyr.

Apparently, Fyr sees the person before me, because I see his whole body tense and his hand immediately fall to the knife at his belt. I hold my breath.

Suddenly he sweeps forward, drawing his knife and catching the person off guard right at the cave exit. He grabs a tall, slender figure and pins her to the cave wall, holding the knife to her throat.

She's an elf. But she's slighter, skinnier, and "pointier" than any of the night elves I encountered so far. Her eyes gleam green, the likes of which I have only ever seen come from the demon portal I created last week. Her ears point skyward. Her skin is pallid, almost ghostly, and her hair falls over her shoulders in thick, deep black waves.

Fyr's voice is a quiet growl. "Cooperate, Horde, and I will set you free. We are searching for someone. Have you seen this person?"

I'm beyond shocked at his treatment of this woman, and for a second I don't notice him beckoning me to grab the photo from his pocket to show her. Clearly, he doesn't want to loosen his grip even a smidgen.

Glaring at him, I grab the photo forcefully and hold it up to her.

"Is this seriously necessary?!" I hiss at him.

The poor elf woman looks more surprised than anything, and wary of the eight inch blade at her neck. But her eyes flick to the photo, and to my own surprise, what looks like recognition flits across her features. Then she douses it with a look of nonchalance.

"Yes, she was just in there," she jerks her head toward the depths of the cave. "And no, I did not hurt her. Now, if you would please remove your knife, I have no quarrel with the Alliance."

Fyr stays there for longer than this woman or I prefer, studying her look of annoyance, and finally seems to decide that that's all it is—annoyance—and slackens, sheathing his knife.

As soon as he takes a step back, we all hear a muffled, animal-like growl sound from deeper within the cavern, and Fyr stiffens yet again. The elf woman stares off into it, looking alarmed.

Fyr obviously reads this growl as a threat, because out comes his knife again, and without warning me, he plunges into the dark after it.

I share a hesitant glance with the woman, but she cuts it short by hiking her bag over her shoulder - the action catching my eye as an item inside it glows through the fabric - and making to leave before Fyr can return. I don't blame her; he wasn't exactly polite.

Nervously, I shuffle after Fyr. The walls of the cave are narrow and wind around a large arc, but finally open up to an irregular, circular center. I freeze when I see what it holds.

Fyr seems to have frozen as well, hiding himself behind an outcrop of stone and peering past it. Across the room is not, as I'd hoped to see, Amanda, but rather an oversized, angry bald green man wrenching himself free of ropes around his hands and feet. Around him are items one would expect to see in an overnight campsite. Bedroll, bags, charred campfire remnants, and a small iron cooking pot.

I realize I'm exposed a half second too late.

The creature, which I deduce from having heard about them is an orc, whips his intense yellow eyes directly to me, and with that glare comes a fury I'm painfully unprepared for.

In the corner of my eye I see Fyr's panicked (or, frustrated?) movement to yank me out of sight, but the second the ropes fall from the orc's wrists, he gives a roar, scoops up a rusted axe I previously hadn't noticed, and lunges at me.

I feel my frost shield intensify as I stumble backward, holding my hands up and doing my best to dodge as the dude's axe crashes down against an invisible barrier that knocks both him and me away from each other—me, flat on my back, and him, stumbling backward four steps and dropping his weapon. It's enough to confuse him just long enough for Fyr to attack.

I have never seen Fyr so frightening. Not even in the nightmares I had, nor the images of him that crept into my mind, nor even when he fought the bandits in Feralas. He also seems to have forgotten that he owns a knife. His clawed hands crunch against the orc's nose one after the other, and the orc gives a howl of pain and rage. His pain only seems to fuel him, and he turns on Fyr; they are now two furious, gigantic men clashing in a brutal and primal fight.

They grapple and hit, bite, and kick, and finally Fyr manages to throw the orc against the rock wall of the cave, colliding the green man's face with rough, jagged stone.

The orc bleeds profusely from his nose and upper lip, now forced to go on the defensive as Fyr's relentless swipes of clawed hands slice his tough skin. Fyr has longer arms and is quite taller, and he bears down on the green man with a clear upper hand. Despite the orc's bulk, he doesn't seem as skilled in fighting itself. This goes directly against what I have heard of his type, but I'm not disappointed by any means.

Then I notice before Fyr that the orc, who dropped his axe, has inched ever closer to it and is half a second from taking it up.

I lunge forward from where I've flattened myself against a far wall, slamming one hand against the stone floor without contemplating what I'm doing. The floor freezes under my hand, and almost instantaneously, the ice crystals spread across the ground, straight to the orc's feet. Before he knows it, everywhere from his knees down has suddenly been encased in ice with a loud 'crack'. The shards continue to grow up his legs, creeping along his trousers higher and higher until they're nearly to his waist, and still rising, yet much slower now. Part of me worries they'll freeze him to death, but one look at the fiery glare in his eyes, and I get the feeling that's impossible.

Fyr staggers back from the orc, blood trickling from a corner of his lip. His long left ear has teeth marks in it, and his shirt is torn. He glances at me, panting, and raises his brows with a clear look of admiration.

The orc, incensed, flexes his fists and gives a bellowing roar and swipes at Fyr, then begins attempting to escape the ten inch thick sheet of ice pinning him to the floor. Fyr, just out of reach, lets out a derisive laugh and ignores him, instead walking to me and gently helping me up off the floor.

"Are you alright? You hit the ground pretty hard."

My eyes travel to his many injuries, but I just nod. "I'm fine. What the bloody hell was that? Why did he attack us?"

Fyr gives me a straightforward look, momentarily surprised I even had to ask before evidently remembering I'm an alien. "He's a member of the Horde, and this is a contested territory. You became his target simply because of the fact that you're a human."

An unexpected voice grunts loudly from the orc. "I didn't attack you boar-brained fools because of your race; she stole something from me!" He points a huge finger at me.

"Excuse me?" I gawk at him.

Fyr looks just as surprised as me, but not for the same reason. It's like he didn't expect the orc to speak at all.

"The bitch snuck upon my camp, stole my valuables, tied me up, left for five minutes, and waltzed right back in here like she'd done nothing." He's not speaking to me, but to Fyr, and I'm miffed that he won't even address me, let alone speak as if I'm in the room.

"I'll have you know that I've never been here before," I retort.

Fyr makes a connection that I don't, and he steps toward the orc.

"You saw a human woman in here?"

"Are you touched in the head?" The orc strains against the ice but doesn't budge, "I told you it was her!" Again, he points at me. "She took all my wares, including an enchanted orb that could have fetched a fortune! Look in her bag."

I open my mouth to snap back, but Fyr talks first.

"What exactly does the orb do?" He looks like he's putting pieces of a puzzle together, but I'm still disconcerted by the unwavering glare I'm getting from this large hulk-like man.

The orc looks like he's about to explode. "LOOK IN HER BAG!" He bellows, getting angrier by the second. "You'll find that Sin'dorei orb; she used it right before she left, so it's still glowing!"

"It wasn't me!" I yell back at him, surprising myself with the ferocity in my own voice. "You're confused! We just got here; we're looking for someone about my age, with long, dark hair, about my size, and..." I trail off, feeling exceptionally slow for only just now catching on.

"I look like her." I peer at Fyr. "Amanda took his things?"

"Not just that, but I bullied her on our way in here. She disguised herself as an elf by using the orb she stole from him."

Finally, everything clicks together. Even the orc, for the first time, looks slightly puzzled through his fury, like he's retracting his accusations.

"If we go after her now, we might find her," I say. I have no hesitation at this point in believing that someone could change her appearance magically.

"Perhaps, but if she is using a disguise, it likely means that she isn't keen on being found, let alone returned home. This may have been a fool's quest. She doesn't want to return to her husband; that much is evident now. So, the job is likely moot."

"Fuck that, I need to find her," spits the orc. "I am a merchant, and she has stolen some of my most valuable items." He gives Fyr a shrewd look. "I will pay double what her husband offered you for their return."

Fyr folds his arms, staring at the orc contemplatively. I, on the other hand, regard them with a dumbfounded, open-mouthed stare. These boys were literally at each other's throats only minutes ago, and now they're talking business.

"Merchant? That explains your ineptitude in combat," Fyr shoots, and both the orc and I glance at the many cuts and bruises littering the night elf's face but say nothing. Then Fyr glances at me, apparently thinking hard, and sighs.

"Where would I find you," he asks the orc, "if I did manage to acquire the items she took?"

"Thunder Totem. I will remain there while restocking wares and attempting to recover from this," he glances around him with a grimace, "this...setback."

"Then this is farewell, for now."

The orc panics when Fyr turns around to walk away.

"You must set me free!" He calls frantically.

"I'm afraid that does not fall under my line of abilities." Fyr pauses and turns, "That is between you and her, and I believe you're in line to apologize to the lady."

The orc is practically spitting at this, but he does glare at me. I hold my stare, despite how disconcerted I feel under such an extreme gaze. Most of my thoughts are distracted by Fyr; nothing like having a dude force another dude to be nice to me to really get my cheeks blushing.

"My apologies," he grits out, and I glance at Fyr unsteadily. Do I really want to set this angry hulk man free?

But then, I get an idea. I approach him carefully and kick some of the half charred logs from his fire pit near him. I step back, focus intently on the logs for a moment, and then a tiny flicker of flame ignites at the corner. That way his frozen legs will melt slowly.

I offer the orc a meek smile, back away quickly, and take my place beside Fyr. He's unable to quell a quiet chuckle as the two of us escape the cave.