CHAPTER 1

Tyrande sat up. Where was she? She waited, calming herself. Darkness surrounded her. This was new, unfamiliar. This was neither the Emerald Dream nor the Nightmare. It was just—nothing.

A voice, in the distance, so faint, she had to strain to hear it. Her name. She knew that voice. But, it was from so long ago. Another time, another age. Thousands of years in the past. Light came. She looked around, stunned. She had seen this before, once, while walking the Emerald Dream.

The Twisting Nether. She rubbed her hands over her arms, feeling cold. It was so vast, it made the travails of her world feel small and insignificant by comparison. She closed her eyes. It was enough, she wanted to leave.

"Tyrande," a whisper, filled with longing.

She opened her eyes. Her heart caught between beats. She had forgotten how he had looked, he was power incarnate.

Her voice wavered, uncertain. "Illidan?"

He reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek, tendrils of light sparkling where their spirits connected.

"You came to me. I can hardly believe it. I have waited so long. Gul'dan has found me. I can hold against him a while longer, but not forever." Tethers of fel energy slammed into him, crawling over him, clawing at him, tearing into him. He looked up, agonised. "Help me. I beg you, I need the Light . . . before I succumb, before I am . . . one with Sargeras."

Hesitant, Tyrande touched him, channelling the Light of Elune into him, exhausting her own supply within heartbeats. Still, he shuddered, quaking, lost in his internal battle against Gul'dan.

She gave him more, everything she had, knowing she would pay a great price on her return. She didn't care, she couldn't bear to see him suffering. He was fighting against the Legion. Alone. She had to help him. All of Azeroth had to help him. He was the key, he could destroy the Legion, so long as he was given the support he needed.

A tether snapped free, whipping away, clutching a piece of Illidan's soul in its maw.

He hung, panting, exhausted. She waited. He met her eyes, his own hollow, desperate. "Gul'dan takes me, piece by piece, giving life to the avatar that will be Sargeras." He looked away. "He has shown me all, he has my body. He takes my soul, and feeds it back into my body, corrupted. The only thing standing between Azeroth and its annihilation is my will to fight."

Tyrande nodded, her heart cold. Gul'dan was far more dangerous than anyone had considered. To be able to breach the walls of the Nether. It was unthinkable. Yet, he had done it.

"Where is your body? If we find it, we can stop this."

Illidan paled, the tethers were climbing over him again, digging, virulent "The Tomb of Sargeras. The Chamber of the Eye."

He screamed, writhing, tearing at the tethers.

Tears burned in Tyrande's eyes. It was unbearable. No longer could she see the monster Illidan had become. All she could see was Illidan, the night elf once more fighting, alone, to save Azeroth. Only this time, he might win, if she, and everyone else rallied to his side.

She touched his brow. "I will come back, I promise. Hold on, just a little longer."

Tyrande opened her eyes, her body aching. The Light of Elune filtered through the open bedroom window, bathing the room in cool, blue light. Outside, soft voices drifted past, as The Temple of the Moon's newest apprentices hurried to their classes. Below, in the reception room, one of the serving girls swept out the braziers, singing softly to herself as she prepared the day's fires. Tyrande realised it was still early, her morning meal would not arrive for at least another hour.

Curled up beside Tyrande, Iasar still slept, purring her in sleep. Tyrande stroked the saber kitten between her ears, savouring the softness of her companion's fur. She thought of the day she had rescued Iasar from the hands of those wretched hunters of Nesingwary. They had killed Iasar's mother for her fur, and captured the tiny kitten, still in need of her mother's milk, to sell to the zoo at Darkmoon Faire, expecting a handsome price. Hunted almost to extinction for their fur, a white spotted saber kitten was a rare thing.

Tyrande had come upon the hunters poaching on the sacred grounds of the Moonwell near the Pools of Arlithrien, poking at the kitten through the bars of its cramped cage, taunting it. Her lip curled in distaste. Humans. Typical. Disrespectful, arrogant fools. How she had wanted to burn them with Moonfire, but no, unlike them, she was no murderer. Instead she rooted them, and left them trapped for half a day, while her guards removed the mother for burial and took the little shivering baby away, to be nourished by a surrogate at the stables. Tyrande had gone to visit Iasar whenever she could, their bond growing day by day. When Iasar was ready, Tyrande took her home with her, and Iasar had never left her side since.

Tyrande leaned over and pressed her lips against the kitten's head, grateful for the comfort she gave during these terrible times. Iasar chirruped in her sleep, and snuggled deeper into the blankets. Sighing, Tyrande left the bed, and went to the window. Trailing her fingertips along the wooden ledge of the window, she traced the pattern of the tree's rings, her thoughts troubled.

Bathed in the Light of Elune, she considered what she was about to do. She would have to go to her consort, Malfurion. She shook her head. He was going to be difficult. Ever since he had been captured by Xavius, and lost Cenarius to the Emerald Nightmare, Malfurion had not been the same. She scoffed. The same as when? As he was before the War of the Ancients? It was more than ten lifetimes ago when they had last basked in their love, respect and admiration for each other.

Too much had happened, too many demands outside of themselves had torn them apart. Now, they were married in name only; fighting their own battles, pursuing their own separate loyalties, seeing each so rarely she had begun to forget him. She lifted an eyebrow. Perhaps he felt the same about her. Her heart clenched, the thought wounding her. So, there was still something in her heart for him. A fragment, at least.

Yet, what she needed to ask of him today would test their relationship beyond anything which had come before. Perhaps today would be the day they would part. Once more, her heart clenched. No.

She looked up at Elune, waxing full and pure in the lavender sky, and whispered a prayer, beseeching the Moon Goddess for her aid. "Please, Great Lady, guide me. Help me make Malfurion understand."

The portal's light coalesced around Tyrande, cocooning her in a seamless space of glowing white. She waited, impatient, as the transfer completed, moving her and her escort from Darnassus to Dalaran. Now she had made up her mind, she wanted to press on and reach Malfurion as soon as possible. But first, one thing must be done, just in case everything went wrong.

The white light suffused. They had arrived. The noise of Krasus's Landing reached Tyrande's senses first, followed by a riot of colour and movement. It materialised into a swarm of Alliance and Horde races, jostling and pushing each other as they bartered with the various Flight Masters for rides into the Broken Isles. Her saber cat mount snarled, disliking the chaos.

Compared to the steady calm of Darnassus, the transition was jarring. Her mount bared her fangs at the motley crowd of adventurers and opportunists loitering around the portal's exit. Tyrande suppressed a smile as a cluster of goblins scuttled out of the way, dragging their bulging bags of bizarre wares behind them. How she disliked that race, so destructive and greedy.

"Good girl," she murmured, patting the cat's shoulder.

Flanked by her Moon Guard, Tyrande guided her mount through the throng to the grand staircase of the Violet Citadel, home of the Council of the Kirin Tor. She rode up the stairs into the Council Chamber, ignoring the outraged murmurs of the younger mages. Clearly they had no idea who she was. Tyrande shook her head, Azeroth had changed so much, to think after all she had done, the day would come when she would not be recognised on sight.

A crash made her glance to the side. Several mages hurried to collect a stack of fallen books and place them back onto the table, reprimanding a red-faced female apprentice for her carelessness. Tyrande pressed on, longing to return to sacred peace and order of Darnassus; humans were so noisy. So tiresome. She passed through the grand arch, glowing with arcane runes into the Citadel's Inner Sanctum. Khadgar turned, his eyebrows lifted, betraying his surprise, though he quickly concealed it. He left the others to continue examining a text floating in the air. He crossed the room, and bowed.

"My Lady Tyrande, you honour us with your presence."

Tyrande didn't bother to dismount, she didn't intend to stay long. "Archmage Khadgar, I should like to speak with you. Alone." She caught the quirk of his brow, and the sharp look he received from Archmage Modera. Tyrande tilted her head, acknowledging her. Modera dipped her chin in return, her expression, as always, enigmatic.

Khadgar muttered a quick spell. An opaque bubble sprang up, enclosing them. Cerulean blue runes cascaded down its sides. Tyrande found the effect pleasing. She caught Khadgar's eyes.

"I have little time. You are the only one I can trust with what I am about to tell you. Illidan lives again."

An ornate chair appeared behind Khadgar. He sank down upon it, pale.

"No. It cannot be. The Na'aru Xe'ra, told me just yesterday we still had time to stop Gul'dan from bringing Illidan back." He looked down at his hands, clenching into fists. "Where is he?"

"The Twisting Nether."

Khadgar stared at Tyrande, disbelieving. "My Lady, you must be mistaken. No one is able to contact the living from the Nether. It is—"

"Nevertheless, it is so. I did not endure a portal transition to debate this point with you. Accept what I am saying as fact, since you have no other choice. You were not with him. I was."

Khadgar's lips thinned, but he nodded. Tyrande's mount stretched, and yawned, oblivious to the runes, and the bubble. Tyrande pressed on.

"I must go to him, and support him in his fight against Gul'dan. I need you to arrange for me to meet with Xe'ra. I am not sure how to enter the Nether while I am alive, but if any being knows the answer to this question, it will be her."

The chair vanished as Khadgar came to his feet, astonished. "My Lady, the Twisting Nether is the realm of disconnected souls, it would take the power of a god, or even a titan for a living soul to bypass those boundaries. And . . . even if Xe'ra were to know of a way in, you may become trapped there forever. Drifting, alone and conscious, neither dead or alive, for eternity." He shuddered, his abhorrence palpable. "It is the worst fate imaginable. No. I cannot be a part of this. Not even for you. It is too dangerous."

Tyrande pushed aside her rising qualms, his words and demeanour had struck a raw nerve. In her most private thoughts, she had wondered the same herself. But what was her life against all those of Azeroth? If she did nothing, they would all be vanquished. There was no alternative. She continued, softening her voice.

"Illidan cannot do this alone. If we leave him, just like all the other times we have done before, Gul'dan will win, and Illidan will become the avatar of Sargeras. Illidan alone stands against the Legion. He can break them from within, if we help him. If we don't, it is just a matter of time before Azeroth will fall under his command."

Khadgar blinked, taken aback. "But why must it be you? What can you do that one of the Archmages who are familiar with the Nether, could not? Kalec would be a better choice, by any account."

Tyrande stroked her mount's shoulder, thinking of how Illidan had looked at her, his eyes his own again, not the horrible burned-out ones filled with demonic light. Her heart skipped a beat. What was happening to her? What had passed between them that one time during the War of the Ancients was a mistake, long buried and forgotten. She pushed the memory aside, and met Khadgar's eyes.

"Because Illidan needs the Light. As her High Priestess, I am able to bring the Light of Elune to him and protect him with it, for as long as I am able. And . . . with me there, he will not be alone as Gul'dan preys upon him. In that place, it counts for much."

"I assume you have not yet told Malfurion of your intentions?"

Tyrande shook her head, unwilling to speak of it.

Khadgar's eyebrow quirked. "He will never agree. He has never forgiven Illidan for his betrayal at Nordrassil, nor his multitude of crimes which came after. To tell Malfurion of your plans while the Emerald Dream is turned to Nightmare, and his mentor Cenarius remains on the brink of death is a dangerous path." Khadgar paused, glancing back in the direction of the others. "I beg you, reconsider. Let the Council deliberate on this matter, if we had some time, we could make a projection into the Nether and find Illidan. Perhaps there are spells which could be woven using the energy of the time streams. I'm certain Chromie would—"

"Enough. It is not Malfurion's decision, it is mine. Neither do we have the luxury of time for the Council to confer and deliberate. I must go to Illidan. Tomorrow, at the latest. You do not know what Gul'dan is doing to him. I do. Illidan will not last much longer."

Khadgar sighed. "So be it. But I will not accept there is not more I can do to aid you."

Tyrande eyed Khadgar. "There is another matter, equally important, which I need you to address while I am away."

"Anything."

"Illidan's body is in the Tomb of Sargeras, in the Chamber of the Eye. You need to take it out of Gul'dan's hands."

Khadgar took a step back, uneasy. "Ah. That could take some time. We are still trying to gather the Pillars together, and there is some dissention between the factions of the Broken Isles, it is difficult to bring them together to face a single purpose. It is much to ask," he shook his head, resigned. "Politics. It always comes down to politics. This matter between Greymane and Sylvanas . . . it has greatly complicated our situation."

Tyrande held up her hand. "None of their petty quarrels will amount to anything more than dust should we fail Illidan. Without him, we will all fall, every man, woman, and child. It is your job to convince them of this. I am depending on you. Send a message when Xe'ra is ready to meet me. I will not keep her waiting." She turned her mount toward the exit. "Farewell Khadgar, and may Elune grant us the chance to meet again under better circumstances."

The bubble surrounding them dissipated, taking the cascading runes with it. The noise of humanity once more assaulted Tyrande's ears. She nodded to her Moon Guard. She had done all she could here. It was time to enter the Nightmare and find her consort.

Led by two Keepers of the Grove, Tyrande made her way cautiously along a cleansed tunnel into the heart of the Nightmare. To either side, beyond the reassuring glow of healthy green, the Emerald Dream's corruption pulsated, the blackened trees twisting in agony, a red viscous fluid seeping from their bark. Tyrande wrinkled her nose, the fluid's scent was complex, a combination of rotting mageroyal, over-ripe peaches and something else, something foul. Ah, yes, that was it, the stink of a satyr's den. She shuddered and hurried on, grateful she did not have fight her way in.

Ahead, soft green light, welcoming and warm filtered from the end of the tunnel. The Keepers lowered their heads, so their antlers would not entangle in the overhanging growth. She followed them down the rocky slope into a protected glade. In its centre, Malfurion stood with his back to her, keeping vigil over Cenarius, who lay limp upon a bed of flowers and sweet grasses. Dryads and treants surrounded the fallen Lord of the Forest, channelling a multitude of healing spells into him.

Tyrande approached Malfurion quietly, not wishing to distract him from his work. A rejuvenation spell, his most powerful one. Cenarius didn't respond. Tyrande arched an eyebrow, astonished. Malfurion staggered back, exhaustion etching his rugged features. She moved aside, stepping on a twig. He glanced up, sharp, irritated; his expression softening when he realised who had disturbed him. He held out his hand to her.

"My love, you came to me. I could use your assistance, now more than ever."

Riding out a surge of guilt, Tyrande took his hand and joined him. She looked at Cenarius, her heart aching. The demi-god lay limp, his massive body, half-stag, half night-elf sprawled sideways. He should never have come to such a state. Cenarius was so good, so wise. So kind. Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. She blinked them back, and forced herself to watch the labours of the others.

Life energy continued to pour into Cenarius from the dryads and treants, but despite the enormous amount of healing—enough to revive a dragon—he remained the same. She delved into his spirit searching for the reason. She drew back, shuddering. He was on the brink of death. He barely breathed. She turned to Malfurion, who waited, watching her.

She shook her head. "He needs more than healing. He needs hope. Without it, all you can do is keep him from death. But for how long—"

Malfurion turned away. He crossed the glade to a small crystalline pool. Little golden wisps danced across its surface. He stood, his arms folded across his chest, staring into the distance, his lips pressed together. She followed him, and touched his arm.

"Malfurion?"

He didn't look at her. "You did not come into the Nightmare to support me, did you? Even after everything I have endured, I still nurtured the hope you might put me first, for once. What a fool I am," he scoffed, kicking a stone into the pool. "It has always been about you, hasn't it? Just as when Xavius captured me, instead of helping me, you chose to protect your precious Temple instead. Do you have any idea how it felt to see you turn and ride away? I went into the Nightmare with your rejection as my last memory."

Tyrande drew back. His bitterness was palpable. But she had had no choice when he had been taken. How she had longed to follow him, but she had to fulfill her sworn duty to Elune first. They had lost Ysera that day, when Tyrande had had to kill the corrupted Dragon Aspect herself. So much had gone wrong since the Legion's return, and now this, her own consort turning against her. She drew breath, there was no point in delaying.

"I came to tell you I must go away . . . there is a chance I may never come back."

Malfurion turned, his heavy brows lowering. "I forbid you to enter the Nightmare, it will consume you. Even after having disappointing me so much, I could not lose you too."

She bristled at his authoritarian tone, at his arrogant assumption he knew her intentions. He had always been so, though in the last years she had found her patience with this trait of his wearing thin. She concentrated on watching the fish darting back and forth in the clear waters of the pool. She would not let him provoke her. They could not quarrel, not now when so much was at stake.

"Not the Nightmare. The Twisting Nether."

He stared at her as though she had lost her mind. "How?"

Tyrande opened her mouth to answer but he shook his head. He held up his hand, stopping her. "No, that is not the important question. If you are here, then you have managed to find a way. The real question is why. Tell me this, because I have a suspicion, and by all the Aspects, I hope I am wrong."

"Illidan is—"

He exhaled, angry, his expression turning rigid. "I knew it. While I was in the Nightmare I saw Gul'dan pulling pieces of Illidan's soul to him from the Nether." Malfurion met her eyes, his menacing, dangerous. "But why you, Tyrande?"

Tyrande fought for calm, this was going much worse than even her darkest expectations. The Nightmare had changed Malfurion, he might have escaped when Xavius was killed, but something remained, a darkness she had never seen in Malfurion before. She chose her next words with care. "Illidan contacted me from within the Nether. His call was strong enough to attract my spirit to his in a dream."

Malfurion actually rolled his eyes. Tyrande had never seen him do that before. He laughed, sharp, bitter. "So one request from The Betrayer, and you drop everything to run to him—even to the risk of your eternal soul."

Uncertain, Tyrande reached out to Malfurion, he stepped back, out of her reach, his eyes veiled. She dropped her hand, his rejection cutting her deep. "No. It is not like that. It would mean much to me if you could try to understand, please, hear me out. He called to me because he needs the Light of Elune to help him fight against Gul'dan until his body can be retrieved from the Chamber of the Eye—"

Malfurion scoffed. "The Chamber of the Eye? Do you even realise what an impossible task that is at this point in time? The Pillars must be collected and assembled before anyone can breach the walls of Sargeras's Tomb; the Alliance and the Horde are at each other's throats over the death of Varian and the Emerald Dream is crumbling." Malfurion flung his arm out in the direction of the group of wood folk surrounding the fallen Guardian. "Look at Cenarius, a demi-god. If he cannot withstand the Legion, what hope do we have? We have lost. Sooner or later, Azeroth will fall."

Tyrande gaped at her consort. "Who are you? You are not Malfurion. He would never speak like this."

Malfurion grabbed her shoulders, his grip hurting her. "What do you want from me? My blessing for you to run after my brother, a demon, and protect him with the Light of the Goddess? Where were you when I needed you? Tyrande, you are breaking my heart. It is too much. No matter what good you believe you are doing, if you do this thing, I will no longer be able to remain with you."

Anger poured into Tyrande. How dare he. She shrugged his hands off her shoulders. "So it comes to this, an ultimatum? You or Azeroth? Then I choose Azeroth, it is my home, and I will fight for it to my last breath."

He backed away, shaking his head. "I should not have forced you to choose. Of course you would choose Azeroth. As I would have, not so long ago," he sighed, and sank down onto a boulder. He looked up, his anger gone. "I am just so tired. It feels like I have spent my life fighting. I want it to stop. I saw too many things in the Nightmare. I saw the Legion win, led by a new and unstoppable dreadlord. I have reconciled myself to it, and have chosen the path of living in peace until we are vanquished."

Tyrande sank down beside Malfurion, she touched his thigh, tentative. "The Nightmare is a place of fear and lies. You saw one possible end, but we can also prevail. My love, Azeroth needs you. I need you. Illidan needs you. We can still stop the Legion."

Malfurion brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips. Tyrande shivered. How long had it been since they had been intimate? Not since his first defeat of Xavius, during Azeroth's short time of peace. She thought of their wedding night. It had been magical. She smiled, soft, at the memory.

Malfurion brushed her cheek, tender. "Stay out of the Nether. Illidan has ever been The Betrayer, you cannot trust him. He will betray you, leaving you trapped forever in the Nether. I beg you, do not go. If not for my sake, for your own."

Tyrande caught him looking at her, his expression flickering between hope and fear. She tried again. "The dreadlord you saw was Illidan. Gul'dan is bringing to life a new avatar for Sargeras, using Illidan's body. Your own brother has been chosen by Sargeras to destroy our home. No matter what Illidan is guilty of, he does not deserve this. I watched him endure unimaginable suffering to resist Gul'dan. He suffers for us, to protect us from himself. He will fight to his last, but he cannot do it alone."

Malfurion said nothing. His gaze lingered on a pair of golden wisps hovering over a lily pad, circling each other, caught in a dance of their own making.

He drew a deep breath, and let it out, slow. "Perhaps you are right in what you are doing. Ever since the Nightmare, my path—once so easy to see—is no longer clear. Everything is clouded, difficult. And this accursed fatigue, it never ends. Perhaps it is why I cannot heal Cenarius. Let me come and dine with you tonight. Since it seems you cannot be convinced otherwise, I would rather not waste what little time we have left together."

Tyrande smiled. "Only if you come to me as you were on our wedding, before your transformation into an Archdruid."

He blurred for a heartbeat, transforming into a night elf. Much better. This was her Malfurion. His other form, an enhanced hybrid being with stormcrow wings, stag antlers, bear paws, and the padded feet of a cat was the Lord of the Night Elves, and had no place in her sleeping room.

He stood, and lowered his hand to hers. "You know this is only an illusion, a memory. No one else can see me like this, only you. I lost the ability to shapeshift long ago. Thrall was kind to teach me how to alter perceptions."

Tyrande rose up, and pressed her lips to his. "Have you forgotten? I asked him to teach you."

Malfurion caught her in his arms, and returned her kiss. "It feels so good to hold you. When I was trapped in the Nightmare, it was the thought of you I clung to. You kept me from madness."

Tyrande lay her head against his shoulder, savouring his warmth. "I never stopped thinking about you, Malfurion. Ever."

The wood folk cried out, distressed, interrupting them. Malfurion turned away, abrupt, letting Tyrande go. "Cenarius! I must go to him. I will see you tonight. No matter what I will be there. I swear it."

He left her, and strode back to the others, the illusion fading, the Lord of the Elves once more taking her consort's place.

Tyrande waited for him to look back, but he did not, he made his way into the centre of the group, his voice rising above the others, filled with desperation as he cast one healing spell after another. Resigned, Tyrande turned back to the waiting Keepers, and followed them back into the tunnel.

She tried to be grateful for the brief reprieve they had shared, but somehow she could not. Already she felt the taint of bitterness overshadowing her thoughts; despite his promise, she knew Malfurion wouldn't come to her tonight. Just like it had always been, someone else needed him more.