CHAPTER 2
In a burst of blue light, Khadgar's messenger teleported back to Dalaran. In his wake, a faint outline of an arcane rune hung shimmering in the air. Tyrande touched the rune. It collapsed into itself, an ephemeral thing. In a blink it was gone, leaving behind nothing but the memory of the messenger's visit.
Xe'ra had agreed to see Tyrande; in fact, the Na'aru wished to see her immediately. The messenger had asked Tyrande to wait, a portal would be opened for her to travel to the place where Xe'ra resided. A tingle crept over Tyrande, to be in the presence of one of the Na'aru, an ancient being of pure light. What a privilege.
She thought of Khadgar, and what he must be enduring from the Council. The poor man. He would be hard pressed to make them believe her news. The night elves and the Kirin Tor were only just beginning to trust each other. But good, reliable Khadgar had wasted no time. The messenger had been waiting for Tyrande on her return from the Nightmare. She wished she could have had time to change her gown, Xe'ra deserved to see Tyrande at her best. She shook her head, catching herself. Such small matters were of no importance when so much was at stake. Certainly, Xe'ra would not concern herself with such things.
A low hum emanated from behind her, she turned. The air quivered, blurring, becoming like water, surrounded by a halo of white light. The portal's surface cleared, glimmering, waiting.
She stepped through, her transition into a sumptuous room overlooking the spires of Dalaran instantaneous. She smiled, rueful. Khadgar was spoiling her, making her transition so quick, he knew how much she hated portals. She should have treated him better. He was not like the others. A faint chiming, soft and melodic caught her attention. The portal vanished. She turned, and caught her breath.
Xe'ra floated above her, a being of purest light. Underneath her elaborate crown, she looked down upon Tyrande, her wings rotating around her torso, where her light was brightest.
Blinded, Tyrande fell to her knees, and bowed her head. A voice, beautiful, calming and patient entered her mind.
You wish to know how to enter the Twisting Nether while you are still living, so you might carry the Light of Elune to the one called Illidan, and protect him in his fight against the Legion.
The Na'aru fell silent. Tyrande waited. The silence lengthened. Perhaps Xe'ra wanted her to answer.
Tyrande nodded, though she kept her eyes on the smooth silver tiles beneath her. "I promised him I would return."
Xe'ra said nothing for a long while. Tyrande wondered if she had offended the Na'aru. A sensation rippled through her. She could feel her thoughts being read, her motivations and intentions laid bare. She gritted her teeth, enduring the invasion. Whatever it would take. Xe'ra's voice returned, soft, compelling.
If you do this thing, you will suffer terrible loss. There is a chance Illidan will survive without your aid if his body is retrieved in time. Would you not rather remain and lead the fight to breach the Tomb of Sargeras?
Tyrande closed her eyes. She wanted more than anything to be relieved of this terrible burden, but she had made a promise. Illidan was counting on her. He was waiting for her. She could not leave him there, suffering while the Alliance and Horde bickered amongst themselves, wasting time.
She glanced up. "What loss will I suffer?"
Again, silence. Tyrande shifted, uneasy. She sensed the Na'aru's disapproval.
In these dangerous times, strong leaders are needed more than ever. You belong in Azeroth, Daughter of Elune, leading your people. Illidan's path is his own. His choices have led him to where he is now.
The races of Azeroth must face their own challenge: to overcome their differences and ally themselves together as one against the Legion. It is unfair of you to leave this task to Khadgar, when it has been you who has seen what Gul'dan is preparing to do.
Tyrande felt the sting of humiliation. Instead of answering her question, the Na'aru had chastised her. Tyrande stood up. "No. This time, a greater duty compels me. I will not abandon Illidan. The risk is too great to wait for the others to come to his aid."
Xe'ra's wings continued to rotate. Her light dimmed. Tyrande wondered if the Na'aru had cut her off. She waited, uneasy. After a long while, the Na'aru's light returned bright once more.
Very well. There is only one powerful enough to send you there. You must ask Elune for her help. Go to Winterspring, to Elune's Gem. She will answer your call.
The hum returned and a portal opened once more. On its opposite side, the serene quiet of her reception room waited. She stepped towards it.
Tyrande. Take some time to reconsider. The cost will be too great.
Tyrande hesitated and looked back at the Na'aru. What was Xe'ra trying to tell her? She sensed a subtle change in the air. Was Xe'ra . . . sad? Tyrande thought it through. Elune had created the Na'aru. Did Xe'ra fear for her creator? But how could Elune be affected by Tyrande's decision?
Xe'ra's light dimmed, her wings slowing their rotation. They came to a halt, and Xe'ra's light vanished, leaving behind an empty shell. Shadows filled the room where her light had just been. Tyrande felt real fear. Whatever had just happened was a warning, but a warning she did not understand. She plunged into the portal, unnerved. The sooner she reached Winterspring, the better.
Elune would know the truth. Whether she would tell Tyrande was another question. There was only one way to find out.
Malfurion was waiting for Tyrande. He turned, startled by her sudden appearance. As the portal closed, she caught him glance into the place she had just left. Xe'ra glowed with light once more. Astonishment filled his eyes, but he said nothing.
Grateful for his silence, Tyrande sank onto one of the cushioned benches. He brought her a cup of wine. She thanked him and sipped, eyeing him. He had come to her as he promised, after all, in the guise of the Malfurion she knew and loved from so long ago. Despite her inner turmoil, she found a smile for him.
"How fares Cenarius?"
Malfurion shook his head. "He is the same. Hamuul Runetotem brought several druids from the Cenarion Circle, he has promised to change healers every few hours. I feel safer leaving Cenarius's side with Hamuul there."
Tyrande nodded, pleased the others had come to aid Malfurion, despite the pressures mounting daily against the druids from the Nightmare.
He gestured at the empty space where the portal had been. "Are you going to tell me what that was about?"
Tyrande swallowed her wine, its rich taste turning bitter in her mouth as she recalled the Na'aru's final words. "I asked Khadgar to arrange for me to meet with Xe'ra about Illidan. She has sent me onwards to Winterspring, to Elune's Altar."
Malfurion's face darkened. "I did not expect Elune to help you. It is against everything She stands for."
Tyrande stood up and paced to the balcony overlooking the Temple Square. Willow trees dotted the open space, their long blue branches drifted downwards, rippling in the warm evening breeze. Two lavender leaves fell and spiralled down into the empty square. She watched them float through the air, chasing and circling until they were caught in an updraught and flew away into the sky. She wished she was one of those leaves and Malfurion the other. She sighed.
He touched her shoulder. "Tyrande?"
She turned and let him enclose her against his chest, warm and solid. "I never wanted this. Do you remember how much I resisted when I had to take the mantle of High Priestess of Elune? I did not want the role, the responsibility. It was forced upon me. Ever since I have tried my best to do what is right and be a good leader. Xe'ra, she . . . " Tyrande stopped, humiliated.
"She what?"
"She chastised me, saying I should reconsider and remain here, to not abandon my people, or my responsibilities. She said Illidan's fight is his own, brought on by his own actions." Tyrande felt Malfurion's hold on her tighten. He kissed the top of her head, but said nothing. She knew he was waiting, able to sense when she had more to say. She drew breath, seeking the courage to confess the rest, afraid that by saying it, she would make it real. Malfurion stroked her hair, gentle. She looked up, and met his eyes, seeing his love for her in them. The words came out, all at once, before she could stop herself.
"She said something else. She said I would suffer terrible loss, but when I asked her what the loss would be, she did not answer. Before I left, her light went out, and she fell silent," Tyrande shuddered. "It was . . . ominous."
"And now, what will you do?"
Tyrande extracted herself from his embrace, and went to Iasar, splayed on a rug, playing with a soft woollen toy in the shape of a rabbit. She stroked the kitten, her heart aching. She would miss her companion. What if she never came back? Her eyes filled with tears. She sensed Malfurion moving closer, uncertain.
She looked up. "I will dine with my husband. Before I go to sleep, I will ask Elune for guidance. When I wake, I will have my answer."
Malfurion knelt beside her, taking her hands into his. "I will stay with you. Nothing could keep me from you on such a night as this."
Tears of gratitude came to her eyes. She didn't deserve him. "I would like that very much. Hold me, my love. Just hold me."
Tyrande dreamed of Illidan writhing in agony, the fel tethers gnawing at him, relentless. In a brief moment of respite, he looked up, right at her. His eyes, dull with pain, filled with hope. He reached out to her, trembling.
"Tyrande?"
The tethers came again, passing right through her. She felt them, as a thousand knives sliced through her, laced with poison, burning hot and searing cold; laden with hopelessness. Darkness snaked through her and she tasted evil incarnate. How could Illidan bear it, even for a moment?
He screamed, thrashing, the tethers pulled his arms and legs taut, spread eagling him, holding him steady. A much larger tether rammed into his chest, probing, digging. He panted, unable to even scream. It yanked free. Horrified, Tyrande watched as it writhed away, carrying a much larger piece of Illidan's soul with it.
The tethers let go, and he hung, exhausted, shuddering in the Void. She drifted towards him, staring at the damage Gul'dan had wrought. Dozens of tiny points of light shone through Illidan, piercing his chest, legs and arms. A Voice filled her mind, like a dagger across glass.
All of this can end. Come to me. Enter the portal, and live again.
Illidan shook his head, crying out in denial. He crawled away, his hands pressed against his ears, trying to escape. The Voice chuckled, cold.
As you like.
Another tether came at Illidan, burrowing into the back of his neck, shoving its way up into his brain. It juddered and another piece of Illidan tore away. He convulsed, his limbs twitching. Tyrande tried to channel the Light into him. Nothing happened. In the dream state, she was helpless. She could do nothing more than observe.
She touched his brow. Her fingers slid through him. His eyes opened. His voice ragged with pain, he gasped, "Please. The Light. Before it is too late."
Tyrande woke. Behind her, Malfurion shifted in his sleep, and pulled her tighter against him, possessive. She thought of Illidan, trapped in torment, fighting—while she lay warm and comfortable in her bed—to protect Azeroth.
She turned and looked at Malfurion, lost in sleep. They had dined nestled together on a thick rug before a brazier cracking with blue flames, sharing the same platter and cup. They had kissed, their love rekindling, a slow burn, awakening after its long dormancy. His eyes burning with need, he had carried her to her bed and made love to her, just as he had done on their wedding night. She shivered, remembering how he had held her against him and whispered her name. She had not felt this close to him in thousands of years. She traced her finger along the plane of his cheek. Why did it have to be now, just when they had found each other again?
She pulled her hand away. Elune had given her answer. The Na'aru was wrong, Tyrande could not stay and hide in Azeroth, not even for the worthy cause of leading her people against the Legion. She glimpsed Iasar sitting on the floor watching her, forlorn. Tyrande's heart clenched. Iasar, ever quick to sense a change in her mistress's state of mind had already comprehended something terrible was going to happen.
Tyrande reached over, and stroked her companion's nose. Iasar crept closer, uncertain, emitting a little cry, a question. Tyrande slipped from Malfurion's embrace and left the warmth of the blankets, drawing Iasar into her lap. She kissed her companion, over and over, her tears wetting the kitten's head.
"I'm sorry little one. But I must do this one last thing to protect our home—" movement from the bed made her look up. Malfurion pushed out from under the blankets and joined her on the floor. He touched her face, tender. She met his eyes, and saw his resignation, his grief, and underneath all of it, his fear.
"Somehow I will come back to you," Tyrande whispered. "I promise."
He shook his head, hushing her and took her in his arms. She clung to him, holding Iasar against her, her heart overflowing with love. Her family. Her home. She would not lose it. She would return to them. Victorious.
Atop her gryphon wheeling high above the snowy glades of Winterspring, Tyrande searched the horizon—past the towering pink and blue crowns of the frozen trees—for her destination. There. Between the woods, she glimpsed the ruins of an ancient temple, its crumbling walls and pillars huddling together against the icy winds. Her gryphon landed, its vast wings pumping, on a ledge halfway up the side of the mountain range. New fallen snow gusted up into the air, blinding Tyrande for a heartbeat.
Brushing the fat flakes of snow from her cloak, she dismounted. Ahead, the sacred Altar of Elune, protected for thousands of years by Elune's children, the Wildkin, lay waiting. The Wildkin eyed her, suspicious, as they left their caves, and gathered one by one around the Altar, their feathers rustling, defensive.
Another gryphon came down onto the ledge beside her, its talons scrabbling to find purchase on the loose surface. Malfurion brought it to a halt and dismounted. He joined her, his gloved hand finding hers under the folds of her cloak.
"Do you want me to speak to them?" he asked, nodding at the enormous owl-men watching them, hostile.
Tyrande shook her head as she scanned the assembled creatures for their leader. "No. I think it is best if I approach them alone."
She stepped forward, her booted foot plunging knee deep in the fresh snow. Malfurion's grip tightened, holding her back. "These are wild creatures," he murmured. "Dangerous and suspicious of any not their own. I can speak their language, I can try to make them understand."
Tyrande pulled her hand free, and touched Malfurion's face. "If Elune wants me to do this, she will tell them to let me pass. If not, then I shall be able to go no further."
Malfurion nodded, wary, his gaze remaining on the creatures hissing at them, their feathers bristling. "Then, forgive me for hoping they do not let you through. If they attack, I will root them. But do not waste any time in fleeing. Their magic is powerful, and the roots will not hold for long. I will be right behind you. Tyrande—"
He pulled her back to him and brushed his lips against hers, soft. "Even though I have not been a good husband to you, please know my love for you is endless. If Elune takes you away from me, please, no matter what happens, know I will never stop loving you. I will be waiting for you. No matter how long it takes. I will be here."
Her throat tight, Tyrande backed away from him, her hand still in his, one more step and only the tips of their fingers touched. Another step and she was alone. He let her go, anguished.
She turned. The owl-men waited, their diurnal eyes unblinking. She took a step toward the leader, standing in front of the Altar, protective. A cry rose up from the creatures, piercing, shrill. A warning. She knew enough to understand their intent.
Stay away, Stranger.
Tyrande halted and lifted her hands to them, palms upward. The cries intensified. The leader shook his staff, menacing her. A tremor of fear slid through her, these creatures were protected by Elune, she could not harm them. But they were permitted to tear her to pieces. Only those chosen by Elune could approach her Altar. Perhaps she had it wrong after all, perhaps she had led herself to believe her purpose was greater than it was. Or perhaps, Illidan was somehow deceiving her, and it was a trap. A dark thought slid into her mind: maybe the one who had called to her wasn't Illidan at all, but an illusion of the Legion, a trap to catch her and use her against her own people. She glanced back at Malfurion.
He shook his head, tense. It wasn't working. She sighed, relieved. It must have been a trick. Xe'ra had sent Tyrande to this place, to test her against Elune, knowing if Tyrande had been deceived, she would never be able to—
The hissing stopped, abrupt. Silence fell. Several warbles broke the quiet, soft and reverent. The wind ceased. Stillness and peace settled over Tyrande, as a beam of Light cascaded down from the heavens and surrounded her; blue, cool, and filled with power. She drank it in, breathless. Elune.
The owl-men parted, opening a way for her to approach the Altar. As she passed them, bathed in the light of the Goddess, they knelt, their plumage flattened, respectful. The leader stepped aside, lowering his staff, and bowed low. Tyrande nodded at it, her emotions tangled. So it had not been a deception after all, which meant it was all true. Illidan was fighting, alone, against the Legion.
She stopped before the Altar's massive surface, a single slab of stone, waist high, rimed with ice, lay atop two supporting ashlars. Above, a blue gem, bigger than Tyrande hung in the air, silent, dull. A tendril of light slipped from the halo of light surrounding Tyrande and slid into the gem. It flickered and came to life, rotating, reminding Tyrande of the wings of the Na'aru. Shafts of pure blue light streamed away, far into the distance. Elune's Light would be able to be seen for hundreds of miles. Tyrande staggered back, shielding her eyes. The Light was far too bright to look at.
The owl-men trilled, filled with joy. Tyrande sensed it had been thousands of years since Elune had communicated through the gem. A voice, perfect, eldritch, yet soft and pleasing echoed through the air.
"Tyrande, daughter of my heart, a great task awaits you. You must help the one called Illidan stand against the Enemy of all life."
Tyrande knelt, overcome, only a chosen few had heard the Goddess speak, she could not believe she was worthy enough to be one of them. Trembling, she answered, "Great Lady, I am ready to do what is being asked of me, but I cannot do this alone, I will need your Light to protect Illidan . . . as much as I can carry."
The gem's light sparkled against the snow as it rotated, making the ice crystals glimmer and dance.
"Though your heart is pure and your will is strong, you will not be able to carry what is needed to help Illidan. What is required to aid him in this fight will require more than this. Much more."
The gem continued to rotate but the Goddess said nothing. Tyrande waited, uncertain. Was Elune suggesting Tyrande find others who could join her? How many would it take? Hundreds? Thousands? She bit her lip, troubled. Even if she could find those who would be willing to take the risk of never returning, how would she recruit them in the short amount of time Illidan had left? She slumped in the snow, disheartened. She had come all this way, for nothing.
Despite its blinding brightness, Tyrande lifted her eyes up to the gem. "My Lady Elune, how many others do you need?"
The gem pulsated, its surface rippling with deeper blues as the Goddess laughed. Her laughter cascaded over Tyrande, musical, soothing. "Daughter, you misunderstand me. Just as Illidan is to be a conduit for Sargeras, you will need to be a conduit for me. It is the only way to defeat the enemy."
Tyrande lunged her feet, astonished. "I am to be your avatar?"
"It is the only way you can enter The Twisting Nether. Through this gem, your soul will entwine with me. I will be able to protect both you and Illidan this way."
Tyrande staggered, overwhelmed. She glanced back at Malfurion, still standing where she left him, his expression stricken. She shook her head, this was far greater than anything she imagined. She was to be a part of an ongoing ancient battle, between a god and a titan, acted out between her and Illidan. It was too much, she wasn't ready for this. She shuffled backward, her calves carving a trough into the snow.
"My Lady, I cannot. I am not strong enough. Please, there must be another."
The gem's Light glided over Tyrande, warm and reassuring. Elune's voice came again, gentle.
"There is no other. It can only be you. I will protect you, for as long as I am able."
Tyrande hesitated, what did she mean by that? A memory tugged. She searched through the chaos of her thoughts, sensing it was important. An image filled her mind. The Na'aru's light dimming, until it winked out, leaving the space filled with dullness and shadow. Tyrande's thoughts skidded to a halt. Xe'ra's warning. It had been about Elune, after all.
Elune's gem rotated above the Altar, patient. Every novice Moon Priestess learned on her first day that Elune's Light was generated within the goddess herself, but it was not an infinite source, and could be depleted, thus balance was always important. But Tyrande had seen how fast Illidan had used up her Light, she would have to channel Light into him continuously. How long could the Goddess sustain the demands they would put upon her? Tyrande thought again of the extinguished Na'aru. Elune could be destroyed. A goddess. Horrified, Tyrande reached for the Altar and gripped onto its sides, swaying. She felt sick. How could Elune even consider such a thing?
"No. I will not be a part of this. There must be another way."
"There is."
Tyrande waited, holding her breath, hopeful. Yes. Anything but this. Anything.
Elune continued, filled with sadness. "We leave Illidan to fight alone. If he fails, all life will be extinguished, not just here, but in all the worlds, until the gods and even time herself is consumed—until there is Nothing."
Tyrande choked, and a tear slipped free, hot against her cold cheek. There was no choice. Someone touched her shoulder, she jumped, frightened. But it was not one of the owl-men, it was her husband, Malfurion, his eyes dark with misgiving. He took hold of her hand and squeezed it. He gazed at the gem for a long time before addressing the Goddess, his voice rich and full of authority.
"I will go in Tyrande's stead. Illidan is my brother, after all. Although he has done great wrong in the past, he fights now for Azeroth and needs our help. It is my duty to protect him, not my wife's. I survived the Nightmare, I will survive the Nether."
In response, the gem brightened until it flared as bright as the heart of a new-born star. Tyrande shielded her eyes, shrinking back against Malfurion, putting herself between him and the Light. He should not have addressed Elune until the goddess spoke to him first.
Elune's voice cut through the air, sharp as glass. "Look into the Light and see the truth, Son of Cenarius."
Within the gem's center a smear of darkness bloomed, spreading outwards, consuming the Light. In the darkness, movement. Colours slid past, blue, green, red and gold. A planet came into view, lingering for a heartbeat before spiralling away.
Tyrande gaped. Elune had opened a portal into The Twisting Nether—a doorway to nowhere from the icy fastness of the mountains of Winterspring. The owl-men howled, fearful. Tyrande could feel her mind careening towards an edge, teetering on the brink of madness. It was one thing to see the Nether in a spirit state, but an entirely different thing to see it while awake and grounded in the world of the living.
She tore her gaze from it, forcing herself to look at the sky, the trees, the snow beneath her feet. A scream echoed across the ruins, filled with anguish. Tyrande couldn't stop herself. She lifted her eyes from the snow coating her boots to the endless, yawning Void. A little way in from the opening, Illidan thrashed, twisting, clawing at a massive, pulsating fel tether buried inside his torso, probing.
"No . . ." Malfurion whispered, horrified. He hauled himself up onto the Altar's slippery surface, shouting, "Brother! I am coming! You are not alone!"
The tether slid out, slow, grasping a piece of Illidan's heart. He spun away, sobbing as it pulled free, the violence of its exit brutal to witness. Blood sprayed out onto the Altar, Tyrande touched it. Illidan's blood, still warm, coated her gloved fingers. She held them up to Malfurion, as he moved toward the opening, cautious.
"Illidan bleeds for us."
Illidan's head lifted, slow. He shuddered, wrapping his arms around his ravaged torso. He turned, and drifted towards the portal. He brought his hand to the barrier. Unable to pass, he pressed his palm against it, as though against a window pane. Blood covered his arms, his legs, his face. His eyes, dark with untold agonies, met hers.
"Tyrande. It is too late. I waited as long as I could."
Malfurion moved in front of the portal, blocking Illidan's view. "It is not too late. Elune is here, I am here. We are going to help you."
Illidan shook his head. He coughed, hard. "Tyrande—"
"No. It is too dangerous. I will come to you, I will fight with you. Let me—"
Illidan roared, furious, and slammed his fist against the portal's surface. Stunned, Malfurion took a step back, his face ashen. Elune's voice came again, severe. "It can only be Tyrande. Illidan knows what he needs to stand against Gul'dan. You could only offer a trickle of what Tyrande can give him. No other has the connection to the Light she has. Malfurion, what you offer is noble, but in this matter you must stand aside. It must be her, or no one."
Tyrande looked up at Illidan, watching her, tormented. She lowered her gaze, shamed by her own selfish fears when he was suffering so much.
"Please," he whispered, ragged, "come to me, give me the strength to go on."
Her heart pounding, she climbed up onto the Altar and held out her hand to Malfurion to help her across. His chest heaving, he shook his head, unwilling, conflicted.
"For Azeroth," she murmured, holding her hand steady, waiting.
He cursed, angry, and grasped her hand, firm, bringing her to him. "My love—" the raw ache in his voice brought fresh tears to Tyrande's eyes. "Just live. That's all I ask. Live—and return to me."
Her throat so tight she could hardly breathe, Tyrande could only nod. She turned, and faced the portal. Illidan watched her, desperate with hope. She looked above the portal, into the Light, and nodded.
"Then it is time," Elune said. "To journey with me, you must leave your shell behind. While you are in the Nether, your body will sleep, deep in trance. You can only awaken when your soul rejoins your body."
Tyrande pressed her lips together, to stop their trembling. Tendrils extended outwards, snaking down and around her, weaving a complex web, criss-crossing until she found herself enclosed within a sphere of blue light. There was no going back now.
The sphere lifted, taking her with it. She drew a breath, astonished. This was different than levitation. She was completely weightless, she could feel nothing. She looked down at Malfurion, but he was not looking at her, he was kneeling and scooping up a body, limp, from the snowy crust lacing the Altar. She watched, horrified, as he rose up with her in his arms, sheltering her. A strong wind whipped his cloak, making it snap in the tumultuous air. He looked up. She pounded on the side of the sphere, panic taking hold of her.
"Malfurion! I am here!" But he could not see her. He stared at the sphere, unseeing, anguished. Another gust of wind sent his cloak streaming past him. He tightened his hold on her body and kissed her brow, tender. Tyrande screamed, desperate.
"Can you not hear me? That is not me, I am me. I am right—"
A shock shot through her chest, making every part of her tingle. She looked down. A tether of blue connected her to the sphere. Another jolt, stronger this time. She juddered, watching wide-eyed as the Light of the Goddess surged around the sphere and down the tether into her. So this was how it was to be done.
She hung, suspended within the sphere as Elune's Light trickled into her, slow at first, increasing little by little until it poured into her, a torrent, filling her until she could hold no more. Glowing with Light, she gasped, her eyes burning, filled with new vision.
She could see . . . everything. She cried out, exhilarated. This was more, so much more than anything she could ever have imagined. Her fear was fast becoming a distant memory. She longed to begin. The sphere floated level with the portal. Tyrande looked one last time at Malfurion, still clutching her body against his. Tears stained his face. She pressed her hand against the sphere willing him to see her. He could not.
"It is time, Daughter. The transition may be difficult."
A scream. Elune's. Or was it her own? Darkness. Spirals of light, chaos. All the dreams she had ever had merging into one, repeating over and over. She ran down a corridor. Malfurion chased her. He turned into a demon, and threw her into a pit. The pit became a garden. Her garden, filled with climbing roses. Iasar ran up to her, filled with joy. She caught the kitten and kissed her head. The kitten became limp in her arms, bloodied, her back legs crushed, shuddering in her death throes. She watched the light fade from her eyes. She cried out in denial, trying to heal her, but she had no magic left in her, she was extinguished, hollow, a shell.
Her garden disappeared, she stood atop a great citadel. Suramar. All around her suffering, devastation, death, destruction. Another demon, massive, his torso burning with fire approached. He picked her up, and held her suspended before his molten eyes. Iasar fell from her arms and tumbled to ground to die, alone. He smiled, dark, and stroked her face with a bloody talon. The tender act dissonant against the violence surrounding them. She trembled, terrified.
I have you now. Ah Elune. It has been a long wait. And now you are mine, bound to me, for eternity.
Within Tyrande's soul, the Goddess screamed. Tyrande pressed her hands to her ears, but the scream tore at her, until every part of her ached. She wept. Sargeras let them go, and they hurtled down, falling into infinity, as worlds and time passed them by, endless. Elune fell silent. Tyrande curled into herself, and knew nothing.
"Tyrande. Wake up."
A scream, male this time, pierced Tyrande's nightmare. She opened her eyes, slow. She had stopped falling. Still encased within the sphere, she turned. Illidan hung suspended outside of it, doubled over, groaning. In the distance a huge tether whipped away, bloody.
She floated over to him, and pressed her hands against the sphere. He bled from every part of his body. He was filled with holes, huge pieces of him were missing. Most of his heart was gone. She shuddered. "Illidan . . . "
He groaned, clutching his torso. "The Light—give it to me. I will not survive the next assault."
Tyrande didn't know what to do. She was locked inside a sphere, a prisoner to Elune's Light. How could she channel the Light through an impenetrable wall? She called out to Elune for her aid. Silence greeted her. She called again louder.
"Gul'dan comes again!" Illidan panted. "Hurry!"
She could see the tether, thrashing its way across the Void, malevolent, dark, twisted. She could sense the evil in it. It hurtled towards Illidan. He cried out, retreating, helpless. A jolt. Elune had returned. Tyrande cried out, desperate, frantic. The tether was almost upon them.
"Tell me what I must do!"
"Do not let the tether reach Illidan."
Tyrande threw herself in the tether's path. It slammed into the sphere. A flash of foul green slid over the sphere's surface. Tyrande tasted metal, and a spasm of pain washed over her. She grunted, and hit the opposite side of the sphere, hard.
"Quick, while there is time, before the next arrives. Illidan needs to make contact with me."
Tyrande hastened to push the sphere closer to Illidan. He half swam, half crawled to her, reaching out, his hand trembling. Tyrande recoiled. His fingertips glowed with fel energy. He touched the wall. Tyrande felt a surge flow through her, more powerful than even what she experienced at the Altar. She braced herself against the sides of the sphere, screaming as Elune's Light burned though her into Illidan. When it was over, she sagged against the sides, shuddering, weak. Elune's voice cut through the tatters of her mind, sharp, commanding.
"Another tendril comes, deflect it."
Tyrande shoved the tears from her eyes, and spun around searching for the thing. There. She hurtled into it, roaring with pain and fear. Another flash of green, another slam against the sphere. She turned, and found Illidan. He reached out to her, quaking. She stared, incredulous. After all the Light she had transferred to him, he had barely healed.
"More," he gasped. "I need more."
She went to him, and began the transfer again, her gown caught on fire, another replaced it, it too burned, turning to ash in the scorching Light. Another tether came. She took its blow, screaming as the fel washed over her. Dirty, then clean, until she didn't know what she was true any more. Over and over the dance of light and dark continued. Tyrande fought on, for Azeroth, for Illidan, for Malfurion, and now, for Elune.
No matter what the cost, Sargeras would not have her. Tyrande threw her head back as another course of Light pounded through her, her hair turning to flames of blue fire. She laughed, drunk with terror as she destroyed another tether, welcoming the pain of the Darkness within her prison of Light. Soon it became all she knew. All she lived for. It was a game, and one she would not lose.