CHAPTER 4

Khadgar leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. It had been a long day, and from the look of today's postal delivery, his work was going to drag on far into the night. He eyed the neatly piled stacks of petitions, demands and complaints covering his desk. Too many needed the aid of the Kirin Tor, each believing their cause the most important and worthiest against the Legion.

The last missive—a note from the Knights of the Silver Hand, the faction of holy paladins—had taken more of his time. He had read, uneasy, of their claim their Highlord Tirion Fordring had survived the demon Krosus's attack during the Battle of the Broken Shore. While seeking their lord's sword, the Ashbringer, they sensed Tirion's presence trapped near the Tomb of Sargeras. Four men had died before a fifth brought back the intelligence they needed. His prison was at a location called Hope's End, and guarded by a demon called Zerus. They urgently needed teleports, before it was too late.

Khadgar pinched the bridge of his nose, as familiar feelings of frustration ate at him. The Kirin Tor could do many things, but a portal to the Broken Shore was still an impossibility. The Battle had not lasted long enough for any of the mages to fix a location, furthermore, the island was seething with demons. Even if he could provide a teleport, the knights would be slaughtered as soon as they stepped through.

He shook his head, thinking of Tirion. All had believed him dead after the Battle, hundreds had seen him burned by the fel. But what if it was true and Tirion somehow still lived? Khadgar sighed, troubled. Tirion was the Champion of the Light. To learn after all these months Tirion still lived and suffered, alone and forgotten at the hands of the demons . . . Khadgar quaffed the last of his wine and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. No. The Silver Hand Knights had to be wrong. It was unthinkable. Khadgar pushed his empty wine cup to the side. One of the apprentice mages approached, trembling with nerves, and refilled it.

He glanced at her, she looked familiar. Ah, yes, the one who kept dropping books. He remembered what it was like to be new to the arcane arts, how intimidating the accomplished mages were, Medivh had certainly terrified him. He lifted his brow as she finished pouring.

"Idira, isn't it?"

She ducked her head and nodded, her cheeks turning bright red. Clutching the silver wine pitcher against her chest, she backed away from his desk, keeping her head lowered, her long blonde hair obscuring her features. Khadgar picked up his cup and walked over to his balcony, overlooking the colonnades and turrets of Dalaran's residential district. He turned and caught her looking around his office, curious. He motioned for her to join him. Hesitant, she followed after him and met him at the railing.

He sipped his wine, watching as the gryphons took off from Krasus's Landing, one after another. He pointed at one which had just left.

"I will bet you one Dalaran copper that bird is going to Highmountain."

She narrowed her eyes and shook her head. "It's going to Azsuna."

Sure enough, the gryphon wheeled hard to the right and dropped beneath the floating platform of the city. He fished in the pocket of his tunic and found a copper coin. He held it out to her.

Her lips quirked into a half-smile. "It's alright, you don't have to pay up."

"Oh? Well, that's very kind of you." With a flourish the coin became a little songbird. It sat on his finger. It ruffled its blue feathers at him, indignant. Idira's expression softened. She reached out and stroked the bird's breast. It tolerated her attention for a moment before flying off and descending into the treetops of Khadgar's gardens. Idira watched it flit into the trees, her lips parting into a soft smile filled with longing. As her fearful demeanour melted away, the transition in her appearance was astonishing, like watching a rose bloom. Khadgar found he couldn't take his eyes from her. He cleared his throat. It wasn't appropriate, he was the Leader of the Council of Six. He forced himself to look back out over the city.

"And where does your family live?"

She didn't answer. He thought she had not heard him and was just about to repeat the question when he caught her brushing a tear from her eye. He turned in time to see another tear slip free. She hurried to push it away with the back of her hand. He searched his pockets, flustered, trying to find a clean handkerchief. He held out his best one to her.

She took it and dabbed at her tears, which continued to escape, silent. He bit back a curse. Stupid, careless, why hadn't he taken a moment just to think his question through before speaking? Thousands of innocents had died during the Legion's invasions across Azeroth. And now, he had brought back a terrible memory and made her cry. Filled with remorse, he held out his wine cup, awkward.

"Please. Take a little, it will help."

She nodded, obedient. Her fingers touched his, sending a deep thrum of arcane energy cascading through him. His brow lifted. He hadn't expected that. He watched her while she sipped, her head down, withdrawing into herself once more, making herself so small he sensed she wished to vanish. He took her elbow and led her to a cushioned bench. She sat, twisting her fingers around the stem of the wine cup. Not knowing how else to intrude on her thoughts, he cleared his throat.

"Forgive me, I should not have pried into your life."

She lifted her head and met his eyes. He took a step back, incredulous. Her pupils were an astonishing colour of pure violet. He had never seen such a—She bit her lower lip at his reaction, shy once more. He tried and failed to get a hold of himself. She blinked, oblivious to his internal conflict. One of the tears clinging to her long, dark lashes slipped free.

She stopped biting her lower lip, and he could see the ghost of a smile that used to live on the curve of her lips, almost gone. His heart lurched, his protective instinct fully aroused. He couldn't help himself, he wanted to know more about her. And—he reminded himself—she did seem to be a conduit for an immense amount of raw power. It was his duty to keep track of these things, after all. She brushed the tear away and shook her head.

"Most of my life I lived in northern Westfall, on the coast." She drew a shuddering breath and looked up at the sky, her gaze turning inwards as she relived her memory. "Then, one night, the Legion's ships arrived. I went back to help my father, but there was no time. The demons came down from their ships, materialising everywhere, even in the house." She blinked and several more tears tracked their way down her face. "I might have saved myself, but I lost the only one who ever really loved me." She looked away. The tears fell onto her lap, staining the faded material of her threadbare blue dress.

Khadgar conjured a chair, and took a seat opposite her. She continued to look past the balcony's railing in the direction of the Broken Shore, her expression withdrawn, distant, angry. He could sense arcane power boiling within her. Her emotions seemed to be connected to whatever gift she possessed. Interesting. And worrying.

"I am sorry. You have suffered a terrible loss, but you have come to the right place. We can help you. With eyes that colour, I am not surprised you have not been able to intuit how to control it. You are like a walking leyline, your connection is chaotic, and requires intense training."

Idira glanced at him, taken aback. "It does?"

Khadgar nodded, recalling the times the others in the Council had sent Idira to fetch heavy volumes from the archives. Just the other day he had seen her struggling to carry a huge stack of books up the stairs, far too heavy for her to handle. In all the times he had seen her, she had never once lifted up her face, now he thought he understood why.

"How long have you been on library duty?"

She blinked, puzzled by his non-sequitur. "Ever since I arrived, three months ago."

Khadgar shook his head, disgusted. More petty politics, this time right under his nose. Whomever was training her must have been threatened by her unusual eyes, and instead of bringing her straight to the Council, they had assigned her to menial labour, usually reserved for those who misbehaved. Without arcane power to summon the books, hers was an exhausting, pointless task. Perhaps her mentor had hoped Idira would give up and leave.

Now he knew the truth, he was angry. Someone with latent powers like hers, who could aid in the fight against the Legion had been carrying books for three months? He stood up, and paced the length of the balcony, furious.

"From now on, you will study theory under my tutelage, and if she has the time, the Archmage Modera can oversee your practicals. Your book carrying days are finished, the Kirin Tor needs your abilities, now more than ever."

Idira opened her mouth to say something, but Khadgar raised his hand, stopping her. He continued, seething. "In three months, with diligent study, you could have already accomplished intermediate proficiencies. A needless waste."

A knock came to the door of his office, and Modera entered, followed by Kalec. Khadgar nodded at them, curt. He turned back to Idira, who had risen to her feet and was once more shrinking into herself, shy around the other Archmages. He reached into his pouch and pulled out a ring. He held it out to her.

"With this ring, you will be granted admission to my private office in the Library, where my own collection resides, some of the books there are from Karazhan, gifted to me by Medivh. You are to begin studying immediately. The first thing I want you to learn is how to conjure food and drink. You are going to need that for the long days you have ahead of you. Also, move your things out of the apprentice's quarters, and into my office in the Library. I never use it these days anyway. I won't have you tormented for being different. For all we know, you are destined to become an Archmage. Carrying books. Bah!"

Clutching the ring against her chest, Idira fled Khadgar's office. He returned to his desk and sat down, still angry. Modera arched an eyebrow.

"What was that about?"

Khadgar flung his arm in the direction of the Arcane School's campus. "Politics. Pride. The Legion need not worry about defeating us, we are doing a good enough job of it ourselves."

Kalec crossed his arms. "Speaking of politics, you have a visitor."

Khadgar waited, defensive, praying it wasn't Jaina returning to continue her campaign against the Horde's presence in the Kirin Tor.

Kalec tilted his head toward the closed door. "Malfurion wants to speak to the three of us. He is waiting outside with a face like thunder."

"Malfurion?" Khadgar felt a tremor of apprehension. Malfurion was supposed to be dealing with the Nightmare. Khadgar stood up, thinking of Tyrande's recent visit. He still had not thought of a way to bring up the subject of Illidan's body to the others—it was on his list of things to do. Well, it seemed the time had come, this was going to be about her, of that Khadgar had no doubt. "By all means, bring him in."

Modera nodded at the door. It opened, silent. In the hallway, Malfurion paced back and forth, lost in thought. He looked up, startled.

Khadgar crossed the room, and bowed to the Lord of the Night Elves. "Archdruid Malfurion, please join us. Forgive me for having kept you waiting."

"Archmage Khadgar, thank you for seeing me, and on such short notice," Malfurion said, his voice empty. He walked into the centre of the room, and greeted the others with a nod of his head. Khadgar lifted his fingers, and traced a small rune in the air. The door closed with a quiet thud, he sensed his spell locking in place, sealing their conversation from eavesdroppers.

Khadgar eyed Malfurion as he returned to his desk. The changes were subtle, but Malfurion looked different, as though the entity inside Malfurion that made Malfurion who he was had been stripped away, leaving only an image of the being he once was behind. But there was something else, an aura which clung to the night elf. Something dark and bleak. It grieved Khadgar to see one of Azeroth's greatest champions in such a state. He wasn't sure, but he suspected Malfurion would never recover from what had been done to him in the Nightmare. Varian, Vol'jin, Tirion, even Jaina, in her own way, had been lost to Azeroth because of the Legion. And now Malfurion, too. When would it end?

Depressed, he returned to his desk and gestured at one of the nearby sofas. "Please make yourself comfortable . . . is there anything you would like for refreshment?"

Malfurion glanced at the sofa. "I'd rather stand, and thank you, no."

Khadgar moved in front of his desk. He would have loved to sit, but if Malfurion was going to stand, then everyone had to, it was protocol. He did lean, just a little, against the desk.

"Of course," he nodded at the Archdruid. "What can we do for you?"

Malfurion's expression hardened. "I won't waste your time. Tyrande has been taken by Gul'dan."

Khadgar felt a tingle of deep alarm. He caught the surprised look which passed between Modera and Kalec. He pushed away from the desk, now was not the time to jump to conclusions. "How?"

"A portal from the Chamber of the Eye into her den in Moonglade's barrow. I could not stop him. I—" Malfurion fell silent, fighting to control his emotions.

When he remained silent, Modera broke in. "Khadgar, we are still waiting for you to tell us what Tyrande came to you about." She glanced at Kalec. He nodded, encouraging her to continue. "I think now would be a good time."

Khadgar sighed. "Very well. She came to tell me Illidan lives. Gul'dan has been stripping Illidan's soul piece by piece from the Twisting Nether and feeding it into Illidan's body, corrupted. Illidan is to be Sargeras's avatar. Once Gul'dan has completed the transition, Illidan will rise up, and lead the demons against us. Against him, Azeroth will fall."

As he expected, a heavy silence fell on the room as the others absorbed his disclosure. After a long while, Kalec asked, "Illidan could have been lying, or it may not have even been Illidan. Do you think it was a trap to capture Tyrande?"

"No," Malfurion answered, certain. "I saw my brother in the Nether, when Elune opened a portal to carry Tyrande to him. I saw what Gul'dan has done to him. Illidan's suffering has been unimaginable. None could withstand it . . . none but my powerful, wilful, determined brother."

Kalec looked at Khadgar, sharp. "Elune is a part of this as well? You have kept much from us, too much."

Khadgar shook his head. "Elune's involvement is news to me as well. It is good you have come to us, Malfurion."

Silence fell again. Khadgar gave Malfurion time. It was obvious the druid was suffering. Malfurion brushed his kilt, smoothing down the fur, lost in his own thoughts.

Khadgar decided to move the conversation into safer waters. "You mentioned the Chamber of the Eye. How can you be certain that is what you saw?"

Malfurion looked up at Khadgar from under his brow. "Illidan told Tyrande his body was held there. Through Gul'dan's portal I saw Illidan's body suspended in the air, strung up in fel tethers. His eyes burned a glowing orange. Already he sees with the eyes of the Dark Titan."

Modera shuddered and turned away. Kalec groaned. He pressed his palms against his eyes, murmuring, "There is only one way to stop this. We need to get Illidan's body out of there."

Khadgar nodded. "Which is what Tyrande asked me to accomplish. I have not mentioned it yet because I have not thought of a plan. We will only have one chance to get this right."

The others nodded, solemn. Malfurion spoke up once more.

"There were runes on the wall of the Eye. I memorised them, and as much of the Chamber as I was able to see. I had hoped it might help."

Khadgar nodded, impressed with Malfurion's foresight. "Between the three of us, we should be able to conjure a projection of your memory. But we will need your permission to sift through it. We will also save the images to our archives for further study."

Malfurion took a seat on one of the sofas. "Do whatever is necessary."

Khadgar cast a rune into the air, and held it there while Modera cast another. Kalec waited until they were finished before adding his. The three runes rotated around Malfurion's head until they came into alignment. They stopped and locked in place with a soft hiss. That part done, Khadgar commenced to cast the spell to generate a rune that would temporarily place the mages outside of time and space. Their eyes burning bright, the others added their power to the rune Khadgar cast onto the floor. Khadgar stepped back, panting. It was done.

As one, they stepped into it, careful to place their feet on the intersections of the largest triangle at the same time. They brought their hands up, and aligned their energy. The arcane's blue light glowed bright, thrumming with energy. Khadgar uttered another spell, and Malfurion appeared within the middle of the rune's triangle, levitating.

Under their feet, the rune began to rotate. The walls of Khadgar's office shimmered, turning translucent. The rune spun faster. The walls disappeared, and the floor fell away. Beneath their feet, the city disappeared, building by building, swallowed up by nothingness as time reversed, and space ceased to exist. They were almost ready. Khadgar looked up.

Above the runic platform the massive point of a cone bore down upon them, the cone's vast circumference spreading away towards its base far above; beneath his feet, the same, but in reverse, the circumference of the cone fell away from its point towards its base far beneath them. Within their event horizon between the points of the two cones, arcane energy crackled, gathering. A beam shot out and connected to the runic assembly around Malfurion's head. He juddered as the light probed, but he held still.

They spun so fast, it felt as if they stood still. Silence surrounded them. Slow, like drip of nectar, the images came, jumbled, and in broken fragments as the arcane tendrils searched for the full memory, hidden throughout Malfurion's brain. The fel runes appeared first, then the walls, and finally Illidan, or what used to be Illidan. All of it just as Malfurion had described. It was perfect.

Kalec pointed at the runes against the wall. "I have not seen anything like that since before the War of the Ancients. Those runes are part of an incantation to tear a hole into the fabric of reality. I thought all knowledge of them had been destroyed in the Maelstrom."

"Obviously not," Modera muttered.

Khadgar eyed the thing that was once Illidan, uneasy, noting the glowing orange tendrils writhing from its chest, holding the portal open to Moonglade. "Its powers are already enormous, if it can hold open a portal with just its mind."

They continued to examine every part of the image, discussing details, and recording them into arcane prisms for deeper study later. Malfurion groaned, sweat breaking out on his face, blood dripped from his nose.

Khadgar locked the prisms into an amulet for safekeeping until they returned. "Let's bring him back, we have tested him hard."

Piece by piece, the image disintegrated as the memories returned back to their places in Malfurion's mind. The rune's spin slowed. Dalaran reappeared, building up brick by brick until the floor appeared once more beneath them. The walls returned and solidified. They slowed their channels, until the rune beneath them dimmed, leaving nothing more than a faint actinic scent behind. Kalec removed his rune from Malfurion, followed by the others. The druid slumped, unconscious onto the floor.

Modera knelt and checked his vitals. She stood. "He's going to have a beast of a headache when he wakes up."

Khadgar nodded, and began to open a portal. "Let's get him back to Darnassus where he can rest and his own healers can attend to him."

Kalec lifted his fingers, and cast a counterspell, interrupting Khadgar's portal. "We can't send him back. Gul'dan has taken Tyrande, but we do not know why. We cannot assume he will not take another. It could be Malfurion next, or Anduin, or Sylvanas. We need to keep what leaders we have left here, under our protection, and if Gul'dan arrives, we will be ready for him, with a trap of our own."

"Kalec is right," Modera concurred. "Until we understand what is happening, and why, we cannot take any chances. This must be brought to the attention of the full Council of Six. Khadgar can you speak to them while I go to Anduin? And Kalec—can you manage Sylvanas?"

Kalec winced. "Not without one of her own to provide me with a safe escort."

Khadgar realised Kalec had raised an excellent point, and, if anything, having the major leaders within Dalaran and under the protection of the Kirin Tor might go some way to helping him with his agenda to bring the aggrieved parties together long enough to fight as one against the Legion. The more he thought about it, the more the idea appealed. Kalec had just offered him the solution to his dilemma on a platter. He looked up.

"We are going to need to talk to Aethas Sunreaver, if he is with us, then we may have a way in to Sylvanas. Archmage Karlain worked hard to smooth the way for the Horde to re-enter the Kirin Tor, and spoke well of Aethas, ensuring the vote was swayed in Aethas's favour. If anyone of us should approach Aethas, it should be him."

"I will speak to Karlain," Kalec said.

Khadgar rubbed the back of his neck. Now he had found a way forward, new concerns had begun to trouble him. "We must be careful how much we reveal to the others. All they need to know is Gul'dan is transforming Illidan into Sargeras's avatar and Tyrande has been taken to the Chamber of the Eye. It is better if they do not know where Tyrande's spirit is, at least not right now. It is possible there is a connection to her being in the Nether and Gul'dan having taken her. He may have no interest in the others at all."

"So you intend to use fear for their own safety to motivate the leaders to cooperate?" Modera asked, a note of surprise in her voice. "It is not like you to deceive."

Khadgar turned on her, irritable. "Azeroth's existence is at stake, this is no time to be splitting hairs. Do you see that stack of papers on my desk? Everyone is coming to me for answers because Azeroth has fallen into chaos without Vol'jin and Varian. And now, with Tyrande gone, and Malfurion suffering from the Nightmare, who is left? I have resisted as long as I could, hoping Anduin would manage Greymane, and seek to mend things with Sylvanas but he has done nothing. Now I know what Gul'dan is doing, it means the leadership of the next attack against the Legion has fallen upon my unwilling shoulders. So, Modera, I will do what I must to hold every advantage, even if it means having to withhold information from the others, for now."

Modera lifted an eyebrow but chose to keep her thoughts to herself.

Kalec nodded at Khadgar. "I agree with Khadgar's decision, it is for the greater good. We don't have the luxury of time to persuade them to get along. We can tell the truth later and face the consequences once Azeroth is safe."

"Then we are in agreement?" Khadgar asked, impatient to begin.

"I will go along with it, but I don't like it," Modera admitted. "I have a bad feeling this is going to come back to haunt the Kirin Tor in a way the Council may never recover from. If Jaina hears about this—"

"We'll worry about that if it happens," Khadgar snapped. He had forgotten about Jaina. She would be a massive problem should she decide to make a reappearance while Sylvanas was in residence. He pushed the worrying possibility aside, continuing, "I realise I am risking much. We might even be cast out. As for me, it is a chance I am willing to take, unless you have a better idea how to motivate the factions to reside in one place, and begin to work together to stop what is to come?"

Modera pressed her lips together and shook her head.

"Then let us proceed. Kalec, can you make arrangements for Malfurion? There is one thing I must do before I speak to the Council. I will be back in two hours, have them meet me here."

Kalec nodded, and moved to the door. Khadgar murmured a quick spell and the barrier against eavesdroppers vanished. Kalec and Modera departed, subdued, lost in their own thoughts. As he waited for Malfurion to be taken away, he paced the length of his office, trying to organise his thoughts. There was so much to do, and only one chance to get it right.

A quiet knock at his door brought his attention back to the present. Two burly liveried attendants entered the room carrying a stretcher, they knelt and hefted Malfurion onto it and left, unobtrusive. Khadgar waited until he could no longer hear their booted footsteps in the hallway before closing the door and sealing the space from prying eyes and ears once more.

He went to the centre of the room and cast a teleportation spell. The structure of his office shifted and blurred, morphing into another room, just as elegant and well appointed, but instead of just the three bookshelves which adorned his office, the walls of this room lay lined from floor to ceiling, and wall to wall with shelves, laden with ancient tomes. The letters upon the spines of those nearest to him glowed, resonating to the presence of their master. He smiled. Karazhan. It was good to be back. He pressed on, he had no time to dawdle if he was going to make it back to his office within two hours.

He went to the door. Several books fluttered after him, eager to greet him. He shook his head, and sent them back to their places, warning where he was going would not be safe for them. Their pages rustled, indignant, but they settled back into their positions, their glowing letters fading as they returned to their deep slumber.

Khadgar sighed, longing for the days when he had had time to spend here, just learning. There was still so much he did not know, so many books he longed to read. After Medivh fell, and evil began to encroach the fortress, Khadgar had rushed to save what books he could from Medivh's vast libraries. He hadn't had much time, and had had to leave many volumes behind, some of them utterly irreplaceable. He had worked night and day, eating and drinking conjured food as his reach into the halls of the fortress lessened. He had had seven days of reclamation before he had had to flee, taking this portion of Medivh's home with him. When he departed, he had sat on the floor of the library and grieved the loss of so many books and artefacts. The surviving books had gathered around him, mournful, missing their companions. But at least he had this, a small piece of Karazhan's glittering past, untainted by the darkness his misguided master had brought to Azeroth.

He left the library, and hastened down the corridor to another door. He cast a rune, which matched the engraved panel set in the wall beside the door and uttered a spell. The rune descended onto the engraving. Blue light shimmered across the door's panels, breaking the seal protecting it. The thick door creaked open. A heavy shower of dust fell from the lintel onto Khadgar's shoulders and head. He coughed and shook his head, the dust cascading down around him, sparkling in the light of the room's arcane torches. In the middle of the small circular room, a plain stone font stood in the centre, its base unembellished, stark, and ancient.

He approached it, wary. Inside the flattened basin, a metallic silver surface lay perfectly still. He peered into it. A ripple broke the meniscus as it stirred from its long period of quiet. Khadgar felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Despite knowing there was no one else there, he looked back at the door, defensive. He had chosen to take this section of Karazhan, because it had long been concealed by Medivh to hide this very room. Not even Moroes had known of this place.

When Khadgar had fled, he had covered the breach with magic, and sealed the small wing of Karazhan outside of time and space. It was his secret, and only he knew the way in. But underneath all his power and abilities, he was still a man, and could not ignore his deepest instincts. Even though he had only taken a small part of Karazhan with him, there were a lot of rooms he had not been in for years, and though he knew he was being irrational, it made him nervous. He closed the door, and cast another seal upon it. Better.

He had taken a huge risk by keeping this room. Medivh had said the font was much older than the War of the Ancients, had likely belonged to the Faceless Ones, followers of the Old Gods. Medivh had found it during one of his journeys. Recognising its latent power, he claimed it for himself, and placed it within his own home. Partly to make sure it doesn't fall into the wrong hands, and partly because I wanted it for myself, he had said when he had showed it to Khadgar. What does it do? Khadgar had asked. But Medivh had just smiled and said that was a lesson for another day, far in the future.

Well, now Khadgar knew. Fortunately, he had managed to salvage—by sheer, blind luck—exactly the book he needed to learn what the font was used for. Medivh's notes had been impeccable and detailed, if difficult to understand. It had taken the reading of seven more tomes to puzzle out the more obscure notations. The font had several uses, some of them quite dangerous, but for what Khadgar wanted to do, it was benign enough, so long as he did not stay too long. Hence, the two hours. It would force him to pay attention to the time.

He pulled his pocket watch from his pouch, and checked the time. He would allow himself an hour, no more. He began casting several spells at once, for protection. Runes encircled him, spinning and rotating around him, enclosing him in a web of intricate blue light. He tested its power, and tried to fall, the light took his weight and held him upright. Satisfied all was as it should be, he took a deep breath, and cast another spell, this one was going to hurt. It hit him, like a wall of icy fire. He shuddered, and stepped free of the web, leaving his body behind. He was totally transparent, invisible even to himself, yet he could still feel. He reached into his pocket, and found the watch. He touched the watch's face, and saw the time in his mind's eye. Good. Everything was ready. Just one final step. The most unpleasant one of all.

He walked around to the back of the font, and ascended the four stone steps leading up to the basin. Upon the top step he looked across the room at himself, standing immobile within the web he had cast. He looked tired, and angry, the pale blue light highlighted the two diagonal scars across his face, giving him the appearance of a warrior, not a mage. He might have aged enough internally to have caught up to his appearance after all these years, (when he was twenty, he had rather liked the sudden transformation from a chubby cheeked lad to the mature, chiselled features of a man in his mid forties), but he had never gotten used to his silver hair. He still hated that, he had had such nice hair too. He touched the watch again, involuntarily. He was wasting time, and he knew why. What he was about to do was going to give him answers he was not sure he was going to want to learn, but he had to. For the sake of Azeroth, he needed to press on.

Though there was no reason for him to do so, he held his breath as he stepped into the silvered surface of the font. The metallic liquid swirled and lapped around the outline of his feet. He used his mind to cast the incantation he had learned from Medivh's notes, and entered time itself.

In the chaos of the channels of time, he focussed his mind. The Vault of the Wardens, the day Illidan's body was stolen. Take me there.

In a heartbeat he was there, in the depths of the Vault, watching Gul'dan carry Illidan's inert body towards a portal. He followed them, undetectable by even the strongest magic. He passed his earlier self as he called out to Cordana Felsong, trying to stop her. She insulted him and went through her portal. Khadgar waited until Gul'dan stepped into his, and slipped in after him.

The portal's light cleared. Just as he had suspected. The Chamber of the Eye. Good. Gul'dan leaned on his staff, waiting for the Eredar to drag groups of Nightborne men, women and children into the Chamber. The demons pushed the terrified elves into the centre of a circle of fel runes, and began casting their incantations. Khadgar forced himself to watch as the souls of the living elves were ripped away both to power the portal to the Nether and to prepare Illidan's body for his resurrection as Sargeras's avatar. More Nightborne were brought in, shivering and crying, begging for mercy. Khadgar fast forwarded through time, until the portal was completed, and Gul'dan began to send tethers into it, attached to his staff.

One by one, the tethers returned, flailing and writhing, holding a little piece of light in their maws. Khadgar watched, in morbid fascination as Gul'dan cast an incantation upon the light, before sending the foul green tethers burrowing into Illidan's torso. The Betrayer's body flinched with each invasion, shuddering, reflexive, once more falling inert as soon as the tether pulled free.

It was slow, painstaking work, but Gul'dan worked night and day, relentless, eating through lives and souls at an astonishing pace. How many had died? Hundreds, thousands even. Khadgar had seen enough, it was time to find a way in.

He left the room and travelled through the twisting corridors. It was a maze. He traced and retraced his steps trying to familiarise himself with the layout, but no matter which way he went, he always ended up back in the Chamber of the Eye. Claustrophobia began to claw at him. He touched the face of his watch. He cursed, as he realised he had already lost half the time he had allotted himself.

Once more in the Chamber, he watched another half-starved group of Nightborne elves being brought in. During his fruitless search, Khadgar hadn't found any holding areas for Gul'dan's victims. Where were they coming from? The Eredar escort left. Khadgar followed the demon through the Chamber's only exit and up the main spiralling tunnel to a dead end. The Eredar stopped in front of it. Khadgar eyed the wall. There was nothing special about it. No markings, no runes, not even a torch nearby. The demon held up its hand and muttered an incantation. The wall vanished. Ahead, the stone tunnel narrowed, its ceiling and walls lit by fel torches, glowed a sickly green in the dripping gloom.

Uneasy, Khadgar followed the Eredar. He looked back just as the wall closed over again. The Eredar pressed on, focussed on its task. The tunnel descended deeper into the ground for several minutes, then began to make a steep incline. Khadgar followed the demon up a long flight of steps carved from the living stone. The stairs ended at another dead end. The Eredar muttered another incantation and the wall vanished. Not wishing to be left behind Khadgar hastened after him into the ruins of a collapsed Nightborne temple, which appeared to have fallen into an underground cavern. High above, in between the cavern's broken ceiling, Khadgar glimpsed a slice of sky, marred by the roiling of fel energy emanating from the spires of the Tomb of Sargeras.

Cries of terror rose up from the Nightborne bound together in chains of fel. Khadgar stared across the vast space, incredulous. There were hundreds of them. How many had he seen die already? Before he had sped up time, three hundred, at least. He shook his head, his hands clenching into fists. How he longed to intervene, and help these innocents, but, he reminded himself, grim: This is the past, these people are already long dead.

The Eredar went to the nearest group of Nightborne who scuttled away, crying out in desperation, pleading not to be taken. Fel energy crackled from the Eredar's hands, and bindings wrapped around their necks, linking them together, forcing them to follow him. Impervious to their desolation, the demon led them into the tunnel, the wall sealing over behind them. His time drawing short, Khadgar hastened through the cavern searching for a way out. There, in the shadows, a tunnel opening. He moved into it and crept alongside a river of fel lava, the tunnel's walls glowing a lurid green. He followed several twists and turns before the tunnel finally gave way to open sky.

Khadgar found himself on the beach of a wide bay, surrounded by high rock walls. A small contingent of demons—lesser ones by the look of them—herded Nightborne captives into groups. A little girl, holding a grimy stuffed toy murloc, panicked and ran, trying to get away. The nearest demon glanced up, and flicked its hand at her. A bolt of fire flew from its clawed fingers. One moment she was there, running, her eyes wide and fearful, clutching her toy against her chest; the next, she was gone, vaporised. Fresh screams rose up from the prisoners, but the demons ignored them. Anger seared into Khadgar, hot and dangerous. He fought it. He could change nothing. She was already long gone. They all were.

He crossed the bay to a sandy beach. Pleasure ships of the nobility clustered in the shallow harbour, offloading their cargo of Nightborne citizens. He stared, sickened, as the Royal Guard of Suramar pushed their own people into the waters of the inlet, laughing, cruel, at their pleas for help.

Another wave of anger threatened to undo him. He fought it. He could not allow his emotions to rule him while using the font, it was too dangerous. He forced himself to focus on getting his bearings. He looked up, in the distance across breadth of the Broken Shore, to his left, Dalaran's floating city beckoned, its spires shining in the clean light of the sun. Just in front of him the blackened, fel-laced Tomb of Sargeras loomed. If the Shore was between him and Dalaran, that put him to the east of the Tomb. Well there was only one place that lay to its east—the small island called Hope's End. His thoughts skidded to a halt. Wasn't this where Tirion was supposed to be held?

Khadgar touched his watch. He had fifteen minutes left, enough time to do a quick search before he retraced his steps back into the Chamber of the Eye. He hurried back from the crowded shoreline and climbed up onto a rock shelf, where he could get a better view. He scanned the bay, his eyes narrowed, as he fast forwarded through time. The boats coming and going lessened, and the numbers of Nightborne captives fell to a trickle. The beach emptied. There. What was that? He stepped back into time and approached a vast runic circle set in the centre of the bay. In its centre stood a large fel crystal. There was something within it. Khadgar moved closer. He gaped. Tirion? It couldn't be. The person trapped inside, immobile was Tirion. The Knights of the Silver Hand had been right after all.

Tirion opened his eyes, and looked right at Khadgar. Unsettled, Khadgar moved to the side, assuming the Highlord was looking through Khadgar at something behind him. Tirion's eyes followed him. A chill rose up within Khadgar. Somehow, impossibly, the Highlord could see him. Tirion's voice, filled with pain, entered Khadgar's mind,.

Khadgar. The Light will go on, even once she is gone.

Khadgar blinked, astonished. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but Tirion's eyes dulled and closed. Khadgar shook his head, disheartened. He had no idea what Tirion was talking about. Who was the 'she' he was referring to? Tyrande?

Seven minutes left. Khadgar backed away from Tirion, filled with regret. He longed to stay with him until the end, but Tirion's words made Khadgar nervous, filling him with urgency to continue his investigation. He hastened back into the tunnel to the cavern containing the collapsed temple. He reversed time until an Eredar opened the way, and followed it back into the Chamber. He had four minutes left. He sped time up again. A flash of light filled his vision. He entered time once more. Tyrande hung, inert, in front of the creature that was once Illidan. Brilliant orange tendrils, glowing like fire, held her place before him. She wore a fantastic gown, made of the creature's light, which shifted and changed, presumably driven by the creature's thoughts. The creature—itself spread-eagled and bound with fel tethers—stroked her face with tendrils of its energy drifting from its chest.

Khadgar had no idea what he was looking at, was the thing still Illidan, or was it part Illidan, part Sargeras? His fingers on his watch, aware of his own dwindling time, he watched the nascent avatar, waiting for its transformation. He needed to know how much time Azeroth had left before Sargeras's avatar was complete. Despite tens of dozens of green tethers flashing in and out of him, nothing happened. Wait. No. Dread clawing at him, Khadgar slowed time and changed position so he faced Tyrande. By the Light. The tethers were not going into Illidan but Tyrande. He watched horrified, as her transformation proceeded. Slow at first, it gained momentum until she was almost unrecognisable. He backed away. The creature before him was beautiful and terrible. A goddess transformed into a demon.

He understood now. Tyrande was being made into Sargeras's consort—and Tyrande was bound to Elune. Horror filled Khadgar as the implication of what Sargeras intended unfolded. The 'she' Tirion had spoken of wasn't Tyrande, it was Elune. Sargeras was draining Elune's Light through her connection to Tyrande in the Nether. The Dark Titan had captured a goddess, and was draining her Light. Sickened, Khadgar stumbled away from the pair. It was too much, how could he, a mere mortal, stop this, if a goddess could not defend herself against Sargeras, how could Khadgar defend Azeroth? Despair welled up within him. He needed more time.

He felt the pull of the font, dragging him back. He sped time up, as fast as he dared. He had to know before he returned how much time he had left before all hope was gone. Tyrande's transformation completed, and Illidan followed after, morphing into a dreadlord. The tethers fell away, and together the pair stepped through a massive portal onto the Broken Shore. The last thing Khadgar saw was Dalaran, consumed by flames falling from the sky.

The Chamber disappeared. Grey silence followed. A heartbeat later he rose up out of the font. He stepped out onto the top step, the silver liquid sliding away, pooling back into the basin. He returned to his body. His hands trembling, he cast a spell, opened the sealed door and swept out of the room back to the library. He was glad he had an hour to spare, he would need the time to do some research before meeting the Council.

They had a month. No more. After that, Azeroth would fall.