CHAPTER 6

Illidan eyed Tyrande, shuddering within her prison of light. Her gown had burned away. As he watched, a new one made of light wove around her, covering her naked body. But there was nothing arousing in the sight. Her raw flesh bubbled, scorched and bleeding. Each time Tyrande healed him with Elunes's Light, she suffered, the Light burning through her. Once Elune ceased her work on Illidan, her Light would shift to Tyrande, clothing and healing her. A never-ending cycle of pain and healing.

Her head hanging, Tyrande pressed her hands against the sides of the sphere, struggling to hold herself up. Her chest rose and fell, her breasts straining against the material of her gown as she sought to catch her breath. The last burst of Light from Elune had returned the final pieces of his heart to him, though he wasn't sure how much he appreciated it. He drifted closer, and put his hand against the sphere, covering Tyrande's hand with his. He wished he could touch her, hold her. She had given him his strength back, at least enough for him to think straight. Now he wanted to do the same for her.

She must have sensed his presence, because she glanced up, her eyes dull. Her lips moved, and he heard his name whispered on her lips. His heart clenched so tight it ached. He had survived the agony of Gul'dan's tethers, but nothing could compare to this, seeing her suffer—knowing he was the cause of it—and be powerless to stop it. A tear ran down the side of her nose. He smashed his fist against the sphere, bellowing with frustration. Anger, hot and virulent coursed through him. He welcomed it. He wished there was something he could destroy, anything to alleviate his pent-up rage. Even the excruciating pain of a tether would be better than this. But there was nothing here, nothing but his thoughts and hopes Malfurion would be able to recover his body from the Chamber soon, so Tyrande's suffering could end. Until then, all he could do was float, and watch Tyrande scream in agony as she channelled Elune's Light into him, burning in the flames of blue fire.

He looked behind him, searching the Nether for more tethers. It had been a long time since any had come writhing and searching for him. There could no longer be any doubt, the onslaught had stopped. The change had been slow at first, Illidan's hopes growing as the frequency of the tethers decreased. Now only the silence of the Nether accompanied them as they floated together through the vastness of its void. For Tyrande's sake he was glad, it had given her a much needed reprieve. But he had a bad feeling. Gul'dan was up to something, he could sense it, and whatever it was, it wasn't going to make things easier for either him or Tyrande.

He turned back to Tyrande. Her hands slid down the sides of the sphere, she fell, the energy within catching her. She floated, limp, her arms and legs dangling. He realised she had fallen asleep. Good. He hoped Elune would let her rest. He could watch for the tethers, and protect Tyrande. He felt strong enough to take the next ones. He watched her sleep, his hands pressed against the sphere, his arms aching to hold her. After all this time, despite the passage of thousands of years, his long imprisonment, his transformation into a demon hunter and his reign on Outland—even in death—his love for her remained unchanged. There had been others of course, hundreds of them had passed through the doors of his private quarters, eager to please him when he was the Lord of the Black Temple. But they were nothing to him. His heart always returned to her. There could never be another for him.

He waited, scanning the horizon in all directions, but nothing changed. All was as it should be, the spinning planets and steady procession of time streams carried on following their chaotic, incomprehensible paths, oblivious to the pair and the occupations of their little world. He looked back at Tyrande. How long had she been here in the Nether with him, encased in that sphere of pure light? He glanced down at himself. Long enough to bring him back from the edge of darkness.

He shuddered at how close it had been. She had arrived just in time, channelling Elune's Light into him, replacing piece by piece the parts Gul'dan had stolen, giving Illidan strength, and hope. He ran his hands over his chest, stripped of the glowing runes of a demon hunter. It was strange to see himself again as he once was. He had forgotten what he'd looked like, his transformation into a demon hunter had consumed all of him, even his memories of his other self. He had been powerfully built. He was glad, power meant much to him, even here, where it meant nothing. Tyrande turned over in her sleep, and lay curled on her side, her breathing deep and even. He touched the sphere, wishing for the thousandth time no barrier existed between them. She seemed so small. He didn't remember her being so slight. Perhaps it was just a trick of the Nether, or perhaps, what she was doing for him was killing her. His heart clenched at the thought. No. She would not die for him. If anyone would die, he would die for her.

He looked behind him once more, and cursed. Why was it taking so long?

"Brother!" he cried out, angry once more. "How much longer must she suffer?"

Tyrande dreamed of Illidan. The sphere was gone. In a dark, cavernous room, she hung suspended in the air before him, held in a lover's embrace. But gone was the Illidan of the Nether—the Illidan she had known and loved in the past—once more he was a demon hunter. He hung spread-eagled in front of her, straining against the fel tethers holding his arms and legs in place. The fel runes emblazoned on his chest and arms glowed the colour of fire. His eyes, no longer blindfolded, blazed orange-hot, like the molten heat of burning worlds. His lips curved into a smile, possessive.

My love.

Tendrils of light shot out of his chest and touched her face, tender, worshipful. He lifted her up, wrapped within his warm, fiery light, and brought her face to his. Tendrils tilted her head back, catching her chin, so her mouth waited for his. Her heart pounded. She couldn't move, she tried to speak, but nothing came out. She was powerless. His lips touched hers, and the tethers tightened, surrounding her, pulsing with longing, and desire. His kiss burned through her. She tasted fire and heat, passion and destruction. And power. Such power. She groaned, willing him to carry on, now she had tasted his power, she could not live without it. Nothing could compare, not even Elune's Light. Tyrande was finally where she was meant to be. All this time she had forced herself to do what was right, to be with his brother, who loved her, but never enough. In her most secret moments, she had returned to the memory of the one night Illidan had shared with her in the wooded glade, when his passion had taken her to heights she had never known existed.

Tendrils touched her lips, parting them. He kissed her deep, letting her taste him, his tendrils of light sliding around her, enclosing her, caressing her. She sighed as he whispered to her, kissing her face, her eyes, her throat until her whole body ached for him. Though she had tried to hide it from herself, she had always known ever since that stolen night she had belonged to Illidan. Her whole life with Malfurion had been a lie, born out of duty, and of a need to reassure herself she could not love someone like Illidan. But all her running had come to nothing. Illidan was her master, she was his slave. It was over, no more would she fight him. He had won, and now, together they would cleanse Azeroth with fire.

Tyrande woke with a start. She spun around in the sphere, frantic, clawing at its sides, searching for a way out.

"Tyrande?"

Illidan—the old Illidan—floated beside her, once more in the Nether, his hands pressed against the sphere, his expression betraying his rising alarm. She pushed herself to the other side of the sphere, as far as she could get from him and stared at him. How could this be happening? Her dream had been so real. Somehow she could still feel the other Illidan's mouth on hers, even now. She rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth, filled with fear and shame. Why hadn't she resisted?

Illidan moved around the sphere trying to get closer to her. She moved away from him, panting. He cursed. "Tyrande! Talk to me, tell me what is wrong."

She could feel tendrils sliding up the inside of her legs. She recoiled, gibbering, beating at her legs, trying to get rid of them. There was nothing there.

She met Illidan's eyes, and saw her confusion and fear mirrored in his eyes.

"I had a dream, but the dream continues. I can feel it touching me." The tendrils wrapped around her legs again. She screamed and tucked her legs tight against her torso, defensive.

"Illidan! Make it stop. Elune! I cannot bear it. Please, help me. Somebody help me."

It ended, abrupt, as though it could hear her cries. She curled up into a ball, sobbing, her thoughts in tatters. Illidan intended to possess her as his own and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

She stared into the chaos of eternity, despair filling her. Why had she been so willing? She had welcomed him, wanted him, even. It was true they had shared a passionate night together, one she had desperately tried to forget. But the man she had slept with had looked like the Illidan in front of her, not the creature he became. She had never desired Illidan once he became a demon hunter, and couldn't understand how she could have wanted him in her dream. It felt as though her will had not been her own. Her thoughts skidded to a halt, as the last memory of her transition into the Nether replayed in her mind. No, that thing wasn't Illidan the night elf, or Illidan the demon hunter. It was another Illidan, tainted, powerful, mixed with something else. That creature's fel runes had not blazed with fel, but with fire. She choked.

Illidan had become Sargeras. And now he had her.

Illidan waited for Tyrande to recover. It took a long time. He hung outside her sphere, his palms and forehead pressed against its smooth surface, watching her, searching her for clues, so he could piece together what could have caused the disturbing scene he had just witnessed.

Tyrande was safe in that sphere, nothing could harm her in there. And nothing had gotten in, because he would have stopped it. It had to have been something in her dream—but what sort of dream could affect Tyrande like that? She was the strongest woman he knew.

He caught himself running his fingers against the sphere's smooth surface, as though stroking her hair, somehow the useless act helped soothe him, calm him, and ease his loneliness. He had never seen her so undone. He wondered if her mind had shattered under the intense pressure of being separated from her body. He longed to speak with her, to ask her what she was thinking, to tell him about her dream, so he could help her, but he held his tongue. He would not push her, he knew she would speak when she was ready.

He waited, patient. Hoping Elune wouldn't feel the need to continue healing him just yet. He still had a long way to go to come anywhere close to his full strength, but he was in no hurry to keep going when he saw the price Tyrande was being forced to pay. So long as the tethers had stopped, he was fine right where he was. He turned and leaned his back against the sphere. Perhaps if he wasn't watching her all the time, she might feel better. He crossed his arms over his chest, and looked out over the time streams, trying and failing not to think of Tyrande. A long time passed, he began to feel the tug of sleep. He closed his eyes, and dreamed of her calling his name. It came again, louder.

"Illidan?"

He jerked awake and turned back to the sphere. Tyrande hung in the middle watching him, wary.

"Did you call me?"

She nodded. He waited, his eyes on hers. She looked away, uncomfortable. He realised she didn't want to look at him. He recalled how she had tried to distance herself from him when she had woken up. Had he done something to her in her dream? Her behaviour made no sense. Surely she could see a dream was not real, just a trick of her mind. Once she spoke about it she would feel better. He softened his voice, made ragged from his endless shrieks of pain.

"Tyrande, please tell me what happened. Let me help you overcome this."

"I dreamed of you, you—" she pressed her lips together and blinked, falling back into her thoughts. She shook her head. He pressed his hands against the sphere, willing her to carry on, desperate to understand. What had he done to her? Whatever it was, he could make it right. She just had to tell him, so he could reassure her it had not been him, but an image of him created in her mind.

He almost couldn't bear to ask the question, but she wasn't saying anything. He had to know. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," she answered, low. She wrapped her arms around herself, defensive, and half-turned her body from him. She glanced at him, furtive, over her shoulder. "You were tied spread-eagled with fel tethers, but you had fiery tendrils coming out of you. You were holding me in the air. I couldn't move, couldn't speak. You kissed me, you tried to make love to me using the light of the Dark Titan."

He stared at her, understanding, sickened. Her lose of composure, her distress, the things she had cried out; if she could feel it here, it meant it was happening to her there. It was no dream, it was real, and she knew it. He roared, wishing he had his demon hunter form back. He longed for his power, to be able to break free of this place and take his revenge against Gul'dan. The memory of Tyrande panicking, beating at her legs, trying to get something off her replayed in his mind, vivid, visceral. He shuddered. Even he, as Lord of the Black Temple had never once forced himself on his concubines. It was vile.

Illidan pushed away from the sphere and let himself fall away. The sphere containing Tyrande receded into the infinite distance, becoming a speck. Rage consumed him. Where was Malfurion? How could he have let this happen to Tyrande? He screamed, venting his fury into the Nether. It wasn't enough. He tore at his chest, cutting deep into himself, savouring the feel of his blood leaving his body. He needed to feel pain. It wasn't enough he was being transformed into Sargeras's avatar, now the Dark Titan had taken his beloved too, and was using Illidan's body to possess hers. How dare Sargeras violate her? His hands clenched into fists. He screamed, furious, at the nothingness.

He did not need to imagine what she had experienced, he felt it well enough when the pieces of his soul were corrupted by Gul'dan; could feel them being fed into his body, could sense his growing power, and the dangerous seduction of it. Why hadn't he sensed her? Perhaps it was for the best, he didn't want to know what he was doing to her. But it would explain why Gul'dan had stopped sending tethers after Illidan. He had captured a greater prize: Tyrande. It had been a long time since Elune had sent her Light to Illidan, now he knew why. The Goddess didn't want to attract Gul'dan's attention.

In the distance Tyrande's tiny speck of light grew, closing the chasm of space between them. Why? She couldn't help him anymore. Elune had fallen silent, and Gul'dan had both his and Tyrande's bodies in the Chamber, using them for his own purposes. The only hope they had left was for Malfurion to save them. Illidan clenched his jaw, bitter. His useless brother was in over his head. Malfurion couldn't even protect Tyrande when he had her. Illidan would never have let that happen. Tyrande approached, fast. He turned his back to her. He couldn't look at her, so deep was his shame for having tried to violate her. He sensed whatever feelings she had left for him were gone, forever. He wished the tethers would come. He needed the pain, wanted it, anything to distract him from knowing he had lost the only woman he had ever loved.

"Help me!" Tyrande screamed at Illidan's back. When he didn't turn, she smashed the sphere into him. He spun around, fierce, his hands clenched into fists. She stared, shocked into forgetting the reason she had flown to him. His chest was torn to ribbons, blood covered his torso and arms. She opened her mouth to say something, when a massive tether slammed into the sphere. Its maw opened, sliding over the surface, snapping, seeking a place to grip. Another followed, then another. Unable to grip the sphere, they wrapped around it, and began to drag her across the Nether.

She sensed what was happening before her thoughts caught up. The foul things were taking her to Gul'dan, to her body, and to what was left of Illidan; to Sargeras. She pounded on the sides, trying to shake the things off. Outside, Illidan bellowed, clawing at them. He pulled one free of the sphere, but as soon as he lifted the tether off, it snapped back down in a new place. It was hopeless. They needed Elune's Light. Why wasn't she helping them?

"Elune! Where are you?" Tyrande cried out, sobbing in terror. She could see the portal to the Chamber of the Eye approaching fast. There was almost no time left.

The Light came, burning through her once more. The tethers endured—so close to the portal and the power of Sargeras—resisting Elune's Light. The intensity increased. Tyrande's flesh burned, her entire body seething with Light. The tethers screamed, the sound of souls being extinguished. Light crackled along the tethers' lengths, stretching all the way to the portal and beyond. Elune poured more Light through Tyrande. Tyrande roared, her body incinerating. She became a ball of fire, a star, pure light. The tethers exploded. And for a while, there was nothing.

Tyrande revived quaking with agony. The Light worked to rebuild her broken, ruined body. She could feel the sphere moving, fast, she cracked her eyes open, so deep in pain she couldn't even feel fear. More tethers already? No. Illidan pushed against the sphere, taking them as far from the portal as he could. Tyrande closed her eyes, and let Illidan carry her away, far away from the portal and the one who haunted her dreams.

Illidan was floating beside her when she woke. He looked away, but she knew he had been watching her. The wounds in his chest still seeped blood. He had cut himself deep.

"I am able to sense you in the Chamber now," Illidan said. "Elune may have defeated the tethers, but the Light she used to vanquish them went straight into your body, corrupted. Gul'dan is using Elune's Light to feed me through your body. Together with her Light we are being remade into—"

"Demons," Tyrande finished, bleak. "And what will happen to Elune once her Light is extinguished? Will she become Sargeras's slave through me?" She shuddered. "Illidan, what have we done? Is there nothing we can do to stop this?"

"We keep moving, making it harder for Gul'dan to find you. It's you he wants, not me." He laughed, bitter. "He will finish me off with those tethers of his when he has depleted all the Light from Elune and taken you away. He knows I will have lost the will to fight once I have lost you."

His frankness hit Tyrande hard. She knew he still cared about her, but she hadn't known how much. As much as ever it seemed. He had hidden his feelings well. He swallowed. She watched the movement in his throat. Once, long, long ago she had kissed that throat, as he made love to her. She closed her eyes, willing the memory away.

She pressed her hand against the sphere. "It wasn't you, it was another you, a tainted you. I shouldn't have said it was you."

Illidan's jaw clenched. "He feeds off my love for you, long buried in my body and in the pieces of my soul Gul'dan has stolen. He feeds off it, and torments me with it. But he will not violate you again, because I won't let him. That much at least, I can do to protect you."

Tyrande didn't say anything. He met her eyes and pressed his palm against the sphere, covering her hand with his.

"I could never hurt you Tyrande, I would kill myself first. But I cannot allow you to dismiss my part in what happened to you so easily. I have to accept even though I have no knowledge of it, it was me, at least it was a part of me. Ever since that night we shared, I have never stopped longing for you. I hate myself for what I did to you, I will never forgive myself for it, ever."

"But you stopped, when I cried out, you stopped."

He shook his head, brooding, his remorse palpable through the thick wall of the sphere. "It is not enough."

She couldn't let him suffer, she had to tell him the truth. Her confession came out before she could stop herself. "In my dream I was willing, but when I woke I was not. It was different there, everything was simple. It seemed right. It felt right." He looked up, taut with hope.

She pushed away from the wall, and floated in the middle of the sphere, needing to put space between them.

"I too have not forgotten the time we shared together, although I have tried, oh how I have tried," she murmured, ashamed, yet relieved to finally admit the truth after all this time. "I have struggled for so long to do what has been expected of me, to love your brother, and be a worthy consort, but was always you Illidan. Always. Even if it could never be."

"Tyrande—"

Tyrande felt her heart beginning to beat faster. The way he looked at her . . . she remembered it so well. Malfurion had never looked at her like that. She held up her hand, unwilling to let Illidan finish. "I belong to Malfurion now, there can be no going back."

"Even so, I will protect you to my last breath. You were mine first Tyrande." Illidan held her gaze as he braced his hands against the sphere and began pushing them onwards into the void. Neither of them said anything for a long, long time.

The tethers came again, hungry, grasping. They ignored Illidan's attempts to put himself in their path, his screams to choose him instead of Tyrande. Driven by Gul'dan's necromancy, the tethers wrapped themselves around the sphere once more, pulling it towards the portal. The Light of Elune poured into Tyrande, she braced herself, but it wasn't enough. The pain was more than she could stand. She blacked out and woke to find Elune had not been able to heal her completely before the next group of tethers arrived. She screamed as she was consumed once more, Elune's power surging through her and down the tethers into the portal. Above the crackling hiss of blue fire, she heard a sound, insidious, jarring, reminding her of a dagger's point drawn upon glass. Something sharp struck her, and burrowed its way into her soul. She could taste it, bitter and cold, it gnawed into her, spreading darkness and despair.

She opened her eyes. She was back in the Chamber. Illidan the demon hunter was watching her, intent. His golden tendrils seethed around her, encircling her, caressing her. She still couldn't move. The tendrils brought her against Illidan's torso, holding her in a lover's embrace. She heard Illidan's voice in her mind.

I will not hurt you. For as long as I can I will protect you. You can trust me.

She felt his lips press against the top of her head. She blinked and found herself back in the sphere, whole again, remade for the hundredth time. They were moving once more.

Illidan caught her eye as he strained to push the sphere across the endless distances. "Do you remember the Chamber?"

"Yes, but how could you—"

"Because I was there too."

She moved closer to him. "That was you? But, how?"

He shook his head. "I can only guess. I think Elune's stolen Light is speeding up Gul'dan's work, which means for a while we will be able to experience both here and there, as our spirits and bodies merge."

Tyrande thought about it, but it didn't make any sense for her to have been in the Chamber. She was safe inside the sphere. Illidan continued, grim, reading her thoughts.

"A tether breached the sphere. A part of you left with it. Your transformation is beginning. Though I tried, there was nothing I could do to stop it. Elune sealed the breach, but not soon enough."

Tyrande wrapped her arms around herself. The memory of the pain in her torso returned, and she relived the grisly feeling of that thing burrowing into her. She shuddered. How could she have forgotten? Gul'dan—the crafty orc—had been using the tethers not only to attack the sphere but also to siphon Elune's Light away from the Goddess and into Illidan's body. Tyrande looked at Illidan, who continued to watch her, tense. He had said he was protecting her from being violated again, that meant . . . No.

"How long have you been able to be in both places at once?"

His jaw clenched. "Since your dream."

She crept closer to him, seeing the tension in his face, the tightness around his eyes. "How do you do it, how do you overcome Sargeras, and your other self?"

"The same way I overcame everything else that has passed in my life. I use my will. It seems the ten thousand years I spent confined to a cell weren't wasted after all."

She reached out and touched the sphere, tracing the contour of his jaw. "I once accused you of being drawn to power, saying it was a fault you needed to remedy. How wrong I was, your power is what will save us all in the end."

He scoffed. "I can only stop this for so long, if Malfurion doesn't get us out of there soon, I will be the avatar of Sargeras, and you—" he looked away, unwilling to finish.

"Will be his consort," Tyrande said, quiet.

He glanced at her, sharp. "How did you know?"

"When I entered the Nether, Sargeras told us it was our destiny. I didn't believe it could happen, Elune is a goddess."

Anger flashed in Illidan's eyes. He shoved his weight against the sphere, the muscles in his chest and arms flexing. "She has bound herself to a mortal, which makes her vulnerable. How pleased Sargeras must be with himself to enslave a goddess."

"I refuse to believe it will happen. Malfurion will find a way."

Illidan cursed, and shoved the sphere, using his shoulder. "Will he? Perhaps he has run back to his precious barrow den to sleep while the rest of Azeroth fights his battles for him."

Tyrande opened her mouth to defend her husband but the words died on her lips. The tethers were coming again.

She could hear Illidan bellowing over the thuds of a dozen tethers slamming against the sphere. She spun around, incredulous. Gul'dan's power was increasing exponentially. She didn't even have time to prepare herself. The Light burned into her, vicious, coursing through her body until it filled the sphere. The tethers juddered, splintering. They howled, dying, their high-pitched cries gnawing into her spine.

An insidious chuckle. She opened her eyes. The Chamber, again. Illidan's golden tendrils tightened around her, protective. He did not look at her. His eyes blazed, filled with hate, fixed on someone behind her.

A voice—like a blade against a sharpening stone—chilled her soul. Gul'dan.

"I applaud your tenacity Illidan, but you cannot protect her forever. Elune continues to weaken, and now without her protection, so does your precious Tyrande. Soon they will belong to our Master. And then, I intend to finish what I started with you. I look forward to watching you suffer."

Tyrande could feel Illidan straining against the tethers holding him imprisoned; felt his hatred sear through her, burning hot, like lava. She closed her eyes, sensing the darkness growing within her, her own spirit turning against her. It beckoned, promising her power beyond her dreams. She looked at Illidan, fighting both his tainted self, and Sargeras. She closed her eyes, and blocked out her thoughts. Malfurion would come. He had to. The alternative was unthinkable.

The atmosphere in Khadgar's office was so thick, Malfurion could have cut it with a dagger. He wasn't sure what the Archmage was up to, but so far, it wasn't looking like a good plan. Anduin, the new King of Stormwind had taken a seat on one of the sofas, his hands on his knees, while Sylvanas, the Horde's Warchief had chosen to remain standing, her arms crossed over her leather tunic. Both of them watched the door, waiting for Khadgar's arrival. Neither of them looked happy.

Malfurion wasn't happy either. For two days, he had been kept in comfortable isolation by the Council of Six, Khadgar had said it was for his protection, but the Archdruid wasn't so sure. Yesterday Khadgar had come to visit him, asking him to attend a meeting with the leaders of Azeroth's factions, and when Malfurion agreed, Khadgar asked him not to mention anything about Tyrande having travelled to the Twisting Nether. When Malfurion asked him why, Khadgar clammed up, politely. Malfurion pressed the Archmage, but trying to get an answer out of him was impossible. Malfurion sighed as he sipped his wine, the Kirin Tor were always so secretive, it made him wary. He wished Khadgar would hurry up.

The door opened and Khadgar walked in, solemn. He bowed. "Thank you for joining me."

Anduin stood up, his clear blue eyes earnest. "I am always happy to oblige you Archmage, but how long must we stay here? I cannot leave my people for very long."

Sylvanas nodded. "Indeed, the logistics are fast becoming difficult."

Khadgar didn't answer, instead he began to cast a spell, two blue-runed circles extended from his hands. Anduin took a step back, uncertain. Sylvanas, as always, took a defensive stance, she reached for her bow and nocked an arrow, her lips thin.

Malfurion was the first to step forward. "A portal, to where?"

Khadgar eyed each of them for a heartbeat, his expression stern and unbending. "Follow me, there is someone else who has requested to join us."

Sylvanas sneered. "We are the leaders of Azeroth, let them come to us."

Curious, Malfurion stepped closer and peered into the portal. The interior looked almost the same as Khadgar's office, except the ceiling was much higher. A warm, white light suffused the walls with an ethereal glow. He glanced at Khadgar, astonished. "Xe'ra? A Na'aru wishes to join us?"

Enigmatic as ever, Khadgar lifted a brow, and held up his hand, inviting them to enter. Without hesitation, Anduin strode forward, and stepped into the portal, Malfurion turned and waited for Sylvanas. "My Lady?"

She stepped, light, towards the opening. Suspicion emanated from her. She trusted no one. Not even a Na'aru, it seemed. Malfurion glanced at Khadgar, who remained impassive, waiting, still holding his hand out. She glared at Khadgar, but entered the portal, her bow held up in front of her, defensive.

Malfurion followed, to find the others had already approached the glimmering being. Anduin knelt, filled with awe, and despite her grudging look, Sylvanas had at least lowered her bow. The light played over her silver-grey complexion. Her dark lips parted, softening her fierce expression. Malfurion couldn't stop himself from staring. Under her forbidding mask, Sylvanas was a beautiful woman.

Khadgar appeared beside Malfurion and closed the portal. He cast several more spells—wards, Malfurion presumed—before saying anything. When he was done, the Archmage moved in front of them.

"I won't repeat the reasons you were asked to reside in Dalaran, but I am grateful you have decided to cooperate. Today I will tell you what the Council has learned. First the worst news, then once you have digested that—the bad."

Malfurion glanced at Anduin. The young man rose up, his whole attention fixed upon Khadgar. Sylvanas turned to face Khadgar, her demeanour once more harsh and suspicious. Malfurion rested his hands on his hips, and braced himself. He had waited in his quarters for two days to have answers to what the mages had gained from searching his memories. Now, finally, he would have the truth, or at least the truth according to the Kirin Tor's Council of Six. It troubled him he would have to hear about his wife's fate in front of the others, and that he had to keep certain facts to himself, but he could not get her back on his own, and if this was the way he would have to do things, so be it.

"We have less than one month left before Azeroth will lose its last opportunity to stop its destruction."

Malfurion felt the blood drain from his face. So soon? He glanced at the others. Anduin looked deeply troubled, but Sylvanas was unimpressed.

"I doubt that," she scoffed. "My spies report nothing is happening at the Broken Shore. No reinforcements have arrived, the portals to the Legion ships are silent. All is quiet."

"Quiet is when the enemy is at its most dangerous. It means they are ready to strike," Anduin murmured.

"Says the boy-king," Sylvanas muttered, dismissive.

Anduin rounded on her, his jaw clenching. "Said my father."

Sylvanas took a step back, startled by the young man's sudden ferocity. She bowed her head. "Your father was a wise man. Forgive me."

"King Anduin is correct, Gul'dan is at his most dangerous right now," Khadgar said. "He has Illidan's body—stolen from the Warden's Vault—and has found Illidan's spirit. He is draining it from the Nether back into Illidan's body, corrupting it for his own purposes."

Sylvanas arched an eyebrow, but whatever she was thinking, she kept it to herself. Anduin paled. Varian's son had trained as a priest, and Malfurion suspected the young king was already piecing together Gul'dan's dark intentions. Malfurion crossed his arms over his chest, preparing himself for what he knew was coming. Soon he would hear about Tyrande. He willed Khadgar to continue.

"It is this purpose which will become our downfall should we do nothing to stop it."

Anduin stepped closer, the Na'aru's light reflecting off the polished clasp of his cloak. "He's creating an avatar for Sargeras, isn't he?"

Khadgar nodded, terse. Sylvanas hissed, and lunged at the Archmage. Malfurion caught her and held her back. Though small, her strength was astonishing. She pushed away from him, her anger palpable. "And so, knowing such a thing was unfolding, instead of calling us to action, you decided to bring us here to talk? Typical."

Khadgar's eyebrows lowered. "Need I remind you the last time we rushed into battle without due consideration how much we lost?"

Under his severe look Sylvanas retreated a step. She glanced at Anduin, who watched her, his blue eyes darkening, veering toward hostility.

She lifted her chin, defiant. "Speak then, the Warchief of the Horde is listening."

"To stop Gul'dan from unleashing such a thing upon us, there is only one option," Khadgar said. "We must retrieve Illidan's body. Sooner rather than later. And there is another we must retrieve as well. The Lady Tyrande, who as you know was taken by Gul'dan two days ago."

Anduin met Malfurion's eyes. "My armies are at your disposal, Archmage."

Sylvanas held her hand up to Anduin. "Not so fast, Son of Varian. Archmage Karlain said Illidan and Tyrande have been taken to the Chamber of the Eye. But none have yet discovered where it is. So what are our forces meant to do, blindly attack the Legion's stronghold hoping we will stumble upon a secret entrance?"

Khadgar waved his hand in the air, and a detailed map of the Broken Shore materialised on the floor, rotating slowly. He waved two fingers, and a point of light blossomed on the shoreline where the armies of Azeroth had last begun their assault. "No. We create a diversion. Once more, an invasion by the Horde and Alliance forces on the Broken Shore. But this time, a single force working together, as one." He moved his hand and a point light glimmered briefly on the island adjacent to the Tomb of Sargeras; where the cavern of the collapsed temple lay.

"I had to use ancient magic to find it, but I was able to locate the Chamber of the Eye. It is deep underneath the Tomb of Sargeras. There is only one way in: a tunnel from Hope's End."

Malfurion stared at the spot. Tyrande. He could save her. A tunnel was easy enough to navigate, all he needed to do was shapeshift and fly to Hope's End, shift into cat form and stealth inside. He could wait until the room was empty—Khadgar caught his eye. The Archmage's were filled with warning.

"I don't need to be a mind reader to guess what each of you are thinking right now. Why attack the Shore again when we can just take the tunnel? We can't." The light on the map blossomed anew. Khadgar continued, "This is where the tunnel begins, within the cavern of the collapsed temple. But the tunnel is covered by solid rock and sealed at its entrance and exit by powerful wards set by Gul'dan himself. Even I cannot bypass them."

"Then destroy them," Sylvanas murmured, her gaze raking over the details of the terrain at Hope's End.

"And give Gul'dan warning of our arrival? No. I'd rather not. Furthermore, the tunnel leading to the Chamber is cut under the channel between the islands. If anyone were foolish enough to try force their way, they would ensure the total destruction of the tunnel, cutting themselves off completely."

Anduin looked up, his jaw taut. "So we have one chance. And, I am assuming you have a plan how to get through that tunnel, or else we would not be meeting you here in the presence of a Na'aru."

Khadgar nodded. "I need you to lead your forces as a united front at the Shore. A diversion so convincing the Legion will be compelled to leave the Tomb. Meanwhile I will send a select group through the tunnel—"

"How?" Malfurion asked, suddenly impatient. "You just said you can't breach it and you won't destroy it."

"It seems Azeroth has seen fit to provide us with a weapon of her own," Khadgar answered, oblique.

Anduin glanced up at the Na'aru. "Xe'ra?"

The Na'aru's light intensified. Anduin lifted his hand up to it, watching, fascinated as the light slid over his fingers. The air filled with the soft chiming of bells. From what seemed a great distance, Malfurion heard the Na'aru's voice within his mind.

No, Anduin, not I. My purpose is meant for another task.

Khadgar waited for the Na'aru's light to return to normal, before continuing, "The power required to open the way is greater than even the Council of Six can generate. It will be another, with powers greater even than Aegwynn's who will open the way."

Anduin's mouth fell open. Even Sylvanas lost her composure for a moment as astonishment wrote itself plain across her features. Malfurion, though, only knew one feeling. Hope, real hope, for the first time in what felt like years. Tyrande, hold on. We're coming.

"Who?" Sylvanas asked, her curiosity overcoming her pride.

But Khadgar wouldn't answer. Even here, in this warded place, in the presence of a Na'aru, the Archmage closed his mouth, and shook his head.

"Do you trust them?" Anduin asked before Sylvanas could.

"I do. And because of her, Gul'dan will not see us coming."

"Her . . ." Anduin breathed. "Do you think, maybe, it could be—?"

Khadgar smiled, soft. "No, Anduin, she is not Aegwynn reborn. At first I thought it might be so, but she is not. She has no memories, nothing of Aegwynn's long life touches her, and none of Aegwynn's magic is familiar to her. Her way of using magic is unfamiliar to me. But it is better than how we use it, she weaves it so fast, it is flawless, breathtaking. It seems she was born this way, carrying the energy of Azeroth, and the innate abilities to wield great power with almost no effort." He shook his head, bemused. "And she was born on a farm in Westfall, of all places."

"So even Azeroth herself rises to aid us," Sylvanas concluded, grim. She turned to Khadgar. "Whatever you ask of the Horde, consider it done. Let us end this, once and for all." She held out her hand to Anduin. "Son of Varian, I will fight by your side."

Anduin took her hand, and clasped it. "And I, yours."

Khadgar nodded, pleased. "Then, let us begin. We have much to do, and little time to prepare."