XXIV
Mists clung heavily to the ground. The damp air sent a chill up his spine, rattling the elementium plates as he shook it. The beach looked gray, dreary. His ears heard the sound of a seagull squawking above as it dove for its breakfast. Damp grains of sand stuck to his ebony black paws. The silence of the early hours broken every so now and then by the roaring crash of the waves from the sea. He could hear the scratching of little red crabs as they buried themselves under sun-bleached, smooth rocks. Neltharion paused and lifted a hollow, white piece of drift wood and tossed it towards the waves. The wind picked up a silvery lock and blew it wetly against his snout.
The Aspect peered around, his mind blank. He could not remember just when he came to this beach, how he got here, nor could he quite remember where he was before the beach. His eyes darted as his heart clinched momentarily at the start. Was there anything before this beach? He could not recall. His ears leaned to the sound of the roaring sea and the smell of the kelp and salt. Neltharion took in a deep breath again and whatever disquieting thought he had about this place melted away.
He welcomed the solitude. Alone at last, no one nagging him, telling him how much he was a burden, or telling him he was in the way. The sea did not think so, neither did the wind, or the sand. They all seem to welcome him there.
Neltharion continued his wall, listening to the sounds of the sea, the waves, the gulls, the crabs. High above him on this narrow, gray beach, going towards the land was a wall of sharp rocks. The rocks were covered in lichen, moss, and he heard the sounds of birds cracking clam shells against them. The green moss was a stark, bold contrast against the gray sky, bright, cheerful. Large, pillar-like rocks dotted the shallow tide pools, rising fifty feet in the air. They topped off with a brush of fuzzy, short grass. Neltharion thought for a moment they looked like tall, rocky people with green, fuzzy hair. He grinned as the thought tickled him whimsically.
He loved looking at the beaches, the tall rocky cliffs, the crash of the waves. This was the planet's art on display, just as much as a volcanically active area, with dramatically spraying geysers, and bubbling mud pits. Seeing the moss grow on the rocks, decorating them like a shaggy, emerald carpet was just as much a part of the geology as the rocks themselves. This warmed his heart with joy. His artwork, here on display for all to enjoy.
Being on this beach, alone with his own thoughts, quiet, soothing, it brought a smile to his face again.
The air smelled fresh and salty. He could breathe here, in the open air. He could stretch out. No one was confining him, no one telling he needed to watch where he stepped. Here, he felt free. His grin spreading, he spun upon his paws and extended his wings
Neltharion took another deep breath as he slowly continued down the beach, following the curves that made up the edge of the continent. Where ever it was, he enjoyed its scenery.
He rounded a rocky corner as another large wave crashed upon the shore. Neltharion's snout itched as it caught the scent of something burning. It smelled like tar and flesh. He swallowed as he came upon billowing black smoke in the gray mists. Though what he thought he felt was heat, he could only feel coldness. He shook his scales and spread his wings. Giving them a flap, the dragon snapped them swiftly to his back. Neltharion came to an open area, a gorge leading out towards the beach. At the center of the gorge was the source of the black smoke. All around him were bodies, burnt, blackened, smoldering in the chilly morning air.
The gorge itself was covered in black rocks. Cracks opened up, letting loose noxious gasses from deep inside and glowing fire. Neltharion's mouth became slack as he stepped upon the burnt rocks, walking between the dead bodies. He spied a banner, tattered, with a black, spiky-shaped horseshoe and a diamond in the center. He knew that banner very well. It was the symbol for the Horde.
He passed a hulking, burnt corpse. The skin flaked off of the pale white skull. It had a sloping forehead and jutting sharp, cracked tusks from the heavily pronounced underbite. Neltharion knew what he was looking at, an orc corpse. He could tell by the more slender frame, curvature of the waist, that it was female. At its side, was a broad sword and a rifle.
There were many others, bodies, Horde bodies. Tauren, troll, orc, undead, blood elf, burnt.
What could have caused this? He thought. Why is there so much death?
Neltharion crossed over, stepping as lightly as he could around the bodies. As his tail grazed across a blackened femur, the Aspect caught the last emotion the creature felt before it died. His body shivered as if the very heat was stolen from his blood. His heart clinched tightly and he could hear the sound of it pound in his temples. His eyes darted around, as the emotion rushed through him.
Fear…
Neltharion fumbled forward, the joints of his forelegs giving in. Fear gripped his heart, clutching it tightly in its frigid vice. The dragon's breath faltered, trembling. With little bravery he had, Neltharion commanded his heavy feet to walk. The command itself was daunting enough. Slowly, he dredged on through the bleak landscape.
The smoke continued to billow out from the ruins. Above him a dark cloud, the smoke smoldering above from the battleground, coalesced into a shape. Neltharion turned his head, following the smoke. Four pale eyes regarded him in the smoke, and a toothy, terrible grin spread across the blob of blackness of the smoke. Neltharion regarded the creature with the same emotion it announced. The terror hit him like the blunt, pummel of the elementium jacketed tungsten shell Garrosh fired at his chest a few days ago. The black dragon bent over, his left paw gripping his chest while his heart leapt into his throat. But much to his fearful surprise, the monster did not move. It continued its vigil upon him, its white eyes staring straight through him to his deepest and most private of secrets. As it stared on, the Aspect felt its violating gaze bring out his deepest fears.
Neltharion froze in its gaze and for what seemed like an eternity, they both were locked. Within its eyes, Neltharion saw so many images of his own fears, whirling past him. Calia dying, his flight all becoming extinct. His home destroyed. They all were in the eyes of this monster. They shifted and faded and reappeared, all blending together into the edge of terror that made him shiver. It was even more difficult for him to tear away, but he managed and returned his thoughts back to the aftermath of this battle. Though, the visions of his fears still were frozen in his thoughts. A new emotion came when he began to realize that no matter what he did, he failed.
Doubt.
The monster split apart, birthing another creature of similar size and shape. Neltharion's head lowered as the voices in his head began to ring out, mocking him for his failures. He did fail them, each and everyone of them. He did not kill Garrosh when he could have, he let him go because…
Even then Neltharion could not find a reason for letting Garrosh live. He let him live because that was what they wanted, not what he wanted. They, Thrall and Kalecgos…wanted him to be impartial.
There was a great battle here, but these warriors did not die from it. He could smell that they died from something else. He paused and dug his paw into the soft, black earth. Slowly, Neltharion breathed in and out, his breath not wavering. He concentrated hearing his heart beat in his chest, the thump traveling down his thick legs and into the earth itself. He heard the thump and a horrible sound that replied. It spread out all around him like ripples upon a pond. Each ripple running over the dead bodies of the warriors. Despite seeing only Horde soldiers, he found underneath them human bodies that were not Forsaken. And there were dwarves and night elves and Draenei lying below. Alliance soldiers.
His mind wondered again as he listened to
The foul sound rippled back traveling from the earth and up through his legs and into his chest. It filled his heart become heavy with dread. The Aspect lowered his head, his eyes were heavy. He found below the ground, cooled, black rock, smooth like glass. They laid strewn in rope like formations, weaving around the burnt corpses. Neltharion swallowed as he withdrew his paw.
Lava.
It was not normal lava at all. He could feel a radiant energy emanating from the harden volcanic rock. It hummed with a familiar sound, soft and low. The sound, he could not mistake it no matter what. Though he could not put it to words of how to describe it so simply due to its complexity, Neltharion still knew what he heard. It was his own sound. The lava itself could only come from him if it held his familiar energy signature. The dragon's breath was stolen from him as his heart thumped harder into his chest. His jaw set, clinching heard upon his molars. His eyes furrowed and his lips curled into a snarl.
Anger.
This was not him, he could not be the one who caused this. Neltharion's mind whirled in confusion as he spun again. The smoky creature split again, two more times.
Vengeance.
"Shut up!" Neltharion bellowed his eyes flashing like fire upon the wisps of animated, monstrous, black smoke. "Who are you, what are you?"
Dispair.
Neltharion returned his gaze to the blacken battlefield. He felt their pain, the last sensation they had before their deaths. He heard their cries, deafening his ears, stronger and louder than his roar. The Black Dragon wagged his head as he scanned the twisted scar before him. Their final thoughts were on their loved ones, reaching out with uncertainty if they will ever see their families again. He could feel his blood tingle, tingle as the heat started to rise with these thoughts, his mind coming to the daunting realization of what it was that became their doom. He scowled at the fallen bodies and sneered upon himself.
Neltharion's eyes closed as he toppled over, bracing his weight upon an elbow. His mind torn from the reality to only hurtled back in time. The sound itself growing louder, the song sickening and putrid as it rang dully through the rocks. Fire reigned from the sky, igniting his visions. He heard the sounds of clanking swords and gunfire mixing with angry shouts. Though, he heard nothing of either sides tossing insults to each other. They shouted at something else.
Lava sprayed from the sky, the earth buckled beneath. Massive footfalls thundered into the ground. Then, there was the laughter, the dark, cold, mocking laughter. The laughter only served to finally ignite the growing heat inside of Neltharion. He knew who was responsible and he was disgusted by it.
Hatred.
You cannot escape this.
Neltharion turned, his eyes opening, coming to the smoke creatures. They watched them intently. He could feel their burning eyes inside of him. One by one, they began to merge, folding in upon themselves into a massive black mass. The sickly, sour note rang inside of the dragon's head as they merged into one. Neltharion's heart quivered, his lungs spasmed and he started to cough. The Black Dragon doubled over as the sound bounced around inside his brain. His head pounded, the sound screeching, clawing inside of him. He heard the sound of laughter, dark, cold, mocking him. Neltharion curled his body, pulling his tail between his legs. His wings flailed behind him. He seized, flinching, curling. Neltharion opened his eyes and looked up, his head stiffly moving. Prickling pulses of pain electrified his nerves as the effort of simply moving his head became too great.
As they gathered, long, thick legs sprouted out. Wings burgeoned and spread wide, covering the gray sky with black. A terrible draconic head formed with tall, thick horns. Its chest was armored with metallic plates, split at the center seam. And upon its lower jaw was a large, metallic brace. Its eyes burned like hot coals. Neltharion shrank back from the form, shivering as it drew closer to him.
"No, leave me alone," he whimpered. "Please. Go away."
You cannot escape this.
Neltharion shut his eyes and curled up tightly, rocking himself. He muttered to himself, incoherent rambles dripping out from his lips. He nibbled upon a knuckle of his right paw. His other paw was tight into a balled fist. His talons dug deeply into the palm, so tight that they pierced his own skin. His fiery blood trickled down. There was pain, but Neltharion was numb.
"Make it go away," he pleaded again. "Make it go away."
This is what you are…
"Make it go away."
As he opened his eyes the scenery changed. His view was off. Neltharion found himself in the midst of now a burning battlefield, freshly set ablaze by the lava. The scent of burning flesh mixed with the smell of brimstone. The earth folded tightly like a dinner cloth. There were the smoke creatures watching him intently. He could feel their eyes burning inside of him. Then, his eyes broke away to peer down upon the ground. There, he found something curled up, wings sprawled on the blacken earth. Reaching out to the figure, he found no reaction from it. The ground did not vibrate with every beat of the creature's heart because the heart had stopped. Flipping the creature over, Neltharion found himself staring upon himself.
Dead.
He lifted his paw to his face, touching the edges of his chin. It was smooth, metallic, pieces splitting apart. Tilting his head, his eyes came upon his own, gigantic chest, split open with his own fiery blood oozing out from the wound. Plates were haphazardly bolted to it in a vein attempt to keep his chest closed. As he looked upon himself, his heart lurched.
Accept who you are.
Be it by your hand, or another. The Hour of Twilight will Fall…
His back straightened and he cast his gaze skyward. Spreading his wings, he lunged forward and bellowed out a powerful, triumphant roar. The cliff walls cracked with the quaking, deafening sound. Boulders pealed away, toppling and crackling down to the floor. The feeling of dread, fear was replaced with something else. His body warmed and a wicked smile appeared upon his face. He was glad, gleeful over the death of the many mortals. He reveled seeing their bodies strewn about his talons.
Pride.
Then, he turned his head towards the south…
§§§
He awoke with a start, wiggling himself free from the icy clutches of the horrible nightmare. Neltharion gasped, breathing the air of release as if the dream itself had at last released his trachea. He rose from the bed made for him and then unmade by his sharp talons. Neltharion's talons had ripped through the covers as he tore himself from the dream. The pillow behind him was ripped, the fluffy down spilling out to the floor. The Black Dragon shivered, his eyes wide, the pupils tiny, tight dots against the green. He rocked himself from the bed, but his legs did not catch him. Neltharion hit the floor, slamming against the smooth surface with his chest. He flailed about, kicking himself across the floor struggling to rise. He gathered himself up into a ball, staring aimlessly at the far, lavender wall. In the wake of his frantic struggle, Neltharion left the evidence of his fright in lines carved deep into the floor by his sharp scales.
The Aspect pushed himself from the floor and rose upon unsteady feet. He walked towards the door and they chimed open. Neltharion shuddered, glancing stiffly around the corridor. He felt something take hold of his hip and he swung around, a paw raised for the striking. He paused, his claw still outstretched. The Prophet Velen remained unmoved by the potential fatal slice.
"Velen," Neltharion said, letting the Prophet's name escape his lips in relief.
"I gather you did not rest well last night," he said. "In fact you have not been resting well any night since you came here."
The Earth-Warder lowered his paw and sighed, his head bowed and limp.
"I…am concerned about my wife," Neltharion said. "I suppose that's why."
"You hold the truth like water in your hands, my friend," said Velen. "I have promised not to pry into the affairs of an Aspect, but this has gone on long enough. Tell me, what did you see?"
"See?"
"See," he replied. "I know that look upon your face. You have held it each time you awoke. Visions are often startling."
"I…I'm not like you," said Neltharion. "I can't see…"
"Once more, you attempt to hold water," said Velen, wagging his head. "But it the water keeps escaping."
"It would not if I froze it," said Neltharion.
"Neltharion, the Sight is not limited to me," he said. "I have heard stories of dragons having prophetic visions."
The dragon averted his eyes and wagged his head.
"You told me that Krasus, the late mate to Queen Alexstrasza, foresaw the fate of Theramore," said Velen. "And wrote it down in a riddle." He leaned back, straightening his back. "I have heard the news that the Council of Six has decided to elect a new leader in Dalaran. They have chosen Lady Jaina Proudmoore. Did Krasus not foresee that as well?"
"He…he did," said Neltharion.
"So, the Sight can come to anyone. Even to you. What did you see?"
"I…I…I don't know…"
"Sometimes it is best to let it loose," said Velen. "Keeping it all bottled inside can be damaging."
"Monsters," Neltharion said, giving in with a sigh. "I saw monsters made of smoke."
"Smoke monsters?"
"I was traveling along side a beach," he said. "This beach, I've never seen it before. But it felt peaceful. And it was cloaked in gray fog."
"The Earth-Warder that does not know a beach?"
"No…well…" said Neltharion. "It was a dream, so I suppose I wouldn't know where it was. But it wasn't in the Emerald Dream. It was just there, and I was just there. Then, bodies. Lots of bodies, all black and smelling like they've been fried. Horde and Alliance all. I touched the ground and I heard…shriek. My Song was gone, replaced by this…sound. It sounded like the land was sick. I fell. I couldn't move. Then, the smoke from the bodies rose up to form this…I don't know what it was. A thing with four white eyes. Then another formed beside it. Seven, actually. I could feel their emotions. Anger, violence, hatred, despair, doubt, fear, and pride." He closed his eyes. "And then they all combined into one being. They all combined and formed Deathwing." Neltharion sighed. "And I thought we were through with the Hour of Twilight. I thought it was done. But…"
"The Old Gods are still below the surface of Azeroth," said Velen. "My shaman have told me this. Just because you are here with us now, it does not mean we have won the struggle started by the Cataclysm. The effects of the Cataclysm still plague this planet to this day. The land has been changed because of it. So long as the Old Gods are still around, then the Hour of Twilight has not been abated."
"It is getting old though," said Neltharion. "I mean, for a good year, I had to listen to the whole boast from Deathwing, over, and over, and over, and over, and…and…"
"The sun has set on this mortal world," said Velen. "Make peace with your end for the Hour of Twilight falls."
"Blech, enough," Neltharion said in a moan. "If I hear that mantra one more time, I'll vomit. It's not going to happen. It's over with. I'm done with it. I've nearly made the Twilight Dragonflight extinct, I've scattered the Twilight's Hammer, I'm completely ignoring N'Zoth and his voice isn't bothering me."
"And yet, the Twilight Dragonflight still exists," said Velen. "The Twilight's Hammer may have been scattered, but they were the ones responsible for giving Garrosh the means to build his weapons, and though you ignore N'Zoth, it does not mean he is not there. The problem has not gone away despite your belief it has. Nor does new problems eclipse the old ones. My problems have not gone away. Kil'Jaeden may have been defeated at the Sunwell, but he has not been destroyed. He still exists, he still plots. Though Sargeras was defeated ten thousand years ago, it still did not stop him. He did not go away. He came back to possess sorcerer Medivh. And Sargeras is still out there. The threat of the Burning Legion is still there." He placed his hand upon Neltharion's shoulder. "Your troubles and mine have not disappeared. All we did was buy us a little bit more time. Nothing more, nothing less. Your vision was your own voice reminding you of that. If you falter, you saw what could happen. I have a purpose myself, and I must never forget what that purpose is. I must always continue on and remember that purpose. So do you."
Neltharion bowed his head: "Perhaps you are right. I've felt I've lost myself these last two years. Maybe I have prioritized something I shouldn't."
"Perhaps," said Velen.
"But what about Calia?" Neltharion asked. "I have to worry about her…she's my…"
Velen slowly raised a hand and shook his head. He smoothed out his beard.
"There is something I have learned ever since she came to us," he began. "She has her own problems, her own convictions. Most importantly, her world is quite small compared to your own. It is all that she can handle. Ask yourself if she can in fact truly handle your world, truly help you carry the weight you carry. Ask yourself, can she see how you see? Then ask yourself this, can you see how she sees?"
Neltharion's voice reverberated with a touch of scorn: "No offense, Prophet, but what the hell are you implying?"
"You will see," said Velen. "You both have kept to yourselves during your stay, just like you try to avoid the realization that the Hour of Twilight still could happen, you have been avoiding her. You knew what you felt when you entered the medical bay, do you not?"
Neltharion's frustrated growl vibrated through the floor. Velen remained unfazed and cool despite the intimidating glare from the Aspect.
"Go see her," said Velen, softly breaking through Neltharion's growing ire. "And come to terms with it, with who you are and who she is."
Neltharion rumbled and nodded. Velen bowed to the Earth-Warder and then parted, sweeping across the floor as if he glided upon the Light itself.
"Wait," said Neltharion. "Velen!"
Velen paused and turned slightly.
"Perhaps you know why Deathwing looked south."
"Why would he look south?" asked Velen.
"That's what I want to know."
"What is in the south?"
"Um…" Neltharion said as he withdrew from the Prophet. "I…I think I know. But I don't…remember. Uncharted land?"
"To us, perhaps," said Velen. "But is Azeroth truly uncharted to you?"
"No," said Neltharion.
"Then you do know what lies to the south," said Velen. He continued his walk down the corridor, leaving the Earth-Warder.
"Still doesn't answer the question what's there in the south," Neltharion sighed.
"You are the Earth-Warder, are you not?" Velen asked, peaking out from behind a corner.
"Yes," said Neltharion.
"Then, how can you not know?" Velen asked. "You are the protector of this planet, I would think that you are the one who truly knows where everything is, including what is in the south." The Draenei smiled. "It must be incredibly advantageous to know every inch of a planet, inside and out. Nothing can hide from you. Why I bet if there is a secret land anywhere down south, you could find it. Because you can see where we cannot."
With that, the Prophet finally vanished, leaving Neltharion to his thoughts.
"Secret lands," Neltharion sighed, his own thoughts failing to provide any answer. "I…I don't remember."
The Black Dragon walk on, his feet dragging behind him. His head hung heavily, the weight taxing to his spine. As he passed a smooth, reflective surface within the corridor, Neltharion paused to peer upon it. His form had swelled, the new rips still freshly open. The new plates so graciously given by the Draenei of Azuremyst Isle barely kept them closed. Where had the strength gone? He could pick up his bulk so much more easily when he was furious, raging over the deaths of his family and wanting vengeance.
That is what this is all about, Neltharion. Your revenge.
He shut his eyes. Inside the darkness, two pares of white eyes opened and stared back. The Black Dragon wrenched, his eyes popping open. Neltharion's stomach churned and heaved, hearing that sickening sound that haunted his most recent dreams. He reached out for the reflection with a paw, tracing the lines the silvery chunks in his beard formed. As he pulled his claw back, his reflection changed. Glaring back at him, with a pair of fiery orange eyes and a toothy scowl hidden by a huge, metallic chin was the memory he so desperately wanted to be rid of.
You cannot escape from who you are.
Neltharion's head swayed, recoiling from the face.
"I deny you," he whispered in a shudder. He scrambled for whatever strength still was left in him and commanded his thick legs on.
As he headed for the exit, he could sense his wife, wandering the grounds as she had done so once she recuperated. Neltharion slowed his pace as he came close to her location. There was a sharp cold tinge in the air and a cloud of discontent and conflict billowing all around her. The cloud of emotions was so thick, Neltharion scarcely could make out his wife beneath the churning bleakness. Lightning flashed as he sensed her mind lingering upon a name.
Neltharion…
The dragon came to a halt only a few paces from Calia just as she turned towards him. Her stony stare ripped through his heart. Neltharion shivered, the chill coming from Calia's eyes manifested in the air around them. He felt the scour of her eyes as she looked him over.
"Calia," he said.
It was all he could muster. The words ran from his mind like sand from an hourglass.
"I'm done," she said.
Neltharion winced from the poison of her voice.
"Done?"
He lowered his great body down, taking on a posture of subservience to his wife. He averted his eyes from hers, finding her feet friendlier than her scowling face.
"What do you mean 'done'?" he asked.
"I mean," Calia began. "I am done with dreams, with childhood fantasies."
Neltharion's eyes pressed closed, squeezing the tears that welled up in his lower lids. His talons dug deeply into the ground, scraping long gashes in the soft, brown dirt.
"Why did I go after you?" Calia continued, paying no heed to the tears slowly filling the divots under Neltharion's claws. "Why did I allow myself to fall for a creature like you?"
"I…I don't understand…"
"No, you don't," she said. "I tried, I honestly tried. I gave you what you wanted from me. I was your support. Yet you did not give me what I wanted, what I needed."
She looked off to the nearby tower of the Exodar: "You are not the prince I imagined all those years ago, the one I thought I had found again."
She looked back. Her voice withheld in an abrasive whisper.
"You are the most powerful thing on this forsaken planet, yet your strength always seems to fail to those that need it most. Why is it that you are the Earth-Warder? What grand design did the Titans have to include you as a protector?
"Calia," said Neltharion. "What? I…"
"My people are dead. My kingdom is dead."
She paused. Calia pressed her lips together tightly.
"I gave you a home, a place for your dragons," she said, her voice becoming louder. "And I even went on a hunt for the Black Prince—who just might be your missing son—and what thanks do I receive? A failed attempt to ridding the world of the evil that plagues it."
Calia straightened her shoulders, her eyes bearing down upon the Dragon Aspect.
"You really couldn't do it? What prevented you? You couldn't kill him? Why?"
Neltharion laid his head upon his paws, a small whimper escaping his nostrils.
"I have a husband who can make an entire new continent," she said. "And one orc is a hassle for him to take out? Why is killing our enemies, dispensing justice so hard for you?"
"I…didn't kill him…because I'm not suppose to," he replied.
"Not suppose to? It is your duty to the world, to the innocent! And to me, to my people— the people under your protection!"
Neltharion shrank from her words, wings and tail pressed tightly to his sides.
"I would think taking care of the dirt should be easy," she said. "But you can't even do that. You allowed Garrosh to destroy our home!"
"There was nothing I could do," said Neltharion.
"Honestly, nothing?"
"What could I have done?" he asked. "It didn't matter if I killed him that day or not. The bomb would have been dropped regardless." He lifted his eyes to her, showing every bit of the pain she dealt him. "Even Jaina didn't blame it on me. She forgave me."
"Jaina is a Horde-loving, spineless traitor!" Calia called. "She let her own father die at the hands of the Horde just to help her green-skinned boyfriend. Who, by the way, left her for another orc! What thanks she got for when she saved his ass?"
"Jaina is as hurt as you are," said Neltharion. "She…blames all of this on Thrall."
"Oh, she does?" Calia asked, looming over him "She does? So she finally sees the errors of her ways? Did she help you not kill Garrosh as well?"
The dragon laid his head back upon his paws.
"You have the power of the entire planet at your command," Calia said, throwing up her arms in exasperation. "The whole planet. You can bend that to your will, the air, the water, the ground, the stuff that's under the ground. There is nothing Garrosh can do, no where he can hide because every inch of this planet is an extension of your limbs, your consciousness, and he still gets away with the murder of innocent people. How is this possible?"
She thrusted her finger between his eyes.
"Alexstrasza killed her captors, killed them…something that she is forbidden to do as the Aspect of Life…and she did it. She burned them and ate them for keeping her and her mate prisoners and enslaving her children to be used as cannon fodder. But when the Horde comes and wipes out the last vestiges of your flight, you couldn't so much as lift a finger."
"I opened up the world and swallowed much of Garrosh's own forces," Neltharion interjected.
"But not Garrosh," said Calia. "And not in time to save anyone."
She turned away as Neltharion peered up at her. His wings rustled as he shivered from her cold shoulder.
"I can't do it anymore. There is nothing that is keeping me here, no child, no home, nothing. I don't want to be your consort, I don't want to be your wife, and never wanted to be the mother of your children! Both times, both times when I had your children, they nearly killed me. Both times, once because of Deathwing, and then once because of you. And they both died. No more."
She leaned down to him, taking hold of his snout horn and pulling him closer to her.
"Take a hint, Neltharion. I don't need you. You hold me down, you hold me back. "
She released her grip of his horn and his head dropped heavily back down upon his forelegs. Calia drew close to his ear hole, pulling his shaggy, silvery streaked beard away. Neltharion clinched his teeth, bracing himself as she spoke.
"I cannot just forget about the near three decades in which the Horde has done nothing but make our lives more miserable. I cannot forget the fact that the Horde, when they left their world, was meaning to take ours away, enslave us, all because they couldn't save their own. All because their barbaric wars rendered their planet to a dustball. They brought this on themselves. Even Velen's people witnessed it. The Horde slaughtered them for no reason!"
"They slaughtered them because Velen, by telling the truth of Oshu'gun, where it came from and why it was there," Neltharion began. "He offended the orcs' culture."
"The truth," said Calia. "He told them the truth and they slaughtered his people because of it! Because they are so primitive, they can't think beyond their backwards, inbred ways. They are animals! And you hoped you could make peace with them? You're even more dense than I thought. They don't understand what peace is, they only know one thing, Nel. War. Death. Destruction. He told them the truth as a means to warn them about the Burning Legion, and they slaughtered his people!"
Neltharion's cheeks flushed as he started to curl up. He pulled a wing over his body, shielding himself. He tucked his tail between his legs, holding the tip close to his chest.
"And you just left them off the hook," said Calia. "You expect me to just forget about the past."
"No," his voice a small, frightened squeak. "I don't. I just…I…"
"You don't know what you want, Neltharion," said Calia. "All you do is try to repair what Deathwing wrought. Yet the world is still broken."
"Calia…" he said. "Please…"
"You need to know this," she said. "No one cares whether or not Deathwing was some monster controlling and tormenting you. All they saw was you."
She looked away again.
"And…"
"And…" She suddenly tensed, posture going as rigid as one shocked by an errant spell. She turned back, a vaguely stunned look fading from her face.
"And that's all I saw as well."
Slowly, Neltharion lifted his head up, sniffling, his eyes drowning in tears.
"So, what?" he asked. "Where are we? Back at square one? What we were two years ago on that island alone?" As he started to rise, the ground itself shifted, the rock beneath snapping. "Nothing has changed between us? "
"Why tell me now?" he asked. "Why only tell me now?"
"Because I only truly knew now."
"What do you know?"
"I know enough."
It was an incomplete answer, he knew. He could feel the truth at hand. The words swam at the surface of her mind, barely hidden by a veil of fog.
He reached in and tried to brush the fog aside.
It clung to his presence like a living thing, boiling, growing, until two burning orange eyes stared back.
He recoiled instinctively, leaping away, back smashing into one of the decorative stone planters that lined the paths through the grounds. The stone sundered with a crunch, fragments spraying out behind him as he collapsed onto the wreckage.
"Deathwing," said Neltharion."You still see me as Deathwing."
"Yes. Deep down I cannot forget…or forgive. Just like I cannot forgive the Horde, forget their atrocities. Just as you cannot."
"Why couldn't you tell me?"
"Because you break down into tears each time a little piece of your world shatters before you," she said. "It's embarrassing, a creature as big as you, as powerful as you, be so vulnerable. Crying until I come home to hold you in my arms. I'm not your mother, Neltharion, I'm supposed to be your wife!"
"I haven't cried that much since I was freed from Deathwing's madness," said Neltharion. "I'm…better."
"No, you're not," she said. Calia advanced on him. "Look at yourself! I'm surprised you can see me with all those tears in your eyes."
He backed away, tears still dripping from his cheeks even as a weak defensive snarl spilled from his mouth.
"And as you are my husband, you are supposed to support me," she said. "Be on my side."
"I am on your side," said Neltharion.
"Not when it comes to driving those undead scum from my city. Not when it comes to killing Garrosh."
"Is this what it's all about?" Neltharion asked. "The fact that I won't get rid of Sylvanas for you? I can't do that."
"You can, you just won't."
"It's because I can't get involved."
"Well, you are involved. You lost family in Theramore too. What sort of Lord of the Black Dragonflight are you if you can't even avenge their deaths?"
"It's not my place," he replied.
Calia swatted him hard upon his lower jaw, his head to jerking to the side. When he dared to look back he found his wife holding her hand, grimacing. His cheek didn't even sting from the blow. But his already wounded heart felt the bite of that slap.
"You have no idea what it means to be me," he said. " I am the Earth-Warder. Each time you remind me how I should be helping you to take down Sylvanas, I have to remind you that is not what I was made to do. And those undead you revile, they are your people too. In fact now, since Theramore is gone, they are the only people you have left. And you shun them because of what they are. I said don't talk to me as if you were Arthas, or Varian. They cannot help what they are no more than I can."
Calia curled her right hand into a fist. Neltharion stood, his jaw clenched, his muscles bracing for the strike. She struck him again.
His head did not move from the strike.
She pulled back, yelping in pain and holding her wrist. She knelt down, seething with agony. Neltharion raised a paw. Droplets of water seeped out of the moist ground, gathering into a floating bubble upon his paw. Moving closer, he lowered his paw down to her, and the water glowed softly blue. Calia jerked back.
"Let me heal that." he said.
"Don't even touch me!" she said, backing away.
"Calia, I don't want to fight you," he said. "I don't want to fight you. I don't want to hurt you."
"Then get the hell away from me!"
"Tell me. What brought this on? What did I do to upset you?"
"You want to know?"
Calia breathed heavily, still gripping her hand tightly.
"I'll tell you," she said, every bit of her voice grating through her clinched teeth. "It'll be the same as what I said that day when I had the Dragon Soul."
"That was the Dragon Soul…the Old Gods talking. That wasn't you."
"Was it?" she laughed, a pale bitter thing. "Or was it the long-buried, long-denied truth? Those emotions never vanished. I just kept them inside of me. It's only now that I can truly realize it, truly face it. I'm tired…of all of this! I'm not your damned security blanket, Neltharion!"
"So, you want Lordaeron back?" Neltharion asked. "You want me to get a piece of land barely a thousand square miles in diameter back? What does it matter? Why care for imaginary lines that will be redrawn in the blink of an eye?"
He raised to his unsteady feet, stepping around to face her again as she looked away. Neltharion blinked away the tears.
"I'm the Earth-Warder! I guard the entire planet. I protect the entire planet. All six sextillion tons, that is what I guard. And I want to give it to you. The land, the sky, the ocean, the deepest depths. The world is so beautiful! Why care for a drop when I can give you the ocean itself! Why care about one grain when I can give you all the sand in the world? I don't understand."
"It's a matter of principle!" said Calia. "The world doesn't need a Dirt-Warder! The evil that stalks the world doesn't attack the dirt! It's the people that need your strength! Who cares for the dirt?"
He crossed her, his eyes staring deep into hers. Neltharion puffed out his chest. The previously hidden rips showed themselves, air wavering in the heat.
"My father is Khaz'Goroth," the Black Aspect announced, the ground quaking with every word. "A Titan, the Builder of Worlds. Though I've never truly knew him, he has given me a charge that I must keep. This world is mine to protect. I don't guard a grain of sand, Calia, I guard the world. The air you breathe, the stable weather you enjoy, the water you drink, and the land you till upon…it is my responsibility to safeguard it. I'm the only one who can do it. No one else can. No one, no matter how much I wish they could."
He shrank back. Neltharion folded upon himself.
"I don't know why my father made me like this," he said, clutching himself in misery. "I don't know why he made me so…broken. How can I protect you…or this planet when I'm like this? I am broken. And I need someone to…be with me. To be a companion. A friend, a lover…somebody who is willing to understand, somebody who can understand."
"I can't be that for you," said Calia. "I can't. You're right, all I care about is just one grain of sand. But by the Light, Neltharion, it's my grain of sand. For my people live and die on that grain of sand. And I can't just give up my loyalties to them. And you know what else? I need someone to support me. To help me achieve my goals.
"My home, my people's home…I want it back. And you have the power to give that to me. You could yank it out from under Sylvanas' feet with barely a shrug. She couldn't even put up a fight. Not even her val'kyr could save her from you. There wouldn't the be ashes left to bring her back from whatever pit spawned her. But you keep on with your neutrality, saying you won't because that wouldn't be fair. Well, it's unfair that I'm married to someone who lets good people die to protect Dirt!"
Neltharion flinched as she dug into that word. He tore his eyes away from her, shutting them tightly and grazed his lower lip with a long, stark white fang.
"Even Deathwing gained more respect than you!" she continued, balling her fists up again. "For all his evil, he was a competent, deadly opponent. You follow in his footsteps, but none follow yours."
"I am not Deathwing!" he roared, tail carving deep gouges in the path. "Not Deathwing!"
"Yet that is all that they can see."
"Then I will change what they see!"
He reached for one of the armor plates girding his shoulders, and tore at it with his talons. It surrendered with a wet shriek, lava and broken elementium fragments falling from the widening rip.
In a frenzy, he reached as far down his side as he could, muscles bunched tightly, before pulling back. Plates buckled and tore as his claws caught them. He whipped to his other side and repeated the gesture, freeing his chest and sides from their metallic confines.
"Not Deathwing," he panted, lying back down on the ground. Lava dripped from the new holes, rips widening, liberated from the prison that bound it.
"They're afraid of you because you're gigantic, because you're unstable, Neltharion. And while less armor may help, it is not enough, is it? It will never be enough."
Calia's form blurred as his eyes filled, truth ringing from her words. He hunched inward with a cry, a pulse of heat carrying through his form. He wrapped his forelegs around his chest as the pulse slammed home.
He felt himself rise as his chest expanded, pushing him off the ground. He focused his strength inward, drawing in his limbs and wings, but even their great strength could not contain the growth. His forelegs scraped sideways across the ground, his widening chest and abdomen shoving them aside. Scales stretched and split as muscles swelled, threatening to burst from the skin. The rips in his scales widened, scalding steam seeping out. Calia backed away as Neltharion continued to fill out.
"Calia…" His eyes found Calia's blurred form, his voice a pained whimper. "Please…help me…"
His horns tingled at the tips, growing longer, broader, sharper, his head drooping under their weight even as his skull widened. He could feel the twinge of even the smallest muscles as his limbs were all forced apart; their expanding muscles pushing them off the ground and away from each-other. Too-tight scales shifted over the swollen muscles of his abdomen. He only barely fought off the urge to grow to his true size.
The pulse slowly dissipated, leaving him panting, muscles throbbing, rips driving shards of pain into his awareness.
Footsteps approached, and he wearily looked up to Calia. A look of pity briefly flashed over her face before being replaced by a more stoic, determined expression. It was gone fast enough he'd think it a mirage if the feeling hadn't flashed through her mind as well.
"I don't understand…" His voice was naught but a hoarse whisper. "I thought I was done with this, this…tearing, these changes."
"And that is the heart of the problem—you are never ready for the true problems, the true enemies that people must face every day. You don't take part in our struggles, our sacrifice. Only wallow in your own problems." Her voice matched the volume of his whisper, but her words were wrapped in a tone of finality. Her shoulders were square and confident, yet also relaxed, the look of one that had finally made a difficult, long-overdue decision.
"I thought that if I could just convince you, or you'd see the evil the Horde has done, maybe you'd listen and finally protect this world from its alien menace."
"That alien menace has many members from this world," whispered Neltharion. "Tauren, Trolls, Blood Elves, and Forsaken. They are of this world. It is only the Orcs who are not."
"Then, they are traitors."
"They're not traitors," said Neltharion. "They went to that side because the Alliance did not show them any welcome. Humans treated beings like the Tauren as if they were beasts of burden. And the Elves. When Arthas destroyed their only means of survival, the Sunwell, instead of offering something in alternative, the Alliance shunned them when they started using fel energies to counteract the dependency."
Calia crossed her arms.
"They shouldn't have used fel energy."
"Varian has warlocks working for him who command demons," he growled. "Demons that are found in the Burning Legion! No side has a monopoly on righteousness!"
"Kael'thas Sunstrider worked for Kil'Jaeden!" she ground out.
"Kil'Jaeden was once Velen's brother!" Neltharion countered. "And he was tricked by Sargeras! You see what this does? You see what this means? It means that no matter who we are, what we are, we're all victims in this. Your brother was the Lich King, Calia! He betrayed your father, he murdered him on the throne! He took Lordaeron away from you, not Sylvanas! Sylvanas only was trying to give Lordaeron back to the people who it belonged to. Your people, those who you call undead monsters are your people."
He bowed over, holding his stomach as he could feel another pulse begin its beat deep inside of him. Locks of his beard tangled in the jagged, triangular scales and knotted around his snout horn.
"I'm trying to find another way, and believe there is a chance. I love this world despite its flaws, despite the pain. I am trying."
Neltharion reached for Calia.
"I need you. I need someone to remind me not to go down that dark hole. Remind me that there is something in this world worth protecting. I'm still not cured. I still can't stand on my own four feet. I need help. And I am looking for that help from you."
"You looked in the wrong place."
Her eyes were set, the look of a soldier finishing their mission. Distant. The early evening sun cast her shadow in his direction.
For the first time her mind was clear, calm— no storm darkened her thoughts. Her mind beaconed him, a last shred of hope. He grasped for the truth.
Its icy light burned over rising waters.
"You don't love me."
Horror tinged every whispered word, fragments of a shattered world.
The power blasted through his form, incinerating him. Already tense muscles bulged as power surged. Rips glowed red, then orange, then white as they opened, scales splitti"ng. The armor on his back groaned.
A damaged plate on his side failed with the shriek of overstressed metal. It smashed through the surrounding forest, the crash of broken trees following in its wake, glass tinkling from broken path-lights.
"Calia," he whispered.
"Goodbye, Neltharion." A twinge of sadness brushed her eyes, and was gone.
She turned and walked away.
"Calia!"
He extended a widening foreleg toward her, talons lengthening and sharpening to wicked proportions. He dug it into the path, and attempted to drag his bulk after her.
His talons sliced through the stone and soil of the path like water. A flash appeared as they severed a cable for the path-lights, and the Light went out.
He had moved no closer to her, his growing bulk anchoring him to the earth, immobilizing him.
"Calia!" he shouted.
She did not turn back, but quickened her pace.
"CALIA!" he roared. The landscape under him shattered, the word transforming into the keening roar of an animal in pain. The carefully manicured landscape of the park heaved, stone paths shattering like glass.
The growth redoubled, uncontrolled. Muscles seemed to explode into being, appearing as their girth became too much for scales to hide. Bones grew and shifted, broadening to support them. He thrashed in pain, head smashing through the solid stone planters as his scales failed to keep up, rips spreading and growing. The air shimmered from the heat, the fallen trees smoking then bursting into flame.
The expansive feeling continued as the sun descended, receding only as the orb approached the horizon. He staggered to his feet, head sagging, limbs dragging.
The park was in ruins.
The lovingly cared for landscape was broken, cracks spreading in all directions. The nearby plants were mere cinders, those more distant fallen in disarray. A set of panicked, angered shouts were slowly coming closer.
He could not face them.
His form exploded into his true size, tail laying waste to the remaining stand of trees. The downburst from his wings hurled wreckage and burning trees in all directions as he took to the air. There was no pretense or elegance; he blasted the air apart in his haste, a boom traversing the countryside in his wake.
Despite his haste, he did not trust his wings.
The massive appendages seemed once again alien, the musculature that powered them heavy and foreign, the resulting uncoordinated flight pattern not respectable for even a whelp. But he drove forward, heedless.
It was not long before the Exodar was out of sight, the empty coastline of Azuremyst Isle below.
None were around to find him.
None would care to find him.
The surge hit suddenly, unexpectedly. His wings faltered, a burst of fire escaping from them, scorching the beaches below. The wrongness of it all drove into his mind: too large muscles moving too large wings. He flailed, his control fleeing.
He crashed onto the sand, plowing a furrow aside the surf.
The surge washed over him.
It was a bump compared to the mountains that preceded it, its passing marked by his deepening shadow. In relief, he opened his eyes.
The beach was silent.
The rocks were blackened from his fire, moss and plants reduced to ash, the same fate that had befallen the animals. There was no movement, no life. Even the sea was calm, dark.
Being on the beach, along with his thoughts was disquieting, disturbing.
Twilight fell as the hour shifted.
The beach did not change, the silence omnipresent, gray ash and the deep purple of twilight the only dim colors.
He laid his head on the pillow of his forelegs, and tucked in wings and tail as close as his now-bulging musculature would allow. Closing his eyes, he tried to listen to the Heart, to seek the overtones of friends, of family.
A single, dissonant note sounded in the distant South, and then all was still.