CHAPTER 20
The library's silence oppressed Idira. Even the tower's latent arcane bursts and her tendrils of Light had faded to a muted quiescence, barely glimmering. The books stood silent and still on their shelves, not one of them came to her to greet her. She touched the spines of the ones nearest her. They huddled together, desolation and misery emanating from them. Unwilling to make them suffer, she left, knowing her presence only reminded them she would soon be gone, never to return.
Within the solitude of Medivh's office, Idira cast a spell, bringing forth a crackling fire into the long-dormant fireplace. She held out her hands, warming them, thinking of nothing, watching the orange flames caress the logs, moving over the wood's rough surfaces; the lick of flames mesmerising, reminding her of the sultry touch of a lover, even as the flames blackened and consumed the logs' bark. She rubbed her hands together, savouring the prickle of heat, the itch of warmth on her skin.
Her thoughts turned inward, drifting back to the hungry, rough days of her childhood, living on the farm with her father and Myra, eking out an existence in their dilapidated shack on the coast of Westfall; the day her father came back from the riot in Stormwind, bloodied and sour. His promotion and her sudden, luxurious life in Moonbrook, cocooned within VanCleef's bizarre, criminal world. Poverty coming again as her father's forces overran Westfall, the nightmare of her long, dark incarceration on The Night's Cutlass; the return back to the farm on the coast. Thirteen quiet years of relative peace until the Legion arrived; Stormwind's Pig and Whistle tavern, Dalaran's Academy, the Archives and then finally, Khadgar's sanctuary, sealed outside of space and time. She brushed at a whisper of ash, absently smearing its chalky white residue across the black wool of her dress, thinking of Logan's letter, left behind along with her things in her dorm room, wondering what had happened to her belongings. She scoffed. Knowing the way the Academy was run, they had probably sent one of the mute servants to clear it out, her scant belongings packed into a box and buried in some vault akin to the archives; a pompous title sprawling in gilt letters across its door. Lost and Found. No Goblins Past This Point. etc. etc. She scoffed again, turning to warm her back against the heat of the fire. What did it matter now? No one would ever claim her things. They would remain there for years, perhaps forever, Logan's letter with it, forgotten, just like her.
Morose, her thoughts drifted to those who had shaped her life, protected her, befriended her: Lanira, VanCleef, Benny, Kip, Arinna, the Lady Nin, Bishop Mattias, Logan, Ryback, Vanessa, Wynn, Duncan, Margle and Unambi. She bit her lip as she dwelled on her memories of her lost protector. What would he think of her here in this place, of the terrible spectre of her destiny awaiting her, only hours away? What would he say to her if he was still alive? She pressed her hands against her face, stifling a sob, her heart torn by longing to have his reassuring presence near her and missing him more than she had ever done before. He would know how to comfort her, would know exactly the right words to say to help her face her destiny with courage.
Sinking to her knees before the fire, she closed her eyes, trying to imagine what he would say, hearing his voice as clearly as though he were there in the room with her.
Ya be real special, Idira. Ya been chosen ta save da lives o' millions an' ya be savin' da life o' da man ya love. Dat be da best love dere is.
A tear slipped free, rolling down the side of her nose. The memory of Unambi's sacrifice coming back, bright, vivid, his body torn apart by a horde of demons so she could live to face this day. Wiping her tear away, she drew a shuddering breath. His death would not be in vain. She would face her end with honour, would accept her destiny and make Unambi proud. She went to Medivh's desk, rummaging through the drawers until she found a sheet of paper and a quill pen. The jar of ink had long since dried out. She conjured more.
Settling into place, she stared at the empty page, considering her words, the last ones Khadgar would have from her, words intended to reassure him, to ease his pain, to let him know she had accepted her fate and her love for him would go on until the end of time. Dipping the stylus into the ink, she took a deep breath and began.
A short while later, she sat back, waiting for the ink to dry, rereading her words, satisfied she had said all she wanted to say. Another rummage in the desk uncovered a small wooden box containing a fat stick of red wax along with an array of seals. She took up the wax and left the seals in the box, conjuring her own, the sign of infinity, a closed double loop, laying on its side. Pressing its impression against the blob of melted wax, she sealed the letter closed.
She wandered back to the bedroom, wondering where to leave it. Nowhere he might see it before the event. It would have to be concealed. She went to the bed and lifted up his pillow, sliding the letter underneath. Trailing her fingers over his pillow, she considered whether she ought to pen letters to Vanessa and Wynn as well: to let them know of her fate and make her farewells. It would be an easy enough task to teleport them into a mailbox. She hurried back down the corridor, she should have just enough time. She stopped, imagining them opening her letters, their stricken expressions. No. How awful it would be for them to have to learn of her death from a cold letter, to never be able to speak to her, to ask her the questions she knew would be burning within their hearts for the rest of their lives. It was kinder, better for them to believe she had been sent away from Dalaran in disgrace, banished, left to fend for herself in some far-flung corner of Azeroth, with them living in the hope they might meet her again one day.
She returned to Medivh's office, and passed the time sitting before the fire reading a beautiful leather-bound tome she had discovered during her last visit, one she had intended to read later: a book of fairytales from the races of the Horde, stories she had never seen or heard of before. Half-way through, she paused between stories, discovering an inscription, written in flowing script on the frontispiece:
My love, do not forget me. I shall never forget you. Yours, forever. G.
Idira trailed her fingers over the faded ink. Sensing the latent touch of Azeroth's once-Guardian still clinging to the letters. How often had he caressed Garona's words, Idira wondered, thinking of her own letter, left for Khadgar. Words he would touch in an attempt to bring her back to him.
She pushed her melancholy thoughts aside, considering how many others had achieved their heart's desire. She thought of Myra and Benny and of VanCleef, none of them had been able to have the life they longed for, all of them dying brutal deaths, their hearts broken. And Logan? He had spent his years of manhood longing for a woman he could never have. Even Unambi. She had suspected there might have been someone for him, too. Someone VanCleef had taken him from by capturing him, separating them forever. During the darkest period of their time on The Night's Cutlass, Unambi had confirmed her suspicions. He had wondered about the woman he had intended to bind with, if she was well, who she had bound with, did she have little ones. His words had sounded innocuous enough, but the look in his eye betrayed the truth. He had loved her, and he missed her. His loss so palpable, even as a young woman, raw and inexperienced, Idira could sense his pain. Yet he had given it all up to take care of her, to protect her, to make sure she would be able to do whatever it was her Light intended her to do.
Bolstered by thoughts of him, of his connection to her path and her purpose, she continued to think of him, reliving her memories: watching him out the kitchen window of the farm while he worked in his garden, singing to the plants as he tended them; him running down the hall of VanCleef's house, carrying her and Blackie to safety the morning Papa had bombed the house; the night he spent saving her books from the storm damage; the day he rowed them out of the claustrophobic dark cavern, back out into the sunlight; his blade saving her from Papa's knife; then, surrounded by demons, his final sacrifice, triggering her Light.
A thought struck her hard. She sat up, slow. He knew. He knew she carried the Light of Azeroth, it was why he had stayed with her, even when VanCleef had offered him his freedom. Right from the very first time, when her Light had protected her in Klaven's Tower, he had recognised it, yet he had never told anyone, not even her, until the very end, when she was so terrified, so overwhelmed by the events surrounding her she had not comprehended his words. It had taken her almost four months to piece it together. She closed her eyes hearing his voice again: Da Light got a plan, and it be a good one, ya got ta trust dat Light. Ya real special, Idira, don' ya be forgettin' dat.
She looked back down at the book in her lap, her fingers still touching the faded inscription. She had not been alone with her Light after all. Unambi had known, and even if he was gone, she sensed he was still with her somehow; his memory surrounding her, comforting her, protecting her, guiding her, showing her the way. Today she would die and go to the Light, just like those before her, yet unlike many of them, she had been able to know true love. It was enough. It would have to be enough.
Khadgar arrived several hours later. She woke to his touch, the fire reduced to a smoulder, her body caught in the thrall of her innate chill. She sat up, the fairytale book slipping from her numb fingers, toppling onto the floor. Khadgar reached down and picked it up, glancing at the title.
"These are very sad stories," he said, murmuring a spell, rekindling the fire. "The Horde races prefer tragic endings to their fairytales, believing a difficult ending reflects life more accurately than the happy endings of the Alliance versions."
"Perhaps the Horde are wiser than we," Idira remarked, rising to her feet, letting him wrap his arms around her, enclosing her against his warmth. "Their children will not grow up to be disappointed, as I am sure many of the Alliance's have."
Khadgar made a non-committal sound, as he leaned over and set the book onto the side table, still holding her in his arms. "I read these stories when I was Medivh's apprentice—the whole book in one sitting—hoping each new tale would come to a better end. Not one of them does." He caught her chin in his fingers, tilting her face up to his. "Call me a romantic, but I like to believe in happy endings. I must, for why else do we fight?"
Idira blinked, unable to find an adequate response to his question. He kissed her brow, undisturbed by her silence, seeming to accept it as evidence of her concurrence.
"We have just a few minutes before I must take you to meet with the others," he said, "if there is anything you would like to have portalled to my residence I can send it over now."
Idira looked down and shook her head. "No, there is nothing," she whispered.
"Not even one or two books?" Khadgar suggested, hopeful. "I am sure none of them would mind leaving the fortress to stay with you."
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she shook her head again, unable to answer.
"Ah, well, perhaps this isn't the time," he said, gentle. "I imagine you have other things on your mind at the moment, hmm?"
She looked up at him and nodded, envying him his ignorance. He let go of her. She sank back down onto the chair. "Are you hungry?" he asked. "I could conjure some food if you like."
"No. Thank you," Idira said, letting her gaze drift over him, memorising him. She bit her lip, her heart aching, unable to stop herself from thinking of what was to come.
"It will be alright," he said, keeping his eyes on hers. "I will be beside you the whole time. Kalec and Xe'ra will be there as well, along with the Archdruid Malfurion. We will be in and out, quick. No harm will come to you, I swear it."
She stood up, abrupt, agitated, dismayed by his words, knowing he would soon curse himself for ever having said them. "I should get ready," she said turning away so he wouldn't be able to see her face, the tears glinting in her eyes.
"Of course," he said, moving to the door, "shall I will wait for you in the library?"
"No," Idira said, dull, thinking of the grieving books, "not the library."
He came back to her and took her by her shoulders, turning her around. "What is it?" he demanded, his eyes searching hers. "A blind man could see something is troubling you."
For several heart-stopping moments, she thought he could read her mind, his gaze so piercing, so filled with sadness, she couldn't answer. He pulled her into his arms, holding her fast against him.
"Is it what grieved you yesterday?" he asked, soft.
She wouldn't lie to him. Her face buried against his chest, she nodded, blinking back her tears. He waited for her to say more, but she kept quiet.
"It will be alright," he sighed, finally, "whatever it is. It will pass." His arms tightened around her, reassuring.
Her ear pressed against his chest, she listened to his heartbeat, savouring its steady, strong cadence. "I love you," she whispered into his tunic. "I have always loved you."
Khadgar's heart sped up, just a touch. She pulled from his embrace. "Do you remember me?" she asked.
His brow creased. "Remember you?" he repeated, puzzled.
"One night in Shattrath, when you were walking and looking at the stars, you saw me." When he continued to look perplexed, she said, "You were asking the sky about my Light. I was dreaming and saw you first. Somehow you also saw me. You said: 'A child. It cannot be'. Once you recovered, you asked me about Gul'dan. I tried to talk to you but you couldn't hear me."
He blinked, taken aback, his gaze turning inward as he searched his memories. "Shattrath?" he mused, his brow furrowing. "That was a long time ago, much has happened since then. It would be difficult—" he stopped, staring at her, recognition flickering; suddenly seeing her with new eyes. "You?!" he breathed. "You were the child, obscured by the violet Light?" he shook his head, slow, incredulous. "Of course. Yes. It all makes sense now. How could I not have remembered that the moment I saw your eyes? For weeks, your Light had been coming to my dreams, warning me about Gul'dan, which I couldn't understand since in Outland he was already long dead. After I saw you, the dreams stopped, and I confess I forgot about the whole thing when nothing more happened. Yet years later, here we are, facing Gul'dan. It is as though your Light had planned this all along. How fascinating." He took her hands in his, running his thumbs over the backs of her knuckles. "It is as though our destinies were already entwined, even then."
"Hmmm," Idira said, not wanting to encourage him. She decided to steer the conversation to safer waters. "I also saw you once in Stormwind, just over three months ago. At the flower seller's cart."
"You did?" he asked, glancing at her in surprise. "But surely I would have remembered you—your eyes."
"I didn't let you see my eyes," she answered, quiet. "I stumbled. You caught me."
"Well at least I did one thing right," he smiled, his expression softening. "How different things would have been had I seen your eyes, we could have had—"
"Who were you buying flowers for?" Idira interrupted, desperate to stop him from reminding her of their missed opportunity.
"What's that?" he asked, startled by her non-sequitur.
"The flower seller," Idira persisted, dogged, "she asked if you wanted the usual or something new."
"Ah," he smiled, "is it not enough you have read my journal, now you must know all my secrets?"
"You don't have to tell me if you'd rather not," Idira said, and meant it.
"They were for a memorial," he said, relenting, his lips quirking, "for a young woman I once met, a long, long time ago before Stormwind was sacked by the orcs. We crossed paths at the Stormwind Palace when I was a youth. She showed me kindness while I was still an awkward Kirin Tor apprentice, helping me to find the books I needed in the Royal Library. Since we never introduced ourselves, it was only afterwards I found out who she really was."
"Oh. A memorial?" Idira asked, intrigued. "She doesn't have a grave?"
"No. She died in the attack by Deathwing. Incinerated. An instantaneous death. She died getting a group of orphans to safety. Just think of it, the niece of one of Stormwind's previous Queens, sacrificing her life for those with nothing. She could certainly teach the Kirin Tor a thing or two about compassion." He fell into his thoughts, ruminating for several moments. He looked up, abrupt. "Perhaps you might have heard of her. The Lady Nin."
Idira's body tingled. Pieces clicked, falling together. Another from her past, sacrificing their life for others. A pattern. Over and over, surrounding her, repeating. A message, written in the destinies of others. She blinked back a fresh onslaught of tears. "I have heard of her," she whispered, sensing a blanket of peace settling over her, a oneness with her fate. "In fact it was her memorial I was on my way to visit."
"Oh?" he said, his brow creasing, "I didn't see you there."
"Something else came up and I wasn't able to go," she said, soft, thinking how he had been the one to unlock her memories, the brutal truth of what the Legion had cost her, devastating her, paralysing her with grief.
"It's a very fine memorial," he said, picking up the poker and stirring the fire. "The House of Nobles commissioned a marble statue of her surrounded by children holding hands, dancing in a circle around her. She is smiling down at them, completely serene. It's quite beautifully done. When things are calmer, I will take you to see it if you like."
Idira imagined the memorial, her heart clenching. "I would like that very much," she said, grateful to have learned the truth behind Nin's demise. She brushed away a tear, her emotions taking hold of her, though her feelings were not of grief, but of resolve. Logan. Lady Nin. Benny. Unambi. They had died with courage. With purpose. With love in their hearts.
"Better now?" Khadgar asked, after a long quiet.
She looked into his eyes as her Light clothed her in her regalia. "Better," she answered, shivering, enduring the icy pain of a layer of frost creeping over her skin, sparkling in the firelight. She held out her hand. Her staff materialised. "Let us finish this."
Khadgar cast a teleport. Dalaran, a sumptuous room. Straight ahead, a beautiful being made of the purest light floated in the air. Idira caught her breath. The Na'aru Xe'ra. Her head and torso were formless, featureless, nothing more than dense clusters of pure white light. Above her light-driven core, an elaborate crystal filigree of a crown hovered. Around her torso, the Na'aru's crystal wings rotated, fragile and thin. Her light pulsed, soft, emanating from her, filled with soft chimes resonating with quiet, ancient power.
Idira stepped through the teleport's residue. Two others waited with the Na'aru. The Archmage Kalec, and another, the Archdruid Malfurion, she presumed. She glanced at him, then away. She had read once about him, how he had become so attuned to the power of nature, he had begun to manifest the aspects of the druid in bodily form: the wings of a stormcrow, the paws of a bear, the feet of a cat, the antlers of a stag. He eyed her, a towering being, far taller than even Khadgar, a look of approval in his eye.
Khadgar nodded at the group. "Idira Northshire, may I present the Archmage Kalec, the Archdruid Malfurion and the Na'aru Xe'ra."
Kalec tilted his head to her, an unreadable look in his eye as he glanced at Khadgar, stepping closer to her, protective.
Malfurion bowed low. "My Lady," he said, in a warm voice, seasoned with age and wisdom.
Xe'ra's wing spun faster, her light brightening. Soft chimes tinkled as the Na'aru's gentle voice pierced Idira's mind. And so the reckoning is come.
Khadgar blinked, taken aback, paling. He eyed the Na'aru, waiting, as though expecting her to say more. When she remained silent, he looked at Idira, uncertain. She met his look, steady. He swallowed, his jaw tensing, a touch of dread passing behind his eyes. A slight shake of his head. His thoughts coming to her, using the spell from the font. Don't do it, whatever it is.
She didn't have time to answer. Kalec cleared his throat. Khadgar turned, his demeanour shifting imperceptibly, once more commanding, the Leader of the Kirin Tor.
"Xe'ra and Idira are the most powerful among us," Khadgar said, crisp, meeting the eyes of the other men,"they will deal with freeing Illidan and Tyrande. Our task will be to occupy Gul'dan until we can get away. It is not our prerogative to defeat him today, our only objective is to get the others away. Kalec you will portal us back to this room. It has been warded in preparation for their arrival. Are we agreed?"
The men nodded, murmuring their assent. Khadgar nodded at Idira, a sharp look of warning sparking in his eyes, reminding her of his earlier words. "Then let us begin, and may the Light protect us. Idira, if you would teleport us to Hope's End."
Idira visualised the cavern with the ancient Elven temple ruins. Her Light thrummed, responding to her call as she swept her staff up and brought it down, sharp against the tiled floor. Kalec and Malfurion turned, defensive, eyeing the dripping, dank cavern, the broken ruins of the ancient temple.
Against the solid face of the stone wall, the residue of the tunnel's opening beckoned to her. She went to it, pressing her hands against the damp rock face, frost streaking away from her palms as she worked to sense the current pattern. There. The fifth pattern. Calling to her Light she uttered the dark incantations, all seven, in the correct order.
Demonic runes flared alight on the smooth surface of the stone wall, outlining the tunnel's opening. The stone vanished, opening the way into a dim tunnel, glowing with the faint light of fel. Idira touched the nearest rune. Frost crackled away from her fingers, spreading around the opening's edges, freezing the runes, holding the way open for the others.
Her Light prodding her, urging her on, she stepped, unthinking, into the dripping, fel-infused tunnel, its depths reeking of evil, misery and death. She descended the stone steps into the tunnel's bowels, the light surrounding her staff flaring, a star in the darkness. At the bottom of the steps, she looked back. Khadgar followed close behind, his staff alight, pulsing with latent power, responding to the tunnel's fel taint. Kalec and Malfurion came after, cautious, wary, Xe'ra drifting in their wake, her light sliding over the fouled rock, cleansing the fel. Khadgar touched her arm as he passed her, taking the lead. Stay back, it's dangerous, he fell back, grateful to have his powerful bulk between her and the dark Citadel, sensing the bleakness within its grim walls, the despair, the desolation. The last place on Azeroth she would ever see.
The tunnel descended deep underground, before finally flattening out. The walls sweated, the tunnel's stale moisture forming into black puddles limned by the malevolent glow of the fel torches. The weight of the sea bore down on them, and despite her having left the tunnel open in the cavern, the air was rank, stale, nearly unbreathable. She heard one of the men behind her shudder, claustrophobic, as the tunnel began its slow incline. Several long minutes passed before they reached the base of another flight of slick stone steps, grimy with damp. At the top, Khadgar stopped, reaching a dead end; a wall of solid stone blocking the way into the foundation of the Tomb of Sargeras and the Chamber of the Eye.
She stepped forward, brushing past Khadgar, sensing him edging closer to her, looking over his shoulder, wary, watching for danger as she read the wards, sensed the weaves, murmured the dark incantations, unlocking the runes, silent, stealthy, alerting no one of their presence. The wall shimmered, the way opening. Khadgar muttered a low spell, cloaking them in invisibility, even the glimmering Na'aru. She touched the nearest rune on the wall, frost spreading from her fingers, encasing the edges of the opening in ice, holding the way open.
Khadgar took the lead, his form only visible by its faint blue outline. He moved out into a wide corridor, its ceiling high, hidden in shadow. Ahead, the corridor curved away, a slow descent, foreshortening her view. She could hear a man screaming. Her flesh crawled as his brutal cries raked through her, his agony shearing into her. The cries ebbed, muted by the thick walls of the corridor. Fear slid into her.
She touched Khadgar's arm, holding him back. Wait. He turned, preoccupied. Kiss me.
For a heartbeat she thought he wouldn't. Please. He relented. His lips touched hers, tender, his kiss quiet, filled with promise. A sharp inhalation from Malfurion. Patience from Kalec. The screams came again. Khadgar pulled away, abrupt, taking her hand in his, leading them along the corridor. They descended down its long, slow curve, passing numerous openings, lined with glowing runes, moving deep into the living rock, her Light stirring, awakening.
The corridor came to an abrupt end. Ahead, tucked into the inner curve of the corridor, a vast opening, its edges limned with hundreds of fel-tainted runes. They glowed, malevolent, hungry. Her Light shifted, visceral, kindling. Alone, Khadgar edged ahead and looked in. Several long moments passed, slow. Finally, he motioned for them to follow. Idira moved toward the opening, Khadgar's hand caught her arm, pulling her back, firm, putting her behind him.
She edged past him, to see. A large circular Chamber spread away from the opening, its ceiling hidden in deep shadow. Across the middle of the stone floor, a complex circle of runes pulsed with the fetid green of fel. Gul'dan, the orc she had watched obliterate King Varian stood with his back to them, holding his skull-encrusted staff high. Sinuous lengths of fel tethers writhed out of it, plunging into the darkness of a large portal set into the opposite wall, returning soon after clutching a fragment of fel light in their maws. They slammed, vicious, into the ravaged body of a massive being, the one she recognised as the Betrayer, Illidan. He bellowed as his body tore open in a dozen places, his flesh reforming with each brutal attack, morphing piece by piece into a dread lord. His wrists and ankles had been bound by fel tethers, holding him suspended, mid-air, spread-eagled. He strained against them, struggling, desperate to free himself.
Opposite Illidan was another, also held suspended by fel tethers and spread-eagled against the wall. Tyrande. She still looked the same as Idira remembered from the day she had seen her in the Citadel, although unlike Illidan, she did not fight, she hung in her bindings, limp, silent and still. Only her eyes had changed, churning with fel.
Khadgar raised his staff, giving the signal to begin. He brought his staff to the ground, the invisibility spell melting away. A wall of arcane energy burst from his staff and slammed into Gul'dan's back. The orc lurched forward, stumbling, gripping onto his staff, struggling to keep his balance. He turned, his eyes blazing, his fingers moving, rapid, already casting. Khadgar and Kalec threw up their wards, preparing to attack once more, but Malfurion hit him first, silencing him, buying them more time.
"Malfurion."Gul'dan narrowed his eyes at the druid. "You are just in time to see your consort's transformation. She has a new master now. How fitting for you to be her first gift to Sargeras," he smiled, slow, exposing his rotting teeth. Tyrande turned her head and looked at Malfurion, impassive, the fel flames within her eyes igniting, bright and hungry.
"Tyrande, my love," Malfurion said, stepping toward her, his voice aching with remorse, "I am here. You are safe now."
Gul'dan scoffed, casting another spell. Quick as lightning, a barrier snapped up around him, just as the spells of Khadgar and Kalec slammed into it, their arcane power melting, harmless down its sides.
The men's voices rose, sharp, commanding, channelling their power, their eyes hard, focussed, as they cast their spells; the thrum of their combined energy making the room vibrate and hiss. Her Light prodded her, responding, intuiting, showing Idira the way forward, the aid she could give. Even though Gul'dan wasn't attacking, she threw an icy shield over the group. Blue fire exploded from Kalec and Khadgar's hands, sending enormous amounts of arcane power crashing against Gul'dan's barrier. Pieces of masonry tumbled down onto the ice barrier, the Chamber juddering. Gul'dan laughed, full of scorn, their spells sliding away from his shield, useless. He turned his back to them, continuing to send tethers through the impossible portal into the black-dark Nether.
"His barrier is fed by the fel power in this Chamber, our spells will never break through it," Khadgar bellowed, his body quaking with the raw power of the arcane. "Xe'ra, it is time!"
Her wings spinning, Xe'ra slipped through Idira's shield and into the Chamber, her light blinding, reverberating. A powerful beam of light exploded from her core and pulsed through the portal into the Twisting Nether. It returned within a heartbeat carrying what was left of Illidan's ragged spirit, pierced and gouged in a thousand places to Illidan's body, merging them together. She flared again. Three more beams of light shot out, wreathing around Illidan's body, cleansing him, burning the fel tethers from his arms and wrists.
Gul'dan chuckled, amused. "A Na'aru. How desperate you are," he said, his malevolent voice grating, sinister. "But you are too late. Sargeras comes. Even your Na'aru's Light will not stop him."
Freed from his bonds, Illidan rose up, a bizarre creature, half-demon hunter, half-dread lord. He towered over Gul'dan. "No. I will not succumb. I will destroy you first."
Gul'dan lifted his hand, an indifferent gesture. Illidan slammed against the wall.
"Not you, fool. Your will has been . . . troublesome. You have, however, brought me another whose will has been more easily broken." He chuckled once more, pleased, and waved his staff. A vision appeared within the center of the circle of runes. One by one, the men stopped casting, watching, horrified as the vision played out in total silence. Idira watched, confused, as Illidan transformed, turning into a dread lord, his eyes opening, burning with hate, Sargeras's avatar. She glanced back at Khadgar, watching, tense, poised to cast again.
"A small spell," Gul'dan continued, speaking to Illidan. "A token really, but enough of Tyrande's spirit was broken for her to believe the illusion I played for her. Now she sees what I tell her to see. When she saw your transformation, she lost all hope and became—" he turned his hand palm upward and closed his fingers into a fist, "—mine."
Idira cut a look at Tyrande, watching them, expressionless, Malfurion's consort's eyes burned, hateful, cold.
"No," Malfurion whispered, stricken.
Safe within his shield, Gul'dan turned. He lifted his staff. "And now, Illidan," he sneered, triumphant, "prepare to fulfill your new purpose. Between your fel-enhanced spirit and hers, there is more than enough to grant Sargeras his avatar within her. You die. She lives. How romantic." A bolt of fel energy streamed out of his staff linking Tyrande and Illidan together, they rose up into the air, each encased within a fel sphere.
With a cry of despair, Malfurion rushed forward, reckless, leaving the protection of the shield. "No!" he shrieked, casting spells, wild, desperate, trying to break through Gul'dan's barrier. Nothing worked. Every spell he cast slid off the odious thing. He attacked it with his claws, tearing at it, beating at it with his wings.
"Tyrande!" he screamed. "I am here! It is not real, Gul'dan lies!"
"Break the link, if we do not stop this, it will be too late," Khadgar commanded, cold, his eyes hard as steel. Idira called to her Light, adding her own spells to those of Khadgar's and Kalec's, even Xe'ra fired her light, weakening the tether, but as soon as they broke through it, another snaked up from Gul'dan's staff to replace it.
Khadgar began to pant, sweat bloomed, beading on his brow; his chest rising and falling, straining as he wielded blistering amounts of arcane energy, calling out new commands, responding to Gul'dan's ever-changing magic. Despite the enormous power between the group, Gul'dan easily resisted them, behaving as though they were not even there, his powers enhanced both by the latent energy in the Chamber, and the growing presence of Sargeras. They were failing. Idira stopped casting at the tether, and called out a new spell, sending the temperature in the room plummeting. Another spell left her lips and a bolt of ice crashed into Gul'dan's barrier, freezing it. Malfurion fleeted a look at her, understanding. He attacked the surface with renewed energy, his breath frosting in the air. She sent another harsh bolt of ice into the barrier. Under his bear claws, the ice chipped. Malfurion dug, frantic. A small crack appeared. He threw his weight against it, slamming his bear's paws against it. The crack lengthened, but held. He bellowed, frustrated and pulled back. He ran at it, screaming. The crack gave way, and the barrier shattered. He slammed through the jagged shards of ice into Gul'dan, the force of his blow knocking Gul'dan's staff out of his hands. It skittered across the floor, clattering, useless.
Idira wasted no time, a quick spell tumbled from her lips, unthinking. A heartbeat later the fallen staff lay buried under a dense layer of solid ice, frozen to the floor. Malfurion and Gul'dan slammed into the opposite wall, grunting. The druid reared up, enraged, roaring, pummelling the orc, tearing at his face and torso with his bear claws, his wings beating back Gul'dan's arms, preventing the orc from defending himself. Khadgar and Kalec ignored him, continuing to focus on destroying the tether binding Illidan and Tyrande, their expressions fixed, intent, determined to stop Sargeras, to escape.
Though she knew she should be helping with the tether, Idira stubbornly threw more spells at Gul'dan, helping Malfurion, riming the orc's face and hands with ice, slowing him, preventing him from retaliating, giving the druid more time, willing him to finish the creature, the cause of so much misery. The wretched orc fought her spells, fel energy crackling around his body, every spell she cast, he diverted it, still, her efforts were not being wasted, what little scraps of time she gained were not lost to Malfurion. His claws dug into Gul'dan's neck, tearing him open, mauling him, the orc's blood splattering Malfurion's face. The druid bellowed, hungry, his animal instincts taking over. A flicker of fear showed in Gul'dan's eyes. Malfurion pulled back and slammed the orc down onto the floor, landing on top of him on all fours. His cat claws digging deep into Gul'dan's torso. The orc squirmed, shrieking with pain. Malfurion reared up, smashing his bear paws into the creature's twisted face, crushing bone, breaking teeth. His claw hooked into one of Gul'dan eyes. It came out, the orc screamed, agonised. Idira's heart pounded, Malfurion, the brave, reckless druid was winning. He looked up at Tyrande, a savage smile on his lips.
Khadgar cried out, despairing. The tether snapped free. Illidan crashed onto the floor, his massive weight cracking the stones beneath him. Tyrande came to rest on her feet. She raised her hand, slow, her eyes flaming. In a moment of pure horror Idira realised her mistake. She should have helped Khadgar, Kalec and Xe'ra. The eyes of Sargeras glared at Malfurion, filled with hate. A thick stream of fel fire burst out of her hand, driving deep into her consort's torso.
He shuddered, falling to the side, clutching at the gaping hole, seething with fel energy, roiling into him, tearing him apart. "Tyrande," he cried out, devastated, his eyes never leaving hers, "forgive me."
Gul'dan moaned, rolling onto his side, struggling to get up. Idira eyed him. Malfurion had done his work well, the orc's butchered face was unrecognisable. A gaping hole where his nose had been exposed the bloody interior of his throat; the socket of his missing eye seeped, a glutinous, viscous hole. Blood matted his beard, and both his bottom incisors were gone, snapped off at their bases, one of his ears hung loose, dangling on a thin piece of bloody flesh.
Freed of the tether, Illidan staggered to Malfurion's side, his chest heaving. "Brother," he whispered, stricken. He turned and lifted his cloven hoof, slamming it down onto Gul'dan's ravaged, bleeding torso, shoving the orc back down onto the stone floor.
"Even if you kill me, the Legion still wins," Gul'dan rasped, his words soaked in blood.
"The Legion hasn't won yet," Illidan said, grim, pushing his weight against Gul'dan's torso, crushing him against the flagged stone floor.
The orc chuckled, despite his obvious agony, taunting Illidan. "Wait and see. Nothing can stop Sargeras. Nothing. I just wish I could be here to see you try."
Illidan bent over, sliding his hands around the orc's throat, squeezing, cutting off his air. The orc didn't fight him, he lay passive, letting Illidan do his work. It didn't take long. Gul'dan shuddered, his eye rolling back into his head. A heartbeat later he went limp.
"Illidan," breathed Tyrande, her voice darkened by the taint of Sargeras. "You will be my Commander. Together we will cleanse the Great Dark of all life and defeat the Void."
Idira shivered, not from her inner cold, but from The Voice. Sargeras. Idira knew it, somehow it was familiar to her. A visceral memory. She turned and looked at the woman Tyrande, the avatar of the titan, knowing the moments were fast dwindling until their final confrontation, until her own annihilation, until she broke Khadgar's heart. Tyrande towered over them, powerful, magnificent, deadly. Idira didn't waste any time, she cried out a spell, directing a shield of ice to rise up around Illidan.
Tyrande laughed, soft. "How quaint. Even when all is lost, still they fight."
"Do not look him in the eyes!" Khadgar cried out to Illidan.
"Too late, little mage," Tyrande taunted. "He is already mine."
Illidan raised his arms and slammed them against the ice, freeing himself. Tyrande smiled, holding out her hand to him. He went to her, and kissed it. She stroked his brow, tender, as he knelt before her.
"My love," he said, "I am yours. Whatever you ask of me, I shall be that to you."
She looked at the little group assembled at the entrance of the Chamber. Disdain touched her lips. "Kill them."
He stepped towards them, his lips curving into a dark smile, malicious. Hungry.
"We have no choice. We must finish him," Khadgar ordered, hard, cold. Kalec nodded, grim. Arcane power blossomed in their hands.
Wait. Xe'ra called out, urgent. Her wings spun, turning faster and faster, the pressure in the room increasing, her chimes resonating, ringing, deafening. White light exploded from her torso, surrounding Illidan, burning the fel out of him. Her light flared again, blindingly bright, searing Idira's vision. She turned away, her eyes watering. Time slowed, a blip, a heartbeat, but Idira sensed within it something had happened in the intervening time, brief for her and the mages, long for Xe'ra and Illidan. A low, mournful chime sliced through the sudden silence.
The crack of crystal splintering. The light cleared. Idira stared, astonished. Gone was the half-demon hunter, half-dread lord of Illidan, in his place stood a male night elf, unblemished, handsome, powerful, his eyes glowing a brilliant untainted amber. On the floor lay the scattered, blackened, broken remains of Xe'ra. Her light gone, extinguished. Idira stared at the fragments, dismayed. The last Na'aru. Gone.
"No," Khadgar breathed, stricken. "No." He turned to Illidan, roaring, hitting him with the full force of his rage. Illidan staggered, but did not attack. Instead he turned, casting spells against Tyrande, attacking her, his face a mask of anguish.
"Xe'ra has returned him to us," Khadgar cried out, cursing as his spell, already released, slammed into Illidan, sending blue flames licking over his body. Illidan staggered, enduring, grimacing, continuing his own fight against Sargeras.
Tyrande's face twisted, becoming ugly, darkened by the rage of Sargeras. She thrust out her arms, aiming at Illidan, fel energy crackling, gathering. Idira threw a wall of ice up between them, shuddering as her spell absorbed enough fel to demolish a city. She clung to her staff, prevailing, holding, protecting Illidan from the hatred of a titan as more spells crashed against it.
It was all she could do to hold up both the barriers, praying, hoping, willing the three men to destroy the woman's body, robbing the titan of his avatar, forcing him back through the portal, back to wherever he came.
She glanced at Khadgar, seeing the warrior, courageous, determined, unwavering, even against terrible odds. Fel slammed against the ice wall again, Idira swayed, holding, tenacious. Tyrande screamed in frustration. The hate of the titan filled the room, creeping into Idira's mind. She resisted, sensing the others waging their own internal battles.
The attacks went on, the combined powers of all three men tearing into Tyrande, burning her, yet somehow she still lived, possessed by the fury of Sargeras; her eyes aflame, her body ravaged, parts of her flesh hanging loose, her skin blistered and bubbled, some of it melting away, liquefied.
One of Illidan's spells hit Tyrande hard. She staggered, falling to her knees, panting. She fell forward, quivering, on all fours. She turned her head and looked up at them, her eyes smouldering. She laughed, and for the first time when she spoke, Idira did not hear Tyrande's voice, but the deep, silken voice of Sargeras.
"You think you have defeated me? Fools. There will always be another, you will never stop me. Azeroth will be mine."
Silence fell. Tyrande dragged herself across the floor, trailing flesh, blood, and fel behind her. She reached Gul'dan and lay down beside him. Fel energy spiralled within her, sliding, sinuous into Gul'dan and across the room to the others, slithering up around them, tightening, holding them captive within its grasp, linking them together, creating a new avatar.
Her heart aching, Idira watched Khadgar's power being suppressed by the fel, his fists clenched at his sides, his arms pinned to his torso, the Titan's power overwhelming him. Sargeras had won. There would be no reprieve for her. Her Light prodded her, gentle. Her time had come.
She passed through the ice barrier, the fel tendrils sliding between Kalec, Khadgar, Illidan and Sargeras easing away from her, avoiding her Light. She touched Khadgar's face, the fel tendrils encasing him parting, shunning her.
"My love," she whispered, "I shall miss you."
Silenced by the power of Sargeras, he could only gaze at her, communicating with his eyes; in them she read his desperation, his fear, his struggle to free himself from his bonds, his fury at his helplessness to stop her. His denial, even now, to accept what they both knew was to come.
"I lived my whole life to love you," she said, soft, the shadows in her mind parting, exposing the crystalline truth, its purity hidden until now by fear, sorrow, bitterness. She had been meant to love Khadgar, her love for him paradoxically giving her the courage to face her death. "I beg you, forgive me, for what I must do to you."
He sagged in the grip of the fel. No, he plead, his thoughts overcoming the power of the Titan, slamming into her. The spell from the font.
Protect Azeroth my love, she answered. You are her true Guardian, just as you have been mine.
She turned.
Idira. Please. Light! Don't do this.
"Sargeras," she said, quiet, "you will not have me."
Tyrande rose up to face her, a slow smile spread across her blistered lips. "Ah . . . Azeroth herself comes to me."
A surge of Light rose up within Idira, responding to the dark voice of the Titan. She succumbed, relinquishing herself, letting the Light of Azeroth take over, its power resonating through her, thrumming, rotating, flaring so bright the entire Chamber glowed with violet light. The Voice of Azeroth came from her mouth, neither male nor female, but a hybrid of the two, echoing. "You are wrong in your thinking Sargeras. Life will overcome the Void, not fire."
Tyrande raised her hand. Fel fire flamed from her fingers. "Fire is all there is," Sargeras hissed. "Even for you."
A wall of flames struck Idira. They slid over her frozen gown, harmless, extinguishing. She smiled, soft. "Even in fire, life remains, both good and evil. You cannot cleanse evil by destroying life. It is the way of wisdom to understand there must be balance. Always, there must be balance."
She reached out and touched Tyrande's fingers. The fel burning in them retreated, rushing back up Tyrande's arm and into her torso, sweeping upwards until only the colour of fel continue to burn in Tyrande's eyes.
"You have done much harm to me, Sargeras. I have been patient, but the time has come to end this once and for all."
From the planet's depths, Idira sensed the full force of Azeroth's Light gathering, hurtling toward her, a tsunami. It surged up into her, plunging through her, a torrent, the intensity of it threatening to tear her apart. She screamed, staggering, unable to bear it. Light exploded out from her, a pristine beam of violet energy. It rammed into Tyrande, spreading through her, freeing the night elf woman from her imprisonment, the titan slithered out from her mouth, roaring, furious. The sickening crunch of bone breaking, Tyrande's jaw succumbing to the force of his release. She tumbled to the floor, ruined, broken, bleeding, brutally disfigured. A tendril of Azeroth's Light wove itself into her, sustaining her, keeping her at the brink of death, holding back the inevitable. Giving her time.
Within their cocoon of violet Light Idira shuddered, quivering, reeling with pain, the power of Azeroth's Light scorching her, clawing at her, seething, surging, preparing for its final onslaught. Sargeras stood before her, proud, unrepentant, the shape of him unexpectedly human-like, his appearance terrifying, glorious, strangely beautiful; a being of immense power, shifting, wavering, pure energy, his eyes black, riven with darkness and hate.
"Azeroth used you," he said, cold, calm, eyeing her suffering, merciless. "I would have given you eternal life." He glanced back at Khadgar locked behind the wall of ice, her lover smashing his fist against it, screaming, desperate to break through; Kalec pulling on him, struggling to drag him back. "I would have given you your heart's desire."
Azeroth's Light answered him. Searing pain slammed into Idira, cold, hard, jagged, a thousand daggers slicing her apart. She cried out but no sound came, she lifted up her hands, watching as they fragmented, pieces of her breaking apart, swarming around her just like The Echo's body had done in the font. Light streamed out of her core, freed of her body, its beams pierced into Sargeras, breaking him apart. He bellowed, clutching at his chest, his power flickering as he fought to extinguish the Light, pulling him apart from the inside out.
The Light's power increased, more of Idira's body fell away, collapsing, separating, folding, tiny pieces of her, her life, her memories, broken apart, lost. Gone. Sargeras bellowed, falling to his knees, the Light continued to work, relentless, dissolving him into millions of tiny particles; darting and weaving through the swarming pieces, cleansing them, burning away the taint of hatred. His cries ended, silence fell. The Light continued to stream out of what was left of Idira carrying the last of his energy away with her through the portal into the Nether. Idira looked down, only a tiny part of her remained. The Light within her dimmed, fading, flickering, dying. A brief spark, and it guttered. The cocoon of Light collapsed, plummeting towards her.
She looked back one last time at Khadgar, pounding on the ice wall, crying out her name, trying to see through the icy barrier and into the blinding light. A deep bass vibration plummeted through Idira, her contact with her life dissipating as the last pieces of her drifted away, pulled by the nexus of the portal. It was over now, it was time to leave. She called out to him, hoping with all her heart he would hear her last words.
Khadgar, it was always you. Live, my love.
The ice barriers exploded. The winds of a hurricane blew outwards. She flew away, a leaf in a storm, sucked into the portal, spiralling, tumbling, Khadgar's form retreating, fading away. The portal shimmered, sealing over. Silence. Darkness. Nothing.
Smears of colour danced at the edges of her vision. An epochal silence surrounded her, the colours faded. She weighed of nothing. A voice, faint, called to her. She swam towards it, frightened. Khadgar? No, not Khadgar, another. They called again. A voice, filled with love, urging her to them.
Idira drifted in the darkness, lost, searching. The voice came again, calling to her, faint, as though from a great distance. Formless, she struggled to reach it, aware she was nothing more than her consciousness. In an immaterial place of timelessness, Idira fought to retain her memories. Khadgar. His hand on her elbow in Stormwind, holding her steady. His eyes on hers as he made love to her. Sharing a cup of wine together. The edges began to fade. Soon she sensed she would forget all of it, even what he looked like. Agonised, she continued toward the Voice, calling to her, guiding her, a solitary beacon in a place of utter stillness and silence.
How long she drifted, searching, moving in one direction only to have to turn back, returning in the direction she had just come from, she couldn't say, it could have been an eternity, it could have been mere minutes. She longed for the release of oblivion.
Please. I'm lost. Let it end. I cannot find you.
Daughter, the clarion voice from her dream answered, you are so close. Do not give up. They are waiting for you.
Idira heard the voice calling to her again, stronger, clearer. A male voice, as warm and smooth as syrup. It called again, so near if she had had hands, she could have reached out and touched it. She reeled, stunned. It couldn't be. Too much time had passed. It was impossible. It had to be a trick of her consciousness. Wishful thinking. He wasn't here. It was a lie. A lie she was telling herself to cope with this unimaginable place of isolation and disconnection. He called her name again, a question, uncertain. She said nothing, wishing it would stop, wishing the torture would end. Hadn't she suffered enough?
Ya be safe now.
No. It couldn't be. She turned away. Unambi was long gone, broken down by the Nether.
Idira? Don' ya rememba' me? Worry etched his words.
She hesitated. How can you still be here? she finally asked, wary, still believing it a trick of her consciousness.
Ya Light, he said, relieved, when ya be killin' all dem demons, dat's what got me. Boom. But ya Light be grabbin' on ta me before it be too late, askin' me if I be wantin' ta wait for ya, ta give ya a second chance, after it told me about all da tings ya be givin' up for Azeroth. Well, ol' Unambi didn't have ta tink long 'bout dat.
It was you. Idira said, overcome, realising the meaning of Azeroth's cryptic message from her dream. It wasn't a lie, it was real. Unambi was there, with her, in the Nether, his soul held intact against its decimating forces by the strength of Azeroth's Light.
So, he continued, Unambi be havin' one last ting ta be doin' for ya. Dis time it be goodbye for good. Ya and me, we neva goin' ta be meetin' again, dat be da only ting I be feelin' sorry for, so don' be forgettin' ol' Unambi. It be da only way ta keep him livin' on.
Unambi! she cried out, sensing his soul fading away. I don't deserve this!
Ya be deservin' dis an' so much more, he said, faint. Ya be real special. Idira. Real special. Be happy.
She lunged after his fading voice. Thank you. I will never forget you.
He didn't answer. Silence surrounded her. He was already gone.
Grief enveloped Idira. She wished she could cry, but all she could do was ache, lost in the agony of Unambi's ultimate sacrifice, obliterated so she could return to the man she loved. She drifted, suffering, able to think of nothing else but him, gone forever, as though he had never been.
Daughter. It is time. The way is open for your return. I will guide you back. Follow my Light.
In the far distance, a point of violet light appeared, a mere speck, a tiny shaft, a pinprick of light probing into the depths of a black-dark sea. She swam towards it, working her way through the inky darkness, the pinprick becoming the size of a coin, a plate, a table, the Light brightening, consuming the darkness, suffusing her. She moved faster now, the opening widening, a door, a room, a building, the darkness receding, Azeroth's violet Light surrounding her, enclosing her, tugging at her. She sped up, caught in its pull, the Light on either side of her smearing, streaking as she hurtled towards its centre, its core shining as bright as a star, spinning, rotating, pulsing, thrumming.
She plunged into it, millions of particles of Light plummeting towards her, swarming around her, rebuilding her soul. She watched, fascinated as she formed into a being of Light, holding up her ethereal hands, their outline sparkling with pinpoints of glimmering light, tiny white stars. Ahead, an opening, a doorway, its edges churning, outlined in spinning whorls, an event horizon. She moved toward it curious; the light from the other side dull, pale, blue, cold, ordinary. She stopped at the opening's threshold. Khadgar lay on the bed in the fortress with her echo, his arms around her, holding her fast against him, her head cradled against his chest. He slept, exhausted, his face ravaged, hardened by grief.
Go to him, Daughter. You have served me well. My final gift will follow.
Idira stepped through the churning opening. Pain slammed into her as she crossed the boundary, darkness once more enveloping her, wrapping itself around her, pulling her downward; the unexpected heaviness of being dragging on her as her soul slid into the body of her echo. She tried to open her eyes. She couldn't. Her body's unconscious state captured her, holding her in its thrall.
A rhythmic thudding, steady and slow against her ear. The beating of a heart. His heart. She listened to it, filled with wonder, savouring the feeling of being alive again, laying with him, granted an impossible, incredible second chance.
She could wait, just a little longer. Safe within Khadgar's arms, she slept.
She woke to him dressing, his movements listless, automatic, his gaze fixed on the floor, desolation emanating from him. She regarded him, her heart aching to see the dark hollows encircling his eyes, the tautness of his jaw, the bleakness of his expression. He fastened the ties of his collar, turning to look at her, empty, defeated.
She sat up. He went to her, bending to kiss the top of her head, perfunctory. She caught his hand and brought it to her lips, drinking in the scent of him, almost forgotten; looking up at him, savouring the sight of him, alive, safe, hers.
"Last night," he said, tight, "you arrived in the library, three days after Idira was lost to me. I take it this means her soul has now been subsumed into the Nether."
"No," Idira answered, soft, watching him. "I am here. With you."
He blinked. "I don't underst—Hold on. You can speak? Last night you couldn't." He caught his breath. "Your eyes. They're blue." He touched her jaw, tentative. "They were violet when I fell asleep, I am sure of it." Silence fell as he considered her, looking her over, turning her face from side to side, examining her, working out the possibilities, the reasons why.
She couldn't bear it, to see his hopes flicker, brief, only to be stamped out by him, hostile, ruthless. "My love," she said, touching her fingers to his. "Azeroth has given me a second chance. I returned while you were sleeping."
Hope flared anew in his eyes, bright, lighting up his face. The light dwindled, suppressed once more. "No," he said, harsh. "I know enough of the mechanics of echoes to know that even for Azeroth there must be another, a soul extinguished so a new one can be brought to life. Azeroth would have needed a volunteer. No one would make such a sacrifice."
"One did," Idira whispered, tears pricking her eyes as she recalled Unambi's final words. "My protector, Unambi. When he fell in Westfall, Azeroth offered him the chance to wait, held by her Light so I could return. To you."
Khadgar's fingers slipped from her face. He backed away, staring at her, expressionless. "But how can I be certain?" he asked, anguished. "I want to believe you. Light! With all my heart I want to believe what you say is true, but it's so unlikely, so impossible. Outside of the font, nothing like this has ever happened before."
"I wrote you a letter," she answered, desperation clawing at her. After all she had suffered, to think she could still lose him, believing she was nothing more than her own echo. No. It was unbearable. "I left it under your pillow. The echo would not know of its existence, or what I wrote, since I wrote it after my echo was made."
"What letter?" he asked, abrupt, moving to reach under the cushion. He rummaged underneath it. His hand came to a stop, he slid it out, holding her folded letter, still sealed with the infinity symbol. Breaking it open he read, his eyes moving over the page, quick, drinking in her words, his chest rising and falling, tears glinting hard in his eyes. He finished and looked back at her.
"Tell me what it says," he said, ragged. "All of it."
Keeping her eyes on his, willing him to believe her, she began: "My love,
Forgive me. I could not tell you the truth, could not risk you trying to stop me from doing what I must, what I was born to do. What is inevitable.
I go to my end burdened with terrible regrets, grieving the time we will never have, the life we can never live, and crippled by guilt for the pain I know my demise will cause you. All I can do is leave you my gift, the echo of the woman who loved you. I hope she will comfort you as much as your echo comforted me, though I admit, it is not the same, and can never be. I pray it will be enough.
I am so grateful to have loved you, even if only for such a brief time. Every touch, every kiss, every moment with you has been engraved on my heart, to sustain me throughout the eternities I will spend searching for you.
Wait for me. I will find you. I promise, I will love you again.
Forever,
Idira"
He stood completely still for several heartbeats, staring at her, indecisive. He lifted the letter, looking over it, reading it again, his brow furrowed. His gaze fell to the floor as he descended into his thoughts, rubbing his jaw, the stubble rasping against his fingers, loud in the heavy quiet. "And yet, I am still unconvinced," he murmured. He looked up at her, sharp, a glimmer of hope igniting, remaining, glowing. "When I kissed the echo last night, it felt different to how it felt to kiss Idira, something was missing."
She pushed herself from the bed. A tremor of weakness juddered through her, the forgotten heaviness of her existence still new to her. She swayed. Khadgar caught her elbow, holding her steady.
"I was missing," she whispered, her heart pounding as he stepped closer, still holding her letter in his hand. He caught her chin and tilted her face up to his, his eyes moving over her, searching hers, enigmatic. He hesitated just for a heartbeat, then brushed his lips against hers. A jolt juddered through her, sizzling, urgent, awakening her. He pulled back, his eyes widening, incredulous, feeling it too.
"No," he breathed, "it cannot be." He bent to kiss her again, longer this time, deeper. She sighed, returning his kiss. He pulled back, his breathing shallow. "And yet," he continued, "this—" he kissed her again, hard,"—this I know, like I know my own heartbeat." A tear slipped free, tracking its way down his face as he regarded her. "Idira," he said, stifling a sob, "you have broken my heart." He slid his hand around her head, holding her steady as he bent to kiss her again, harsh, rough, possessive. She answered him, clinging to him as he ravished her; as he cried out her name, still disbelieving; as he undressed himself, dropping his clothes into a heap; tearing her dress away, worshipping her, running his hands over her, marvelling at Azeroth's miracle; as he lowered her onto the bed, his hands tangling in her hair, his mouth bruising hers, fierce, hungry, angry, punishing. His arms surrounding her as he entered her, reclaiming her, making her his over and over again.
Idira woke to her hair being stroked from her face, a kiss, tender, against her brow.
"Never leave me again," Khadgar murmured, ragged, against her hair. "You almost killed me. From now on I will be your protector, not the other way around."
Idira turned in his arms, letting him kiss her, taking his time, lingering over her. "On one condition," she said when he finally drew back.
His eyebrow lifted, intrigued.
"You will be the one to teach me how to use this new path of magic." She lifted her hands out from under the blanket, the tips of her fingers lighting up with arcane runes.
"By the Light," he breathed, sitting up, taking her hands in his, examining them. "These are powerful runes. Azeroth has granted you a wonderful gift. At least you won't be cold anymore." He glanced up at her. His eyes widened.
"What?" she asked, suddenly self-conscious.
He conjured a mirror and handed it to her, smiling, the skin around his eyes crinkling, distracting her. She sat up and looked into the mirror. Her eyes glowed. A beautiful, brilliant shade of blue.
"Not again," she sighed.
"Yes again," Khadgar smiled, taking the mirror from her and collecting her in his arms, carrying her back down onto the bed, his mouth against her ear. "Let's make this room light up in blue, shall we?"