A/N: Thank you all for reading and reviewing!

I didn't mean to make you feel like you had to submit anything, RedOak. Just wanted to let you know if you did do something, I'd be happy to use it as the cover. :)

And as for who will and won't be fighting? Not telling. .

…-…

I don't…I don't even know where to begin. I mean, there are still people in my world. This is great. Awesome. Epic, as Greg would say.

And yet…I almost wish I hadn't made contact with my world.

I'm a horrible person.

The little boy who showed up, his name's Michel De Smedt. He's from a town I've never heard of a bit south of Brussels, Belgium—which I have to admit I would not be able to find quickly on a map, though I do know it'd be in Europe…somewhere. So, the window was heading north, which means that it was just showing the part of the world that was already lost to the Legion. Which is good, because that means that maybe there's a lot of the world left to save.

It's just… it's Michel. He's…

Okay. Have you ever like, totally idolized someone? Or maybe not totally, but you saw what they'd accomplished and just knew they had to be awesome? Well, apparently traveling to another world and managing to send a message home really impressed Michel and his parents. And I guess Michel got it in his head that I had to be some total bad ass for using the Legion's own transportation against them and all.

So you can imagine how disappointed he was when he met me. I don't think I could have let him down more if I'd secretly been working for the Legion and had just tricked his parents into sending him to their leader so that the monster would have a nice little snack before setting up a victory camp in Antarctica.

I know that I talk about Greg a lot, but you know how I always kind of expected Greg to have made it to Azeroth and for it to be a total breeze for him to rally the armies and all that inspirational crap?

It's like Michel expected that from me.

And the fact that I have a dragon, a few draenei, a goblin, and three humans willing to head out and save the day isn't quite the insurmountable force that he hoped for.

I keep telling myself that it doesn't matter. After all, I never claimed to be a hero. I've never tried to be one. Heck, I came here looking for heroes. I just…I wish I hadn't disappointed him. I never had to live through the Legion actually bearing down on my town, so I don't know how bad it really was.

It's like, all this time I've beat myself up over not being fast enough or smart enough, but there was always some small part of me that could whisper, "It's okay, you're doing your best." But then with Michel…he didn't say anything. It's what he didn't say. The way his face fell when he found out I was the 'great' Amy Ford. That the scrawny girl who couldn't hold her daggers right was the one trying to orchestrate a counter attack against the demons.

It's selfish and petty and I'll get over the hit to my pride, or whatever this is. I just…this was supposed to be a victory, so why does it feel like more of a failure than all my other mishaps?

Michel should have come to Azeroth instead of me. He's more knowledgeable about Azeroth, because, get this, he played Warcraft with his dad. And he was just a little disgusted by my lack of knowledge on it. Like, the look he gave me when I explained that I'd thought Azeroth was run by warlocks. I might as well have told him that I thought Belgium was the capital of Japan and that obviously his native tongue was Swahili.

It's a stupid game. I'm not uncultured for not knowing about its societies.

Though I suppose I am uncultured for not being able to find Belgium on a map without a twelve-year-old telling me that it's north of France.

Not my point.

Once Fizz got his translation spell going—and sold it to Maevlen and TJ for a decent price—Neesera was quick to usher Michel off to get washed up and relax a bit. Even though he seemed pretty hell bent on heading back to Earth with thousands of soldiers to crash into the Legion's forces like a wave, after he talked to me for five minutes he sort of lost his gusto and let Neesera take him away. But not before shoving a letter from his dad into my hands along with his backpack.

The latter was full of all sorts of stuff from my world. Broken cell phones, wooden knick knacks, car keys, silverware, all sorts of smallish stuff from my world. Plenty for portals. There was even, I kid you not, a furby. I did not know those had made it to Europe. I mean, I guess Hasbro sells stuff everywhere, but…they just seemed like such a stupid trend…

Anyway. He did bring a lot of stuff from our world and from our brief conversation, I was able to glean a few things.

From what I can figure, Belgium fell right around the time I came to Azeroth. Maybe a little before, since it's up there with Germany and I know they were getting hit pretty hard right around then. Regardless, there's—supposedly—a decent number of survivors. Michel said that he'd seen quite a few people when he and his parents would move locations.

Never really talked to them directly, I guess? And when you consider how many people there used to be, it's like a really small number, but! If a few hundred people are alive in every city, that adds up, you know?

And the internet is still working. Which I don't understand. Right about when I tried to ask how that was even possible was when Michel lost interest in talking to me. So, while he went to have a bath, I got to play name what's being held up by one of my friends as they went through the stuff in the backpack.

I mentioned TJ—Eric. Eric, Eric, Eric. I mentioned him earlier. Well, he and Clara had already heard about the Brath/Fizz incident from the inn keeper and were hanging around outside the inn, which, if you remember, has a view of the window's area. So, they saw Nicolas, Neesera, and I head in there and they hurried over and showed up right about when the translation spell kicked in so that they could reassure the adorable other-worldly child that everything would be okay. That the demons would pay.

Clara headed off with Neesera to fawn over poor little Michel. And the guys are looking at me like I forsook my X-chromosome for not clutching the boy to my bosom the second I saw him and telling him it'd be okay in some matronly voice.

And, you know, Nicolas didn't open with, "Hey your friends and family are dead," like he did with me. The kid saw his daggers and commented on them—something about legendary—and so Nicolas loves the kid. Let Michel hold one, told him to be careful of the poison. Michel knows stuff about spells and that Gutterspeak is a Horde language and he never had to be told that goblins aren't gremlins.

So he fits in just perfectly here.

And even as I was trying to explain what a digital alarm clock is to Fizz, he came back because he couldn't sit idly by when there was a world to save and captured everyone's attention with how brave he is for a little boy. He enraptured them with his tales of surviving the apocalypse and he suggested that, instead of trying to make a portal from just scraps, why not hijack an existing—yet abandoned, apparently—Legion portal in some place called Zingermarch or something and everyone jumped on board with that.

So…yeah. We're making plans to head back to my world now.

Well, they are.

Little Amy here doesn't know enough about magic or portals to be much help and when I tried to offer ideas they all kind of gave me those looks. You know the ones. Where it's like they think you're useless, but they don't want to say it out loud because they know you're too much of a pansy to take it?

Even Nicolas, who's useless when it comes to magic, gave me one of those looks. Like he knows how to make a portal.

Grrr.

Well, Neesera finally suggested that maybe I could go find Brath, since he was still out of the loop. He'd gone off hunting for food. I know that she was trying to make me feel useful, but…Michel started asking why I was friends with a black dragon—since Nicolas had to point that out—and now everyone loves him even more.

…

I am aware that I am jealous of a child. I am also aware of how pitiful that is.

I just…he acts like I've been sitting on my thumbs the whole time, like I've been dragging my feet. And he stole all my friends by going through pretty much the same thing I did…except a little worse because he actually saw the demons slaughtering more than just a few police officers, I guess. And I know I'm older, but…I wanted someone to tell me it'd be okay. To be super enthusiastic about saving my world. And all I got was reluctance, ridicule, suspicion, and a sociopathic dragon.

Speaking of. I bet he falls in love with Michel, too.

…You know you've reached a low point when you don't want to lose your psychopath to a twelve-year-old.

Well, I figured that finding Brath would just make my day worse, since, you know, Brath will probably hop on board the, 'let's make Amy feel guilty for not being a gamer' train, so even though I said I was going to get him, I just headed down the coast away from the Exodar, giving myself some time to myself.

I don't know what's wrong with me. I mean, he's a kid. He needs to be coddled and told the future's full of sunshine and daisies. I'm old enough to handle the truth. That we're gonna lose people, like Nicolas lost in his raid. That it's gonna be grueling. That we might not live to see the demons pushed back.

As I walked along, I remembered the letter Michel had handed me and I realized I still had it clenched in one of my hands. I tried to smooth out some of the wrinkles and unfolded it to see that it was written in English—I think because my mind read it easier, like it had that J.

As I read the letter, barely skimming it at first as I figured Michel was probably just as informed as his parents, the words sunk in and I found myself reading and rereading it to make sure I wasn't somehow misinterpreting what was written.

Ms. Ford,

My name is Laurent De Smedt. I know my English will be a small part awkward. I am writing to you in English because you said you are American, and because Michel can only read French and Dutch and I do not want him to know what I must tell you. You may wonder why, when your instructions said that the portal will not be stable enough for a person, my wife, Anna, and I have sent our son to you.

The demons, as you say, came through our city some time ago. I must admit I have lost track of time, as days run together now.

While our country's order has long since ceased, there are still survivors throughout our area and maybe beyond. We avoid others, because large groups draw the demons. And there are traitors.

They come to us as other survivors and then give us to the demons. I do not know why they do this, but it is harder and harder to hide from them and their masters—I can think of no better way to describe the demons' relationship to them.

Michel is very good with computers. I taught him well. If you can bring help, know that the internet still works, barely. And anything you post to it will be seen by the demons. I think they are keeping it up, though I cannot explain why. Perhaps they enjoy watching us struggle to communicate. Perhaps they are using it to find us.

I have relayed your message of help, since it does not matter if they are using the internet to track Anna and myself. There is an old airport in our city and if you are reading this, we successfully started one of its generators to create the portal. That will likely draw the demons to us faster than sending out messages of hope.

I am sure most will not believe my words, but there are some who will find the will to hang on from your message. Please hurry. Please look after Michel. Please let him know that we love him.

Our hopes and prayers are with you. Send these bastards back to whatever hell they come from.

Laurent De Smedt

I felt sick. I really am horrible. I wonder if Michel knows that his parents sacrificed themselves on a slim chance to send him to safety. How can I be so jealous and mad when he's lost as much as I have? Maybe more. When he's been through worse?

I probably would have mentally pummeled myself all the way back to the Exodar to go hug Michel—and probably cry on him—had I not turned around and found a human man standing a few yards away, between me and the Exodar. And I couldn't even see the Exodar, I'd walked so far down the beach, along the curve of the island, that the great ship was hidden by the trees that came almost to the beach.

That man… He looked vaguely familiar and I couldn't quite place where I'd seen him before. However, even as I took in his dark robes, the way his hood covered most of his face, and the staff he held in one of his hands that had a what looked eerily like a real skull resting at its head, it was the presence that really got to me.

You know what I told you before right? You know when they're coming, even if you can't see them.

I whirled around to see that a felguard stood angled behind me, as though to make sure I wouldn't be able to run into the trees. I gripped the note as I saw it roll its shoulder and then hoist its blade up from where it'd been resting against the ground so that it held it in both hands, ready to swing.

When I looked back at the man, it was like a nightmare. Like every terror I could have imagined was slowly tying together. He reached his hand into his hood and slipped something off one of his ears. Even as he pulled his hand back, his body began to wither and slouch and his robes decayed until I found myself staring at a living corpse, just barely able to make out two golden glowing lights beneath his tattered hood.

I remembered seeing someone like this, in Booty Bay.

A forsaken.

I heard the sand crunch softly behind me and jerkily turned to see the felguard had advanced a few steps, though it was still at a slight distance. As I tried to angle myself so that I could see both of them, the man started walking toward me, the air seeming to grow staler the closer he drew and I could feel the same demonic sort of presence emanating from him.

"Now that I have your attention, let us get down to business," his voice sounded like rocks grating against a brick wall. "I do believe you stole my dragon."