It had been years since Anduin Wrynn had last been in Elwynn Forest, since he had last seen the beauty that was Stormwind City.
As the fire crackled at his feet, the warmth a welcome comfort from the chill that had settled upon Elwynn Forest as night blanketed the land, Anduin Wrynn carefully wrapped his arm with a bandage. His method was... not the neatest, the cloth awkwardly twisting and bulkier than necessary in some spots as he tied off the wrapping that covered a scratch wound that he had unfortunately received from a wolf that had caught him unaware when he had been searching for an appropriate place to make camp. It was clear that he had been trained primarily in the usage of the Light instead of basic first aid. And yet, despite his once-mastery over the holy Light, Anduin did not call it to his calloused and dirtied fingers, he did not use it to soothe his scraped and bruised skin.
Anduin was afraidto call upon the Light.
The young King - although, he supposed he wasn't much of a King anymore - hadn't used the Light in what would now be years, the last time he had called the powerful energy to his hand being when he had stood at the base of the obelisk in the Maw, facing off against the Jailer's army as the Champion of Azeroth that had rescued him make their escape. He had been captured as the Champion escaped, knowing nothing of the horrors that would await him in the depths of the Jailer's tower.
Now, free from the Jailer's Domination and free from the horrors of the Maw, Anduin couldn't allow himself to call upon the Light. He couldn't, as he didn't know what he would do if it didn't respond to him. Anduin feared that the Light had abandoned him, that the Light judged him unworthy - perhaps, rightfully so - after the atrocities he committed under the command of the Jailer in the Shadowlands. It would be so easy to confirm, all he needed to do was cast a simple shield spell or smite, but he simply couldn't bring himself to confirm his fears.
He felt that his fears had almost already been confirmed, as when he looked at the legendary sword, Shalamayne, that rested beside him. The blade that had first been wielded by his father now lay dormant, with no brilliant glow of the Light shining in her handle, the blade having fallen dark since he had broken free in the Shadowlands, the blade having fallen dark for the first time since Anduin had picked it up from where it had fallen from his father's hands on the Broken Shore.
Without his Light, without his trust in himself, Anduin knew he wasn't prepared to be King of Stormwind or the High King of the Alliance. Ordinarily he wouldn't have even stepped foot anywhere remotely near the kingdom that was undoubtedly still searching for him - he had paid attention to his lessons, as much as he proclaimed his boredom and distaste of them, and he had noticed the SI:7 agents that were prowling Azeroth in search of the wayward King of the Alliance. He would have been off in Pandaria, his next objective to search for any solace he could find in the lands he had explored as a young prince, but he couldn't find it in himself to be absent from Stormwind on this specific day after so many years away.
The anniversary of his father, King Varian Wrynn's, death upon the Broken Shore during the Burning Legion invasion.
Anduin had realized that he hadn't seen his Father's tomb, that he hadn't visited him, in years. Ever since that fateful day where Sylvanas's mawsworn had swept from the sky and stolen him from Lion's Rest, he hadn't visited him.
He knew he couldn't go within the city to join the various citizens that were mourning their beloved former King - some, perhaps, missing Varian more than they missed Anduin - but Anduin couldn't bring himself to stay away on such a day.
As the fire crackled and popped, and the ache in his arm lessened, Anduin sighed heavily. Reaching down to his side, beneath his cloak, Anduin carefully extracted his compass from where it had been carefully secured to his waist. As he carefully opened the lid, his eyes found the portrait of himself as a child, the painting having been completed just in time for Varian's birthday, only a few months before Anduin and his ship had washed up upon the misty shores of Pandaria. The Anduin portrayed in the portrait was a distant memory of the Anduin who looked at it, the portrait showing an Anduin with cheeks still round with child-like softness, his eyes still bright and a soft smile upon his lips.
The glass face of the compass was missing and the needle no longer spun, as Anduin hadn't the heart to get it fixed, leaving it in the state it had been ever since it had fallen into the Forlorn Depths.
It could not lead him, not as it had lead his father.
As Anduin blankly regarded the portrait of a young version of himself, reminiscing of what had once been, something cracked in the shadows behind him, the distinct sound of a brittle tree branch being stepped on, and the sudden sound was accompanied with the sharp sound of a blade slicing through the air. Anduin threw himself to the side, dropping the compass in his haste to escape the unknown threat. Looking over to see an Elwynn Forest bandit crouched beside his fire, a sharp blade clutched in his hand and a bandana concealing his features, Anduin squared his shoulders.
"You're a fool to camp in these parts," the man chuckled as he lunged at Anduin, "and you'll lose your life and valuables because of it!"
Anduin reacted quickly, bringing an arm up to knock the hand holding the knife away and pressing his other hand against the bandit's face to force him away as the blade fell into the fire, Anduin's other hand reaching for Shalamayne to hopefully scare the bandit off without necessitating any bloodshed.
Without a word falling from his lips or the mental focus that a spell required, a wisp of purple energy flashed into existence as it curled around his arm and traveled up to his hand, curling around to where his palm was pressed against the bandit's face and-
The bandit crumpled to the ground, his eyes rolled back and his body limp, and Anduin knew he was dead.
Anduin stumbled back, eyes wide, and brought his trembling hand up to stare at the last remaining wisps of Void energy that were dissipating into nothingness, his eyes wide in horror as he stared at the hand that had just killed a man. Anduin remembered the pure and blatant fear that had flashed upon Jaina's face when Void had sparked across his arm in the Stockades when he had tried to interrogate Sira Moonwood, the confusion and slight unease that had flickered across Shaw's before the Spymaster hid it. In a moment of danger, in a split-second decision, Anduin had called upon the Void instead of the Light. Now, he knew that they were right to be scared of him, to be scared of what he could do.
Without even breaking camp or extinguishing his fire, only stopping to pick up Shalamayne, Anduin threw up the hood of his cloak and raced into the night, with no plan or moment to logically think, he just needed to get away. He was a danger, to his people, to every living thing around him. He was a weapon of mass destruction, moulded by the Jailer and Sylvanas and damaged beyond repair.
He couldn't be trusted, and he couldn't trust himself.
In the morning, a routine patrol of SI:7 scouts would find an abandoned camp at the outskirts of Elwynn Forest near Stormwind, the coals in the fire (which, strangely, contained a melted knife) along with the body of the dead bandit lying beside it long gone cold - the body, curiously, not having any physical wounds visible at a first glance. Left behind, beside various camping materials that looked to have been abandoned abruptly, was a compass. A compass which the SI:7 scout who found it promptly raced to give to Spymaster Matthias Shaw the second she laid eyes upon the portrait set into the lid.
It was the King's compass, what had once been a gift to his father shortly before the prince went missing on Pandaria, the compass having since turned into a tailsman the young King who held it close in remembrance of his father after his death upon the Broken Shore.
By the time Spymaster Shaw was alerted of the compass and had ordered his agents to comb every inch of Elwynn Forest, every cave and every hill, King Anduin Wrynn was long gone, leaving not a single trace to follow him by.