Resurgence of the Light [Warcraft]

[Kordelius]

In the annals of time, the Eastern Plaguelands, once known as Easteweald, stood as fertile foothills beneath the heavens. Within these undulating landscapes lay green grassy plains and towering arboreal giants that brushed the very firmament. A symphony of life echoed through its expanse, a tapestry woven with the threads of both carnivores and herbivores thriving in harmony.

Oh, what a tranquil existence one could have embraced here, basking in the serenity of a life untouched by the tumultuous currents of excitement or danger. But destiny's cruel hand intervened, and the idyllic tableau shattered.

The transformation was profound, a wretched curse falling upon this land. Those once-fertile foothills now birthed only decay and putrefaction, the once-beautiful trees warped into grotesque and malevolent monstrosities. Animals, once vibrant and vital, now wore the mantle of death itself – ambulatory corpses with flesh ravaged and torn asunder, an aberration of existence.

To witness such a metamorphosis was to invite despair, for the eyes that once beheld its beauty were now subjected to a harrowing spectacle. It was as though the darkest and most abhorrent yearnings of mortal hearts had taken corporeal form; an avaricious hunger for power that paid no heed to the toll of its toll.

Amidst this blight-stricken realm strode a solitary figure, a stranger with a singular purpose – to liberate these lands, nay this world from the clutches of malevolence. His prowess was formidable, fortified by an unshakable faith in the guiding Light. Yet, even in his unyielding might, he acknowledged the truth that his quest could not be embarked upon alone. Thus, he set his course toward the solitary bastion where the Light still held sway.

His equine companion, imbued with the very essence of Light, underwent a transformation of its own. Its eyes gleamed with the incandescent radiance of the Light, while its hooves blazed with the luminescent fires of divine power. With each stride, the land itself felt the scorching touch of its hooves, leaving behind searing footprints that resisted the encroaching decay, standing as beacons of defiance against the insidious rot.

And so, his path led to the fabled Lights Hope Chapel – the ultimate sanctuary, where the torchbearers of justice, righteousness, and morality persevered in defiance of the land's curse. Here, the Argent Dawn, as they named themselves, rallied under the banner of honor.

~~~~
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In the hallowed halls of Light's Hope Chapel, an extraordinary assembly unfolded. Diverse orders converged — the Argent Dawn, alongside the Brotherhood of Light, a sect within the Dawn known for its martial resolve against the Scourge. Not to be overlooked, the contentious Scarlet Crusade also joined, notorious for their zeal to obliterate the scourge, yet infamous for their ruthless methods. Divisive and exclusive, they had alienated themselves from the wider world, forsaking unity for a narrow mission.

Alas, the Crusade outnumbered the other orders, their debates over strategies a recurring cacophony. Lord Maxwell Tyrosus, wearied by the ceaseless discord, questioned the point of these gatherings. Unity seemed beyond reach, and action even more distant. The land remained plagued by undead, survivors navigating a harrowing existence, wary of both the Crusade and the undead's relentless onslaught.

Yearning for justice against the Crusade's atrocities, Tyrosus harbored a desire to confront them. Yet, the grim reality of his limited resources held him back, a dangerous clash potentially provoking further undead onslaughts.

"Light, grant me hope," he silently prayed, optimism dimming as resolution grew elusive. Just as the next argument seemed poised to erupt, a guard rushed in, heading straight for Tyrosus.

"Lord Tyrosus, a stranger approaches on horseback," the guard reported urgently, an edge of anxiety in his voice. Maxwell found it peculiar; the chapel received visitors regularly, so why the urgency now?

Undeterred by Tyrosus's skepticism, the guard persisted, "He... he radiates Light, my Lord. His steed leaves burning hoofprints that cleanse the decaying land. Undead attacked him, yet he pressed on, his mere presence obliterating the assailants."

"Absurd! Must we believe this nonsense? It appears your men have lost their minds, Lord Tyrosus," scoffed Scarlet Commander Marjhan, her words laced with sarcasm.

"At least their 'hallucinations' don't lead to innocent deaths!" retorted Commander Eligor Dawnbringer, his voice a mix of anger and frustration.

With a sigh, Tyrosus called for a temporary pause. As the factions dispersed, an uneasy atmosphere cloaked the chapel, shared among all attendees. Stepping outside, they felt compelled to witness the truth firsthand.

And there it was, the stranger's arrival confirming the guard's words. The land sizzled and purged corruption beneath the steed's hooves. An infected bear lunged at the stranger, incinerated by his mere presence.

Maxwell, seldom at a loss for words, found himself speechless. As the stranger drew nearer, Tyrosus extended a welcome. Yet, it was the stranger's final step onto the chapel's sanctified ground that unveiled a revelation. Maxwell glimpsed the radiant Light flowing from the stranger, enveloping all in its embrace. Wounded soldiers emerged from their tents, renewed and baffled.

For their Scarlet guests, most writhed in agony. The Light had passed judgment on their transgressions.

However, the greatest astonishment lay ahead — spirits materialized. Initially baffling, recognition soon dawned. Among them were familiar faces, souls entombed beneath the chapel's foundation.

Unified, the spirits knelt before the stranger, who addressed them with solemn authority.

"Valiant heroes, I implore you, let the fire of my words kindle the flames of your spirits! Your respite, hard-fought and well-deserved, has granted you a moment of reprieve. Yet, let us not forget the relentless grip of darkness that continues to shroud our world in its malevolent grasp. It festers, lurking, while those who should stand as its staunch guardians are entangled in petty disputes, blinded by insatiable greed and unbridled ambition.

Can you not feel it? The cries of the innocent, the anguished pleas that reverberate through the very core of our existence? Their suffering, like a haunting symphony, echoes in the silent recesses of our souls. But fear not, for within each of you lies the power to dispel this ominous gloom. The Light that resides within your hearts, the beacon of hope that has guided you through countless trials, still burns with an undying intensity.

Look around you, at the world teetering on the precipice of oblivion. The pillars of morality, shaken by the tremors of darkness, threaten to crumble into dust. Yet, in the face of this impending doom, I call upon those among you who have not forsaken compassion, who have not surrendered to the allure of power at any cost. Rise, my champions! Unite your unwavering wills and stand as a formidable bastion against the encroaching night.

It is not power for power's sake that drives us forward, but the unwavering dedication to safeguarding all that is good and just. Let your hearts beat in harmony with the pulsating rhythm of the world's heartache. Let your swords sing through the air, striking down the shadows that threaten to consume us all. The clarion call of the Light resounds once more, a clarion call that echoes through the annals of time, beckoning you to take up arms.

In this pivotal moment, cast aside doubt, embrace your purpose, and charge forth with a fervor that knows no bounds. The destiny of our world rests within your grasp. Let the flames of your determination blaze brighter than ever before, for it is through your valor that the dawn of a new era shall break, banishing the darkness and ushering in an age of hope and renewal.

Those of you with the will to stand, be reborn in the name of the Light!"

His words resonated powerfully, an earnest plea to rekindle the flames of heroism.

In that suspended moment, the air seemed to crackle with an energy no one could fully grasp. The living stood, their hearts pounding, unable to fully process the extraordinary sight before them. The spirits hovered, as if weighing their response to the stranger's impassioned plea. But some among the dead needed no deliberation; their resolve shone in their eyes, and as the stranger's radiant light embraced them, their beings were transformed. Once the glow receded, the congregation saw the risen heroes, souls once lost to time now back among the living.

Yet, one figure stood out, commanding attention. Before the stranger who had called them back to the realm of the living, there stood a figure recognizable to all—a figure that transcended history.

Uther the Lightbringer, the embodiment of wisdom and nobility, the paragon of paladins, and the revered leader of the Order of the Silver Hand. One of the earliest paladins to walk Azeroth, his legacy was woven into the very fabric of their world.

Meanwhile, at the entrance of the chapel, Tyrosus remained frozen, his mind grappling with the impossible truth he had just witnessed. Never in his wildest imagination could he have conjured such an event. It defied every rule, every precedent, every understanding of the Light's power. And yet, there it was, unfolding before his very eyes.

Unseen by him, a hand came to rest on his shoulder, breaking the spell of disbelief. Turning, he found himself facing Lord Raymond George, the previous leader of the Argent Dawn, a knowing smile on the veteran's face.

"Not something you encounter every day, is it?" Raymond's voice held a mixture of camaraderie and understanding, as he surveyed the newly arisen spirits.

Tyrosus struggled to find words. How could he articulate the awe and the questions racing through his mind? He finally managed a nod, his gaze fixed on those who had returned from beyond.

A sudden realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. The plea he had whispered, his fervent plea to the Light, it had been answered in the most astonishing manner. The Light had not only illuminated the darkness but had woven the threads of existence, transcending death itself.

Determination surged within him, fueled by the Light's response to his plea. His doubts and uncertainties seemed insignificant compared to the monumental power he had been a witness to. He turned his gaze once more toward the figures gathered in the chapel's sanctified grounds, the heroes of old reborn in the name of the Light.

With a renewed fire in his eyes, Tyrosus vowed to himself that he would not squander this divine intervention. He would rally those who still clung to their compassion, who had not abandoned their sense of justice. The fate of their world rested upon their shoulders, now more than ever.

As the echoes of the stranger's plea lingered in the air, Tyrosus took his first step forward, ready to embrace the Light's charge with an unwavering heart. The dawn of a new era, an era of hope and renewal, awaited them.

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Just a little something I made. This story will mostly be posted on Patreon, with irregular updates here.

Cheers!

 

[Kordelius]

Days had passed since what had become known as the "Day of the Light." Tyrosus couldn't help but shake his head at the name, though he begrudgingly acknowledged its fittingness. The event had left its mark on him, as it had on everyone.

In the wake of that momentous day, a flurry of activity had ensued as people worked to make sense of the new reality they found themselves in. Questions hung in the air like a lingering mist, the most prominent of them revolving around the enigmatic stranger. The one who had delivered the impassioned speech, who had called forth the fallen heroes, and who now stood like a sentinel, unyielding in his silence.

Tyrosus sighed, his fingers rubbing at his temples as he grappled with the complexities before him. The stranger's reticence to explain his actions was, in itself, maddening. It left them all in a state of perpetual uncertainty, grappling with the implications of their newfound purpose.

And what a purpose it was. The chapel's grounds were alive with activity. The risen heroes moved with purpose, equipping themselves with armor, gathering weapons, and amassing supplies. It was as if an invisible call to arms had resounded, compelling them to prepare for something they all felt, but couldn't yet fully comprehend.

A sudden clamor from the chapel's entrance drew Tyrosus's attention. Stepping into the light, there was Uther himself, followed by Lord Raymond George. The energy in the air shifted; a sense of urgency and gravity emanated from Uther's very presence.

As if speaking to his unspoken thoughts, Raymond addressed Uther, his voice laced with concern. "Uther, it's too soon. Our forces are not fully prepared."

But Uther's determination was unwavering. His words were charged with the weight of his past failures, and his eyes blazed with an unquenchable fire. "The Light has given us a chance to face the evil that plagues this land, this world! We can't squander it in endless discussions. Innocents suffer, darkness festers, and we must act! My inaction has already cost us dearly once; I refuse to repeat that mistake."

His words resonated, striking a chord deep within those who heard them. Uther's strides were purposeful, leading him to the stranger who had orchestrated this resurgence of hope. His mace struck the ground with a resounding thud, and he fixed his gaze upon the assembly.

"The time has come!" Uther's voice carried a thunderous weight. "We will do what we were brought back to do: cleanse this land and world of the evils that infest it. Evils hidden and revealed, within the hearts of those who masquerade as good. The Light has granted us a chance to save our world, and I, for one, refuse to let it slip through our fingers."

With his mace raised high, Uther's rallying cry was met with a chorus of cheers and raised weapons. The energy was palpable, a fusion of determination, hope, and anticipation. The fallen heroes stood ready, a united front against the encroaching darkness.

"Prepare yourselves! Today, we march! The era of evil ends now!" Uther's voice resounded through the air, his proclamation echoing in the hearts of those who stood beside him.

As Uther turned to face the same direction as the stranger, an air of finality settled over the scene. The assembly, each one prepared in their own way, stood united, ready to confront whatever lay ahead.

Tyrosus approached Raymond, his mind still swirling with questions. "What's happening? We were days away from any concrete plan."

Raymond's sigh was heavy with exhaustion, his gaze following Uther's commanding figure. "Uther believes that action is the answer now. He's haunted by past mistakes and is determined not to repeat them. He's decided that the time for discussions is over."

Tyrosus's gaze didn't waver. "And the stranger? We still know so little about him."

Raymond's expression hardened, a glimpse of frustration surfacing. "The stranger's purpose aligns with ours—to save this world from darkness. His intentions are pure, and he bears no ill will. That's all you need to know. Don't pry further."

With a nod, Raymond's words signaled the end of that line of inquiry. Tyrosus turned his gaze back to Uther and the stranger, an amalgamation of resolve and uncertainty churning within him. The path ahead was shrouded, but they were stepping onto it, united, and ready to face whatever destiny had in store.

~~~~
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As time marched forward, the ranks behind Uther and the enigmatic Stranger swelled steadily. Men and women, united by a shared purpose and fortified by an unyielding resolve, gathered to face whatever awaited them. The anticipation hung thick in the air as the final stragglers joined their ranks, completing the assembly.

Then, as if awakened from a profound slumber, the Stranger stirred. A subtle movement, a mere shift in posture, but it signaled a monumental shift in their course of action. The stillness that had enveloped him for days was finally broken, and with it, the march of the united assembly commenced.

There was no need for rallying cries or speeches; each person understood their mission, their duty. Their intent was clear, their path defined. Tyrosus watched as the silent procession moved forward, each step resonating with a palpable sense of purpose.

Gazing at those who remained behind to anchor the chapel in their absence, a pang of frustration gnawed at Tyrosus's heart. His desire to march alongside his comrades was undeniable, yet he recognized the necessity of having a stronghold, a sanctuary to return to. The chapel would stand as a symbol of hope, a beacon to guide them back from the trials they were bound to face.

While the ache to be on the front lines tugged at him, Tyrosus found solace in the fact that the cause he had long yearned for was finally taking shape, even if not in the way he initially envisioned. His faith in their success remained unshaken. The stranger might have expended considerable power to raise the fallen, but Tyrosus believed that, bolstered by stalwart figures like Uther, their collective strength was undiminished. The undead, the very scourge that had tormented their world, would crumble in the face of their united front.

His gaze shifted, landing on the distant silhouette of Naxxramas, the ominous flying fortress of the Scourge. The fortress that had once struck fear into the hearts of many would soon meet its reckoning. The monsters within would fall, their reign of terror coming to an end. And beyond Naxxramas, Tyrosus saw a vision of what lay ahead—a world cleansed, an evil vanquished, and a future reborn.

As the procession continued its steady advance, Tyrosus's heart swelled with a mixture of hope, determination, and a hint of bitter sweetness. This was the beginning, the first step toward a brighter tomorrow. And while he couldn't be among those marching forward, he held fast to the belief that the destiny they were forging was a destiny worth fighting for.
​

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As they neared their first destination, Uther's thoughts turned reflective and somber. The city that loomed before them was both a testament to his greatest failure and a poignant reminder of the consequences of inaction. It was here that he had faltered, where he had failed to take the necessary steps to prevent the fall of their kingdom. The memory of that time weighed heavily on his heart—the kingdom lost, the king slain, and innocent lives tormented by the scourge of undeath.

He clenched his weapon tightly, his grip a tangible reflection of his resolve to make amends for his past mistakes. This time, he would not allow inaction to bring ruin to their world. The city of Stratholme, where his student fell to darkness, where the kingdom's downfall began, came into view. A mixture of shame and sorrow welled within him as he beheld the place that held such painful memories.

Stratholme was a reminder of the price paid for hesitation, a reminder that would be etched forever into his soul. He could still hear the anguished cries of the innocent, their pleas for mercy and salvation echoing in his mind. Now, all he could offer them was the mercy of a final death, a release from their tortured existence.

As the group approached the city gates, Uther's anticipation grew. Undead forms awaited them, a haunting sight that fueled his determination. His heart raced, ready to confront the horrors that had tainted this place.

But just as he was about to surge forward, the Stranger, who had been a silent presence beside him, intervened. The Stranger's raised hand and the gathering light within it held Uther's attention. A pulsating sphere of radiance formed, growing in size until it transformed into something else entirely—a spear of Light, a weapon of pure illumination forged for a singular purpose.

With a deft movement, the Stranger sent the spear hurtling toward the undead horde before the gates. The impact was explosive, a bloom of radiant energy that forced Uther to shield his eyes from the brilliance. When the light finally subsided and he was able to look again, the scene had transformed.

Gone were the undead that had awaited them. The gate and the surrounding walls had disintegrated, reduced to rubble and dust. Uther couldn't help but chuckle, a mixture of awe and gratitude in his laughter. The Stranger's intervention had not only decimated the undead forces but had also opened a clear path into the city.

Turning toward the enigmatic figure, Uther's tone was lighthearted yet appreciative. "Leaving any for the rest of us, lad? What's the point of us joining your journey if you do all the heavy lifting?" His words were infused with camaraderie, a testament to the bond that was forming between them. The Stranger didn't respond in words, but his continued movement signaled his intention to press forward.

Uther glanced back at the army behind him, observing the awe and determination in their eyes. Addressing them with a rallying call, he stirred them from their stupor. "Are we here to gawk or to act? Let's do what we came to do!" His words ignited their fervor, and with a resounding cry, they surged forward, swords and weapons at the ready. The collective force of their determination carried them into the heart of the city, a wave of righteous fury cutting down the newly risen undead that dared to stand in their way.​

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Well here is the next chapter.

If you wish to read ahead, there are 3 more chapters on my Patreon

Cheers!

​

 

[Kordelius]

Among the ranks of the assembled, Killoren stood as a testament to the Light's offer of a second chance—a chance to rise from the grasp of death itself and to take up arms against the malevolent forces that had wrought havoc upon their world. His heart carried the same desires as many of his comrades—to reunite with his family, to learn of their fates in the midst of turmoil. Yet, duty surged within him, a purpose that eclipsed his personal longings. This opportunity was granted for a reason, a chance to make a difference and put an end to the darkness that had ensnared their world.

Their leader, known to them as the Light's Chosen, was a source of both intrigue and caution. Killoren couldn't shake the eerie feeling he'd experienced when he first saw the figure at Light's Hope Chapel—still and motionless upon their steed. The palpable aura of Light radiating from them was undeniable, yet their silence and enigmatic demeanor left an indelible impression.

As they moved forward, Killoren observed the calculated movements of their leader. There was a deliberateness in their actions, a measured pace that seemed to indicate a deep understanding of the path they tread. Even now, in the midst of the fallen city of Stratholme, the leader's steed pressed forward, unperturbed by the surrounding horde of undead. It was a stark contrast to the chaos and uncertainty that pervaded their surroundings.

Among those who had rallied around their leader, a contingent had taken on the role of guards, forming a protective barrier between them and the mindless undead that threatened to assail them. Killoren recognized the wisdom in this strategy, a collective decision to preserve their leader's formidable power for the battles that truly warranted it. Their actions at the city's entrance had showcased the extent of their abilities, and it was clear that they were not to be underestimated.

Their methodical approach persisted, leading them deeper into the heart of the city. Their pace was deliberate, a reflection of both their own convictions and the gravity of their mission. Killoren couldn't help but marvel at their resilience, the strength that allowed them to maintain their composure in the face of the relentless onslaught of undead.

At a crossroads within the city, their leader paused, as if contemplating their next move. Eventually, they chose the path to the left. Unspoken cues seemed to pass between them and Uther, a silent communication that directed the majority of their forces to hold the line at the crossroads. The message was clear: their leader, Uther, and a select few would venture deeper into the city.

Killoren couldn't help but wonder about the rationale behind this decision. Did the path to the left hold an imminent threat that required a concentrated force to overcome? Or was it a calculated maneuver to swiftly clear the way, ensuring a smoother passage for the rest of their forces? The unknown variables weighed on his mind, but ultimately, he recognized the futility of dwelling on such matters. They had their orders, and they were resolved to follow them without question.

As they readied themselves to hold the line, Killoren's thoughts shifted to his comrades who would venture ahead. Their dedication was evident, a testament to the unity forged in the crucible of their shared mission. With a renewed sense of purpose, Killoren turned his gaze forward, his resolve strengthened by the unspoken camaraderie that bound them all together.

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Uther's heart sank as he gazed upon the city that lay before him—a once vibrant and thriving place, now reduced to a decrepit, rotting hellscape. The foul stench of decay hung in the air, and the moans of undead echoed through the desolate streets. Citizens who had once lived their lives with purpose were now cursed to wander aimlessly in the eternal torment of undeath.

He couldn't help but curse himself, blaming his own inaction for allowing this horrifying fate to befall his kingdom. The weight of responsibility settled heavily upon his shoulders, and he knew that he could not escape the truth that it was his lack of intervention that had led to this disaster. Arthas, his beloved pupil, had fallen to darkness, becoming the harbinger of their downfall.

Among the morbid surroundings, there was a small mercy—the decayed state of the citizens' bodies. The passage of time had rendered them unrecognizable, sparing Uther from the agonizing task of identifying the twisted remnants of those he had once sworn to protect. As painful as it was, their decrepit state made his grim duty slightly easier to bear.

Questions swirled in his mind, fueled by a sense of confusion and urgency. Why had the Light's Chosen led them on this specific path, leaving the majority of their forces behind? Despite his doubts, Uther acknowledged that he lacked the crucial insight into the enemy's strength within the city. With a heavy sigh, he conceded to the Light's Chosen's unspoken expertise, trusting that there was a method to this apparent madness.

And then, revelation struck with the force of a thunderclap. Uther's eyes widened as he saw figures emerging in the distance, their garb unmistakable even in the gloom.

The Scarlet Crusade.

As his heart clenched in sorrow, he remembered the days when the crusaders were his allies, dedicated to preserving the Light and protecting their people. But now, their twisted fanaticism had driven them to unspeakable depths. He struggled to reconcile the grim reality with the memory of what the order once represented.

Fanaticism, he knew, was a slippery slope—one that had to be navigated with caution. The consequences of unyielding zealotry could be catastrophic, as the current state of the crusaders starkly demonstrated. They invoked the Light as a shield for their dark actions, a perversion that filled Uther with a mixture of anger and sadness.

His grip tightened around his weapon, knuckles turning white with the pressure. There could be no mercy for these individuals who had so thoroughly embraced corruption. Though his heart ached at the prospect of confronting those who had once stood as allies, he could not afford to waver. Evil took many forms, and sometimes it wore the guise of comrades.

"Wait, Uther," the Light's Chosen's voice interjected, a request rather than a command. Uther regarded him for a moment before conceding with a tight nod.

Then came the moment that sent shockwaves through the tense atmosphere. The Light's Chosen turned his gaze towards the scarlet-clad crusaders, his presence commanding and his tone potent. Each word he spoke carried an air of divine judgment, a weight that struck Uther's heart like an anvil.

The Light's Chosen's voice thundered, each word laden with divine authority, cutting through the air like a blade through darkness. "Your crimes are numerous, unforgivable, and damning. The torture and slaughter of the innocent—sins committed under the banner of the Light itself, tarnishing its sanctity with your malevolence. You dared to wield its power, casting aside its solemn warnings, all for your twisted desires. Your day of reckoning has dawned, and the weight of your transgressions can no longer be ignored. The scales of the Light's justice tip against you! The time has come for you to answer for your heinous acts and embark on the treacherous path of redemption—In Ministerio ad Lucem!"

With a single motion, the Light's Chosen's palm erupted with a blinding radiance. A surge of divine Light burst forth, connecting with the crusaders one by one. The brilliance spread like wildfire, chaining from figure to figure in a cascade of retribution. The once-proud zealots fell to the ground, their anguished cries tearing through the air. Light emanated from their eyes and mouths, an ethereal illumination that transformed their very beings.

In the aftermath, they stood as if united by an unseen force, their faces adorned with intricate lines of Light. Uther's eyes widened in awe and disbelief. The radiant energy faded, revealing their transformed countenances—eyes aglow with the Light's power, their features etched with radiant lines like intricate patterns of redemption.

They stood there like statues, a collective embodiment of the Light's judgement. Uther's gaze shifted from the crusaders to the Light's Chosen, horror etched into his features. "What have you done?!" he exclaimed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and outrage.

The Light's Chosen turned his attention back to Uther, his demeanor unwavering. "Mere execution would be a waste," he stated calmly, yet with an unwavering resolve. "They shall earn redemption through service to the Light. Their crimes shall be atoned for."

With those words, the Light's Chosen turned his steed and began to depart, leaving Uther to grapple with the sudden turn of events.

"They are under your charge now, Uther," he asserted, a sense of finality in his words. "Cleanse this place and unveil the corruption that festers within this order. The Light is merciful, but it does not abide the repeated abuse of its gifts for malevolent purposes."

As the Light's Chosen's figure grew smaller in the distance, Uther was left alone with the weight of the situation. His fists clenched in frustration, his resolve tested by the unexpected turn of events. He had sworn to be decisive, to act without hesitation. Doubt gnawed at his thoughts, but he knew he couldn't falter. He trusted in the path guided by the Light, a beacon of hope in a world shrouded in darkness. Determinedly, he pushed forward, ready to confront the corruption that had taken hold within the order he once held dear.

As Uther and his newly transformed soldiers pressed further into the forsaken halls that the Scarlet Crusade had tainted with their presence, his thoughts swirled in a tumultuous sea. He chose to tune out the unsettling sights and sounds of the converted Crusaders bearing witness to the Light's Chosen's divine judgment. The image of their punishment was etched in his mind, a weight that he knew he would need to address in due time. But for now, amidst the shadows of the corrupted church, he had more immediate concerns to grapple with.

For now, he would place his trust in the Light's guidance. If the Light had chosen to wield its power in such a manner, there must be a reason beyond his current understanding. As much as he wished to dismiss the surreal scene he had just witnessed, he couldn't escape the undeniable truth—it was vital to bolster their ranks for the challenges that lay ahead.

In his quest for insight, Uther had engaged some of the converted Crusaders in conversation. Their accounts revealed that this very place had once been the epicenter of their fanatical order, led by none other than Saidan Dathrohan—an individual who had stood beside Uther as a fellow champion of the Light, a bond that had once been unbreakable. Uther's brow furrowed in deep contemplation. How had Saidan, a man who had shared the same vision and convictions, descended into this twisted madness that now tainted the halls?

With each step, memories of their shared history echoed through Uther's mind—days when they had fought side by side against the forces of darkness, when they had believed in the honor of their cause and the righteous path they were treading. The present reality, the reality of the corrupted crusaders who now worshipped the perversion of their shared faith, seemed like a mockery of the past.

As they moved deeper into the tainted corridors, the weight of their surroundings mirrored the heavy burden Uther carried within his heart. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of sorrow for the fallen Saidan, the friend who had become a stranger. The path that had led him here remained shrouded in mystery, a puzzle that Uther yearned to solve.

Uther's thoughts mingled with the echoes of footsteps and the hushed murmurs of the transformed Crusaders, creating an intricate tapestry of introspection.

With a heavy sigh, Uther's gaze focused ahead, his resolve unwavering. One thing was certain—he would confront the corruption that had taken root within these walls, and he would do so with the Light as his guide. As he moved forward, Uther remained determined to untangle the web of madness that had ensnared the heart of the Scarlet Crusade.​

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We see more and more how our MC's actions will change the world.

As said before, there are additional 3 chapters on my Patreon if you wish to subscribe and read ahead.

Cheers!

​

 

[Kordelius]

Malor the Zealous, a name that had once swelled with pride, now weighed heavily upon his conscience. The name, once a symbol of his fervent devotion to the Light, now stood as a stark reminder of the darkness that had consumed his actions. He had reveled in the belief that his zealotry justified his deeds, that his every action was righteous and sanctioned by the very force he held sacred. But as the Light's Chosen's judgment enveloped him, the facade crumbled, leaving his soul exposed and his heart heavy with regret.

The revelations were as brutal as they were enlightening. His crimes, once obscured by a veil of self-deception, now stood bare and unforgiving. The lives he had extinguished, the suffering he had caused—it was all laid bare before him, a damning testament to the atrocities he had committed under the banner of the Light. The realization struck him with the force of a blow, shattering the illusions he had clung to for so long.

Gone were the justifications, the excuses he had woven to validate his actions. Mere mention of the Light in the context of his deeds now felt like sacrilege, a perversion that he could no longer deny. The Light's purity had been tarnished by his blood-stained hands, and the weight of that truth bore down upon him, threatening to crush his spirit.

For a moment, he teetered on the edge of despair, on the brink of collapsing under the weight of his own guilt. But then, salvation—a chance at redemption—stretched out before him like a lifeline. In the face of his crimes, the Light's Chosen had offered him an opportunity, a final chance to set things right. He clung to it with a desperation born from the knowledge that he was undeserving.

It was a reckoning he had long feared, a reckoning he now knew he could never truly repay. His crimes were too numerous, too heinous to be simply washed away by a fleeting act of redemption. As much as he yearned to be absolved of his sins, he understood that such a path was beyond his reach. The weight of his own darkness had left an indelible mark on his soul.

Yet, despite this grim realization, he held onto the lifeline he had been granted. He accepted his fate, the punishment that had been meted out to him, with a clarity that he had never known before. His redemption was not an end in itself; it was a journey, a path he would walk without the expectation of reward. He was a drowning man, and this was his last chance to cling to the surface.

In this newfound acceptance, a glimmer of hope emerged. He was no longer blinded by the delusions of earning redemption for his heinous acts. Instead, he would serve faithfully, unwavering in his commitment to the path of righteousness. To be placed under the command of Uther the Lightbringer himself—a figure he had revered since his earliest days—filled him with an overwhelming mixture of awe and humility.

As he watched Uther, a once-fallen hero now reborn by the grace of the Light, lead their charge against the forces of darkness, Malor's heart swelled with emotion too complex to name. He felt a profound sense of gratitude for this second chance, a chance to fight alongside a leader who embodied the virtues of the Light.

There would be no redemption for him, no erasing of the horrors he had perpetrated. But as long as he followed Uther's lead, he knew his cause was just, his actions righteous. Branded by the Light, he was forever marked by its purity, unable to stray into the depths of darkness again.

And so, with a heart burdened by remorse yet uplifted by newfound purpose, Malor the Zealous stepped forward, resolved to serve faithfully, to bear the weight of his past and march alongside his fellow crusaders on a path that was guided by the very Light he had so gravely betrayed.

~~~~
​

Balnazzar, the malevolent demon lurking beneath the facade of Saidan Dathrohan, seethed with fury as his meticulously crafted plans began to unravel before his very eyes. The charade that he had orchestrated so masterfully was now threatened by an unexpected force, and his frustration knew no bounds.

The supposed death of Saidan Dathrohan had been the culmination of a carefully orchestrated scheme. The puppeteer had manipulated the corpse to serve his sinister purpose, puppeting the lifeless vessel with deft expertise. Oh, how he had reveled in the irony of it all—Saidan's own body serving as a vessel for the dreadlord's malevolence. It was a masterpiece of deception, a symphony of pain and suffering that played out under his subtle manipulation.

The corruption of the Scarlet Crusade had been a gradual process, an artful manipulation of their fervent devotion to the Light. Balnazzar reveled in their zealotry, their unyielding faith that blinded them to the true darkness that lay beneath their actions. One by one, he twisted their minds, turning them into bloodthirsty fanatics who saw nothing but traitors and abominations in the world around them.

The crusaders, once noble and valiant defenders of the Light, had been reduced to mindless instruments of death and destruction. Their once-proud order had become a fanatical sect, driven by their obsession with purity and righteousness, and fueled by a thirst for the slaughter of any who dared to oppose their twisted doctrines.

Balnazzar delighted in their blind obedience, in the way they eagerly embraced his manipulations without a second thought. He reveled in the screams of the innocent as they were tortured and slaughtered, the echoes of their pain like a sweet symphony that played to his twisted senses.

But now, a force he had not anticipated had emerged—an entity of unparalleled power, the Light's Chosen. Balnazzar's teeth ground together so fiercely that they cracked under the pressure. This newcomer was disrupting his carefully constructed plans, casting doubt and truth upon the minds of his brainwashed minions.

Uther the Lightbringer, a name that should have been nothing more than a distant memory, now stood at the forefront of this resistance, leading a charge to cleanse the city of the very corruption that Balnazzar had sown.

The sight of Uther, reborn and empowered by the Light, was a bitter pill to swallow. Balnazzar's anger and desperation grew with each passing moment, as his puppets were confronted with the harsh truth of their actions. They could no longer deny the atrocities they had committed, the lives they had taken, the suffering they had inflicted—all under the guise of righteousness.

Balnazzar's gaze was fixated on the unfolding battle, his heart pounding with a mixture of rage and fear. He could not face this force head-on, not with his puppets now torn from him and the undeniable reality before them. He cursed under his breath, his mind racing for a solution, for a way to salvage his grand design.

With a final glare at the scene before him, Balnazzar made a decision. He would retreat, regroup, and seek refuge within the Scarlet Monastery—a bastion of his influence. There, he would rally his remaining forces, attempting to salvage whatever remnants of his plan he could.

As he slinked away from the scene, Balnazzar's mind raced, his thoughts consumed by the need to counteract this unexpected turn of events.
​

~~~~
​

Uther's heart was heavy as he surveyed the aftermath of their battle against the corrupted Scarlet Crusade. The once-sanctified halls of the church now stood as a grim reminder of the fanaticism that had consumed those he had once considered allies. The twisted remains of his former comrades lay scattered, a stark testament to the darkness that had taken hold within their hearts.

He turned his gaze towards the transformed Crusaders under his command, their faces marked by the Light's judgment. The radiant symbols etched upon their skin served as a visible reminder of their past sins, a mark that would never let them forget the horrors they had committed in the name of their twisted cause.

The Crusaders stood before him, their heads bowed in a mixture of shame and acceptance. They had been cleansed by the Light's Chosen, their true selves exposed and their actions laid bare. Redemption, it seemed, was a distant possibility, but Uther believed in the transformative power of the Light.

As he spoke, his voice was a blend of sorrow and determination. "You are no longer the pawns of corruption," he declared, his words carrying the weight of his conviction. "The Light has branded you as both a reminder of your past transgressions and a testament to your potential for redemption."

The transformed Crusaders nodded in solemn acknowledgment, their eyes reflecting a mixture of regret and hope. They had been given a chance—a chance to atone for their crimes and to forge a new path in service to the Light.

But just as Uther's words began to settle, a hushed whisper spread among the Crusaders. "He's gone." The words were accompanied by a sense of disbelief, a realization that their true enemy had slipped away unnoticed.

Uther's brows furrowed in concern. "Saidan?" he asked, his voice tinged with urgency.

One of the Crusaders stepped forward, his features a mixture of frustration and regret. "Aye," he confirmed. "While we were occupied here, he managed to escape. It seems he sensed the tides of battle turning against him."

Uther's jaw clenched in frustration. Saidan's escape was a setback they couldn't afford. "We cannot let him elude us," Uther declared, his voice firm. "But first, we must regroup and rejoin the Light's Chosen."

The transformed Crusaders nodded in agreement, their determination unshaken by the turn of events. They had been given a chance at redemption, and they were resolved to see it through.

With a shared purpose, they retraced their steps, leaving the desecrated church behind. As they emerged back into the undead filled city, they felt a renewed sense of purpose. The Light's Chosen awaited them, a beacon of hope and strength in their fight against the encroaching darkness.

Uther's heart was heavy with the weight of his responsibilities, but he drew strength from the resolve of those around him. As they made their way back to the main force, Uther couldn't help but feel that their paths were guided by a higher purpose—a purpose that would see them confront the darkness that threatened to consume their world and reclaim it in the name of the Light's true ideals.
​

~~~~
​

As Uther and the transformed Crusaders returned to the main force, they were met with a mixture of relief and uncertainty from the resolute Heroes who had been resurrected by the Light's Chosen. The Heroes' eyes bore witness to the radiant symbols of the Light's judgment on the Crusaders' skin—a stark reminder of their past sins.

Among the resurrected Heroes, there was a sense of apprehension. These were individuals who had been chosen by the Light's Chosen to rise from death and serve a purpose greater than themselves. But now, as they beheld the transformed Crusaders who had once embraced darkness, doubt gnawed at their resolve.

A young mage, his eyes marked by wisdom beyond his years, voiced the uncertainty that hung heavy in the air. "Are they truly worthy of this chance?" he asked, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

A fierce warrior, her armor gleaming in the light of the burning city, replied with a tinge of caution. "They were once our enemies, allies of the darkness. Can they truly be redeemed?"

Uther stepped forward, his gaze steady as he addressed the Heroes. "The path to redemption is not easily tread," he began, his voice carrying the weight of his own experiences. "The transformed Crusaders have been marked by the Light's judgment, and they now bear the consequences of their past actions. But redemption is a journey, not a destination. Their willingness to serve the Light and atone for their sins is a testament to their potential."

The Heroes exchanged uncertain glances, their doubts still lingering. But as they observed the transformed Crusaders, they saw in their eyes a mixture of regret, determination, and hope. These were individuals who had been confronted with the truth of their actions, who had accepted the weight of their sins and were ready to bear it.

The Paladin among the Heroes, his features etched with the lines of experience and conviction, spoke with a mixture of acceptance and caution. "We were once granted a second chance by the Light's Chosen," he said, his voice resonating with the memories of their resurrection. "We were given the opportunity to right the wrongs of our past lives. Perhaps the same grace can extend to them."

The transformed Crusaders lowered their heads, humbled by the words of the resurrected Heroes. They knew the doubts that clouded the minds of those who had been granted a chance at redemption. They knew the weight of guilt and the struggle to prove oneself worthy.

Uther's voice broke the silence, his words carrying a resolute conviction. "The battle against darkness is a fight that requires unity. Together, we can face the encroaching shadows and reclaim our world from the grip of corruption. Our pasts do not define us—it is our actions in the present that shape our destiny."

The Heroes exchanged meaningful looks, their skepticism slowly giving way to a glimmer of understanding. They had been given a second chance, an opportunity to rewrite their stories. And now, they stood alongside the transformed Crusaders who sought the same redemption, united by the common goal of confronting the darkness that threatened to consume them all.

As they prepared to face the challenges that lay ahead, uncertainty still lingered, but it was met with determination. The path of redemption was not without its trials, but in the unity of purpose and the unwavering commitment to the Light's true ideals, they found a beacon of hope—a hope that even those who had strayed farthest from the Light could find their way back and play a crucial role in the battle for the world's salvation.​

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​

 

[Kordelius]

Killoren found himself once more caught off guard by the unfolding events, a sense of bemusement mingling with a growing sense of acceptance. It seemed that surprises had become a frequent companion on this journey, and he couldn't help but chuckle softly at his own tendency to underestimate the twists and turns of fate.

The revelation of living individuals within the desolate city of Stratholme had already shaken his preconceptions, but to discover that they were members of the Scarlet Crusade—a group he had anticipated confronting—added another layer of complexity to the situation. His initial suspicions were challenged, and he begrudgingly acknowledged that sometimes reality had a way of defying one's assumptions.

Uther's return with the transformed ex-members of the Scarlet Crusade was met with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism among the ranks. Killoren's eyes flickered between Uther and the branded individuals, his thoughts a whirlwind of contemplation. While he understood the need for caution and vigilance, the sight of Light's own power marking those who had once embraced darkness was a sight to behold.

A part of him recognized the irony—the irony of using the Light's own judgment as a means of control. It was a harsh reminder that even the most devout could stray from the true path. The branded Crusaders were a living testament to that fact, a reminder that faith alone did not guarantee righteousness.

And then there was the matter of the Light's Chosen himself. Killoren had witnessed the enigmatic figure wield the Light's power in ways that defied his understanding. Twice now, the boundaries of possibility had been shattered, and he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to come. It was a humbling realization, a reminder that their knowledge of the Light was limited and that there were mysteries yet to be unveiled.

As he listened to the unfolding discussions and observed the interactions, Killoren felt a twinge of unease deep within him. The ground beneath him felt shaky, his once firm beliefs challenged by the events that had transpired. He couldn't help but wonder what other revelations lay ahead, and he harbored a sense of trepidation about the potential impact on his faith.

However, amidst the uncertainty, Killoren found solace in the unity that had formed among the diverse individuals gathered in the shadow of Stratholme's ruins. Despite their differences, they shared a common goal—to confront the encroaching darkness and restore their world to its rightful state. In that shared purpose, he saw a glimmer of hope, a beacon that could guide them through the trials that awaited.

With a renewed sense of determination, Killoren squared his shoulders and fixed his gaze ahead. The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with challenges and unknowns. But he was ready to face them, to embrace the surprises that lay in wait, and to stand alongside his newfound allies in their pursuit of redemption and the preservation of the Light's true ideals.

~~~~
​

Baron Rivendare's fury burned like a raging fire as he witnessed the chaos unfolding within his city. Stratholme, a place he had claimed as his own, was under siege by an army unlike any he had faced before. The meticulous destruction of the undead forces under his command struck a chord of disbelief and anger within him. This was not how it was supposed to go!

His frustration was further fueled by the realization that the army assaulting his domain consisted of individuals who should be nothing more than the rotting corpses he commanded. And yet, they were alive—truly alive, reanimated and brought back from the clutches of death itself. The absurdity of it all gnawed at his sanity.

Uther's presence among the living was a particular thorn in his side. The fact that the paladin had not only returned from the dead but also led this assault was maddening. It defied all logic, all the rules that governed the balance of life and death. Rivendare seethed at the audacity of these individuals who dared to challenge his dominion over Stratholme.

A deeper, more sinister concern weighed on his mind—the presence of those who had once been under Balnazzar's control, the same dreadlord whose influence had subtly guided the Scarlet Crusade down a path of fanaticism and violence. The twisted puppet master was not known for relinquishing control so easily, and Rivendare couldn't fathom how these individuals had managed to break free.

Yet, his vengeful determination burned just as fiercely. He had claimed this city for himself, and he would not let it fall without a fight. As the chaotic clash of battle echoed through the air, Rivendare found himself riding forward, rallying the remaining undead forces to his side. His voice carried over the tumult, a chilling proclamation of the Scourge's power and his own defiance.

With each thunderous step of his steed, Rivendare's resolve grew stronger. He relished the thought of crushing these intruders, of breaking their spirits and reducing their so-called heroes to lifeless husks. The anticipation of their despair, their realization of the futility of their efforts, brought a wicked grin to his skeletal face.

His laughter rang out, a haunting symphony of malice and triumph. "The Scourge will consume you!" he bellowed, his voice echoing across the battlefield. His eyes gleamed with malevolence, fixated on the adversaries before him. This was his moment, his opportunity to prove his dominance and establish his supremacy over Stratholme.

With a surge of dark energy, Baron Rivendare charged headlong into the fray, his army of undead trailing behind him like a tide of death. The clash of forces was inevitable, the clash of wills even more so. Amidst the chaos, he sought to prove his might, to bend these intruders to his will or crush them beneath the overwhelming might of the Scourge. The battle had begun, and Rivendare reveled in the impending chaos that would further cement his reign over his cursed city.
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~~~~
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Uther's eyes blazed with determination as he beheld the menacing figure of the horseman tearing through their ranks. It was clear that they were facing none other than the leader of the undead forces in this cursed city. His grip on his weapon tightened, the surging power of the Light coursing through his veins. With a fierce cry, he lunged forward, charging at the abomination before him.

His swift intervention blocked the horseman's sword from striking down another of his comrades. "By the Light, you will go no further!" Uther's voice thundered with righteous fury. "This affront to life ends today!" He exerted his strength, pushing back against the undead foe with unyielding determination.

In response, the rider's laughter rang out, a haunting melody that reverberated in the air. "You are one to speak about affront to life, Uther," the horseman's voice was dripping with mockery. "Were you not dead yourself, yet now you walk once more! This changes nothing—the Scourge will wash over this world!"

Rivendare charged at Uther again, his undead mount granting him speed and height advantage. In a regular battle, Uther might have struggled against such an opponent, but this was no ordinary fight. The power of the Light surged within him, granting him strength beyond the ordinary limits of mortal combat. With a resounding cry, Uther struck at the horse, shattering it and sending the rider tumbling to the ground.

Pointing his mace at his fallen adversary, Uther's voice resonated with conviction. "No, the Scourge's days are numbered! We will cleanse this world of your taint once and for all. Light has granted me this opportunity to fix my mistakes, and I intend to do so."

Rivendare's reply was filled with defiance, laced with a sinister cackle. "Fool! I will enjoy delivering you to the Lich King. No doubt he will be pleased to kill you once more!"

Uther wasted no more words, his intent clear. He charged at Rivendare once more, their weapons clashing with a cacophony of metal against metal. The Death Knight was empowered by necrotic energies, while Uther was fueled by the Light itself. Their clash was a testament to the power of opposing forces, each strike echoing their determination to emerge victorious.

Despite Rivendare's attempts to evade Uther's relentless attacks, he found himself struck again and again. The battle raged on, but even those less skilled in combat could see that Uther was the superior warrior. With a final, resolute strike, Uther sent Rivendare flying, leaving the undead leader temporarily incapacitated.

However, in the midst of their battle, a new presence arrived on the scene. Rivendare's attention was abruptly diverted as he sensed a force of immense power behind him. In a desperate, reflexive motion, he swung his sword, only to have it shattered as it made contact with an unseen barrier.

The battlefield seemed to fall silent as the gaze of every combatant turned to the figure that had appeared—a figure shrouded in armor and surrounded by an aura of blinding radiance. It was the Light's Chosen himself.

Time seemed to stand still as the two formidable opponents observed one another. Rivendare's fear was palpable, a feeling he had not experienced in ages. Yet, he channeled that fear into a surge of anger. How dare this individual humiliate him in such a manner?

With all the power he could muster, Rivendare launched an attack at the Light's Chosen, his magic aimed at the figure before him. But with a mere wave of the man's hand, the assault was dispersed effortlessly. A simple utterance resonated in the air— "Iudicium Lucis."

In an instant, Rivendare's existence came to an abrupt end. His ash fell to the ground before he could even utter a sound. The battle continued around them, but the once-mighty horseman was no more, a testament to the overwhelming might of the Light's Chosen and the unassailable power of the Light itself.
​

~~~~
​

With Rivendare defeated, the remaining undead forces faltered. Without their commanding presence, they were no match for the combined might of the resolute soldiers and the revived heroes. The battle continued, yet it was clear that victory was within their grasp. Caution prevailed over recklessness, as the soldiers meticulously dealt with the remaining threats. Mindless as some of the undead might be, they still posed a danger.

As the hours passed, the relentless effort paid off. With each fallen undead, the city's grip on darkness began to loosen. When the sun dipped below the horizon, the last echoes of battle faded, and silence returned to the city streets. Not a single undead remained—Stratholme had been cleansed.

Uther approached the Light's Chosen, gratitude and weariness etched on his face. The presence of the Light's power was tangible, and those who were wounded found themselves healed in its benevolent embrace. However, a new sound interrupted the stillness—a sound that drew the attention of all present. Gazing skyward, Uther and the others beheld the flying fortress beginning to move.

Panic surged within Uther. The fortress couldn't be allowed to escape, not with the potential devastation it could unleash upon the world. He rushed toward the Light's Chosen, his urgency evident in his voice. "Stop them! We cannot let them escape!"

To his surprise, the Light's Chosen remained unperturbed, observing the flying fortress with a calm demeanor. Uther's frustration grew, his pleas falling on seemingly deaf ears. He looked to the man for guidance, hoping for a way to prevent the fortress's departure.

Finally, the Light's Chosen turned his attention to Uther, his voice steady and resolute. "Let them go," he remarked, his words carrying an air of certainty. "We have other matters to attend to. Allies to gather and a journey ahead to prepare for."

Uther felt a mix of confusion and reluctance at the Light's Chosen's words. It was clear that the man knew something, some greater purpose that guided his actions. As the enigmatic figure began to leave the city, Uther glanced back at the streets that had witnessed their hard-fought victory.

"We should return to the chapel," the Light's Chosen continued, his voice a calming presence amidst the lingering tension. "The day is won, and the men deserve to rest and recuperate."

With a sigh, Uther nodded in reluctant agreement. As the soldiers began to follow the Light's Chosen's lead, making their way out of the city, Uther cast one last look over his shoulder at the now-empty streets of Stratholme. The battle had been won, but the mysteries and challenges that lay ahead were far from over.​

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[Kordelius]

Tyrosus found himself remembering the returning army, his gaze fixed on the sight before him. It wasn't their return, nor the noticeable absence of injured soldiers, that truly surprised him. Rather, it was the unexpected presence of Scarlet Crusade members among their ranks that sent a jolt of disbelief through him.

After witnessing the fate that had befallen the members of the Scarlet Crusade following the arrival of the Light's Chosen, Tyrosus had never imagined that he would see them again—especially not in this manner. Learning of the circumstances that led to their inclusion among their forces was a revelation that both astounded and unsettled him.

The notion that the Light itself had rendered judgment upon these individuals, branding them for their sins and demanding their servitude as a means of redemption, was a concept that stirred a maelstrom of conflicting emotions within Tyrosus. On one hand, he could comprehend the practicality of such an arrangement—the need for additional soldiers in the face of an impending darkness that threatened all of Azeroth. Yet, on the other hand, the idea of these once-twisted zealots now standing as they are now called the Penitential Atoners, their lives irrevocably changed by the Light's judgment, was a profound revelation that challenged the boundaries of his understanding.

Uther's misgivings about the situation resonated with Tyrosus. Despite his inherent trust in the Light and its chosen emissary, there was a certain sense of distant unreality that surrounded the Light's Chosen. While Tyrosus had unquestionably devoted himself to the teachings of the Light, he couldn't deny the human tendency to find comfort and assurance in the tangible, the known. Uther, a man whose character and deeds were well-known to them all, stood as a beacon of familiarity and reliability amidst the tumultuous uncertainties of the current situation.

As Tyrosus grappled with his thoughts and feelings, he couldn't help but contemplate the profound lessons he had been encountering. The stark contrast between blind faith and questioning, between acceptance and understanding, was etched into every facet of these events. Struck by the realization that the Light did not scorn him or any others for their doubts or inquisitiveness, Tyrosus found himself embracing a newfound sense of purpose—a purpose rooted in seeking knowledge, understanding, and a deeper connection with the Light itself.

In this moment of reflection, amidst the returned soldiers and the mysteries that lay ahead, Tyrosus found a quiet reassurance that his doubts and questions were not obstacles, but rather pathways to greater enlightenment. The journey ahead would be fraught with challenges, but with Uther's leadership and the guidance of the Light's Chosen, he was determined to face whatever came with unwavering resolve and a heart open to the truths that awaited discovery.

~~~~​

The days following the successful cleansing of Stratholme were a respite that the battle-weary warriors welcomed with open arms. Weariness etched on their faces told stories of the battles they had faced, but there was also a sense of shared uncertainty about the path ahead. Plans were discussed, yet the lingering shadow of the challenges they faced was never far away.

In the midst of this, Light's Chosen summoned both Uther and Malor, the former Scarlet Crusade member, and presented them with a singular artifact of immense power. This artifact required both of them, representing two distinct perspectives, to harness its true potential.

"Uther, Malor," Light's Chosen's voice was solemn, "this artifact is a reflection of the Light's judgment. It requires the harmonious unity of your convictions—Uther, your unwavering commitment to righteousness, and Malor, your intimate understanding of the Crusade's corruption."

Malor's gaze was intent, his memories of the Scarlet Crusade's darkness still fresh. "So, this artifact will unveil the truth within them?"

Light's Chosen nodded. "Indeed, Malor. It will reveal the essence of their souls, whether they are bound by righteous intent or consumed by twisted beliefs."

Uther's grip on the artifact tightened as he looked at Malor, then back at Light's Chosen. "And what of their redemption? Can they truly be saved from their past?"

Light's Chosen's gaze bore into them. "Redemption is a journey chosen by the heart. The Penitential Atoners were once ensnared by the Crusade's fanaticism. Now, branded by the Light's judgment, they will face their true selves and the chance for redemption."

Malor's voice held determination. "You believe there's hope for them."

"Hope exists where there is a willingness to change," Light's Chosen affirmed. "But it must be a conscious choice to atone and break free from the shackles of darkness. Your guidance will be pivotal."

Uther exchanged a resolute glance with Malor, an unspoken understanding passing between them. "We accept this responsibility," Uther declared firmly. "If there's a possibility to rescue those lost to the Crusade's corruption, we must not shy away from it."

With determination, Uther and Malor embarked on their journey to Tyr's Hand, the artifact in their possession and the weight of their purpose propelling them forward. Uncertainty had given way to purpose, and within their hearts burned the conviction that they could bring those who had strayed back to the Light. With the artifact as their conduit, they would pass the Light's judgment upon the Scarlet Crusade members, granting them a chance for redemption—a chance that rested upon the unyielding faith of those who believed in the power of the Light to cleanse and heal even the darkest of souls.
​

~~~~
​

The decision had been made, and the forces were divided. Uther and Malor returned from their mission in Tyr's Hand, their numbers bolstered with new Penitential Atoners—former members of the Scarlet Crusade who now bore the marks of Light's judgment, determined to atone for their past. Light's Chosen had given them a new purpose, a chance to cleanse themselves of their dark history.

As discussions about the division of forces unfolded, it became apparent that the Heroes resurrected by Light's Chosen would naturally rally behind him. The focus then shifted to the Penitential Atoners, whose roles would be distributed based on their unique strengths and abilities. In the end, consensus was reached with surprising ease. Some would remain to continue the cleansing efforts, while others would join the battles that lay ahead.

The Penitential Atoners, having experienced the transformative power of the Light firsthand, were eager to prove their newfound allegiance. Among them were those who were particularly adept at identifying and eradicating pockets of corruption that still lingered across the land. Their determination and understanding of the darkness that had once consumed them made them invaluable assets in the ongoing struggle.

Dawn, too, played a pivotal role in this division. Many of its members chose to remain behind, embracing the mission to cleanse and reclaim the lands from the Scourge's grasp. They understood that this was a battle that required their combined efforts and steadfast resolve.

With the forces separated and the roles defined, the united front now turned toward their next destination—Tirisfal. Light's Chosen had foreseen the path ahead, yet details remained shrouded in mystery. As the journey unfolded, they knew that whatever challenges awaited them, they would face together, drawing strength from each other's unwavering commitment to the Light's cause.

The road ahead was uncertain, but with Light's Chosen guiding their steps, the Heroes and Penitential Atoners alike were united by a shared purpose. It was a purpose born from redemption, fueled by determination, and fortified by the belief that even in the darkest of times, the Light's power could illuminate a path toward salvation. And so, with hope as their guide, they continued their journey—undaunted and resolute in their quest to vanquish the shadows that threatened to engulf their world.
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~~~~
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As they journeyed past the remnants of the once-thriving city of Andorhal, a group of riders approached them. Many among the group were cautious at the sight of these newcomers, particularly due to the presence of individuals adorned in the colors of the Scarlet Crusade.

However, the Light's Chosen decided against taking immediate action, allowing the riders to draw nearer. It was during this approach that several individuals caught sight of the man leading the riders. While some remained unfamiliar with him, many recognized him instantly.

Tirion Fordring, a figure once tarnished within the Silver Hand, now seemingly aligned with the Crusade? The sight ignited anger among many, as they perceived him to have forsaken his principles.

"Tirion," spoke up the Light's Chosen once the distance had closed. "Has the task been accomplished?" he inquired of the man.

Tirion nodded with a solemn expression. "Indeed, Hearthglen has been secured. Those deemed beyond redemption have met their end by the blade." As he uttered these words, a notable realization began to dawn upon the gathering. All the Crusaders standing behind Tirion were identical to the Penitential Atoners.

Confusion clouded the air as Uther voiced his query. "What is the meaning of this?" he questioned, his brows furrowing. Tirion pivoted toward him, his countenance now revealing more than just stoicism. "Uther… it's hard to believe this reality. It warms my heart to see you, old friend," he spoke with a blend of incredulity and genuine joy.

Uther acknowledged the sentiment. "Likewise, Tirion. However, my question stands," he pressed, his resolve unwavering.

A soft laugh escaped Tirion's lips. "I believe the same as you, old friend," he responded, gesturing toward the assembly behind him.

Light's Chosen intervened in their exchange, steering their focus back to the mission. "This discussion shall need to wait for another time. We have pressing matters at hand. Coordinate with the Argent Dawn at the Light's Hope Chapel, Tirion," he interjected, emphasizing their purpose. Having imparted his directive, he resumed his stride forward.

Tirion's jocularity emerged as he commented, "As imposing as ever, that one." This jest was followed by a nod of acknowledgment directed at Uther. "Nevertheless, he's right. There's much work to be done. Both for me and for you. I wish you luck in your endeavors, Uther. May this chaos find its end once and for all," Tirion concluded with a tone of gravity.

Uther reciprocated the sentiment with a solemn nod. "Indeed, the time has come for us to rectify this situation. It should never have been permitted to escalate to this extent," he replied, his demeanor mirroring Tirion's seriousness.
​

~~~~
​

As they neared the entrance to Tirisfal, a sense of anticipation loomed. However, the reception awaiting them was not that of the Scarlet Crusade. Instead, some regarded it as even more perplexing – undead filled with Light.

Their undead nature was undeniable, yet equally conspicuous was the Light that flowed within them. This spectacle left them all taken aback, struggling to comprehend the sight before them.

Uther shifted his gaze from the Light's Chosen to the unexpected newcomers, his expression one of sheer bewilderment. "What is the meaning of this? Why?" His emotions were too confounded to allow room for anger; confusion reigned supreme.

A solitary member of the Lightforged Undead ventured forth, a High Elf in her past life. "Uther, what a pleasure to cross paths with you," her words belied a deeply ingrained animosity towards him.

Uther regained his composure, choosing to meet her ire with equanimity. "Have I inadvertently affronted you, my Lady? I do not recall our paths having crossed before," he responded calmly, refusing to be drawn into a provocation.

"Oh, we've never formally met. However, my people and I had the distinct privilege of encountering," she continued, glancing back briefly before resuming her gaze at Uther. "Your prized protégé," she spoke, each word laced with menace.

Uther's jaw clenched, realization dawning as he understood the source of her resentment, regardless of its misguided nature.

Intervening, the Light's Chosen commanded, "Enough of this. Save your grievances for another occasion. Sylvanas, has the Light's Vengeance executed its orders?" His tone brooked no disobedience.

The newly named Sylvanas turned her attention toward him, her demeanor composed. "Indeed, we have completed the task. The former capital has been purged, Varimathras now imprisoned. Additionally, we've secured the Monastery and the Crusaders within it. As predicted, Balnazzar, known to them as Saidan, sought to rally support there. Our exposure of his true nature and subsequent capture proved relatively uncomplicated," she reported clinically, briefly diverting her gaze toward Uther with a hint of mockery, a gesture left unfulfilled.

"Continue," the Light's Chosen commanded, his authority unwavering.

Sylvanas locked eyes with him, collecting herself before proceeding. "Both Dreadlords have been detained according to your specifications. We've secured several vessels for the forthcoming voyage, though their numbers may fall short," she concluded her briefing.

The Light's Chosen turned his gaze to a realm unseen by others, before focusing back on Sylvanas. "It matters not. The rest of our forces will contribute to the construction of additional ships. Meanwhile, I have other matters to fulfill." Addressing both Uther and Sylvanas, he added, "You are now both in charge. Allocate responsibilities as necessary, but confine personal disagreements to private discourse." With those final instructions, he urged his steed into motion, the animal gathering momentum until it vanished from their view.​

---

Well, that was unexpected. Sylvanas herself a servant of the Light! Who could have foreseen that!

Let me know your thoughts below.

Cheers!

P.S. As usual more chapters available on my Patreon

​

 

[Kordelius]

Lor'Themar Theron was overcome with a potent mixture of sorrow and anger as he cast his gaze upon his homeland once more. The ache of revisiting this place after all that had transpired was a bitter pill to swallow. The agony, the anguish of having to forsake their ancestral land, following Prince Kael'Thas on a quest for a new sanctuary.

He clenched his teeth in frustration, the decisions their prince had made for their people remained difficult to accept, yet he grasped the stark reality—they had been left with precious little choice.

Betrayed, shattered, and betrayed once more. He found himself pondering if they were being subjected to a form of punishment. Deep within his thoughts, he could acknowledge that there were countless things others could cast blame upon them for, attributing this bleak fate to their perceived transgressions.

However, his ability to comprehend it did not equate to his ability to embrace it!

The consequence of their self-imposed isolation became glaringly evident—a grievous miscalculation. Had they only been more attuned to the currents beyond their borders, perhaps they could have better fortified themselves against the impending calamity. What stung more was the realization that they had managed to narrowly evade this very downfall once before, yet failed to enact the necessary safeguards to prevent its recurrence. And now, they bore the brunt of their own neglect.

Their homeland, once a thriving bastion, lay in ruins; their kin, mercilessly slaughtered; those who had survived now struggled to find a refuge. Reduced to nomads, they wandered from one makeshift home to another, exchanging servitude for shelter.

No, this could not persist any longer!

Amidst the wreckage, Lor'Themar found solace in their return, albeit to a fractured realm. He pledged to guide those who had rallied behind him towards a brighter future. He entertained no illusions; he acknowledged the very real possibility of eventual conflict with their prince over the directions they would wish to lead their people towards. Though he fervently wished to avoid such a confrontation.

For now, he resolved to dedicate himself to the reclamation of their shattered homeland and the establishment of stability for those who looked up to him for leadership.

~~~~​

Lor'Themar's teeth clenched tightly, a visceral expression of his anger and frustration. The source of this vexation? It lay in those who had been forsaken during their exodus—a people left to endure prolonged deprivation of magic that had ultimately twisted them beyond recognition.

These once-vibrant beings had devolved into mindless husks, a haunting echo of their former selves. Ravaged and consumed by an insatiable hunger for magic, they embodied yet another stark reminder of their collective failure.

Eliminating mindless undead was one thing, but extinguishing the existence of those who had once been his own people—now contorted and malformed by their insatiable magical thirst—was a heartrending ordeal.

This was but a single facet of the myriad issues that had plagued their people. The curse of mana addiction was an affliction that had persisted for ages, yet it had never been meaningfully addressed until it was too late. The telltale signs had always been present, as had the looming danger, but the urgency of finding a solution had never truly resonated. After all, the Sunwell had long provided an abundant source of magic, rendering concerns seemingly moot. Who could have foreseen such a fundamental upheaval?

And now, their complacency and arrogance had returned to exact a heavy toll.
​

~~~~
​

Having reclaimed a substantial portion of the city and its surrounding vicinity, they stood at the cusp of beginning the daunting task of rebuilding. While the menace of the Wretched and Undead still held sway in certain regions, the mere fact that they finally possessed a viable space to consolidate their efforts was a glimmer of hope.

Rommath's contributions in eradicating significant clusters of undead had proved invaluable. If any silver lining could be gleaned from the situation, it was that the Scourge had exhibited a degree of restraint in their destruction en route to the Sunwell.

However, the journey ahead remained no less Herculean. The menace of the undead continued to linger, large sections of the city demanded reconstruction, not to mention the pervasive decay that had beset everything over time.

Yet amidst these pressing concerns, an even more immediate issue surfaced. Halduron's scouts had returned bearing tidings that Lor'Themar would have preferred to remain buried and unspoken.

The name Dar'Khan, the very traitor who had sown chaos, resurfaced like a bitter memory. No matter how much his blood boiled at the mere mention of that name, no matter how greatly he yearned to muster his forces and assail him, practicality prevailed. And this reality, despite its reasonableness, was far from palatable to anyone else. The situation was a veritable headache. Vengeance, though a potent lure, could not eclipse the greater need to rebuild their ravaged home.

Lor'Themar found himself in his chambers, scrutinizing a map, deliberating over the next area of focus, when an insistent knock interrupted his thoughts. Sighing inwardly, he bade the visitor to enter.

Halduron rushed into the chamber, an air of urgency surrounding him. Lor'Themar's weariness deepened; it seemed another wave of adversity was about to crash upon them. "What is it, Halduron?" he inquired, weariness evident in his tone.

"Lor'Themar, scouts have brought word of a rider approaching the city at remarkable speed. He should be upon us imminently!" Halduron hurriedly relayed, already exiting the room and gesturing for Lor'Themar to follow.

Resigned to yet another upheaval, Lor'Themar trailed after Halduron. 'What new challenge awaits us now?' he mused, hoping fervently that this was not another adversary to contend with, a realm in which they were already far too well-versed.
​

~~~~​

As Lor'Themar arrived at the scene, he noticed that Rommath was already present. A nod of acknowledgement passed between them before Lor'Themar's attention turned to the approaching figure. With every step, the presence of the newcomer grew more palpable, an undeniable manifestation of power.

However, amidst this unfolding scene, a peculiar sight drew his gaze away—the flickering flames in the background. He turned his focus towards Halduron, his tone laced with urgency. "What is ablaze over there, and for what reason?" His words carried a note of urgency; he had no desire to contend with an unforeseen firestorm.

Halduron's jaw tightened as he delivered his reply. "It's the Dead Scar. According to my scouts, the moment the stranger set foot on it, it ignited. But it's not an ordinary fire. It burns with a golden hue and isn't searing to the touch. One of the scouts even dared to place his hand in it, yet suffered no burns."

Rommath interjected, his attention still primarily fixated on the mysterious occurrence. "That's because it's not truly fire. It merely assumes the appearance of fire. It's the Light expunging the land's corruption." His voice held a detached quality as he explained, his focus deeply engrossed elsewhere.

Lor'Themar found himself momentarily taken aback by Rommath's insight, a glimmer of hope kindling within. If they could harness the assistance of this enigmatic figure, their quest to reclaim their homeland might find a swifter resolution.

As the stranger drew nearer, the pace of their approach gradually slowed until they finally stood before the assembled group. A silent assessment seemed to take place, each member potentially subject to judgment. Lor'Themar sensed the weight of the gaze even though the stranger's visage remained veiled.

"Lor'Themar Theron," the stranger's voice cut through the air with clarity and conviction. Involuntarily, Lor'Themar straightened, his posture reflecting the stranger's authoritative aura.

"Yes, that is my name. Regrettably, I'm unfamiliar with yours," Lor'Themar responded with equal clarity and resolve.

A beat of silence lingered, raising doubts as to whether the stranger had even heard Lor'Themar's reply.

"Do you wish to save your people?" The stranger's words penetrated the air, disregarding Lor'Themar's inquiry entirely. The question left him guarded, unsure of the stranger's intentions.

"What do you mean?" Lor'Themar responded cautiously, his uncertainty mirrored by those around him.

"The Light extends an offer of redemption, a path out of the darkness you now tread," the stranger continued, his cryptic words leaving Lor'Themar puzzled.

"I'm afraid I don't comprehend your meaning," Lor'Themar replied with a note of skepticism.

"Your Prince has led you down a path of ruin. If you persist, only agony and despair await. Summon him back, for the power of demons will not save you—it will only seal your doom further," the stranger's tone remained firm, his words echoing even in their hushed delivery.

"And the Light would save us? The Light abandoned us in our hour of need!" Rommath's anger surged forth, an expected reaction. Lor'Themar had anticipated as much, considering Rommath's unwavering loyalty to Kael'Thas.

The stranger's gaze shifted towards Rommath. "You forsook the Light long before it turned away from you. Your people succumbed to greed and the lust for power. Do you view Dar'Khan Drathir as an aberration? A lone misstep? You're well aware that many more would have embraced the offer he received, heedless of the consequences. Among those condemning him now, jealousy festers just as strongly." The stranger's damning words sparked resentment among those addressed.

Though not without their bitter taste, Lor'Themar couldn't deny their veracity. However, Rommath's reaction was anything but agreeable. "How dare you!" Rommath's fury radiated, accompanied by a surge of arcane energy.

Yet with a simple gesture, the stranger deflected Rommath's magical onslaught, leaving Rommath reeling from the recoil. "Be cautious with your actions. I offer a chance at redemption, but I will not hesitate to subject you to the ramifications of your prior choices," the stranger warned sternly.

Lor'Themar absorbed the gravity of the situation, the tension in the air palpable. Despite Rommath's display of power, the stranger remained unruffled, emanating an aura of authority that was impossible to ignore. As the intensity of the moment hung suspended, Lor'Themar could feel the weight of the decision that loomed before them.

"Who are you? What is your purpose here?" Lor'Themar inquired, his voice tempered with a mixture of caution and curiosity. The stranger's appearance had ushered in an air of mystery that demanded clarification.

"I am a harbinger of the Light, a servant of its divine purpose," the stranger replied cryptically, their demeanor enigmatic.

Lor'Themar weighed their words, skepticism warring with the desire for a solution to their plight. "And what exactly is the Light's purpose?"

"The Light seeks to cleanse, to offer a path of redemption to those who have strayed from its grace. It offers deliverance from darkness, a chance to cast aside the burdens of mistakes made in ignorance or folly," the stranger answered, their words carrying a sense of profound earnestness.

Rommath's skepticism remained unrelenting. "And why should we trust in this offer, in your words?"

"The trust must be earned, I understand that. I do not ask for blind faith, only the willingness to consider a new path—one that may lead to salvation for your people," the stranger replied, their tone imbued with sincerity.

Lor'Themar mulled over the stranger's words, his gaze shifting between Rommath and Halduron, both of whom were wrestling with their own doubts and reservations.

Halduron finally spoke up, his voice tinged with skepticism. "You speak of redemption, but what do you ask of us in return?"

The stranger's gaze, though concealed, seemed to meet Halduron's with an intensity that bore into his very soul. "A willingness to relinquish the path you are currently on. To challenge old allegiances that have led to the suffering of your people. To unite under the banner of the Light and work towards the salvation that is within your grasp."

The proposition hung in the air, a weighty offer that carried the potential for profound change. The tension of the moment seemed to stretch on endlessly as each individual contemplated the path that lay before them.

Lor'Themar, though cautious, found a glimmer of hope taking root within him. The idea of redemption, of reclaiming their heritage and restoring their people, held undeniable allure. He exchanged a meaningful glance with Rommath and Halduron, silently acknowledging the monumental decision they were collectively facing.

The silence was broken by Rommath, his tone far more measured than before. "And what assurance do we have that this path is truly one of salvation and not another twist of fate?"

The stranger's voice remained unwavering, resolute in its conviction. "You have my presence, my word, and the Light as your guide. The path to redemption may be arduous, but it is one paved with the potential for renewal."

The magnitude of the choice lingered in the air, the fate of their people precariously balanced. Lor'Themar's mind raced as he considered the implications, the uncertainties, and the flicker of hope that had ignited within him.

"We will deliberate," Lor'Themar stated finally, his words carrying the weight of the responsibility that lay upon his shoulders. "This decision affects not only us, but all who look to us for guidance and leadership."

The stranger inclined their head, acknowledging the weight of the decision. "Take your time, for the path of redemption is one that requires thoughtful consideration. May the Light illuminate your choice."

With those words, the stranger turned and began to recede, their presence fading like a specter in the wind. Left behind were the leaders of a fractured people, the uncertainty of a pivotal decision, and the lingering echo of the stranger's offer of redemption.​

---

Heavy is the mantle of Leadership and Lor'Themar feels it firsthand himself now.

Let me know your thought's below.

Cheers!

As always you can read three chapters ahead on my Patreon​

 

[Kordelius]

Sylvanas Windrunner, a figure once renowned as the Ranger-General of Silvermoon, then ascended to the throne as the Queen of the Forsaken, and now assumed the mantle of Light's Vengeance. Her life's trajectory had taken an astonishingly swift and bewildering series of turns, a whirlwind of events particularly astounding for someone who had witnessed over two millennia pass.

In her eyes, it felt as if the downhill spiral began with her little brother's tragic death at the hands of the savage Horde. That was when her life seemed to take a turn for the worse. Alleria, consumed by her fury, plunged into battle against the same faction, vanishing into the depths of another world.

Then the Scourge invasion struck, and Sylvanas could still recall the anguish and pain of watching the undead ravage her homeland, mercilessly taking the lives of her people.

Her own demise followed, her body subjugated to be turned against her kin—the very people she had vowed to protect. It fractured her on multiple levels. Upon regaining her freedom, she was so consumed by rage and torment that her sole desire was to make Arthas pay for his actions.

But in the end, even with all her fury, she couldn't manage to end the abominable existence of the being who tormented her. His escape gnawed at her, the frustration of being unable to deliver her long-awaited revenge leaving a bitter taste.

A fleeting thought of ending her own misery crossed her mind, yet it was thwarted when her rangers sought her counsel once more. She gathered those who had managed to break free from their chains, uniting them under a common banner—vengeance.

It became her sole purpose, a guiding star to navigate the darkness. Consequences be damned, condemnation from others endured, all she pursued was the realization of their thirst for retribution.

In retrospection, Sylvanas could see how far she had fallen, how she was gradually transforming into a monstrous version of herself. The backdrop of ruins, death, and despair that surrounded her only seemed to exacerbate these sentiments. She began to resent the living, despising their sympathetic gazes and disdainful looks. How dare they judge her and her people when they had no understanding of their torment?

Meeting Light's Champion, however, turned out to be a pivotal moment in her journey.

Initially, as she set her eyes on him, she pegged him as another zealous paladin, surely on a mission to cleanse the land of their supposed corruption. Her anger surged, and she attacked impulsively, only to be swiftly overpowered and brought to her knees by the radiant power of the Light.

Bound and seething, she unleashed insults and taunts, expecting her provocations to elicit a response. To her surprise, he absorbed her vitriol without flinching, offering her an unexpected chance to break free from the dark path she had embraced.

In her heated fury, she responded with more anger, only to be met with patient resolve. And then, in an instant, the Light encompassed her. She believed it to be her end, ready to succumb to its judgement, but instead, she was confronted with a reflection of her actions, laid bare in all their raw truth.

The sight of the monster she had become, driven by anger and vengeance, sent shockwaves through her. The realization that her unbridled rage had begun to twist her into the very evil she sought to destroy filled her with despair.

And then, another offer was extended—did she wish to forge a different path? In that moment of darkness, she grasped onto the extended hand like a drowning soul reaching for salvation.

The Light's embrace inundated her, and she surrendered to its judgement, accepting its offer of redemption. Surprisingly, it did not condemn her desire for vengeance; instead, it empowered her to pursue it, not as a conduit of wrath, but as an agent of the Light itself. She transformed into Light's Vengeance, a being as enigmatic as her own journey.

As her metamorphosis concluded, she looked up at the Light's Chosen, her gratitude palpable. About to inquire about her people, he instead requested her bow. Handing it over, he allowed the Light to cleanse its darkness and bless it anew. With the return of her weapon, he departed without a word, yet his message was clear. The responsibility to lead her people towards a better path rested on her shoulders.

With newfound resolve, Sylvanas returned to Undercity, determined to guide her people towards a brighter future, to show them that vengeance need not define their existence.

~~~~
​

Once again, Uther found himself pleasantly surprised by Light's Chosen, appreciating the depth of his foresight and dedication. The fact that the Champion had taken proactive steps even before awakening them from their slumber was both remarkable and reassuring. While it made logical sense given the Champion's power and commitment, it still managed to astonish Uther.

Learning that Tirion Fordring had been called from his exile to oversee Hearthglen and the Scarlet Crusaders or rather the now called Penitential Atoners stationed there brought Uther a sense of peace. He had worried that those left behind might struggle without their guidance, but Light's Chosen had evidently anticipated this concern and acted accordingly.

However, there was a matter that left Uther somewhat uncertain—the Lightforged Undead, or as they referred to themselves, Light's Vengeance. The name didn't sit quite right with him, yet he could comprehend the reasoning behind it. Uther held no personal grudge against their leader, Sylvanas Windrunner, nor did he fully believe her professed disdain for him. He noted that ever since Light's Chosen had embarked on his enigmatic mission, Sylvanas and her people had fully committed themselves to the cause, even participating in shipbuilding efforts for the impending departure.

Uther hadn't had the chance for a substantial conversation with Sylvanas. She seemed to prefer solitude, especially when accompanied by her rangers—silent, loyal companions who seemed fiercely devoted to their Lady. Clad in dark cloaks that concealed their forms, they would have been indistinguishable from regular undead if not for the unmistakable Light emanating from their eyes. This unique manifestation of the Light, while devoid of warmth and forgiveness, was dedicated and resolute in its purpose. Uther found it somewhat disconcerting, yet the Light reassured him that their commitment was unwavering—they had made their choice and were steadfast in following the Light's Chosen.

Uther's thoughts also turned to the whereabouts of Light's Chosen. He had left in a direction that suggested he might have headed to Quel'Thalas, though Uther was aware of the devastation Arthas had wrought there. Could there be remnants of the land that survived? Perhaps the Champion had left to lend aid to those who remained, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the ruins. It resonated with Light's Chosen's character to provide assistance and instill optimism. Yet, the Light remained silent on the matter, refusing to confirm or deny Uther's suspicions.

Such behavior from the Light wasn't new; it rarely divulged information regarding its Champion, and the few insights Uther gleaned often carried a tinge of sadness. These unspoken truths only added to the complexity of the situation, leaving Uther to ponder in both wonder and uncertainty.
​

~~~~
​

Kael'Thas Sunstrider, once the illustrious Prince of Quel'Thalas, now the leader of the Blood Elves, a race marked by tragedy and displacement. His heart bore the weight of numerous regrets in the aftermath of their exodus from their ravaged homeland.

The recollections of putting faith, though reluctantly, in the biased and narrow-minded Garithos stung him deeply. Trust might be too generous a term—desperation seemed more apt. Their options were scant, and they found themselves in a situation where they had to seek aid from a human who despised them for who they were. Despite the sacrifices they made and their earnest efforts, they were met with disdain and scorn. Their trust had been shattered once again.

In the grip of hopelessness and despair, Kael'Thas's choices led him to form an alliance with the Naga, a decision made out of necessity to ensure the survival of his people. Even though this alliance bore bitter echoes of being used and manipulated, they persevered to secure their place. While some might argue they had indeed established themselves, Kael'Thas would not concur.

The solution presented by the demonic night elf – Illidian, to quell their mana addiction was abhorrent to him, an affront to his principles. Yet, with their backs to the wall, they had little recourse but to accept it, lest they fall prey to their unrelenting hunger for magic.

Thus, Kael'Thas reluctantly embraced fel magic, a power that sickened him and left him feeling self-loathing. Each day he wielded this corrupting force, he felt he was betraying the memory of those who had perished in their homeland. The fact that the Scourge, the force that had obliterated their home, was an instrument of the Burning Legion, masters of fel magic, churned his stomach.

Stranded on a shattered world, he struggled to find an alternative means to sate his people's need for mana that didn't involve the tainted magic. The glimpse of hope came with the news of their gradual reclamation of their homeland under the guidance of Rommath. The prospect of laying eyes on his ancestral land once more and perhaps finding a solution to their plight filled him with elation.

However, his soaring hopes were rapidly tempered by the grim reality surrounding him. The presence of Illidari demons passing by sparked a surge of anger and regret. He increasingly lamented the choices that had led him to this point, recognizing that his desperation and lack of options had ultimately deepened his people's predicament.

A touch on his shoulder disrupted his grim contemplations, and he turned to see Capernian, one of his advisors. Behind her stood Thaladred, Sanguinar, and Telonicus. Taking stock of their surroundings and finding that they were not under scrutiny, Capernian leaned close and whispered in his ear. She conveyed a message from Rommath—someone had arrived in Silvermoon with a message of an alternative path to save their people, a path that spoke of the Light. Lor'Themar sought his presence to engage with this individual and ascertain the authenticity of their claims.

Her words carried both hope and trepidation, a mixture of longing for a solution and a fear of it being another false dawn. Kael'Thas understood her apprehension; after all, if this person's words were true, if their promise held merit, it could revolutionize the destiny of his people. He resolved to meet this enigmatic figure, to hear their message firsthand. For his people, for the Sin'dorei, he had to explore this chance for a different path.​

---

Bit of a backstory for Sylvanas, I felt it prudent. A little from Uther, in this case he serves as bit of an outside look on it all so to speak, and Kael'Thas regret and new hope.

Let me know your thoughts below.

Cheers!

As always if you wish to read ahead there are three more chapters on my Patreon

​

 

[Kordelius]

As Kael'Thas walked alongside the enigmatic figure who had brought them a message of hope, he couldn't help but feel a burgeoning sense of happiness within him. Skepticism had initially colored his thoughts, as the offer presented to them seemed almost too good to be true—much like the false promises and choices he had been forced to make in the past out of sheer desperation.

This time, however, something was different. He couldn't shake the feeling that this offer held genuine potential. Perhaps it was the palpable presence of the Light emanating from the man, a presence that lent an undeniable weight to his words. It was as if the Light itself compelled him to speak only the truth, lest it strike him down.

When he inquired about the price they would have to pay for this chance, Kael'Thas found himself both surprised and unsurprised by the response—keep to the Light, prevent evil from flourishing, and protect the world.

On the surface, these directives might appear simple or even naïve. Yet he knew better. Evil was a multifaceted entity that manifested in various forms. The most obvious form was the commission of wicked deeds for the sheer sake of malevolence. However, the most insidious evil was the one that lurked in the hearts of individuals.

Dar'Khan, the prime example of such malevolence, had allowed his greed and lust for power to lead him to betray his own people. His evil had thrived and flourished within him. What was asked of them was to nip such malevolence in the bud, to eradicate it at its inception, before it could grow into a destructive force.

This task was the true challenge—preventing the seeds of evil from taking root. Kael'Thas could admit that, had their circumstances been different, these seeds might have found fertile ground within his own heart as well. Desperation had always been a fertile soil for evil to sprout and spread, eventually turning individuals unrecognizable from their original selves.

Arthas Menethil, the fallen prince of Lordaeron, stood as a grim example of where desperation, unchecked and unfettered, could lead. It pained Kael'Thas to understand and even feel a semblance of sympathy for a man who had committed unforgivable atrocities against his own people. Yet, in some twisted way, he could see a reflection of his own potential path in Arthas.

Fortunately, their course had veered away from such a fate, and Kael'Thas was filled with a newfound sense of resolve as Quel'Thalas came into view. He was determined to lead his people with unwavering commitment to the Light, to ensure that evil would find no fertile ground within their hearts, and to protect their world from darkness.

~~~~
​

Liadrin, once a high priestess of the Light, now found herself in a state of inner conflict. Her faith had been severely tested, even shattered, by the events that had unfolded in her homeland, Quel'Thalas, during the Scourge invasion. In her eyes, the Light had failed to protect her people when they needed it the most.

What she craved now was not the spiritual guidance of the Light but the cold steel of a blade and the mastery of martial skills. These were things she could trust, things that would never abandon her. The only way they could fail her was if she herself proved inadequate.

Accompanying Prince Kael'Thas and the enigmatic wielder of the Light on their mission to reclaim Quel'Thalas had thrust her into a moral dilemma. She clashed with her newfound beliefs. When she first laid eyes on the mysterious figure who claimed to be a champion of the Light, she struggled to contain her anger. How audacious of this person to come to them, extolling promises from the Light and accusing them of having abandoned it when it was the Light that had failed them!

Where was the Light when her homeland was being overrun by the Scourge? Where was the Light when the priestesses who had fervently prayed for its aid were torn apart by the undead? Her respect for this person and his self-righteous attitude was nonexistent.

However, to her dismay, Lor'Themar, Haldurin, and even Prince Kael'Thas himself seemed to place trust in this individual. It was maddening. The only one who shared her suspicions was Grand Magister Rommath, to whom she had confided her doubts.

Liadrin had never expected to have any dealings with this person. So, when he specifically requested her presence, it took her by surprise. She couldn't fathom the reason for her inclusion, and she made no effort to hide her disdain for the Light.

Yet, even as Prince Kael'Thas attempted to admonish her for her words, the enigmatic figure intervened. He calmly stated that her words only hurt herself and not him. Liadrin found this puzzling but dismissed it as yet another instance of a self-proclaimed preacher of the Light who thought he understood the power he wielded. In her eyes, the Light was a cold and unfeeling force, one that sought to use individuals and then discarded them when their usefulness had expired.
​

~~~~
​

Lor'Themar Theron, the Regent Lord of Quel'Thalas, found himself in a rare moment of optimism amidst the turmoil and suffering that had befallen his people. The arrival of the enigmatic stranger had brought with it a glimmer of hope. For the first time in a long while, he felt that things might be looking up for the Sin'dorei.

While many would attribute this newfound hope solely to the stranger's presence, Lor'Themar's sense of relief was more deeply rooted. What lightened the weight on his shoulders was not just the stranger's offer but the fact that Prince Kael'Thas himself agreed that their people had veered down a perilous path. Lor'Themar had long feared that the prince, driven by desperation, might lead them even further astray. Having those fears assuaged gave him a sense of inner peace.

Admittedly, they did not have a clear path before them, and they were still stumbling in the dark. However, the stranger's arrival had ushered in a glimmer of light, and Lor'Themar was determined to seize this opportunity. While he was not oblivious to the suspicions of others, he firmly believed that if they regarded every helping hand as an enemy, they would doom themselves to failure.

He did, of course, have his own reservations, yet he remained cautiously optimistic. Rommath and Liadrin were both deeply suspicious of the stranger, and he could understand Liadrin's skepticism given her recent disillusionment with the Light. However, Rommath's wariness had taken him by surprise.

Prince Kael'Thas, on the other hand, seemed genuinely relieved at the stranger's offer. The terms presented by the enigmatic figure were not unreasonable, and Lor'Themar could see their merit. He couldn't help but acknowledge the wisdom in the stranger's words during their initial encounter.

What puzzled him was the fact that the stranger had only requested Prince Kael'Thas and, surprisingly, Liadrin to accompany him on the mission to reclaim Quel'Thalas. Lor'Themar couldn't fathom why this was the case, especially considering that the land was likely teeming with undead, given the absence of any prior efforts to reclaim it.

The presence of Prince Kael'Thas was understandable, as he was their leader. However, Liadrin's inclusion remained a mystery, particularly after her initial confrontation with the stranger, during which she had expressed her disdain for the Light. Remarkably, the stranger had not taken offense at her words.

Despite Prince Kael'Thas' assurances and the potential trust he placed in the stranger, Lor'Themar couldn't help but feel uneasy about the idea of his prince traveling to a land infested with the undead with only two other companions. In response to this concern, he had dispatched Haldurin and a contingent of rangers to shadow the trio as closely as possible, fully aware that their presence might be detected. Nonetheless, he hoped the stranger would not take offense at this precaution, given the perilous journey that lay ahead.
​

~~~~
​

As Kael'Thas Sunstrider gazed upon the shattered remains of the Sunwell, his heart swelled with a profound sadness. Once, this place had been a radiant fount of magic that had sustained his people, a symbol of their glorious heritage. Now, it lay in ruins, a stark and bitter reminder of the devastating losses they had suffered.

The weight of despair threatened to consume him, but he refused to yield to it. Instead, his gaze shifted to the enigmatic man who had come to offer them salvation. In the presence of this stranger, hope bloomed within Kael'Thas like a fragile but determined bud.

Their journey to this point had been surprisingly uneventful, given the perilous nature of the path they had chosen. Encounters with the undead, once a terrifying ordeal, were now dispatched with ease by the mere presence of the stranger. Kael'Thas couldn't help but wonder how different the fate of Silvermoon might have been if this man had been there during the city's darkest hour. It was a dangerous line of thought, one that led to questions about the stranger's origins and past, questions for which Kael'Thas had no answers.

The stranger turned to regard Kael'Thas, his eyes conveying a solemn depth of purpose. Without a word, he extended his hand, allowing the Light to gather within it. The radiance swirled and condensed, forming a luminous sphere that floated toward Kael'Thas, who observed it with a mixture of anticipation and reverence.

"Make your oath, Kael'Thas Sunstrider, Prince of the Sin'dorei," the stranger intoned, his voice carrying the weight of destiny. "Lead your people back into the Light."

Kael'Thas Sunstrider, Prince of the Sin'dorei, stood before the radiant sphere of Light, the embodiment of hope and redemption. With the weight of his people's future pressing upon him, he took a deep breath and spoke the solemn oath:

"I pledge before the Light, the source of all that is just and pure, that I, Kael'Thas Sunstrider, Prince of the Sin'dorei, do solemnly swear:

To keep to the Light, unwavering and resolute, in all our endeavors, and to seek its guidance in moments of uncertainty.

To prevent evil from flourishing, not only in the world around us but also within the hearts of my people, by addressing the roots of corruption before they take hold.

To protect the world from the encroaching darkness, to defend those who cannot defend themselves, and to stand as a beacon of hope against the tides of despair.

I swear this oath, knowing that it binds me to a path of righteousness and sacrifice. May the Light guide my steps, and may I lead my people back into its benevolent embrace."​

---

And there you have it, the Elves fate has been laid out, so to speak.

Let me know your thoughts below.

Cheers!

As always next three chapters can be found on my Patreon

​

 

[Kordelius]

As her prince spoke the words and released the sphere of Light, which floated over to the place where the Sunwell once was, there was a moment of silence. Before an explosion of Light washed over them and the entire island. Somehow, Liadrin knew – there were no more undead on the Isle of Quel'Thalas.

The Light died down to a more soothing glow. Even she had to admit that, after a long time, she felt at peace. No matter how she desired to hold onto her anger and resentment, the gentle presence of Light and the lack of condemnation and judgment it had for her words and actions in spurning it made it harder to let such negative feelings fester.

Was this why she had been brought along? Was it truly so important that she, of all people, let go of her anger?

Then again, their Prince made an oath to not let evil fester in the hearts of his people, and even she could admit that – anger, resentment leads to darkness and evil.

Yet a part of her still rebelled at forgiving so easily! She looked at Prince Kael'Thas, who was silently observing the new fount of power. The expression he wore surprised her – peace, there was only peace on it. He stood tall and strong, not at all how he looked upon returning to Silvermoon, where the weight of the world seemed to crush him.

Looking at the Stranger who made this possible, she could not discern anything. Armor covered the man from head to toe, and if she had not seen him move and speak, she would think him a statue.

"Why am I here?" She whispered lowly, feeling a little lost.

"Good does not have sole ownership of victory. Evils triumph at times; it is a simple fact. Yet it cannot win fully while even a single person believes in good, for it takes but a single will to rise once more. To make a stand and push back against its success," the Stranger spoke, still gazing at the fount of Light. Afterward, he turned toward her and continued. "Will you be that person, Liadrin? Will you rise once more, will you help the Light in its fight against evil? Or will you surrender and allow it to win?" He finished, challenging her.

At first, she was taken aback at his words. Then, anger, righteous anger, began to grow in her, and she glared at him. How dare he! HOW DARE HE! "HOW DARE YOU! I was not the one who surrendered! You dare call me a COWARD!" She finished with a shout of rage, rushing at him and striking with the weapon that had appeared in her hands. He caught the sword of Light in his palm, radiating smug satisfaction, while Liadrin simply looked on in amazement at the way the Light had responded to her, even unconsciously.

She took a step back and closed her eyes, feeling Light flow in her once more. For a moment, she almost pushed it away, but the earnest desire to help she felt from it stopped that.

"I think she is ready, Kael'Thas," the stranger spoke to her prince, who turned to gaze at her. All she felt was confusion. Ready for what?

She looked at her prince in confusion and perhaps a measure of apprehension.

Kael'Thas approached her until he was standing in front of her. "Tell me, Liadrin, would you be willing to lead a new order of knights? Wielders of Light, defenders of the innocent, and enemies of all evils?" He spoke with utmost seriousness, making sure she understood that this was no joke.

Liadrin was taken aback at his words and was struck speechless. "I…" She began haltingly. "Am I really the best choice for this?" She spoke softly, gazing at the sword of Light still in her hand. A hand on her shoulder made her look up at her prince's smiling face.

"Doubt is natural, but one must use it as a catalyst for critical thinking and exploration, rather than allowing it to paralyze or limit their potential," Kael'Thas spoke, imparting a measure of wisdom to her.

While she was still unsure, she knew that if she did this, tragedies like the one that befell them could be prevented, which hardened her resolve and made her nod at her prince. "Yes, my Prince, I will do so," she spoke with conviction.

At which Kael'Thas clapped her on the shoulder one last time before stepping aside and letting her see the Stranger standing there, his hands on a sword with its point resting in the floor. He reminded her of the statues of knights she had seen in the human kingdom.

"Kneel," he commanded her, his command echoing in the chamber and demanding obedience.

Not letting go of the sword of Light, Liadrin did so, one of her knees on the ground with the sword pointed at the floor in front her bent knee.

"Liadrin. Once but a simple believer in Light. The path your life has taken has shown you the price paid for those who fall to evil. You have seen the innocent suffer and die. Your faith has been tested time and time again. Yet even as you gave up on your faith, the spark of good still burns brightly within you," the man spoke, his words heavy and without mercy. Liadrin simply gripped the sword tighter, remembering all those moments.

"So I ask – will you become the protector of the innocent?" The man continued, the question he asked carrying weight. Liadrin could feel that she would be judged upon her response, and if her will was deemed too weak, she would fail.

Hardening her will and conviction, she responded clearly and crisply. "Yes." After a moment, the fount of Light released a pulse, yet Liadrin did not move her eyes from the man in front of her, nor was she cowed by the power growing from him.

"Will you strike at evil no matter where it hides and no matter who protects it?" The man continued, seemingly finding her will strong enough.

"I will," Liadrin responded, and as the fount of Light released another pulse, she felt Light grow in her, emboldened by her will and righteousness.

"Rise, Liadrin, Matriarch of the Sentinels of Light!" The man finished, and the fount of Light released its strongest pulse yet at his words.

As she rose to her feet, Liadrin felt a sense of purpose and direction. Her path was clear, and she would walk it with conviction. She would be the Righteous Blade and the Just Protector.

~~~~
​

Kael'Thas looked on with pride as Liadrin affirmed his belief that she would be worthy of this choice. At first, when the man had asked his opinion on who would be a good choice for this new order, he was lost.

While names came to his mind for one reason or another, he had to discard them. Some would not be able to handle the responsibility, others would become too prideful upon being given such an honor.

Then, while he was deliberating on this choice, they happened to overhear a conversation or rather a tirade from a former priestess who had lost faith in the Light and how she was unimpressed by the Stranger coming to them and offering all these promises from the Light.

At first, he was worried that the words would upset the man, yet he made no comment or took any actions.

After her words had been said, he had simply asked for her name from him. Fortunately, he knew her name, and after hearing it, the man had grown quiet and contemplative.

Before out of nowhere, he had asked him if she would not be a good candidate. Which completely took him aback, since she had made her opinion on the Light quite clear.

Yet the stranger said that only those that fall know how to get back up again. Also, her belief in the Light was not an issue; her character and the will to be a force for good were all that mattered.

So seeing Liadrin here and now, almost a changed woman, filled him with pride and relief. Not just because he was worried about what would happen to her if she failed, but also for the simple fact he had no one else in mind.

He turned toward the man; something told him that he would be leaving soon. "Where will you go now? And is there anything we can do to assist you?" Kael'Thas asked him. While they had their own problems, he would in no way repay the man's generosity with nothing.

"Back to Lordaeron. Ships are being built, and soon we will depart for Northrend. The Lich King's evil must be destroyed; it cannot be allowed to fester," the man responded, and Kael'Thas felt his eyes widen, and anger grew. Arthas, the fallen prince responsible for the misery of his people.

The Stranger spoke up before Kael'Thas could offer to come with him. "Peace, Kael'Thas. This mission will not end in a single day; your people need to recover first. I am sure that by the time you are ready to provide us assistance, there will still be work to be done." The Stranger cautioned Kael'Thas to not make rash decisions based on emotion.

"Still, there is one thing you can do that would help us both," the Stranger continued, piquing Kael'Thas's interest.

"Are you familiar with the Draenei?" The Stranger asked, and Kael'Thas felt a measure of confusion at the man's knowledge of them. Yet, after a moment of thought, he could see where the man was going with it. As far as Kael'Thas knew, the Draenei were fervent believers and wielders of the Light.

"You wish to have them join us on this world?" Kael'Thas asked to clarify, while being quite certain that was the idea.

"Yes, they could be of great help to your people in this period of transition. Not to mention worthwhile allies to have in general. Seek out Prophet Velen and be truthful with him; long has he led his people, and he is a just and wise leader," The Stranger finished while beginning to walk outside of the chamber.

"I expect great things, Matriarch," were his parting words to Liadrin, who had remained silent during their exchange, still coming to grips with her own ascendancy as well as being simply interested in their conversation and not willing to interrupt.​

---

So... that happened. What do you think, is Liadrin a good choice?

Let me know your thoughts below.

Cheers!

As always three more chapters are available on my Patreon​

 

[Kordelius]

Velen was silently gazing at his people, pondering their past, present, and future. The tragedies his people had suffered at the hands of others and, worst of all, their own, all in the name of power, jealousy, and anger.

Not a day went by that he did not consider the fall of Archimonde and Kil'jaeden and the fracturing of their people. For so long, their people had walked in the Light, and yet all it took was but a moment for darkness to fill the hearts of many, leading them astray.

Worse yet, the few who chose to remain in the Light were now hunted by their own fallen brethren. Settling on this world, they had attempted to rebuild and had done so. For a time, they even enjoyed peace, yet they were found, and Orcs, who had lived here long before them, were corrupted and used as a weapon against them.

So many were killed once more, desecrated even. Now once more they fled and hid. Profound sadness gripped his heart at the way those who looked to him for leadership suffered under his rule, due to his inability to protect them.

And in his darkest moment, he had even begun to lose hope. Yet the Light had shown him something, something that reignited it – a rebirth of people who had begun to fall into darkness but were saved and brought back into the Light.

Seeing such had firmed his resolve, and now he waited for their coming, for the Light had revealed that the leader of these people would seek them out. All that was left to do was wait.

A knock on the door pulled his attention. "Yes?" He asked simply.

"A Prince Kael'Thas is here to see you, Prophet," one of the guards informed him, to which Velen smiled for a moment.

"Let him in."

~~~~
​

As Kael'Thas set foot upon the broken world of Draenor, or as it was called now, Outland, disgust and sadness overwhelmed him. Disgust for the ruinous powers that had seeped into what remained of this world, and sadness for a world and people destroyed by those same powers. With his eyes finally unclouded, he could see them for what they truly were.

Disappointment in himself rose within him. To think that he once sought salvation from these powers. No, such powers could only destroy, never create or heal. All they knew was to corrupt, twist, and destroy. The thought that he almost led his people down this dark road made his heart clench painfully.

Thankfully, the Light had seen fit to grant them a second chance, and he would not waste it. Kael'Thas firmed his resolve; he had a mission to accomplish. He needed to gather as many of his people still on this world and save them from darkness. Additionally, he had to locate the Draenei people and ask them to join in cooperation.
​

~~~~
​

At first, Kael'Thas was worried that it would take a long time before he would be able to locate the Draenei. However, the Light saw fit to grant him a sense of direction.

As he approached the location he was certain they were located, he noticed the guards, which confirmed that he was in the right place. After a moment of gathering himself, he began to approach them.

The moment they noticed him, they went on guard, yet as he fully entered their sight, strangely, they relaxed. Uncertain about their actions, he continued to approach, and as he came close enough, he noticed that among them stood one who seemed in command.

A woman, if he was not mistaken, scrutinized him heavily. Putting on his best smile, he spoke up. "Hello, I am Prince Kael'Thas of the Sindorei. I would like to speak to Prophet Velen if possible."

The woman scrutinized him for a moment longer before nodding. "The Prophet is expecting you. Come with me." Saying so, she turned and began to walk.

Kael'Thas felt a measure of confusion. How would Prophet Velen know to expect him? Was his approach noticed? Granted, he was not exactly hiding, yet that wouldn't explain them recognizing his name.

A feeling of peace and calmness from the Light put him at ease and explained how Prophet Velen knew to expect him.
​

~~~~
​

As Velen walked across the Isle of Quel'Thalas accompanied by Kael'Thas, he felt at peace for the first time in a long time. The meeting between Kael'Thas and him had gone very well.

It gladdened him to meet someone who, while beginning to walk the path of damnation, was strong and wise enough to divert from it when given the chance.

The similarities between their people's recent experiences served as a way of bonding. As tragic as that sounded, they drew strength from it. To see others suffer just as much and still be willing to continue emboldened those who may have begun to fall into despair.

"This land is beautiful," Velen commented. While the aesthetic was very dissimilar to the Draenei, it was in no way worse. Not to mention the newly dubbed Lightwell, whose power could be felt across the entire land, gave it a very peaceful atmosphere.

At first, when their people met, there was confusion and even guardedness between them, but it was understandable. As much as it pained him to admit it, their looks were very similar to many of the now demonic members of the Burning Legion.

Still, with assurances from both him and Prince Kael'Thas, the people attempted to move past it.​

~~~~
​

Liadrin, now Matriarch of the Sentinels of Light, reflected on how fast her life had changed. Once just a priestess, even if of high standing, then losing her faith, and now having it restored once more. More than that, being chosen as someone to lead a completely new order.

Even once the adrenaline from the heat of the moment had died down, and she thought about what she had agreed to, she did not regret it even a little.

Striking with her sword and releasing a wave of Light that obliterated a group of undead, she smiled to herself. No, she did not regret it.

Looking up, she watched the new members of her order. At first, the news of her ascendancy and the creation of the Sentinels of Light was met with confusion and, dare she say, some mistrust from the general populace.

Yet even the most suspicious could not deny the effect the Lightwell had on their people. Not only did it quench their thirst for magic, but more and more were learning the proper ways to control it.

It was a slow and arduous process, no doubt, one that Liadrin was also walking. Yet the moments when she felt no desire to consume magic filled her with peace.

So, while there had been a sweeping change in all their lives due to the Light, even the most suspicious, had to acknowledge the simple fact that it had been for the better.

A frown grew on her face when thinking of Rommath. In truth, what many did not know was that Rommath had fallen more and more under the influence of Fel. So the change that Light had brought was not something he desired at all.

In fact, unbeknownst to anyone besides herself and Prince Kael'Thas, they had forcefully exposed Rommath to the Lightwell to cleanse the Fel corruption from him.

The sight of the frankly disgusting magic of Fel leaking from him and how he struggled so hard to keep it shocked her to the core. But it was nothing compared to the expression on their Prince's face. Shock, disgust, fear, and, most of all, regret and self-loathing.

She attempted to alleviate his regret over what he had brought, yet she was uncertain if she succeeded. One thing she knew for certain was that by the end, she could see determination on the face of their Prince.

Not long after, he spoke to Lor'themar and herself of going back to Outland, gathering the rest of their people, and finding the Draenei.

She didn't know what to think of these Draenei people. From what the Stranger had told them, they were an old race that had been struck by the hand of evil, yet still kept to the Light.

She could see the wisdom of gaining an ally such as them, who could teach them of the Light, especially during this time of change for their people.

Once the Prince returned with these people, she, as well as others, were quite surprised at their looks. Especially those who had been on Outland. From what she heard from them, the Burning Legion had a race among them that looked disturbingly similar to the Draenei.

Of course, later it was explained how it was the Eredar, the original name for the Draenei race. How Sargeras, the leader of the Legion, had corrupted many of the Eredar, and how those that chose to flee with Prophet Velen renamed themselves the Draenei – meaning Exiled Ones in their own tongue.

Of course, that was but the first of the tragedies to befall them. Learning of what the Orcish Horde had done to their people horrified Liadrin. The parallels between that and their tragedy at the hands of the Scourge were disturbing.

Yet even after all those tragedies, they still held to the Light. Liadrin felt ashamed to have abandoned it at the first sign of trouble. She vowed to never do so again.

What came as truly surprising was how supportive and happy the Draenei seemed when they learned of the newly made Sentinels of Light. Prophet Velen seemed truly impressed and glad to hear of what it was and what it stood for.

Looking to her right, she observed the Draenei woman that Velen had asked to assist them in training. Her name was Velanara Dawnblade, one of the Prophet's personal guard, with thousands of years of experience in martial arts and combining it with the Light.

Liadrin was more than happy accepting help from such a person. Gazing across the new recruits, the results spoke for themselves. They improved by leaps and bounds. Granted, they were fighting rank and file undead, but what better way to truly hone one's skills than in combat.

"You are doing well, Liadrin," Velanara spoke up, a note of pride in her voice.

Liadrin turned to regard her with a smile. "These enemies are not much of a challenge these days."

Velanara nodded at that but continued in a wise tone. "True, but one must learn to walk before they run." She gazed at the recruits searchingly before nodding to herself.​

---

Honestly not much to say, just hope you enjoyed this.

Let me know your thoughts below.

Cheers!

As usual there are next three chapters on my Patreon​

 

[Kordelius]

Both Uther and Sylvanas gazed at the finished ships and the supplies being loaded onto them for their journey. Uther cast a sidelong glance at Sylvanas before repressing a sigh. Despite all his attempts, the woman remained aloof and unwilling to engage in any sort of discussion.

At least none that did not pertain to the task at hand. Make no mistake, she was a capable leader and made sure all ship-building, supply gathering, and the destruction of any remaining undead went smoothly. Yet all attempts at making simple small talk with her or even her rangers were met with failure, and not just from him.

He had seen others attempt to engage them in conversation and be simply ignored, unless they were relaying orders or something of that sort. Still, none attempted to raise a fuss over it. No one doubted that they had their own reasons for their attitude.

"It seems all we are missing is our illustrious leader," Uther commented lightly, seeing that the last few crates were being moved onto the ship.

"I am here," a voice spoke from beside Uther, making him jump in surprise and jerk towards it. In doing so, he missed the small smirk that briefly appeared on Sylvanas' lips, gone as quickly as it had come.

"By the Light! Do not startle me like that!" Uther admonished the man.

"Is everything prepared?" the man chose to pose a question instead of addressing Uther's admonishment.

"Yes, the ships are finished, and the supplies have been loaded. We can board and depart immediately," Sylvanas reported.

Behind them both, Uther gazed at the sky as if asking for salvation, yet none was forthcoming. He sighed and returned his gaze to Sylvanas and the Light's Chosen.

"Might I inquire what you were doing?" He asked with some curiosity, and if he was not mistaken, the little twitches from Sylvanas betrayed her own interest.

The Light's Chosen turned to gaze at the harbor and the ships for a time, almost making Uther think he would not respond. "Securing the future," the Light's Chosen spoke at last, his tone tinged with a strange melancholy.

Yet all of that was gone the next moment as he turned to them both, his commanding presence returning at once. "Uther, tell the men to begin boarding the ships; we will be departing today," the Light's Chosen commanded the old paladin, then turned towards Sylvanas. "Take me to them," he said to her. Sylvanas narrowed her eyes for a moment before nodding and began to walk, with the Light's Chosen following after her.

Uther gazed after them both for a moment before shaking his head. "As imposing as ever, indeed, Tirion," he muttered to himself before walking towards the men to relay their boarding orders.

~~~~
​

Sylvanas had wondered why he wanted to capture the Dreadlords – Balnazzar and Varimathras. It seems she would learn the answer to that question today.

As they approached a nondescript and quite dilapidated house, she stopped for a moment before giving a nod. After a moment, two of her rangers walked out of the house with their bows drawn.

Raising her hand, she let light pulse in it. After it had finished its last pulse, the rangers lowered their bows and nodded their heads, standing aside and letting them enter.

The Light's Chosen made no comment on any of it, no doubt understanding the necessity for such measures. As they walked past the two rangers, he gave them a nod before entering the house.

It looked the same inside as it did outside – dilapidated, which served them perfectly well. Walking towards the fireplace, she pressed on a brick, opening an entrance in the floor.

Entering the secret basement, they were met with two glowing cages, made from Light and containing their prisoners. Rangers were spread out across the room, all with bows drawn. Repeating the same pattern, they lowered their weapons and stood at attention, waiting for orders.

"Leave us," Light's Chosen ordered. After a second, her rangers obeyed and left the basement, closing the entrance after themselves. Leaving both Light's Chosen and her to gaze at the two Dreadlords. They were alive, but there were signs that the constant exposure to Light had not been pleasant for them.

"You will pay for this!" Balnazzar snarled at them both, yet it was obvious that even saying that took its toll on him, for he was panting after having said that. Which did not lessen his glare of hatred.

Varimathras, on the other hand, seemed almost docile in comparison, simply gazing at them both inquisitively.

Light's Chosen approached the cage containing Balnazzar. Just as he was about to run into it face first, it simply disappeared. Balnazzar, despite being exhausted, used the last of his strength borne of anger to lash out at him.

Which cost him the arm he swung, as it simply disintegrated all the way up to the shoulder, bringing a shout of agony from him and making him fall to his knees. Yet before he could hit the floor, chains of Light emerged from the ground and pierced and bound his body.

Light's Chosen stood before his bound form for but a moment before raising his hand and laying it on his skull. He then gripped it tightly. In fact, his grip was so tight his fingers sunk into Balnazzar's skull, drawing yet another shout of pain. This one was cut off, leaving him with wide, empty eyes and a hanging jaw. A moment later, Light began to shine from his eyes and the places where Light's Chosen's fingers had sunk into his skull.

Sylvanas was observing all of this with a measure of confusion, not understanding what he was doing or why. Varimathras, on the other hand, could only look on horrified as to what was happening to one of his brethren.

After some time, Light's Chosen closed his fist, crushing the part of Balnazzar's skull in his hand, before Balnazzar began to disintegrate. Light's Chosen remained silent, gazing at his clenched fist.

Lowering it, he turned towards Sylvanas, who was still looking on in confusion. After a moment, Light's Chosen gestured towards Varimathras, who was looking at them both in fear. "If you choose to follow me, after, you may use him to learn what we face," he said, leaving Sylvanas uncertain as to how to proceed.

She gazed at Varimathras, who was looking at her with fear. "Now now, there is no need for such drastic measures. I am sure that whatever you wish to learn, I can impart without such violence. After all, I did promise to serve you, so truly none of this is necessary," he attempted to convince her.

Sadly for him, it seems his words had the opposite effect for Sylvanas. Her uncertainty was replaced with certainty and a sense of purpose as she approached the cage. She took no such risk as the Light's Chosen did; she chained Varimathras long before the cage disappeared.

"Please! Sylvanas, do not do this! Have I not served fait-" Varimathras attempted to plead through the pain, before Sylvanas' fingers sinking into his skull interrupted him.

Light guided Sylvanas in finding what she needed to know, yet even so, she saw glimpses of the Dreadlord's life and all he had done. Seeing the atrocities committed by him, she grit her teeth at herself for ever being so naive as to trust this creature.

And then she finally saw what the Light's Chosen wanted her to see, leaving her speechless and distraught.

As Varimathras slowly disintegrated in front of her, her eyes were wide in disbelief and confusion. A part of her even regretted learning what she did.
​

~~~~
​

Aboard the Xenedar, the Army of the Light was going about their usual business. In fact, Turalyon, Alleria, and Lothraxion were standing before Xe'ra, their leader.

Their discussion was the same as usual, movements of the Legion, their own response, and everything in between. Yet something drew all their attention – Light began to pool some distance from them.

"What is going on?" Turalyon asked in some confusion, gazing between the pool of Light and Xe'ra.

Xe'ra remained silent and hard to gauge, as usually Naaru are, for they have no expression to read, being entirely made of floating crystals of Light.

"There is no need to be worried." Finally, Xe'ra's melodic voice rang out, putting them at ease.

Just as she finished speaking, the pool of Light began to change shape, turning into an armored figure, if translucent, who turned his head, observing all who were before him.

"Hello, who might you be?" Turalyon asked inquisitively, yet the figure ignored him, instead turning to regard Lothraxion instead. To which Lothraxion raised an eyebrow before addressing the apparition. "Can I help you?" He asked in confusion.

"Yes, Thal'kituun. You can help us all by doing one simple thing - die." The Stranger said, taking them all aback, but not as much as Lothraxion himself.

"How do you know that name!" Lothraxion shouted with wide eyes at the same time as Turalyon shouted. "What?!"

Yet the Stranger did not deign to answer them instead simply raising his arm with his palm pointing at Lothraxion, who had begun to turn to escape, yet was bound and unable to move.

"Foolish spy, you failed." Was all the Stranger said as Lothraxion cried out in pain and anger as he was disintegrated.

"What have you done?!" Turalyon cried out still not understanding the situation. At his side, Alleria had drawn her bow, yet realized that it would do her no good against someone who is not truly here.

"Calm yourself, Turalyon. There is no need for panic." Xe'ra's voice rang out, both commanding and comforting. Both Alleria and Turalyon turned towards her with wide and confused eyes.

Yet before they could question her, the Stranger spoke up once more. "Alleria Windrunner." He said commandingly, making her turn towards him with narrowed eyes.

"Cease this foolish path you walk. The Void offers nothing, but lies, corruption, and false promises. Cease this foolishness at once, or face the consequences." The Stranger commanded her and warned her to not disobey.

Having said his piece, he turned his attention towards Xe'ra, yet speaking no words. Or perhaps no words that could be heard by others. Having finished their silent conversation, the Stranger disappeared as he came.

Leaving confusion and uncertainty in his wake, for at least both Turalyon and Alleria.​

---

Well... that happened. What do you think Sylvanas saw? Also how will Alleria act now, having been warned to not dabble in things she knows nothing of?

Let me know your thoughts below.

Cheers!

As usual there are next three chapters on my Patreon​

 

[Kordelius]

Sally Whitemane stood at the bow of one of the many ships transporting them towards Northrend, towards their hated foe – The Lich King. Merely thinking of the abomination made her clench the staff she was holding tighter and narrow her eyes in anger.

The staff, feeling her rising anger and magic, began to glow brighter. Yet, as she turned her attention to it, she suppressed the buildup. Light's Wrath, the Scarlet Crusade's attempt at recreating the fabled Ashbringer, was a failure in the eyes of many. It offered great power to those who wielded it, yet it was also their downfall. They could not control the staff's power and were destroyed along with those they sought to wield it against.

All due to treachery! How betrayed, angry, and most of all, foolish she felt once she learned the truth about their leader. A flesh puppet for a demon, seeking only to exploit them, twisting them to his nefarious schemes.

For ever more, she would be thankful for the day her eyes were opened. Never in her life had she imagined that walking outside the monastery on that night would shatter her world.

A huff escaped her as she remembered her actions upon being set upon by Sylvanas. How she had called on the Light and attempted to smite her, how she taunted her, calling her foolish for stepping out from the protection of her undead slaves.

Yet the Light did not answer her, for the first time in her life. It shook her to her core; never had the Light ignored her call. Disbelief and fear gripped her, but the worst was yet to come.

While she believed that Sylvanas would use this chance, use her powerlessness to strike her down, what she did was perhaps even worse – she removed the hood obscuring her face, revealing her eyes. Eyes that shone with Light.

She was speechless and confused; none of what she experienced made sense to her. The Light not answering her, and now her hated foe wielding the Light.

All that alone would've been enough to break someone. Falling to her knees, she could only gaze up at her in disbelief. That was when Sylvanas fired an arrow into her chest.

She thought it would be her end; perhaps it would've been better if it was. It did not kill her; no… it showed her what hid behind her blindness.

And she wept, broken and lost.

Steps approached her, making her look up at the one who had done this to her. At first, Sylvanas gazed at her with coldness, before it softened, and she extended her hand towards her.

"Join us," was all Sylvanas said. After a moment, Sally grabbed her arm, allowing resolve to fill her. She would redeem herself in the Light.

And now they were here, those crusaders deemed redeemable having become the Penitential Atoners. Yet Sally was not a part of them, her flesh bearing no marks from the Light, not even where Sylvanas's arrow had pierced her; it left no mark.

Often she wondered – Why? What separates her from them? Yet no answers were forthcoming; most were unable to tell her. Those who possessed an inkling as to why remained silent. It was maddening, yet the Light had assuaged her that it would come in time, and that a choice would have to be made by her.

"Sally." A voice from beside her drew her out of her thoughts. Looking to the side, she beheld the woman she had despised for so long, one who had been changed, offered a new path, and had extended the same path to her. Was that why she differed from others?

"Sally." The voice replied sternly, noticing her thoughts wandering once more. Sally felt her cheeks grow warm from embarrassment. "Sorry. Yes, was there something I can help you with, Sylvanas?" She finally replied to the person calling out to her.

Sylvanas looked at her with narrowed eyes, some annoyance there, but mostly contemplation. It seemed Sylvanas was the one lost in thought now, but just before Sally could draw her out of them, Sylvanas spoke up.

"Come with me. There is something I wish to discuss with you, alone," Sylvanas commanded. Confusion filled Sally, yet she followed after her, curious about what Sylvanas wanted to say.
​

~~~~
​

The sea. Uther never had any particular love for it, or dislike. At most, he was indifferent towards it, like most people would be—just a simple body of water, teeming with life of its own. It required a different type of transport to cross, and in some ways, it was more dangerous than traveling by land, yet also safer in others.

The sun was high in the sky, and the waves were calm, gently rocking the ship he stood upon. Gazing to the sides, he could see the other ships also moving towards their destination undisturbed.

Their destination. Northrend, a cursed land some would say. A place where his once-star pupil lost his way entirely. Fitting, he supposed, that it would also serve as the place where he and his reign of terror would be put to rest.

Some would call it a blunder or arrogance to be so assured of their victory, to which Uther could only scoff. No, their victory was assured. Uther's eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. The only question was what it would cost.

How much blood would be spilt? How many men and women would fall, never to rise again? And how long would they have to fight to achieve their goal?

He gazed down at the men and women walking around the ship, doing what they must to ensure a smooth sailing. And wondered, how many of them would still be there to see the end?

His eyes settled on one particular ship, the vessel containing the Light's Chosen. He had said he had secured the future. Uther wondered—what did he mean by that? Should it not be them securing the future by destroying Arthas and his wretched undead?

He felt as if he was missing something, something very important, yet no matter how he grasped for it, it always slipped through his fingers like water. Perhaps he was thinking too much about it. Light's Chosen had not steered them wrong, and Uther would place his trust and loyalty in him.

Absentmindedly looking around, he had to jerk back when he noticed a ranger standing beside him. "Light! Will you stop that?!" He berated the ranger whilst holding his chest.

Fiends! They kept doing this to everyone, and no matter how hard he tried, he could never feel them coming, even when he knew they were! It was maddening!

The ranger simply turned her head to gaze at him, her eyes cold as the Light. "The future belongs to the living, Uther," was all she said before leaving just as silently as she had come.

What? Uther could only gaze after her with furrowed brows and confusion in his eyes. Did she just want to mess with him? Or was there something more to it all that he was missing once more?

He raised a hand to rub at his brow; all this was giving him a headache.
​

~~~~
​

Chronormu, or Chromie as she was mostly known to mortals, was fuming. No, that was too mild of a word. She was apoplectic with rage! Wait, no, that's too much. Eh… somewhere in the middle.

She, along with others of her flight, bore witness to one of the largest disturbances to the timeline, possibly ever! Yet they could not determine how or why, or even how to stop it!

It was as if they were mere bystanders to a calamity, unable to do anything but watch. Yet by sheer determination and probably not a little bit of luck, she managed to locate the disturbance and get a closer observation.

Which is how she found herself bound by chains of Light, sitting in a chair facing a man that should not exist.

No words had been exchanged, and besides capturing the moment she came here. Hidden, mind you, he had not said or done anything, content to remain still as a statue.

Finally, she could not stand the silence anymore, and not because she was frustrated that no matter what she did – the chains would not break!

"Well, who are you? And do you have any idea what you have done? How much you have messed up the timeline!" She attempted to berate him, yet due to her chosen form of a female gnome, it came off more comedic than intimidating.

Not even a twitch from the man; she might as well have been talking to a wall! Such disrespect! "Do you know who I am?!" She kicked her feet, her frustrations having built up to a boiling point.

"Chronormu," the man spoke, telling her that yes, he did know who she was. "Compose yourself." He continued, berating her as one would a child. Any smugness she may have had at being recognized disappeared.

She sputtered for a moment, before glaring. "How dare you speak to me as if I were a child! I am older than you will ever be!" She had given up on all decorum, shouting and cursing.

While the man simply rose from his chair and slowly walked towards her. As he stood before her, he reached out and lifted her, bringing her to his eye level. "Hush," he deadpanned at her.

And like any child who was upset, she did the complete opposite, yet no sound escaped her mouth. Of course, this only stopped her for a moment, before even silenced, she continued to shout and flail.

To which the man simply placed her back on the chair and retreated to his own.​

---

What do we have here? A little sand lizard poking her nose where she should not... tut tut tut, that won't do.

Let me know your thoughts below.

Cheers!

As usual there are next three chapters on my Patreon​

 

[Kordelius]

As the ships cut through the waves, the tension aboard was palpable. The sailors' faces were etched with grim determination, knowing they were sailing into the heart of danger. The sky, once serene, now tinged with the hues of the impending battle, cast an eerie glow over the scene.

The Light's Chosen, his silhouette imposing against the fading sunlight, guided his horse toward the shore. The air crackled with energy as he approached, a misty aura enveloping him, a prelude to the storm about to be unleashed.

The moment the horse's hooves touched the sandy shore, the ground trembled. Like clockwork, sinkholes erupted, spewing forth a tide of undead horrors. The Light's Chosen, undeterred, raised his hand, summoning a brilliant shield of Light. The undead crashed into it, their gnarled hands clawing desperately, their skeletal faces contorted in rage.

The shield held, but the Light's Chosen knew defense alone wouldn't win this battle. With a swift gesture, the shield transformed, spikes of blinding light jutting out. The undead, impaled on these radiant spears, shrieked in agony before disintegrating into ashes.

Above, motes of Light ascended from the Light's Chosen, forming a dazzling constellation. In an awe-inspiring display, they metamorphosed into ethereal spears, raining down upon the remaining undead. Each spear found its mark, obliterating the foes with searing brilliance.

But the onslaught persisted. From the depths of the sinkholes, more undead surged forth. The Light's Chosen clenched his fist, gathering the Light's energy. As he released it, a beam of blinding radiance piercing through the horde and vanishing into one of the sinkholes.

A moment of tense anticipation followed. Then, an explosion of divine power erupted from the sinkhole, a pillar of Light consuming everything in its path. The ground quaked as the sinkhole collapsed, sealing the threat beneath tons of earth and Light-infused debris.

Uther, seeing the Light's Chosen's might, charged alongside his fellow soldiers. Each swing of his hammer was like a thunderclap, crushing the undead beneath its weight. Sylvanas, her bow singing death, orchestrated her rangers in a deadly dance, their arrows finding their targets unerringly.

Amidst the chaos, the Light's Chosen, a beacon of hope amidst the darkness, led the charge. His eyes blazed with divine fury, his every movement a testament to his unwavering resolve. The battlefield was a tableau of destruction and heroism, as the living fought against the relentless tide of the Scourge.

The battle raged on, a symphony of clashing weapons, cries of valor, and the brilliant bursts of Light. The very air crackled with energy, bearing witness to the fierce determination of those fighting to reclaim Northrend from the grip of the Lich King.

In that moment, beneath the fading twilight and against overwhelming odds, the soldiers of the Light found their strength. They fought not just for victory, but for the future of Azeroth, their unity a testament to their unyielding spirit and the might of the Light.

Sylvanas walked up to the Light's Chosen while firing arrows at the flyers. She stood near him for a moment, letting the other rangers join her. Lowering her bow, she allowed her rangers to take up the slack.

She turned towards him. "Shall we depart, or do you wish for us to remain here until the construction has started?" She inquired, to which the Light's Chosen remained silent for a time.

On one hand, having Sylvanas and her rangers would allow them to protect their landing site easier, yet allowing her to proceed once she succeeds would lower or perhaps even stop the attacks.

"Depart," the Light's Chosen commanded, and began to move forward. Sylvanas signaled her rangers, and they all rushed ahead, flowing like water through both friend and foe.

~~~~
​

As Sylvanas and her rangers advanced across the foreign and unknown land, their sharp elven eyes darted around, vigilant for any sign of danger or opportunity. Each passing vista was surveyed briefly, a scan for anything that might bear significance.

The pursuit of the mindless undead had been relentless, yet Sylvanas' focus was elsewhere. She had a greater mission, and trivial obstacles in the form of the shambling undead were not worth her attention.

As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting long shadows over the land, Sylvanas contemplated the peculiarities of their existence. Their new, empowered state bestowed them with endless vigor. Fatigue was a foreign concept, and their resilience knew no bounds. They marched on tirelessly, ready to endure a relentless journey.

In their explorations, they had witnessed other denizens of this land - walrus-like beings, walking upright, engaging in clashes with giant men. The sight intrigued Sylvanas, igniting her curiosity. Still, she made the practical choice to press onward, with an unspoken promise to explore such curiosities on their way back.

Among the surprises this foreign land held, the presence of Tauren puzzled Sylvanas. These massive creatures were primarily associated with Kalimdor, and their appearance here was unexpected. However, their actions painted a clear stance - opposition to the Scourge. Watching them eliminate undead emerging from a nearby ziggurat confirmed their potential as valuable allies.

For now, the rangers moved with stealth, inching closer to their destination. The Azjol-Nerub entrance, gateway to the ancient kingdom of the Nerubians, awaited. Within the depths lay their primary target - Anub'arak, once a proud king of his kind, now enslaved as a puppet of the Lich King.

This was a critical mission. The eradication of Anub'arak would strip the Lich King of a potent lieutenant. Furthermore, by collapsing the heart of the Nerubian kingdom, they could seal off significant underground passages, hindering the Scourge's movements.

Approaching the entrance, they paused, keeping their distance and maintaining a careful watch. It was imperative to assess the defenses guarding the Nerubian kingdom, as they could not afford to underestimate their enemy in this treacherous land.
​

~~~~
​

Removing an arrow from one of the many corpses strewn across the desolate area, Sylvanas surveyed the scene and her rangers. Countless hours had been spent observing their undead foes, yet as anticipated, the tireless nature of undeath matched their own. Time pressed upon them, urging them toward action, despite the distasteful necessity of open combat.

Their only viable option was to strike swiftly and silently, giving no chance for escape or alarm. The rangers moved with practiced grace, their steps soundless, their movements purposeful. The ambush unfolded with lethal precision, leaving no room for the enemy to retaliate. Still, the awareness lingered that this skirmish, however concealed, would likely draw attention sooner rather than later.

One advantage they possessed lay in the fact that undeath had stripped the Nerubians of the awareness that living creatures might possess. Sylvanas recalled encountering other arachnids with a similar lack of perception. Whether this deficiency was a consequence of undeath or a trait from their living days remained a mystery. Regardless, it worked in Sylvanas's favor, enabling them to bypass many of the Nerubians and silently dispose of those they couldn't avoid.

The vastness of the caverns was staggering, a blessing in disguise. The sheer expanse allowed them to conceal the bodies of their victims, a grim necessity. The size of the caverns also offered potential advantages, their potential fragility could facilitate their destruction. However, Sylvanas couldn't ignore the possibility that these structures were sturdier than they seemed, resilient against attempts at demolition. Such uncertainty added complexity to their plans, leaving an ominous note of caution in the air.

"This kingdom belongs to the Scourge, only the dead may enter!" A warbled voice echoed through the vast cavern, catching the attention of all the rangers. Before they could react, a spell impacted the ground near them, throwing them aside like ragdolls.

As the rangers landed and the dust settled, they beheld a different kind of Nerubian entering the scene, a grim indication that their presence hadn't gone unnoticed despite their best efforts. This Nerubian was larger than any they had encountered before, standing tall on four legs.

Spoiler: Nerubian

"You were foolish to come here," it hissed, launching shadow bolts at them. The rangers swiftly evaded the onslaught and retaliated with a flurry of arrows. Yet an arcane shield, shimmering with power, deflected their arrows harmlessly.

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes, assessing their foe's weakness. In a swift move, she approached one of her rangers. "The shield weakens after it casts spells. That's our window. Use the Light; regular arrows won't penetrate it enough," she instructed, her voice low and urgent. The ranger nodded and hurried to relay the information to the others.

"Foolish creature, you will fall, just as all the slaves of the Lich King will," Sylvanas taunted, drawing the Nerubian's attention.

"You dare speak of the Master?!" it screeched in anger, its eyes widening as it recognized her. "Sylvanas! Oh, how pleased the Master will be when I bring you to him."

An arrow exploded against the shield in front of the Nerubian's face, silencing its twisted laughter. Rage contorted Sylvanas's features. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to send your master to the same abyss you're headed!" she retorted.

In response, the creature released a deafening screech and unleashed another volley of shadow bolts. "NOW!" Sylvanas bellowed, and arrows infused with the brilliance of Light pierced the Nerubian, eliciting a final, grotesque cry before it was utterly obliterated.
​

~~~~
​

Sylvanas exhaled a heavy breath, her relief tinged with the bitter realization that their enemies were as formidable as the Light's Chosen had warned. The ease with which they had dispatched previous Nerubians had misled them; such carelessness could not be repeated. Losing even one of their party members could jeopardize the entire mission. She glanced around, reassured to find none of her rangers had perished, but they were not unscathed.

As they tended to their wounds, Sylvanas recognized their vulnerability. Despite wielding the power of the Light, they hadn't fully explored its healing abilities. It was an oversight that needed rectifying, but for now, brute force would have to suffice.

Resuming their journey, the awareness that their presence was known forced them to abandon stealth. They pressed forward urgently, knowing they had to collapse the tunnels immediately to avoid being overrun.

Descending deeper into the Nerubian domain, their path became entangled in an immense spiderweb. Sinister hisses and snarls reverberated from the web, announcing the arrival of their next foe—a colossal spider, even larger than the caster they had vanquished earlier.

Spoiler: Spider

The moment it spotted them, it spat corrosive acid, forcing them to scatter. The acid was potent, eating through the web's strands that have resisted being cut. Arrows rained upon the spider, unhindered this time, sinking deep into its cursed flesh. The creature shrieked in pain as it rushed toward them, spewing more acidic venom.

It was an undead monstrosity, driven by mindless fury yet undeniably powerful. Sylvanas watched in grim silence as one of her rangers was ensnared in a web, then crushed by the creature.

Sylvanas, her eyes cold with determination, drew her bowstring, the Light gathering into an arrow. With deadly accuracy, she released the glowing arrow, severing three of the spider's legs. The creature collapsed with a shriek of agony, and her rangers swiftly moved behind it, unleashing a barrage of arrows until the monster breathed its last.

The cold satisfaction of victory couldn't dispel the heaviness in Sylvanas's heart as she approached her fallen ranger. Kneeling beside her, she whispered softly, "We will meet again."

In a final act of respect, Sylvanas rose and pointed her hand at her fallen comrade, releasing a pulse of Light that disintegrated the ranger's body. She refused to let her be desecrated by the Scourge, determined to spare her from further suffering. They had endured such fates once before; Sylvanas wouldn't allow it to happen again.
​

~~~~
​

As they descended deeper into the dark abyss, a realization dawned on them: their path was unobstructed. Observant Nerubians watched their progress but made no attempt to attack or hinder them. It was clear they were expected, likely at the order of Anub'arak, who wanted to confront them personally.

Walking through a foreboding doorway, it ominously closed behind them. Sylvanas could sense the unease among her rangers, but she didn't waver, her gaze unwaveringly fixed on what awaited them.

At the end of a long stairway stood an enormous, grotesque creature — Anub'arak, the fallen king of the Nerubians.

Spoiler: Anub'arak

As they began to approach him, he spoke in a chittering voice that filled the chamber. "I was king of this empire once, long ago. In life, I stood as a champion. In death, I returned as a conqueror. Now, I protect the kingdom once more. Ironic, yes?"

Sylvanas retorted, regret lacing her voice, "Sad is more like it. Our fates seem similar, for I was once the protector of my home. I was also turned into a monstrosity, yet I broke free. And now, I have come to exact my vengeance." Her words were filled with cold determination as she confronted the fallen Nerubian king.

Anub'arak roared with rage, "Then it was foolish of you to come here. You should've enjoyed the freedom you had managed to achieve, for soon the Master's voice will call to you once more!" He roared, and spikes of earth erupted from the platform as they stepped upon it.

Sylvanas didn't dare look behind, but the cry of pain confirmed the death of another one of her rangers. Her eyes flared with a brilliant Light, and she shouted defiantly, "You will regret that, creature!" She let her radiant arrows fly, unrelenting in her resolve to destroy this abominable king.

The chitinous exoskeleton of Anub'arak proved formidable, deflecting their attacks effortlessly. "My locusts will feed upon your flesh!" he bellowed, and swarms of bugs flew out from underneath his armor, descending upon Sylvanas and her rangers.

The distraction provided by the insects, combined with the sheer pain, allowed Anub'arak to send another of her rangers hurtling over the platform. The ranger's scream of fear and pain echoed before she disappeared, plummeting to the ground far below.

Reacting swiftly, Sylvanas released a burst of blinding Light, annihilating the bugs attacking her. Her rangers quickly followed suit, dispelling the insects around them. Meanwhile, Sylvanas leaped onto Anub'arak's back, struggling to maintain her balance as he thrashed about.

Raising her hands, she concentrated the Light between her palms, molding it into a sharp spear. With all her strength, she thrust it into Anub'arak, eliciting a horrific scream from him. Arrows of Light, shot by her rangers, punctured his armored form, adding to his pain.

Knowing she couldn't stay on his back any longer, Sylvanas jumped off before Anub'arak could shake her off. He began burrowing into the ground, shouting, "Come forth, my brethren! Kill them in the name of the Lich King!"

Chittering sounds filled the chamber as more Nerubians swarmed toward them, pouring down the stairway and climbing the platform. "Keep them away from us!" Sylvanas commanded, her voice firm as she knelt where Anub'arak had vanished. She retrieved an orb from her pouch and crushed it in her hand, releasing the contained Light.

Even as a Lightforged Undead, she felt the searing pain of holding such intense radiance. With a scream of agony, she thrust her hand into the ground, channeling the Light downwards. The entire platform trembled, and a scream of torment resonated from beneath it. Sylvanas's attack had reached Anub'arak.

"Get off!" Sylvanas shouted, firing an arrow with a rope attached to it at the wall. She jumped off the crumbling platform, her rangers following her lead. The impact against the wall knocked the air from her lungs, but they were far from safe. Nerubians were crawling down the wall toward them, and in this vulnerable position, they had to act quickly.

Out of options Sylvanas mimicked the Light's Chosen's technique. Motes of Light began to leave her, transforming into spears that shot out, piercing the Nerubians as they approached, holding them at bay for now.

With noticeable effort, Sylvanas summoned the last of her strength to unleash a barrage of spears of Light against the oncoming Nerubians. The exertion left her light-headed and weakened, her vision blurring. "I've got you, my lady," one of her rangers said, catching her before she could collapse and fall to her possible death.

Slowly, they all descended to the floor, the Nerubians retreating for the moment. Beneath the rubble of the platform, Anub'arak and the fallen ranger lay, the latter's lifeless form a painful reminder of their losses.

Sylvanas moved toward her fallen comrade, her intent clear – to destroy the corpse before it could be turned against them. As she approached, a shifting of the rubble and a weak wheeze drew their attention.

Anub'arak was still alive!

Lifting her bow with sluggish movements, Sylvanas prepared for another round of combat. However, no attack came. Painful groans emanated from Anub'arak. "Never... thought I... would be... free of... him," he rasped, his voice fading as he fell silent, finally succumbing to death.

Sylvanas sagged in relief, her bow dropping to her side. Anub'arak was dead at last. Exhausted, she sank to her knees beside her fallen ranger. With the last of her strength, she invoked the Light, covering the ranger's body and reducing it to ash.

The battle was won, but the cost was heavy. Sylvanas closed her eyes, offering a silent prayer for her fallen comrades, before steeling herself for what lay ahead. The fight against the Lich King was far from over, but this victory, hard-won as it was, had brought them one step closer to their ultimate goal.​

---

Let me know your thoughts below.

Cheers!

As usual there are next three chapters on my Patreon​

 

[Kordelius]

Sylvanas and her rangers fled through the crumbling tunnels of the Nerubian kingdom as debris and dust rained down around them. The explosion, designed to trap the remaining Nerubians and ensure their tunnels could not be easily restored, threatened to swallow them as well.

Sylvanas briefly questioned whether she had triggered the explosion too soon, but the risk of being tampered with by Nerubian forces made the decision a necessary one. She only hoped they would reach safety in time.

A silver lining amid the chaos was that the Nerubians, too, were fleeing. Their death cries echoed as they were crushed beneath falling rocks and debris. Sylvanas pressed forward, urging her rangers to follow her.

But as she took her next step, the ground beneath her gave way, and she found herself plummeting into a seemingly bottomless abyss. Her rangers tried to reach out and save her, but she was already too far from their grasp.

"Run, you fools!" Sylvanas shouted, her voice echoing in the underground chamber as she disappeared into the darkness below.

Falling – was this how she would meet her end? No, she refused to accept it. Desperation and panic swelled within her. She needed to find a way out, and she focused all her strength on doing so. If only she could fly!

Then, a strange sensation overcame her, and she looked to her side to see that the earth around her was falling, but she remained suspended in the air. It was as though some unseen force held her aloft.

Summoning all her determination, Sylvanas rose slowly, unsteadily, levitating upwards. But the ceiling above the hole she had fallen through began to split and crumble, sending an enormous section of rock hurtling toward her. She was trapped.

"Aghhh!" Sylvanas screamed in a mix of anger, fear, and frustration. In her desperation, she tapped into a power she hadn't accessed since her time as a banshee, a power that had been lost when she was transformed by the Light. Now, she was no longer a mass of darkness but of pure Light.

Her newfound power helped her escape this death trap. Sylvanas surged forward, flying through the crumbling tunnel, and even caught up with her rangers. She touched each one, allowing them to transform as well, and they all emerged through the entrance they had used earlier.

Landing safely some distance away, they watched the ground continue to quake and tremble, with more and more of it sinking into the expanding hole. Sylvanas frowned. The immense size of the Nerubian kingdom was working against them, making it impossible to fill the colossal hole they had created.

Then, a surprise – the nearby mountain was shifting, beginning to sink. Sylvanas couldn't help but smirk. But as her eyes narrowed with a trace of suspicion, she pulled out the last of the orbs that had been given to her.

Studying the orb and the descending mountain for a moment, a plan began to take shape in her mind. She turned to her rangers. "Stay here; I will be back." With that, she transformed once more and flew toward the base of the mountain.

The rangers were left in silence, exchanging uncertain glances as they watched their lady take flight. They waited patiently for her return.

Some time later, Sylvanas touched down near her rangers. The mountain had ceased moving, and her suspicions were confirmed. But she wasn't concerned; her plan was already in motion.

Sylvanas wore a smirk as she raised her hand and snapped her fingers, invoking the magic of the last orb. A deafening explosion rocked the earth as the mountain began to crumble and topple. Satisfaction filled her as she watched the mountain fill the enormous hole left by the Nerubians' kingdom.

Perfect. While it wouldn't eliminate the Scourge's presence entirely, it would significantly delay their attempts to rebuild the tunnels. Time was on their side now. Sylvanas turned to her rangers, who stood in silent awe.

Their lady had once again proven her cunning and resourcefulness. She didn't need their praise; the satisfaction of a well-executed plan was enough. Wordlessly, she led her rangers back to their landing zone, their steps filled with determination and renewed purpose.

~~~~
​

Uther bashed another undead in the chest, grimacing as it fell apart, some of its remains splashing on him. Ever since they made landfall, it had been a constant battle. Both on land and at the ships, the undead had deployed fliers attempting to sink the ships, which now served as a resting place for those too tired before returning to the field of battle.

He himself had taken a rest, as had all others, except one. One who was responsible for them not being overrun completely. One who stood as an immovable object and an unstoppable force: The Light's Chosen.

After destroying the sinkholes from which the first wave of undead had poured at them, he had chosen a spot to stand and remained there, radiating power and stability. Bathed in his power, not a single one of their numbers had fallen. Even those that had fallen rose once more.

If the Scourge were not simply mindless wretches, the sight of a knight cleaved in half rising to his feet and striking down his attacker would shatter any morale the attacking force had. No doubt the necromancers overseeing this attack were fuming at being denied, also fearing failure, which would elicit punishment from their master.

Thinking of Arthas soured Uther's mood, and he felt a surge of annoyance at having to deal with this rabble. He called upon the Light; enough was enough. The fools should have understood by now that they would not be stopped, and that throwing these corpses at them would achieve nothing.

It was time Uther showed them this, borrowing inspiration from the Light's Chosen. Uther began to emanate Light, channeling it intensely. Motes of Light gathered above him, and he advanced. All the undead that stood before him were destroyed in a rain of Light spears.

The Light had shown him where his current enemy hid; he would take care of it. The further he stepped away from the Light's Chosen and his aura of power, the more clearly he felt the sheer corruption of this land. It only strengthened his resolve to purge it of its corruption. Men and women stood beside and behind him. They all advanced as one; it seemed the necromancers had surmised their purpose, and the undead focused on them.

But it was too late for that.

With every step he took, his resolve grew; with every undead that fell, his determination was strengthened. He was Uther the Lightbringer, and it was time he lived up to it.

Raising his mace, he poured Light into it. Before long, sparks emanated from it due to the contained power. As he crested the hill, his target was in sight: a ziggurat, the residence of the necromancers controlling the attacking undead.

With a firm grip on the mace, he assumed a strong, wide stance, planting his feet firmly on the ground. He swung the mace overhead, building momentum with each rotation. As he felt the weight of the weapon in his hands, he calculated his target with a focused gaze. With precise timing, he released the mace, launching it toward his target. The mace sailed through the air, leaving a trail of Light.

Once it struck the ziggurat, there was a moment of silence before it exploded in a burst of Light. A dome expanded from the place of origin, destroying all undead caught in it.

When the Light subsided, nothing remained of the ziggurat or the surrounding undead. It was a taste of what was to come; he, or rather they, would not stop until all taint of the Scourge was cleansed from this world.

Giving one last gaze across the land, Uther turned and began to walk back toward the main force. The men and women who had protected him, allowing him to destroy the ziggurat, dealt with any roaming undead that bothered them during the return trip.
​

~~~~
​

Uther's actions had bought them a reprieve, during which they hurried to construct a more permanent base. In fact, the Scourge had inadvertently assisted them in doing so, as the sinkholes had allowed access to materials for their construction.

Now, as walls and the keep were taking shape around him, Uther allowed some of the weight to fall from his shoulders, allowing a breath of relaxation to escape him. While they were still harassed by the undead, the attacks were mere paltry annoyances rather than genuine threats. In fact, now that he wasn't constantly battling to exhaustion, Uther allowed a thought that had been lingering in the back of his mind to resurface.

Where had Sylvanas and her rangers departed? He had overheard the Light's Chosen granting her permission to leave, yet the question remained: where had she gone?

Another matter to consider was the massive earthquake they had felt not long ago. Thankfully, none of the tunnels had collapsed on top of their workers, but the event had startled them significantly. For most, the worst they had to worry about were scrapes and bruises from loose rocks and dust covering them.

Uther's brows furrowed. Could Sylvanas be responsible for the earthquake? He had no doubt in his mind that she was deployed to destroy a target, one that had been deemed important enough to be dealt with upon their arrival, no less.

In any case, his questions would soon be answered, as a scout had reported seeing Sylvanas and her rangers returning. It seemed even the Light's Chosen was interested in their findings, for the first time since coming to this land, he had moved from his spot. Not even the keep being built literally around him could sway him.

A snort escaped Uther; Tirion was right – as imposing as ever, that one. Still, seeing Sylvanas walk inside and turn toward the Light's Chosen made him move in that direction as well.​

---

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---

​

 

[Kordelius]

Uther approached just as Sylvanas came to a halt before the formidable figure of the Light's Chosen. The air was thick with tension as the commander's eyes bore into Sylvanas, wordlessly commanding her to relay the details of their mission. Casting a brief, almost imperceptible glance at Uther, Sylvanas began her account.

"As you instructed, we scouted the Nerubian Kingdom precisely as you indicated," Sylvanas began, her voice carrying the weight of their perilous journey. "Regrettably, subtlety was not an option; we were compelled to launch a direct assault. Our initial optimism of remaining undetected swiftly dissolved," she continued, a note of disdain tainting her words.

"A grave miscalculation, for we found ourselves face-to-face with a formidable magic caster, a guardian of Azjol-Nerub, who extended us a chilling 'welcome,'" she sneered, her brows knitting in frustration. "This spellcaster proved to be a worthy adversary, requiring considerable effort before we could bring him down."

Sylvanas' gaze turned melancholy, her eyes reflecting the somber tale of loss. "Venturing deeper, we encountered a colossal web, its intricate threads woven by a gargantuan spider that lurked within. Tragically, one of our own became ensnared, succumbing to the ferocity of battle," she paused, her voice catching slightly with the weight of sorrow. "I ensured their body was purified by the gentle touch of Light, denying the Scourge the chance to desecrate their remains," she finished, her tone now icy with resolve.

In the midst of her account, the tension in the air was palpable, each word painting a vivid picture of their harrowing expedition into the heart of darkness.

"After overcoming minimal resistance initially, it became apparent that Anub'arak, realizing the gravity of our threat, had withdrawn his forces, intending to face us in person. We discovered him in an eerie arena, where a fierce battle ensued. Tragically, two more of our valiant rangers fell in the line of duty, their sacrifices ensuring our victory. During our hasty escape, we triggered the strategically placed explosives, intending to seal off the Nerubian kingdom. However, despite your forewarning, we underestimated the labyrinthine chambers within. As we observed the collapse, a disconcerting truth became apparent: a gaping crater would mar the land due to the absence of sufficient material to fill it.

It was at this juncture that our attention shifted to a nearby mountain peak, which began to shift ominously, its base weakened by the recent seismic disturbances. To ensure its descent into the crater, I further destabilized its foundation, prompting a spectacular collapse within the void.

Upon completing our mission, we made our arduous journey back." Sylvanas concluded her account, her words painting a vivid picture of their endeavors. Uther, stunned by the magnitude of their actions, could hardly believe his ears. In stark contrast, the Light's Chosen remained serene, neither surprised nor perturbed by the revelation.

"Intriguingly, amidst our journey, we encountered a peculiar sight," Sylvanas continued, her voice tinged with contemplation. "A walrus-like race engaged in combat with ethereal versions of colossal humans. Additionally, we witnessed Tauren warriors locked in battle against the relentless undead forces, albeit closer to Azjol-Nerub. It appears, however, that our actions did not inadvertently endanger them," she added, her words carrying a blend of curiosity and perplexity, leaving Uther bewildered at the unexpected complexities of their mission.

"Tuskarr, or Kalu'ak as they refer to themselves, are likely to be friendly toward us. Their primary occupation revolves around fishing," Light's Chosen explained, displaying an impressive knowledge of various races. "However, the towering humans you witnessed are Vrykul, the forebears of humanity. Specifically, those you encountered are Kvaldir, ethereal entities bound to the sea and devoted to Helya. Regrettably, neither the Vrykul nor the Kvaldir are sympathetic to our cause. The Vrykul revere the Lich King as a deity of death and have willingly chosen to follow him."

Uther and Sylvanas exchanged stunned glances, their astonishment stemming from both the historical revelations and the depth of Light's Chosen's understanding. The idea of Vrykul willingly embracing Arthas and deifying him was profoundly disturbing.

"Is there any chance we could persuade the Vrykul to reconsider their allegiance?" Uther inquired, his thoughts already turning to the strategic advantage of gaining allies while simultaneously weakening Arthas' forces.

Light's Chosen turned to Uther, his response unwavering. "Unless we resort to conquest and subjugation, diplomacy with the Vrykul is futile. Strength is the only currency they respect. Moreover, they harbor a deep-seated aversion for humans, considering us weak and degenerate descendants. In fact, the Vrykul's king once ordered our annihilation, but some chose to defy this decree and fled to Tyr's Fall. There, they raised the first humans and imparted knowledge."

Uther's disappointment was palpable, but one detail puzzled him. "Tyr's Fall?" he inquired, seeking clarification.

"Tirisfall, as it's known today," Light's Chosen responded dismissively. "The point is, they will not become our allies. However, they must not continue as servants of the Lich King."

The callousness in Light's Chosen's tone startled Uther. He had never questioned the enigmatic figure before, but now, a sense of moral responsibility compelled him. "I understand they might be unwilling to change," Uther conceded, "but we must try."

Light's Chosen, unmoved, asserted, "You may attempt, but remember my warning: the Vrykul remain impervious to simple persuasion."

With that, Light's Chosen turned and walked away, leaving Uther and Sylvanas with contemplative expressions. Uther, his eyes burning with resolve, finally turned to Sylvanas, a determination evident in his gaze. In response to Uther's determined expression, Sylvanas fixed him with a quizzical look, her eyebrow arching in silent inquiry.

~~~~
​

As evening descended, Uther found himself standing atop the newly constructed wall, his gaze fixed on the vanishing sun. In the fading light, he allowed the day's revelations to settle in his mind, contemplating the paths laid out before them.

He felt a twinge of gratitude that Sylvanas had seemed receptive to his words about attempting to forge alliances with the Vrykul, or at the very least maintain neutrality with them. Genocide was not his mission; he had come here to prevent such atrocities, not perpetuate them.

For the first time, he found himself at odds with Light's Chosen regarding their course of action. To Uther, the Vrykul were not mere obstacles to be swept away in pursuit of their goals. There had to be a way to coexist, a chance for peace even with those who stood against them. He couldn't shake the notion that there might be common ground, a possibility for understanding and cooperation.

His mind whirred with questions, especially concerning Light's Chosen. Why was there a reluctance to seek peaceful resolutions? Uther pondered, recalling Light's Chosen's past actions with the Scarlet Crusade. Even if they pursued a similar path with the Vrykul, wouldn't it be better than outright annihilation? Was there some insight he was missing, some reason why this course seemed unfeasible to Light's Chosen?

Lost in these thoughts, Uther failed to notice the approach of a soldier until he was addressed. Startled, he turned towards the soldier, his brow furrowed in contemplation.

"My apologies, Lord Uther," the soldier said respectfully. "But you are expected in the command room."

Uther nodded, acknowledging the soldier's message, his mind still a whirlwind of thoughts. With purpose, he proceeded toward the command room, wondering what new developments awaited them.
​

~~~~
​

As Uther stepped into the room, he noticed an unfamiliar device placed on the table, surrounded by Light's Chosen, Sylvanas, and a figure he recognized with a jolt of surprise - Sally Whitemane, the once High Inquisitor of the Scarlet Crusade, now a Penitential Atoner. Oddly, there were no Light markings on her, unlike the others. Uther pushed this curiosity aside for the moment, his attention captured by Light's Chosen's commanding presence.

"Uther, good. Now we can proceed," Light's Chosen said, raising his hand and letting Light flow from it into the mysterious device. Just as Uther was about to inquire about their purpose, a figure materialized before them.

Tirion? It was Tirion Fordring, speaking cheerfully. "Ah, it seems you have settled then. Everything is well here; we have secured Lordaeron. We have even made some new friends from Quel'Thalas."

The mention of Quel'Thalas drew Sylvanas' attention, but before she could inquire, Light's Chosen interjected. "Have you made contact with Ironforge and Stormwind?"

"Yes, not long ago. They seem receptive to our plea for help against Arthas, though not overly enthusiastic. I think they believe our current progress indicates that we can handle the situation ourselves," Tirion replied, his tone carrying a tinge of disappointment.

A brief silence hung over the room after Tirion spoke, interrupted only by a scoff from Sally, who chose not to elaborate further.

Uther felt a mixture of disappointment and understanding. Stormwind and Ironforge, while sympathetic, didn't fully grasp the magnitude of the Scourge threat; they had their own troubles to contend with.

"Are your men still in Stormwind?" Light's Chosen inquired. Tirion furrowed his brows momentarily before responding, "They should still be there."

"Good," Light's Chosen continued, his voice icy. "If they won't assist willingly, we will force their hand. Have your men inform King Varian that there is a black dragon masquerading as a human in his court, working against the interests of his kingdom. If he sends more than token force, this dragon will be exposed."

Uther felt a chill settle in his bones at the ruthlessness of the plan. Then, Light's Chosen continued. "As for Ironforge, if King Magni's daughter has not yet left the city, she will do so soon. She is consorting with the Blackrock Dwarves, attempting a futile peace negotiation between them. While her efforts might succeed, our campaign's success takes precedence."

The room fell into stunned silence. The gravity of Light's Chosen's words left them all in disbelief, struggling to comprehend the cold determination that lay behind his plan.

Uther couldn't hold back any longer. "Lad, this is not the way. It will only lead to resentment and harm our efforts," he spoke with a tone of disapproval, his concern etched on his weathered face.

Light's Chosen turned towards Uther, his gaze piercing and unwavering, yet Uther refused to back down.

"Good," Light's Chosen said after a thoughtful pause, his voice carrying an unexpected note of satisfaction. His response left the others in the room utterly bewildered.

"I had feared you lost your spine, Uther, when you did not question my plan," Light's Chosen explained, his words hanging heavy in the air. "I am not a good leader, Uther. That is why you are here — to lead. As for the information I provided, I leave it for you to decide how to best use it, Tirion."

With that, Light's Chosen turned away, starting to walk out of the room. "Oh, the name of the dragon is Onyxia. As for her human guise, it is Katarina Prestor. The entire house of Prestor is comprised of black dragons; they are our enemies," he added, casting a significant glance towards Uther. "And these are foes we truly can't make allies with, no matter how hard we try."

And just like that, he left, leaving the room in a heavy silence. The weight of his words settled upon those present, forcing them to consider the unsettling truth he had revealed and ponder on the best way forward.​

---

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​

 

[Kordelius]

Sylvanas entered the command room, her sharp eyes taking in the scene. Uther and the Light's Chosen were engaged in conversation, their expressions serious yet determined. She observed Uther for a moment, noting the absence of any resentment lingering from their past encounter.

Despite their occasional clashes, she held no grudge against him. In her eyes, Uther remained a figure of integrity, a beacon of leadership and righteousness.

In retrospect, she understood the complexity of Uther's position during Arthas's ascent to power. He had been a loyal soldier of Lordaeron, and his choices were bound by duty and allegiance. Sylvanas pondered over the past, acknowledging the challenges faced by Uther and the difficult decisions he had to make.

"Ah, Sylvanas, good," the Light's Chosen acknowledged her presence, his tone resonating with confidence. "We are just finishing here."

"As I mentioned earlier, I will be departing shortly," he continued, his voice carrying a sense of trust in their abilities. "I have full faith in both of you to carry on without me. I trust you know how to proceed. Hopefully, Tirion will manage to persuade the Alliance to send reinforcements soon. Additional support would significantly strengthen our position."

Sylvanas couldn't help but be intrigued. "And what exactly will you be doing?" she inquired, her curiosity piqued. The last time he left, he had played a mysterious role in her homeland, an action whose purpose she still didn't fully comprehend.

He turned to face her, his gaze distant as if lost in contemplation. "I will be returning something," he said cryptically, his mind seemingly occupied by other matters. "And securing potential allies," he added, his tone indicating a sense of purpose and determination.

The room hung heavy with tension as Sylvanas exchanged a puzzled glance with Uther. Both were equally bewildered by the Light's Chosen's cryptic words, and their curiosity begged for further explanation. However, before they could voice their questions, the Light's Chosen chose that moment to exit the room, his movements purposeful and resolute.

"Wait!" Uther's voice cut through the air, firm and commanding. "We are in enemy territory; you cannot simply leave whenever it pleases you. While I didn't question it in Lordaeron, we cannot afford to lose you here. I have no doubt you can take care of yourself, but this is not how matters are handled in the midst of war." Uther's tone was exasperated, laden with reprimand, reflecting the concern etched across his face.

Light's Chosen paused in his tracks and turned back toward them, his expression silent yet expectant. Sylvanas found herself nodding in agreement with Uther's sentiment. The weight of leadership could not be shrugged off, not even for someone as formidable as the Light's Chosen. He had acknowledged his own limitations in leadership, yet Sylvanas didn't fully concur with that assessment. It seemed to her that he was attempting to evade the burdens of responsibility that leadership inherently carried.

This incident starkly illustrated his current behavior, highlighting his tendency to retreat without explanation. Despite being a beacon of hope for their troops, he couldn't simply come and go as he pleased. His absence, without clarity or communication, cast an unsettling shadow over their endeavors.

"Uther is right," Sylvanas chimed in, her voice firm yet laced with concern. "Regardless of whether you delegate the position of leadership to the two of us, it does not absolve you of all responsibilities. You are a symbol of hope. You cannot leave and return when it suits you without a word of explanation. The uncertainty of your whereabouts, your actions, and, Light forbid, if something were to happen to you, all of our efforts would be in vain." Her words echoed Uther's previous admonishment, emphasizing the gravity of the situation.

Following her statement, an uneasy silence settled in the room. They stood there, waiting for the Light's Chosen's response, their eyes locked on him. The longer the silence stretched, the more Sylvanas began to doubt herself. Had she and Uther overstepped their bounds? She cast a quick glance toward Uther, searching for reassurance, unable to withstand the weight of the Light's Chosen's silence and stillness.

Uther maintained his unwavering gaze, yet beneath his stern exterior, there was a palpable sense of unease. Finally, the Light's Chosen spoke, his words deliberate and controlled, carrying the gravity of his presence, demanding their attention.

"While I admire your resilience, do not assume the authority to command me. If I must stay and guide you at every step, then perhaps I have overestimated your value and wasted my efforts here. Is that what you're implying?" His words held no kindness or warmth, leaving Sylvanas feeling incredibly insignificant. It echoed the harsh scoldings of her past, reminding her of parental disapproval and stern instructors.

Uther's jaw clenched, and he stood taller, clearly affected by the words as well.

"However," Light's Chosen continued, his tone softening slightly, "I am not entirely without reason. To ease your concerns, I will bring a ranger with me." He paused, lost in thought for a moment. "Velonara will accompany me." With his decision made, he turned and exited the room, leaving Sylvanas and Uther to reflect on what had transpired.

Their familiarity and the Light's Chosen's typically composed demeanor had led them into the folly of thinking they could challenge his decisions. In their complacency, they had forgotten his true nature and the fact that, despite their perceptions, they needed him far more than he needed them.

It was a lesson Sylvanas vowed not to forget, and from Uther's resolute expression, she knew he felt the same.

~~~~
​

As Sylvanas and Uther stood in the courtyard, waiting for Light's Chosen, who had withdrawn to his chambers before his departure, Sylvanas took the opportunity to gauge the overall mood and mindset of their troops upon learning about Light's Chosen's exit.

There was an undercurrent of tension, but it was less pronounced than Sylvanas had anticipated. Most soldiers kept their emotions hidden, revealing nothing. Some seemed unfazed, accepting the situation without concern. Sylvanas wondered if perhaps his previous departure and subsequent return had acclimated them to such event. Maybe she and Uther had been mistaken; Light's Chosen's absence didn't seem to dampen the troops' morale. Quite the opposite, in fact.

It appeared that most soldiers interpreted Light's Chosen's departure as a signal that he had confidence in their abilities, that they had the situation well in hand. To them, his leaving was a silent acknowledgment of their efforts and faith in their ability to remain resilient even in his absence—a morale boost of sorts.

The unexpected reaction surprised Sylvanas. As for Uther, he seemed lost in thought, undoubtedly mulling over the recent reprimand. While Sylvanas still stood by her words, she could now understand Light's Chosen's perspective better. Soldiers who couldn't act without explicit orders were as much of a liability as those who didn't follow orders. It was a delicate balance, and she realized that perhaps both she and Uther needed to reassess their assumptions about the troops' independence and confidence.

The palpable aura of Light's Chosen's presence disrupted Sylvanas from her contemplations. Whatever he had attended to before his departure was evidently completed, for his unhurried yet confident strides resonated with everyone present. A subtle shift occurred among the soldiers; their postures straightened instinctively as they felt his influence.

As he approached, Velonara fell in line beside him. Her movements were silent, unobtrusive, blending in seamlessly with those of the Light's Chosen. But what captured Sylvanas's attention, as well as that of everyone else, was the gnome that Light's Chosen held captive in his hand. The gnome, bound and gagged, exuded a fierce glare and unmistakable discontent, vividly expressing her desire to be elsewhere.

Recalling his recent reprimand, Sylvanas held her tongue, though her curiosity was evident in her eyes. The current situation baffled her entirely.

"My Lord?" Velonara's voice, soft as a whisper, resonated like the chiming of bells in the courtyard. For a moment, it seemed as though she might be ignored. However, Light's Chosen subtly turned his head toward her while continuing his stride.

He raised the gnome to eye level, halting his steps. "Do not mistake her for a mere gnome, Velonara. If not for my restraints, she would have erased us all," he declared, his tone betraying none of his personal sentiments regarding his words.

The weight of his revelation hung heavily in the air, causing fear and confusion to permeate the atmosphere. Light's Chosen turned entirely toward Velonara and rested his hand on her shoulder. "However, do not hold her actions against her. She is as much a slave as you once were."

An unbidden surge of pity stirred in Sylvanas's heart, yet fear persisted, overshadowing her emotions. Despite this, her confusion remained paramount.

"We are set to encounter her kin, beings with significant power, who can return this one to her people. We may negotiate for our lives and perhaps even secure their assistance," Light's Chosen elaborated, his words reaching the ears of all despite his focus on Velonara. "Should you wish to stay behind, I will not hold it against you," he added, his voice suffused with understanding.

For a moment, Velonara froze upon learning of their destination. The ordeal in Azjol-Nerub had demonstrated their lack of knowledge about the world. The prospect of meeting those possessing far greater power filled her heart with trepidation. Yet, from the corner of her eye, she spotted her Lady, standing tall and unyielding, devoid of fear. A newfound determination took hold of her, and she straightened her posture, gazing upon their savior without apprehension. "I will accompany you, my Lord," she proclaimed, her voice resolute, revealing none of the tumultuous emotions that had previously consumed her.

"Then we depart, to meet She who is Life – Alexstrasza, the Queen of Dragons," Light's Chosen declared, mounting his steed and riding out through the gates.​

---

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[Kordelius]

While traversing the region Light's Chosen had designated as the Borean Tundra, Velonara found herself contemplating their forthcoming mission and the enigmatic figures they were bound to meet.

Dragons, a topic she was familiar with, yet her knowledge was limited to tales and descriptions. She had never personally encountered one. However, as she regarded the gnome whom Light's Chosen had singled out, she realized she might have indeed met a dragon before, without recognizing their draconic nature.

The concept that colossal, fire-breathing, flying creatures had the ability to transform into mortal forms struck her as profoundly unsettling. Her thoughts veered back to Light's Chosen's words about the disguised gnome harboring a desire to annihilate them all.

As she attempted to muster the courage to seek clarification, a constant battle raged within her—whether to inquire and risk appearing bothersome, or to remain silent and uninformed.

"Speak," Light's Chosen's voice resonated like a rumbling undercurrent, though his gaze remained fixed ahead as he guided his steed along the trail.

"My Lord," Velonara began, releasing the questions that had been building within her. "Why would she seek to eliminate us, and what do you mean when you said she was a slave?"

For a brief moment, Light's Chosen fell into silence, and the only sound was the whispering wind sweeping across the tundra. A slight shuffle from Light's Chosen caught her attention, and she turned to observe him. He had shifted his gaze toward her before commencing his explanation.

"I may have slightly exaggerated her desire to erase you; her true aim is to erase me and undo all that I have accomplished," he elucidated. Velonara's eyes widened at the revelation. A dragon, belonging to the Bronze Dragonflight—keepers of time—sought to erase his existence. The mention of timelines and the Keepers of Time surpassed her previous comprehension. She had believed that dragons aimed to annihilate them out of hatred or malevolence, but this was an entirely different dimension of conflict.

Light's Chosen continued his discourse, gradually pulling her out of her contemplation. "The Keepers of Time would typically prune discrepancies in the timeline. However, I have grown too powerful for them to manipulate or eliminate me from the timeline. The Light concealed me when I was weak, and I have now become too formidable for the past to be rewritten."

Velonara was flabbergasted by the sheer magnitude of power required to safeguard one's own past. The enormity of such a feat boggled her mind.

"As for their status as slaves," Light's Chosen explained, his disdain evident. "This pertains to the source of their power. There are five Dragonflights—Red, Green, Blue, Bronze, and Black—each endowed with power by different Titans. However, this very power has become their shackles, particularly for the Bronze. Aman'Thul, leader of the Titans and a Time Titan, has envisioned a 'Sacred Timeline,' and the Bronze are bound to ensure its realization."

While Velonara didn't fully grasp the intricacies of what he disclosed, she comprehended the essence of it. Her gaze involuntarily drifted toward the gnome, who appeared to regard Light's Chosen with astonished and wide eyes. It was apparent that she, too, was taken aback by the depth of his knowledge.

In that moment, Velonara felt a surge of empathy and a shared anguish. She could still vividly recall the days when she and her companions had been ensnared in the Lich King's service.

~~~~
​

As they drew closer to the remnants of Azjol-Nerub, Velonara's unease grew. It was evident that Nerubians and other undead creatures would infest the area, and she was determined not to be caught off guard.

Remarkably, Light's Chosen remained undisturbed, his steed maintaining its pace without the slightest hesitation or indication of vigilance. To some, such audacity might appear as arrogance—casually traversing a land teeming with enemies, even venturing near the ruins of a defeated foe's stronghold without expecting an attack.

But the reason behind his unwavering confidence was glaringly apparent: power. Velonara had overheard Light's Chosen chastising her Lady and Uther, and she was acutely aware of his unimaginable might. His revelation about safeguarding his existence in time only deepened the awe she felt for him.

A sudden noise diverted her attention, and her eyes widened in alarm as a horde of Nerubians charged at them. She instinctively turned toward Light's Chosen, her voice catching in her throat, prepared to warn him.

However, he remained as composed as ever, calm and unruffled. Despite her mounting fear, she tried to ready her bow, but Light's Chosen's words halted her trembling hands.

"Do you know what separates men from lesser men? Predators from prey?" he inquired calmly, his words confusing her. Ignoring her bewilderment, he continued, "Fear. Predators smell it... and walk away when they don't."

A sigh escaped him, and he lazily turned his attention to the approaching undead. "Sadly, these poor wretches have lost that most basic of instincts." With a casual flick of his fingers, he skewered the undead with Light, obliterating them all, his gait unwavering.

"It appears that death has made you forget some lessons your instructors undoubtedly imparted," he observed without a hint of harshness, merely stating the truth. Yet, Velonara felt a sharp pang of shame.

"Shame serves no purpose here. Improve. Even before the Light embraced you, these wretches would have been a mere nuisance to you… now, they are like chaff in the wind. Do not fear the ants crawling beneath your boot. Crush them and move on," he advised.

Velonara fell into deep contemplation, raising her hand to observe the sparks of Light dancing across her fingers. Memories of her early days as a novice ranger surfaced—the fear, the uncertainty, and the shame of failure, driving her to strive for improvement.

Had she truly forgotten these lessons in death? She vividly recalled the hordes of undead she had slain before being overrun, the terror that had once crippled her.

Her hands began to tremble, but then Light surged within her, purging her fear and filling her with strength. Clenching her fist and gritting her teeth, she resolved not to let fear govern her any longer.
​

~~~~
​

As they ventured into the Dragonblight, a vast expanse of snow stretched before them, covering the land in a blanket of white. The biting wind cut through the few trees in the area, cold enough to freeze one's very marrow.

Yet, Velonara felt none of it. The harsh winds merely ruffled her cape and scattered snowflakes around her. Traversing this region proved to be a challenge; the deep snow slowed their progress significantly, making each step a struggle.

Finally, she spotted a structure in the distance. Judging by their approach, Velonara deduced that it was their destination. Ruins of a massive road or some sort of pathway stretched alongside it.

"Wyrmrest Temple, the meeting place of the Dragonflights," Light's Chosen spoke up, his tone carrying a peculiar quality that Velonara couldn't quite grasp—reminiscent, perhaps?

Light's Chosen slowly turned his head, surveying the area. Velonara tensed, wondering if he had sensed something. After a moment of silence, he asked, "Do you know why this area is called the Dragonblight?" His question hung in the air, and Velonara looked up at him in silence. "Dragons come here to die," he answered, sending a chill down her spine as the realization settled in. Before she could voice her thoughts, he continued, anticipating her unspoken question. "Yes, the Scourge have plundered their bones."

Suddenly, a roar echoed through the air, and Velonara hurriedly raised her head. Her eyes widened as an enormous red dragon soared towards the temple. The Light's Chosen merely hummed in response. "Good, she has returned," he remarked, his tone unwavering. Velonara furrowed her brows in confusion—she? Did he mean Alexstrasza, the dragon he intended to meet? Realizing he had already moved ahead while she stood still, she rushed to catch up, steeling herself for the meeting that lay ahead.
​

~~~~
​

As they approached the temple base, figures and smaller dragons came into view, watching them intently as they awaited their arrival.

As they drew closer, Velonara was taken aback by what she saw. The figure looked like High Elf! One of her old kinsmen, disguised as a dragon, gazed at them silently, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the gnome tied up and hanging from Light's Chosen's steed. Undoubtedly, he could discern her true nature as a dragon.

Silently, Light's Chosen picked up the gnome and raised her towards the dragon concealed as an elf. "I believe this is one of yours," he spoke calmly, prompting the dragon to raise an eyebrow at the gnome before turning his gaze towards Light's Chosen. "Indeed she is. Would you be so kind to let her go?" His tone was light, but the underlying warning was clear.

In response, Light's Chosen released the gnome, removing the restraints he had placed on her. As the gnome hit the ground, she shook herself and stood tall, briefly glancing at both Light's Chosen and Velonara. For a moment, Velonara feared an attack.

"Chronormu," the hidden dragon addressed the gnome in a stern tone, causing her to stop and face him. Her hands on her hips, she looked up defiantly. "Don't you 'Chronormu' at me! Do you know what he has done? Who he is?!" She would've continued, but the hidden dragon interrupted her tirade.

"The Queen wishes to meet them." With that, he gestured to the two dragons standing behind him and turned towards Light's Chosen and Velonara. Light's Chosen dismounted his steed and approached the dragon, climbing onto his back under Velonara's wide, unbelieving eyes.

"Come along, Velonara," Light's Chosen said as his dragon began to ascend, prompting her to hurriedly climb onto the other dragon. The dragon ascended higher and higher, circling the temple. Velonara couldn't deny the excitement she felt. She was riding a dragon! Well, more of a passenger, but still!

When the dragon reached the top and settled down, she climbed off and gazed at it in awe. The dragon, sensing her gaze, turned towards her, curiosity in its eyes. If she could blush, she would be red. Seeing Light's Chosen moving, she whispered a quick thank you and rushed after him.

Ignoring the amused huffing of the dragon—It was just the wind! Just the wind!—she approached the figures ahead and was once again taken aback. They looked like elves, only three times as tall. The woman in the middle, dressed in a scandalous outfit, had horns on her head. Was she perhaps...?

Light's Chosen stopped in the center of the circular room, and silence fell upon them as both sides observed each other silently. Velonara couldn't help the nervousness she felt. She remembered Light's Chosen's previous words. Fear was her enemy. She settled herself, allowing it to pass, standing tall and motionless, attempting to emulate Light's Chosen as much as possible.

Tiny tip-taps resounded from behind them, but Velonara dared not look back, keeping her gaze fixed straight ahead. Finally, the owner of the steps came into sight, stepping up to Alexstrasza, making the vast size difference between them even more obvious.

Alexstrasza gazed down at Chronormu, a gentle smile growing on her face. "Hello, Chromie. It seems you got into a bit of trouble," she said with a teasing lilt in her voice. To this, Chromie huffed before wildly gesturing at Light's Chosen. "Do you know how many problems he's been causing for the Bronze?! The whole timeline is tangled up, and because of his echoing power, we cannot travel the timeline to fix it!" She stomped her feet on the ground, sounding almost childlike. "And not just that! He tied me up and kept me bound for so long!" Now she was just whining, a fact that seemed to amuse Alexstrasza to no end.

Chromie seemed to notice this amusement. "It is not funny!"

Alexstrasza turned her attention back to them, her amusement fading into seriousness. "While I am grateful for your restraint in containing, Chronormu, changing the timeline is a very serious matter that could have unforeseen consequences. I would like to know your reasons for doing this," she said calmly. Her voice held no accusations but was filled with a steely command, resonating with the authority of a queen. Even though they were not her underlings, Velonara felt her spine straighten further in the presence of such regality.​

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Let me know your thoughts below.

Cheers!

As always three more chapters are available on my Patreon​

---

​

 

[Kordelius]

"Consequences?" The word was uttered softly, perhaps even absentmindedly, yet Velonara could feel the tension in the air. "For whom, exactly?" Light's Chosen said coldly.

"The world!" Chromie exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

"Like the actions you have taken and not taken when needed?" Light's Chosen's tone was filled with accusation and brewing anger. Velonara felt out of her depth here; they had only just arrived, and the atmosphere was growing increasingly intense.

Chromie sputtered for a moment before retorting heatedly, "You do not know anything! All we have done is to ensure the survival of this world!"

"Have you now? Because to me, it seems quite the opposite," Light's Chosen's words grew colder and colder, sending chills down Velonara's spine, a sensation she hadn't felt since her heart still beat.

A hand on her shoulder made her jerk back. Alexstrasza stood beside her, appearing out of nowhere. Wide-eyed, Velonara looked between where she had stood before and where she was now, utterly baffled at how she moved without notice.

"Come," Alexstrasza beckoned her, but her feet remained rooted to the floor. She was determined to stand by Light's Chosen's side. "It is not safe for you here," Alexstrasza commented, her eyes fixed on the heated exchange between Light's Chosen and Chromie. The tension in the air was growing, and Velonara felt the power rising around her.

She gritted her teeth and stood her ground, burying her apprehensions in the Light. She had been entrusted to accompany the Light's Chosen, and that was what she intended to do.

Alexstrasza, seeing her resolve, sagged a little before returning to her previous spot. The power in the air intensified.

"Opposite? OPPOSITE!" Chromie's frustration boiled into anger at what she perceived as a blatant disregard for her flight's work.

"Chronormu, that is enough," Alexstrasza commanded before turning toward Light's Chosen. "Continue."

"Time and time again, your flight has acted against the betterment of all those who inhabit this world. Paving the way for our enemies to grow stronger. Azshara, Neltharion, to name a few. Even now, you seek to weaken the world by standing in the way and trying to undo all that I have done," Light's Chosen continued, his passion striking Velorana as profoundly unusual. It humanized him, which felt odd given his nature. He had never felt human before.

"My actions have saved countless lives and will save countless more. So tell me – why do you seek to prevent it?" He finished coldly.

Chromie crossed her arms and gazed coldly back at him. "They were meant to die." Those words sparked a surge of power from Light's Chosen. Velonara felt her knees buckle, but the Light bolstered her, allowing her to remain standing. Chromie was squashed into the floor, unable to move, while the male dragon beside Alexstrasza had fallen to his knee. Alexstrasza, still standing, appeared unruffled, her closed eyes the only sign of her involvement.

"How… dare… you." Cold and unforgiving anger laced Light's Chosen's tone. "Who gives you the right to decide who lives and who dies!"

"Please." Alexstrasza's calm voice cut through the power and anger in the air. After a moment, Light's Chosen reined in his power, allowing everyone to breathe again. Chromie shakily stood up, her eyes wide with fear as she looked at the imposing Light's Chosen. She had finally realized the danger he presented and how easily he could obliterate her.

"You speak… true," Alexstrasza's voice sounded sad as she interrupted the silence, making Chromie turn toward her with a shocked and betrayed expression.

"Time and time again, we the Dragonflights have failed when the world needed us the most. Worse, our actions created conflict on this world," Alexstrasza said, gazing outside across the lands of Dragonblight, no doubt recalling those moments with deep regret.

Alexstrasza turned toward Light's Chosen. "Speak, Champion. I would hear your words and understand your decisions, and the path you walk," she encouraged, her eyes holding a mix of curiosity and empathy.

Chromie stood speechless for a moment, her astonishment evident. When she tried to leave, Alexstrasza's voice cut through the room like a command. "Chronormu, you will also remain and listen." Her tone allowed no room for disagreement or disobedience.

Chromie turned, her expression defiant, but the icy gaze of Alexstrasza halted her in her tracks. With a resigned sigh, she bowed her head and stood to the side, prepared to listen.

A heavy silence settled in the room as they all awaited the Light's Chosen's words. Velonara found herself intensely interested in what he would say. His motives, desires, and the simple question of why he acted the way he did had been debated among those who had followed him. But no one had dared approach him directly and ask. He had always been something more, something larger than they could comprehend. The thought of questioning or, Light forbid, demanding something of him had never crossed their minds. And if his dressing down of Uther and Lady Windrunner was any indication, he did not respond well to demands.

Velonara felt a mix of curiosity and wariness, hoping that Alexstrasza's intervention hadn't aggravated him further.

After a tense pause, the Light's Chosen began to speak, his voice filled with emotion like never before. "As I walked the cursed lands of Tirisfal, I felt sadness, disgust, and anger. So much anger for all the lives that had been snuffed out, for all those turned into abominations, used to inflict pain and suffering on others.

"As I knelt on the ground that had been twisted and felt its pain, I wept in sadness. When I beheld the animals that had unimaginable horrors inflicted upon them and now roamed this twisted and corrupted land, their agony-filled existence filled me with sympathy.

"As despair threatened to swallow me and darkness surrounded me, I beheld a feeble ray of light, struggling to bring even a measure of illumination to this cursed existence that surrounded me.

"It was then that determination filled me, a fire burning in my chest, roaring in anger. I would not go quietly into that dark night; I would rage and rave. So with all my might, I roared at the Light, demanding it grant me strength and power—power enough to achieve victory against the dying of the light.

"And it answered my call. The Light began to flood my flesh and blood, overwhelming me. But I would not go quietly into that good night! I purged the weakness from myself and allowed the Light to fill me until I could take no more.

"I was reborn that day."

With his tale concluded, another heavy silence descended upon the room, the weight of his words sinking in. The truth behind his actions and the depths of his determination had been laid bare for all to see.

As Alexstrasza silently gazed at them and the land beyond the temple, a myriad of emotions flashed across her face. Velonara could sense the weight of centuries in her eyes, the burdens of a queen who had seen the rise and fall of empires. But then, determination set in. She turned to the male standing next to her, who, under her focused attention, straightened and patiently waited for her words.

"Krasus, you will gather others and join our new friends," Alexstrasza commanded. As she finished, Krasus' eyes widened in surprise, but he remained composed. Alexstrasza had already turned away from him, redirecting her attention back to Light's Chosen.

"For now, Krasus and those he deems worthy of joining you will assist you. I must take care of other matters, but once they are done, we will join you in removing this evil from our world once and for all," Alexstrasza declared, her words filling Velonara with elation. They had secured the aid of dragons. Dragons! The magnitude of their assistance was not lost on her, and she could hardly wait to witness the reactions of the others once they returned with this news.

"Nozdormu will not like this," Chromie huffed from the side, voicing her concerns, but fell silent under Alexstrasza's stern gaze. "Nozdormu will be quiet. For too long have I allowed events to pass without questioning them," Alexstrasza retorted with a small smirk. "Besides, you said it yourself: this timeline cannot be changed. All that is left for us to do is act. We may fail or we may succeed. In the end, all that matters is that we gave it our all."

With that, Alexstrasza dismissed them. Velonara and Light's Chosen walked away with Krasus, who requested some time to gather others before departing. They both agreed to wait.

Meanwhile, Chromie shot one last baleful look toward Light's Chosen before disappearing. Velonara couldn't quite shake her unease. The idea of a dragon, especially one capable of manipulating time, attempting to hinder them weighed heavily on her mind. She understood that she couldn't openly reveal her misgivings, especially now that they had secured assistance from the Dragon Queen.

Hopefully, Light's Chosen shared her concerns. In the unlikely event of sabotage, they needed to be vigilant and thwart any attempts to undermine their cause. The fate of their world depended on it.

---

Chromie get's put in her place, we learn something about Light's Chosen (will strive to reveal more in some other chapters, but won't be for some time, sorry) and we gain a new ally.

Let me know your thoughts below.

Cheers!

As always three more chapters are available on my Patreon​

 

[Kordelius]

As Korialstrasz made his way through the lower floors of the temple, his keen gaze assessed each individual attending to their respective tasks. With every silent glance, he mulled over potential candidates for the important role bestowed upon him by their Queen.

It was clear they needed individuals adept at interacting with mortal races—ones with an even temperament. Another crucial factor was their experience in battle, an unavoidable aspect of the task ahead.

Yet another consideration arose in his mind: the likelihood of injuries in combat. Hence, a few healers among their group wouldn't go amiss. Now came the query of the group's size. It couldn't be too substantial, lest it unsettled those they sought to aid. Chromie's actions might have made the mortals wary of Dragonkind.

It seemed prudent to remain in their Visages, minimizing the impact of their presence. Ultimately, Korialstrasz sought capable combatants and healers who could adeptly utilize their Visages. Names and faces flickered in his thoughts, some discarded while others were marked for a conversation.

Having made his choices, he set forth toward the nearest candidate, his mind now shifting to the chain of events leading to their current situation.

Unknown to their visitors, their arrival had been anticipated—not merely observed as they journeyed through the snow. On the day Chromie rashly attempted to mend the timeline and consequently faced capture, Soridormi had arrived at the Wyrmrest Temple.

She elucidated the situation, beseeching Alexstrasza for aid, both in rectifying the timeline and securing Chromie's release. However, upon learning of this figure's actions since revealing themselves, Alexstrasza grew pensive and declined to assist. Furthermore, she forbade the Bronze from hindering this enigmatic individual.

For some inexplicable reason, Alexstrasza was certain that this individual would desire to speak with her, their meeting likely to dictate her decision.

Scouts had been dispatched to observe the newcomers and their actions upon reaching the shores. Their skirmish during the attempt to establish a foothold and the simultaneous dispatch of a Light-infused undead party to assault Azjol-Nerub, that had turned to be quite successful.

Korialstrasz couldn't help but feel impressed. Their strength, resilience, and unyielding dedication to vanquishing the Scourge were beyond question.

In the moments leading up to the lone figure's arrival at the Wyrmrest Temple, accompanied by the Light-infused undead bearing Chromie, Krasus observed the approach with a mix of confusion and intrigue. The apparent lack of fear and urgency in the person's demeanor puzzled him. Even a dragon would exercise caution traversing an area potentially rife with enemies. Witnessing such utter disregard for danger was both confounding and remarkable.

However, now that Krasus had met this individual and, more crucially, felt the raw power exuding from them, understanding began to dawn. A wolf doesn't quake before the sheep that surround it; it's the sheep that ought to tremble.

Krasus, like any sentient being, had experienced fear, yet confronting the overwhelming power that this individual wielded, he realized something profound—he had forgotten what true fear was. Despite his best efforts to resist, to stand against the surge of power that forced him to the ground, he found himself utterly overwhelmed.

He couldn't fathom the intense pressure Chromie must have endured, bearing the full brunt of this formidable power.

Reflecting on the stranger's words and actions, Krasus couldn't deny their validity. Many times, he had questioned the decisions made by the Bronze, raising concerns about various events, including the capture and exploitation of their Queen by the orcs. No, he harbored no anger—none at all!

Seeking to regain his composure, Krasus closed his eyes, drawing deep breaths in an attempt to steady himself.

~~~~
​

Krasus led a group of twenty, including himself, approaching the enigmatic duo of the Light's Chosen and his companion. As he studied them during their approach, he noted Velonara's attempts to mirror the Light's Chosen. Her interest in the surroundings and some evident nervousness amidst the presence of dragons were traits Krasus easily comprehended. The proximity of powerful beings alone could set anyone on edge, even without a hint of aggression.

To a casual onlooker, both Velonara and the Light's Chosen would appear as still as statues, seemingly unaffected by their environment.

However, while Velonara displayed some signs of life, the Light's Chosen was an entirely different case. If not for witnessing the man move at all, Krasus might have been convinced he was a statue, unmoved and undisturbed by the world around him. He remained utterly still, an eerie stillness that unsettled Krasus. Living creatures, especially powerful ones, were not meant to be so motionless. Even the mightiest predators exhibited some subtle movement, especially when stalking prey. Yet the Light's Chosen displayed none. The only beings Krasus had seen so motionless were the Keepers, made of stone and bound by their duties.

As they drew closer, the man finally stirred, his head turning slightly, a movement that seemed almost as though stone grinded against stone. Silence blanketed the space as their group halted before the two figures, awaiting a response.

Seemingly content with the minimal gesture of acknowledgment, Krasus stepped forward to propose their plan. "We are prepared to depart. To save time, we will fly as close as possible to your base before landing and proceeding on foot," he suggested, outlining the strategy.

"Very well," the Light's Chosen replied before striding toward the tower's edge, prompting a momentary confusion in Krasus. He hadn't yet designated the flight arrangements.

However, astonishment swept over Krasus as radiant wings sprouted from the man's back. He arched an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Come, Velonara," commanded the Light's Chosen, jolting Velonara out of her stupor. She rushed to his side, a mix of confusion and surprise playing across her face.

As the Light's Chosen laid his hand on her shoulder, wings emerged from Velonara's back. It took her a moment to adjust to this newfound appendage before taking flight, mirroring the Light's Chosen's actions.

Left to observe the surreal spectacle, Krasus turned to his group. "Let's go," he stated simply, no further words necessary for the task at hand.
​

~~~~
​

Uther's mind buzzed with a blend of confusion and apprehension as he trailed alongside Sylvanas, traversing a path that seemed to lead to the unknown. The veiled nature of their destination only heightened his unease, especially since Sylvanas offered no more than cryptic assurances that "all will be revealed."

As they left behind the port, which stood as a testament to their recent achievements, a knot of nervous anticipation began to coil within him. His attempts to glean information about their purpose or destination were met with Sylvanas's tantalizing yet infuriating responses—always coy and filled with enigmatic hints. "You will see," she'd say with a smirk that hinted at secrets hidden just beneath the surface. Uther suppressed the urge to sigh; surprises were not his preferred path, yet an insatiable curiosity gnawed at him, fueling his patience.

Standing amidst the vast emptiness of the wilderness, Uther couldn't stifle his impatience. The endless waiting only served to exacerbate his restlessness, and the encroaching chill in the air wasn't helping. He began to grow increasingly testy, his features settling into an irritable expression as time passed without a hint of the purpose behind this clandestine gathering.

A sudden, swift movement from Sylvanas jerked Uther from his reverie, prompting him to scan their surroundings for any sign of danger. Yet, despite his vigilant sweep, there was nothing that immediately threatened them. Turning toward Sylvanas for an explanation, he noticed her fixed gaze upward, and in reflex, he followed her line of sight, eyes widening in awe.

A celestial entity soared toward them—a being of radiant Light, its wings an ethereal spectacle that illuminated the world around it. As the luminous figure drew closer, Uther's breath caught in his chest, awestruck by the sheer majesty of the being. It was the Light's Chosen, descending gracefully from the heavens. The splendor of the Light's aura around him bathed the environment in a surreal brilliance.

The wonderment deepened as another figure, accompanied by the same radiant wings of Light, landed nearby. It was Velonara—either empowered to bear such divine wings or having learned to manifest them herself. Their unexpected arrival, however, only served to compound Uther's burning curiosity. Why had this meeting been arranged in such a remote and desolate place? The unanswered questions weighed heavily on his mind, amplifying his confusion and impatience.

Once more, Uther's attempt to voice his thoughts was abruptly interrupted by the shadowy presence casting a veil over them. His gaze instinctively lifted upward, only to be greeted by an awe-inspiring sight—dragons, a multitude of them, soaring gracefully in the skies above before descending earthward.

As each dragon touched the ground, a tremor rippled through the terrain, followed by a transmutation that left Uther breathless. The massive, majestic dragons shifted and contorted, morphing into humanoid forms—humans and elves. Uther squinted, absorbing the revelation that dragons possessed the ability to change their appearance. The realization unsettled him slightly, casting a new layer of intrigue upon the creatures.

Surveying the unfamiliar faces surrounding him, Uther couldn't place a single individual. However, he understood the futility of recognition, realizing that their forms were as malleable as the dragons'—any prior acquaintance could be cunningly disguised.

"An intriguing transformation," remarked Sylvanas, her curiosity piqued by the shape-shifting display. Meanwhile, one of the transformed dragons approached them—an entity known as Korialstrasz or Krasus, as introduced by the Light's Chosen.

"Uther, Sylvanas," the Light's Chosen began, his voice resonating with authority, "meet Korialstrasz, also known as Krasus. She of Life, Alexstrasza has pledged her support to our cause and entrusted him to gather those he deems essential for our mission."

Krasus, momentarily baffled by the Light's Chosen's unusual designation of Alexstrasza as "She of Life," opted to defer the inquiry for later. Instead, he redirected his attention toward Uther—a being whose aura felt oddly peculiar—and Sylvanas, another Light-infused undead, both standing before him.

From their poised demeanor and presence, Krasus deduced that these two figures held some measure of authority. He acknowledged them both with a respectful nod, carefully considering his words before speaking. "The Scourge is a blight on life, and while tentative plans were in motion regarding its eradication, assisting you in this task is imperative." Though not an outright fabrication, Krasus knew the urgency of this alliance superseded any previous considerations about battling the undead.

Uther reciprocated the gesture with equal respect, his expression softening as he addressed the dragons. "Well met. Any aid in combatting the blight that plagues our world is deeply appreciated." His relief was palpable; encountering dragons supportive of their cause provided a glimmer of hope amid the daunting challenges they faced.

Sylvanas, however, remained reserved, her shrewd gaze fixed on Krasus, a silent assessment unfolding as she attempted to glean as much as possible from the dragon's demeanor and words.

Light's Chosen, always commanding in tone, set the course forward. "Our next imperative is to secure a foothold in Dragonblight, a strategic position from which we can assail Naxxramas. The desecration of dragon remains by the Scourge must be halted immediately. They must not continue their abhorrent attempts at resurrecting Frost Wyrms from the bones of the deceased dragons."

The weight of Light's Chosen's words had a distinct impact on each of them. Krasus, learning of the Scourge's horrifying practices, felt a surge of visceral shock and anger that radiated through his being. The sheer audacity and sacrilege of such acts fueled a righteous fury within him.

Uther, with his profound connection to honor and reverence, empathized with Krasus's turmoil. The desecration of dragon remains struck a chord deep within him, igniting a sense of shared outrage and determination.

Sylvanas, unsurprised by the Scourge's vile tactics, was already contemplating the practicalities of constructing a new stronghold. Her mind swiftly shifted gears, considering the potential assistance the dragons could offer in this endeavor, calculating the best strategic approach.

Each individual's response was a nuanced reflection of their perspectives and experiences, united by a shared resolve to combat the nefarious deeds of the Scourge.​

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Let me know your thoughts below.

Cheers!

As always three more chapters are available on my Patreon​

 

[Kordelius]

As the mortals' new fort took shape, Krasus had to admit they were quite experienced in such things. After much discussion, it had been decided—with permission from Krasus—that the best location for the new stronghold in Dragonblight would be built in the mountains to the east of Wyrmrest Temple.

Not only was its proximity close enough to the floating necropolis of Naxxramas to serve as a good staging ground for attacking, but the close proximity to the Temple itself offered tangible benefits as well, such as employing additional forces to ensure that the Scourge's stronghold did not attempt to escape by having some of the elder and stronger dragons camp around it.

Then again, he was uncertain if it was truly necessary, for the moment they began the construction, Naxxramas had attempted to float away. Yet chains made of Light burst from the ground and impaled it, stopping it in its tracks.

From what he had heard, the last time they had seen it, Light's Chosen had allowed it to escape. Yet it seemed he had decreed that it would fall here and was not interested in allowing it to flee.

To Krasus, this simply proved what he believed previously—Light's Chosen had no need for help from anyone in dealing with this threat. His actions in gathering allies were borne of pragmatism, plain and simple.

"Mortals, they never cease to amaze." A soft and familiar voice spoke from beside him. Turning towards the speaker, he beheld Alexstrasza, who was looking at the mortals working in front of them with some fondness.

He furrowed his brows in some confusion. He did not think that she meant the simple fact of building. Did she perhaps mean the whole thing they were doing? Steadfastly working towards destroying this threat that threatened the world and that they have felt the effects of firsthand.

Some would think that they are singularly motivated by vengeance and while that may be true for some, it was much less than what he expected. Most simply strived to safeguard the world from this threat.

"Do you disagree with all this, Krasus?" Alexstrasza asked after a moment, still gazing ahead. There was some measure of vulnerability in her tone. Krasus did not even have to think for a moment. "No, I don't disagree with any of this. Quite the opposite, it gladdens me to see this happen," he replied, not a shred of hesitancy in his voice.

"Long have I said that we should have a closer relationship with mortals. All this is just proof that we should have done so sooner, for while Light's Chosen had not arisen in a world where, with our assistance, none of this had come to pass. One must ask if the price paid by those who have died and suffered, as well as the man he once was, is too high." As he finished speaking, the sadness in his tone was unmistakable.

For a moment, Alexstrasza was silent before she began to speak haltingly. "Even before then, had we seen the threat that the orcish invasion presented, perhaps they would not have…" She trailed off, and Krasus understood and placed his hand on her back in support. She turned towards him and smiled at him in thanks.

So they stood there and observed as their beliefs were affirmed, and their new convictions were strengthening.

~~~~
​

Sally Whitemane gazed intensely at Light's Chosen, seated upon his steed once more. Silently and vigilantly, her eyes followed his gaze toward a floating, menacing sight—the necropolis of Naxxramas, their targeted destination and the primary reason for the stronghold's construction. A sneer tugged at her face as her hand tightened around Light's Wrath held in her grasp.

Oh, how she longed to charge into that accursed place and purge it with the power of Light. While it wouldn't happen immediately, she consoled herself with the knowledge that Light's Chosen had prevented any attempts at escape, ensuring its demise here.

A shadow overhead made her look up to see one of their new allies flying above—dragons. As a child, she had heard stories of these creatures but had never imagined she would meet one.

Like many others, she was quite distraught when Light's Chosen revealed that one had attempted to destroy what they had achieved, what he had done. She couldn't comprehend how anyone could consider his actions negative.

Returning to life the heroes of old, allowing them to stand against the darkness threatening to engulf their world. Amongst them Uther, the Lightbringer himself—a legendary figure who stood against darkness until the end, now granted the chance to finish what he had begun.

Cleansing Stratholme and putting the tortured souls to rest at last, not to mention utterly destroying Baron Rivendare, the power-hungry fool who betrayed his kingdom and its people for power, brought a sneer to her face. Once she learned of the treacherous baron's fate, she lamented only the fact that his end came too swiftly, unlike those of his victims.

However, that wasn't the only thing Light's Chosen did in Stratholme. The more critical part, at least to her, was the revelation of the corruption within the Scarlet Crusade. How they had been manipulated and twisted to serve the purposes of a dreadlord masquerading as their venerated leader, leading them away from their path, down a dark and twisted one.

Others might have simply killed them all for their crimes, and she wouldn't begrudge them. Light's Chosen had chosen differently, offering them a chance to redeem themselves in the Light, and so they became the Penitential Atoners, carrying the marks of their sins and the chains of their prison with them. While many believed that Sally was not one and did not carry such marks, she did, hers were simply of a different make, and she carried them without regret.

Hearing that someone had decided that all that he had done was a bad thing was something Sally could not accept. So, in her mind, dragons became enemies.

Seeing Light's Chosen return from his trip, having secured draconic allies that did not begrudge what they had done, instead congratulating them and offering assistance, made her confused and uncertain.

While some doubts lingered in her mind, she could not deny the valuable assistance they had provided.

As Sally considered all this, she noticed a group of soldiers staggering through the gate, injuries covering them. It seemed it was time for her to return to her own duties.
​

~~~~
​

Darion and the group of soldiers he was with engaged in a skirmish against the forces deployed by the Scourge, intent on hindering the construction of their new fort. He had no doubt that a larger force was en route to remove them and eliminate the threat they posed to Naxxramas.

His gaze involuntarily shot to the floating monstrosity, and his anger and sorrow grew. Trapped there and turned into a weapon of the Scourge was his own father – Alexandros Mograine, The Ashbringer.

When he learned that Naxxramas had been allowed to escape back in Lordaeron, he was furious! He had wanted to march up to Light's Chosen and demand why he allowed it.

Fortunately, those with clearer minds were able to calm him and explain the reasoning, even if he wished otherwise. As his anger cooled, he could not deny the truth. While the actions taken in Lordaeron had given them hope, there were many other things that had to be taken care of first.

Darion had attempted to sneak aboard one of the ships but was discovered by Light's Chosen himself. When Light's Chosen turned toward him, Darion felt as if his entire being was laid bare before his gaze. In the end, he had simply said one thing – "Let us see if you are worthy, Darion Mograine."

Even now, he could not understand what Light's Chosen had meant with those words. Worthy? Worthy of what? It was something that always nagged at the back of his mind, yet the answer remained elusive.

Ultimately, he chose to focus on his primary reason for coming here—to free his father. Not to say he did not agree with the overall cause that had brought them here. The Scourge was a literal plague threatening the world and must be destroyed.

Fortunately for Darion, both of these goals aligned. As he killed the last of the undead in this wave, he looked around. While many were injured, fortunately, there were no casualties. After setting fire to the corpses, they began the trek back to the fort to receive some healing.

As they grew closer, many of them looked toward Light's Chosen. Once more, he had planted himself in a single place and remained unmoving. The Scourge had launched attacks at him, yet none had even elicited the slightest movement. The dead sent at him perished long before reaching him, and magic launched at him simply failed to reach him.

His indomitable will and immense power stood as a stalwart bulwark behind which they all gathered and were able to push forward. While Darion and many others understood that he did not require their assistance, him providing his assistance to them so that they might right the wrongs committed and ensure a better tomorrow was appreciated by many.
​

~~~~
​

Bolvar cursed the unyielding cold and dreary weather of the place; the incessant snowstorms were more than an inconvenience, slowing down every step to a crawl. The bitter irony was that while it bothered them, the undead adeptly used the cover of the weather to their advantage.

When the envoys from Lordaeron arrived in Stormwind, their tale left everyone stunned. A man wielded such profound power in the Light that undead couldn't endure his presence—a man who arrived at the shattered kingdom, performing miracles at the Light's Hope Chapel. He breathed life back into those long deceased and led them to cleanse Stratholme of the Undead.

His actions against the Scarlet Crusade were severe, conscripting them to seek redemption through combat to atone for their crimes. There was also the startling transformation of the Forsaken, becoming Light-infused undead and unquestioningly following this chosen one of the Light.

Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen, led the way as the first, marching on Undercity and purging those undead who had crossed a line, while offering Light's salvation to those who remained redeemable.

Tirion Fordring, having returned, directed the remaining forces in Lordaeron to purge the land and begin its reconstruction. It all sounded fantastical and utterly unbelievable, leaving many hesitant to accept it as truth.

Instead, they chose to mock and ridicule the envoys, accusing them of spinning fantastical yarns. Chief among the skeptics was Katarina Prestor, at whom the envoys laughed heartily, until their laughter abruptly ceased. With a sudden coldness, Katarina's true identity was unveiled, her disguise burned away to reveal the stark truth before the city's eyes.

Her departure was as dramatic as her reveal, causing an explosion that claimed many lives and inflicted heavy collateral damage. However, despite the chaos, none could deny the undeniable truth in the envoys' words, forcing the populace to reconsider their initial disbelief.

A snort escaped Bolvar as another revelation came to light in Vereesa's presence—Quel'Thalas had been rebuilding under the leadership of Prince Kael'Thas Sunstrider.

There were evidently numerous other developments in Quel'Thalas, yet the envoys lacked concrete information on these matters.

Ultimately, King Varian had no qualms committing to aid in dealing with the Scourge threat. It was not only the morally right choice but also a repayment for their revelation of a plot within the city.

Consequently, it was decided that Bolvar would lead the vanguard to showcase their commitment. Additional forces would follow once more information was gathered about the deeds of Katarina, or rather Onyxia.

Upon reaching the Northrend port, Bolvar discovered that the main force had penetrated deeper into enemy territory and was currently establishing a new fort to launch an assault on a Scourge stronghold.

He left a portion of his men to fortify the port's defenses and led the rest, guided by one of Sylvanas's rangers, towards the newly emerging fort.

While their wariness towards her persisted, even after her revelation of allegiance to the Light, Bolvar found himself deeply grateful for her guidance amidst the relentless snowstorm and the unfamiliar terrain. Her vigilance had repeatedly spared them from ambushes and kept them on course.

As the fort loomed closer, Bolvar couldn't help but anticipate a well-deserved warm meal and respite. Yet, upon sighting Uther and, unless he was mistaken, Sylvanas Windrunner at the gates of the fort, he knew his much-needed rest would have to wait even longer.​

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As always three more chapters are available on my Patreon​

 

[Kordelius]

The completion of the fort marked a significant milestone, with additional reinforcements arriving to bolster their forces in readiness for the impending assault on Naxxramas. This development brought Sylvanas, Uther, Krasus, and Bolvar together in the command center, diligently working to devise the most effective plan for the upcoming attack. However, despite their collective efforts, a conspicuous obstacle hindered their planning process.

"…all this is mere conjecture; we're lacking vital information about Naxxramas itself. We must determine how we're going to acquire it," Uther vocalized, echoing the thoughts shared by everyone in the room.

Afterward, a brief silence enveloped the room as everyone contemplated their next steps. Their attention was abruptly diverted by the opening of the doors. In the doorway stood Light's Chosen, stepping inside with an unwavering and composed demeanor, undeterred by the gravity of the situation.

"It is time for our assault on Naxxramas to commence; a significant wave of undead is approaching our location," he announced before directing his attention to Krasus. "You'll need to lead a counterattack against them, as a substantial snowstorm is also incoming, which will hinder our ability to effectively respond."

Aware of the approaching undead and having drafted plans to confront them, the news of an impending snowstorm disrupted many of their strategies. Krasus, in particular, narrowed his eyes in concern. "This isn't a natural snowstorm, is it?" he questioned, suspecting something more ominous behind the sudden weather change.

Light's Chosen fixed his gaze on Krasus for a brief moment. "You are correct; it's being conjured by the Frost Wyrms, which are also being deployed for a simultaneous attack. At present, they are concealed high in the skies," he explained, confirming Krasus's suspicions about the unnatural storm and its origin.

"What?!" Uther exclaimed, mirroring the shock that resonated through their collective thoughts. "You should've alerted us earlier, lad!" Uther was poised to summon someone when Light's Chosen interjected, seemingly about to offer an explanation.

"Remain calm, Uther. I've been monitoring their movements," Light's Chosen reassured in a composed tone. "Initially, I perceived them as mere scouts. However, with the incoming undead, their true intent became evident," he calmly explained.

Krasus fell silent upon learning about the dragons now under the influence of undeath. A storm of anger and sorrow surged within him, yet he quelled those emotions, allowing determination to fill the void instead.

"Very well, we will make sure to take care of them and the other undead. Besides, we are a bit too large to assist inside Naxxramas itself, as our power is somewhat limited in our Visages."

Light's Chosen tilted his head while still looking at Krasus, prompting a raised eyebrow in question. "Is something the matter?" Krasus asked, feeling as if Light's Chosen desired to say something in response to his statement.

"While your point is generally valid, I would prefer your presence within Naxxramas. There's a particular matter that requires your personal attention before we conclude our mission in there," Light's Chosen asserted. As Krasus leaned forward to seek more information, Light's Chosen raised his hand, forestalling further inquiry. "Later. For now, let us concentrate on the task at hand within Naxxramas," he suggested, redirecting their focus to the immediate mission.

At that, a collective glance passed among everyone in the room, and a sense of disappointment settled in. "While we would certainly wish to strategize, our lack of knowledge regarding what lies inside is a significant obstacle," Bolvar finally articulated. This encounter marked Bolvar's first interaction with Light's Chosen, and he remained uncertain about his impressions of this enigmatic figure. Light's Chosen exuded undeniable power and a commanding presence, even during their initial meeting, leaving Bolvar with a mix of admiration and wariness.

Bolvar found himself taken aback by the unapproachable aura surrounding Light's Chosen. Although nothing physically obstructed anyone from approaching him, an inexplicable unease settled within Bolvar whenever he contemplated doing so. Moreover, the vigilant stance of the Lightforged Rangers, who closely monitored and swiftly reacted to any lingering gaze cast upon the Chosen, heightened Bolvar's discomfort. Their unwavering focus made him feel distinctly uneasy and self-conscious, reluctant to draw their unwarranted attention by getting too close to the enigmatic figure.

Furthermore, the concept of Lightforged Undead perplexed Bolvar beyond measure. It appeared not just unnatural but fundamentally contradictory—Undead beings infused with the Light. This paradoxical fusion, while accepted by the Light itself, stirred an uncomfortable disquiet within him. The very idea challenged his understanding of the natural order, leaving him deeply unsettled.

"Which is precisely why I am here," Light's Chosen announced before conjuring a radiant Light construct that took the form of Naxxramas, hovering above the table where they were assembled. "The primary detail you need to grasp is the extensive utilization of spatial manipulation magic within Naxxramas," he explained as the projection transformed, revealing the intricate layout of the Scourge stronghold.

Surprise flickered across their faces as they observed the colossal size of the structure, swiftly realizing it was divided into four distinct sections.

"As you've undoubtedly observed, there are four primary sectors within." Words materialized above each section: Construct Quarter, Arachnid Quarter, Plague Quarter, Military Quarter—clearly delineating the different segments of Naxxramas.

"As you can see, each of these quarters serves a specific purpose. Let's commence with the Construct Quarter. This area predominantly focuses on fleshcrafting, where Abominations and Flesh Giants are created. There are four main threats within this quarter," Light's Chosen elucidated. An image of Patchwerk emerged above the Construct Quarter, representing the most formidable abomination crafted by the Scourge.

"Patchwerk is the most potent among abominations, boasting remarkable physical strength and an astonishingly swift attack speed," he explained, the image shrinking to remain visible on the map. Another image surfaced, this time of Grobbulus, a towering flesh giant filled with toxic substances ready to expel upon his adversaries.

"Grobbulus is a formidable presence, unleashing poisonous assaults on its foes," he continued before revealing an image of Gluth, a plague-infested canine-like creature.

"While not particularly threatening beyond its obvious nature, Gluth can enrage itself to bolster its own strength," Light's Chosen remarked as Gluth's image reduced in size. Following this, a colossal giant appeared on the map.

"Arguably the most perilous foe in this quarter is Thaddius. A composite creation of human flesh and machinery, Thaddius wields lightning and manipulates positive and negative polarities to attract and repulse metal, such as armor and weaponry," he concluded the comprehensive explanation, allowing the gathered individuals to absorb the crucial information.

"Uther, I suggest you lead the strongest force to address this quarter, as it is the second most perilous area following the Military Quarter," Light's Chosen advised, breaking the brief silence that had settled among them and drawing their attention back to him.

Uther furrowed his brows thoughtfully. "If the Military Quarter is the most perilous, wouldn't it be prudent to deploy our strongest force there?"

"I will handle the Military Quarter," Light's Chosen declared firmly, catching Uther off guard momentarily before he nodded in comprehension and agreement.

Bolvar's uncertainty persisted. "Are you entirely certain that's the best course? Dividing our attack forces with the strongest individuals split between the two quarters might heighten the risk of failure," he remarked, considering it a fairly evident notion. "Wouldn't it be wiser to concentrate our efforts on either the Military or the Construct Quarters with the full strength of our attack group?" Bolvar believed his rationale was logical, although the expressions on the faces of the others left him feeling uncertain.

Krasus couldn't help but appear mildly amused by Bolvar's words, his expression carrying a sense of understanding rather than condescension, akin to a parent observing their child's curious musings. Meanwhile, Sylvanas raised an eyebrow in response to Bolvar's statement, displaying little emotion beyond that. Uther, on the other hand, maintained his focus on studying the map spread before him, seemingly lost in contemplation.

"You've misunderstood, Bolvar Fordragon. Only one individual will accompany me; the remainder will be divided among the other quadrants," Light's Chosen clarified in a straightforward manner. As this information was disclosed, the others exhibited a noticeable intrigue, curious about the identity of the person chosen to accompany Light's Chosen and the reasons behind it.

Bolvar was taken aback by this response, feeling a surge of anger within him. "Now hold on, this is no moment for reckless heroics. We can't afford to jeopardize our plan due to misplaced arrogance," he exclaimed, slamming his hand onto the table before him. Observing Bolvar's growing agitation, Uther let out a sigh and then reached out, placing a comforting hand on the man's shoulder to divert his attention.

"Bolvar, there's no trace of misplaced arrogance in his decision. He doesn't need our assistance; in fact, he could launch an assault on Naxxramas alone and emerge victorious. He doesn't rely on our aid; rather, we depend on his," Uther affirmed resolutely, his tone carrying a weighty seriousness that left no room for doubt.

Bolvar regarded Uther with surprise. Although he had heard such sentiments before, he hadn't placed much credence in them. To hear Uther himself express it so gravely, driving the point home, stirred a profound realization within him. However, another question lingered in his mind.

"Then… why are we even here? Why not simply obliterate the Scourge?" Bolvar directed the question to Light's Chosen, seeking clarification.

A heavy silence descended upon the command room. Krasus cast a disappointed glance at Bolvar, while Sylvanas briefly displayed a sneer. Uther shook his head with a sense of regret. Light's Chosen directed his gaze towards Bolvar, maintaining a silent and penetrating stare. After a brief pause, he spoke slowly, his voice tinged with a hint of condescension.

"Would you like me to wipe your ass for you as well?" he remarked dryly, his tone carrying an air of disdain.

Bolvar flushed with embarrassment and was poised to respond when Uther abruptly intervened.

"ENOUGH!" Uther's voice boomed as he slammed his fist on the table. "This is neither the time nor the place for such arguments. We have plenty to contend with without engaging in petty disputes like children," Uther asserted firmly. "Bolvar, this world belongs to us too, and we must exert every effort to safeguard it instead of depending solely on others to rescue us."

Bolvar suppressed his anger, displaying a demeanor of genuine contrition. As Uther redirected his attention to Light's Chosen, he let out a weary sigh, rubbing his forehead in exasperation.

"Could you not be so obstinate, lad?" Uther uttered wearily, expressing his fatigue with the situation.

"Very well, let us proceed. The Arachnid Quarter follows, primarily inhabited by Nerubians and Cultists," Light's Chosen pressed on, indicating the next quadrant on the map. Three distinct figures materialized atop the section.

"For the most part, confronting these three should not pose substantial difficulty. Nevertheless, prudent caution is advised. Anub'Rekhan, Grand Widow Faerlina, and Maexxna remain formidable members of the Scourge and warrant due regard," he emphasized regarding the powerful entities within this section.

Light's Chosen fixed his gaze on the composed Bolvar with an inscrutable expression. "You ought to handle this quarter," he declared in a resolute tone.

Bolvar narrowed his eyes slightly, repressing the words poised to be spoken. Instead, he chose to offer a curt nod in acknowledgment, refraining from any additional reply.

Light's Chosen redirected his attention to the map, emphasizing the Plague Quarter. "Following is the Plague Quarter, where the bulk of the efforts on enhancing the Plague of Undeath are underway. They are refining it, intensifying its potency. This area is saturated with the plague and poses one of the greatest hazards to any living beings who enter," he elucidated, turning towards Sylvanas, who acknowledged his explanation with a nod of comprehension.

Above the Plague Quarter, three distinct figures materialized. "Noth the Plaguebringer, Heigan the Unclean, and Loatheb. Of the trio, Loatheb presents the greatest danger, originally a Fungal creature prior to the Scourge's transformation. It has been saturated with the Plague of Undeath and can disperse spores containing the plague. Though it should not be effective against you, it is advisable to evade infection, likewise for any other forms of plague present in the quarter. Undoubtedly, they have enhanced it, so exercise caution," Light's Chosen cautioned about the potential threats within this section.

As Light's Chosen fell silent, affording the others a moment to mull over their designated tasks, Krasus opted to interject. "So, that leaves us with the Military Quarter and the presence of Kel'thuzad himself," he remarked, acknowledging the remaining objectives yet to be addressed.

Light's Chosen shifted his attention to Krasus, conveying a sense of exasperation through his demeanor. "Very well," he accentuated, highlighting the Military Quarter on the map. "This quadrant serves as the training ground for new Death Knights."

Seven distinct figures emerged on the display, startling everyone with the magnitude of threats concentrated in this single area. "Instructor Razuvious and Gothink the Harvester are insignificant pests and do not pose a significant threat," he remarked dismissively about two of the figures as they were minimized on the map.

Light's Chosen then drew attention to a cluster of four figures. "Lady Blaumeux," he announced, prompting Uther to widen his eyes in recognition of the name. However, further surprises awaited him. "Thane Korth'azz, Sir Zeliek," Light's Chosen continued, causing Uther to look down at the table in sorrow upon hearing the names of his old comrades who had been turned into instruments of the Scourge.

Light's Chosen remained silent, refraining from mentioning the name of the final individual, prompting the others to look at him with puzzled expressions. Even Uther lifted his head after a deep breath, preparing himself before inquiring, "Who is the last individual?" His tone carried a tinge of sadness.

"Alexandros Mograine, the Ashbringer," Light's Chosen uttered with a devoid of emotion in his voice, causing everyone, except Krasus, who lacked familiarity with Alexandros, to recoil in sheer horror at the revelation.

Uther bellowed in fury and delivered a forceful blow to the table, shattering it into pieces. He then turned his gaze downward, his fists tightly clenched in evident frustration. While Krasus felt a surge of curiosity about the identity of Alexandros and what could provoke such a visceral reaction from Uther, the situation hardly seemed appropriate for inquiry.

Light's Chosen shifted his attention towards Krasus. "Regarding the Lich Kel'thuzad, his sanctum can only be accessed once all the quarters have been cleared," he explained with a decisive tone.

---

The time for Naxxramas to fall has come. next few chapters will be about the assault on Naxxramas.

Let me know your thoughts below.

Cheers!

As always three more chapters are available on my Patreon​

 

[Kordelius]

The eagerly anticipated day had finally arrived – the day they would launch their assault on Naxxramas. Krasus and the other dragons had already departed, heading to confront the Frost Wyrms and the advancing Undead forces.

At present, their primary objective was to advance toward Naxxramas by dismantling the amassed undead forces gathered for its defense by Kel'Thuzad. Fortunately, most adversaries posed a challenge in quantity rather than quality. Hence, the selected group assigned to assault Naxxramas didn't have to exert their strength contending with formidable foes merely to breach its defenses.

Some might ponder the absence of adversaries outside, but the rationale behind it was rather apparent. Even Kel'Thuzad comprehended the futility of stalling their entry into Naxxramas. Hence, it was a strategic choice to retain their most formidable combatants inside, granting them the most advantageous position within the stronghold.

As they positioned themselves beneath Naxxramas, another obstacle surfaced: the fortress hovered above them. Complicating matters further, their dragon allies were engaged in other areas, and the available number of gryphons was insufficient to transport everyone.

Just as Uther was preparing to speak, Light's Chosen started ascending, a staircase forming beneath his feet. A small chuckle escaped him. "Well, that resolves that," he remarked before briskly following after Light's Chosen.

Upon reaching the summit and standing before the portals that served as entry points into the fortress, Light's Chosen directed his attention toward Uther. "Follow me after the count of ten," he instructed. With that, he stepped into the portal, leaving the rest waiting for Uther's signal to proceed and enter.

As Light's Chosen stepped into Naxxramas, a brilliant pulse of light surged from him, annihilating the horde of undead creatures crowding the portal. Swiftly, he sealed off access to the four quarters. When the ten seconds elapsed, Uther and the others moved to enter and were greeted by a scene of destruction - the undead that would have ambushed them lay decimated. Shields placed over the other entrances prevented the remaining undead from launching an attack.

Uther turned towards Light's Chosen, who nodded in response. "Separate into your groups and commence the assault," Light's Chosen commanded. He gestured towards each quadrant as Uther, Sylvanas, and Bolvar moved towards their respective targets. Then, Light's Chosen addressed someone, saying, "Come, Darion. Let us see if you are worthy."

A nondescript soldier started to approach Light's Chosen. Uther narrowed his eyes, feeling a sense of familiarity with the name, and suddenly realized that this was Darion, the son of Alexandros—a man turned into a weapon of the Scourge. Before Uther could say anything, both Darion and Light's Chosen walked past the shield that had sealed off the military quadrant.

As Darion followed behind Light's Chosen, he couldn't help but wonder what awaited him. As they approached, the death knights within the military quarter noticed them and charged. Light's Chosen turned to Darion, speaking with a commanding tone, "Prove yourself, Mograine." Darion had only a split moment to widen his eyes before the first death knight attacked him.

He swiftly raised his sword to parry a strike that would have cleaved him in half. As he pushed away from the death knight, another strike was aimed at him. He hastily jumped back to create distance between him and his adversaries. Unfortunately, his foes possessed magic abilities; shadow bolts struck him.

As he fell to the ground, he noticed that Light's Chosen was simply standing there, not taking any action nor being attacked. Light's Chosen turned towards Darion and uttered, "Disappointing."

Darion, feeling bewildered and not comprehending what was expected of him, realized there was no time for contemplation. The death knights were closing in on him, forcing him to scramble to his feet to defend against their assault.

In the fierce battle that followed, Darion had to employ every ounce of martial knowledge he possessed to ensure his survival. Fortunately, his enemies had grown overconfident, giving him openings to mount counterattacks.

As he deflected another strike aimed at taking off his head, an opportunity presented itself to do the same to his enemy. As the now headless Death Knight fell to the ground, the others resumed their attack.

As the battle dragged on, Darion learned more about his enemies' fighting styles. While he used this knowledge to take down more of them, another issue emerged: his enemies showed no signs of fatigue while he was growing tired. So, despite managing to stay one step ahead of his enemies and avoid any severe injuries, the longer the battle raged on, the higher the risk became of Darion sustaining an injury.

The battle proved unsustainable for Darion. Faced with an overwhelming number of enemies, he couldn't hold out alone. At a critical moment, he failed to parry an attack that grievously wounded him, slicing from shoulder to hip.

The pain was unbearable as Darion lay on the ground, witnessing the looming threat of the death knight's blade aimed at him. Regret flooded his senses, overwhelmed by the failure to achieve his ultimate goal in this desolate place – to rescue his father.

It was a moment of acceptance, Darion Mograine bracing for the inevitable. However, instead of the anticipated demise, light enveloped him, mending his injuries and eradicating his foes. Opening his eyes, he found Light's Chosen standing nearby, emanating an unmistakable sense of disappointment, the unspoken disapproval palpable in the air, leaving Darion with an acute sense of failure.

As the silence stretched between them, Light's Chosen exhaled before speaking. "Why do you hesitate, Darion Mograine? Do you truly fear these cursed wreches? Is this truly the extent of your resolve?" In the ensuing silence, Darion rose from the ground, his gaze falling disappointedly upon the floor.

"Lift your head, young Mograine. Disappointment will aid you naught in this cursed place; it will only drag you down and lead to your demise. Only resolve and belief in yourself can offer salvation." Light's Chosen stepped closer to Darion and rested his hand on Darion's shoulder, prompting him to raise his gaze.

"Your fear and hesitation are dulling your blade, Darion. A wise man once said, 'Abandon your fear. Look forward. Move forward and never stop. You'll age if you pull back. You'll die if you hesitate.'" Light's Chosen placed his hand on Darion's back and urged him forward to face the new enemies approaching them.

~~~~​

Uther gazed ahead, watching as young Darion and Light's Chosen ventured forward without acknowledging his call. His furrowed brow revealed a momentary pause, pondering the significance of their actions.

Turning swiftly, he faced his waiting group. Sylvanas and Bolvar had already ventured past, their determined figures fading into the grim landscape. Uther took in the scene, noting the anticipation and determination etched on his companions' faces.

With a reassuring smile, he rallied their spirits. "It seems we've lagged behind a tad. But we cannot afford to stay back, can we?!" His words carried a hint of jest, drawing a ripple of laughter that lightened the grim mood.

Grasping his mighty mace, Uther let the radiant energies of the Light surge within him. He charged forth, parting the veil of shadows to smash through the waiting undead, creating a path for his allies to follow.

Thrusting his weapon skyward, he bellowed, "FOR THE LIGHT!"

In response, his comrades echoed a resounding battle cry, their determination matching Uther's as they surged ahead. Undead adversaries fell before them, their combined strength a relentless force against the horde's defenses. Each strike was met with fervor, an unstoppable tide of courage and righteousness driving them forward.
Uther, revered paladin and beacon of the Light, was not prepared for the extent of horror he encountered within Naxxramas. The sight that unfolded before him surpassed the darkest reaches of his imagination. Bodies, mutilated and twisted in grotesque manners, adorned the eerie halls. Men, women, and even innocent children lay or hung in agonizing displays, their tortured forms serving as a grim testament to the cruelty of the Scourge.

Disgust and sorrow flooded Uther's heart, nearly choking him with their intensity. Yet, these emotions paled in comparison to the inferno of righteous anger that blazed within him. The injustice, the desecration of innocent lives, fueled an unquenchable fury that threatened to consume him.

Uther unleashed his power without restraint, his strikes swift and resolute, each blow a merciful end to another tormented soul. The aura of his righteous anger emanated from him, bolstering the resolve of his companions, empowering them with the strength to face the abominable terrors surrounding them. The Light, sensing Uther's anguish and his unwavering determination to end this nightmare, granted him a divine strength beyond anything he had ever known.

Amidst the chilling echoes that reverberated through the halls, a deep and disturbingly childlike voice disrupted the grim silence. "Patchwerk want to play." The ominous proclamation announced the arrival of an abomination, monstrous and towering, dwarfing any they had previously encountered. Uther's grip tightened on his mace, his jaw clenched with resolve. Their first formidable obstacle had emerged from the shadows.

As the colossal figure loomed closer, Uther's eyes fell upon the macabre composition of Patchwerk's form — an amalgamation of innocent parts, children's limbs, sewn together in a grotesque mockery of life. The paladin's righteous fury surged to a crescendo, an uncontrollable blend of rage and sorrow consuming him.

With an anguished roar that reverberated through the dreadful halls, Uther charged toward the abomination. Every fiber of his being was driven by a determination to end the madness, to deliver justice to those whose lives had been desecrated in the vilest of ways.
​

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Sylvanas, resolute and focused, wasted no time on unnecessary distractions as the Light's Chosen assigned them their respective quarters. Her thoughts were singularly fixed on the task at hand, a relentless determination guiding her every step. Another strike against the Scourge, another step closer to confronting Arthas.

Passing through the protective shield, Sylvanas faced the ominous sight of cauldrons brimming with the vile Plague of Undeath, oozelings, and an array of corrupted creatures that lurched toward her. A contemptuous sneer twisted her features as she assessed the oncoming threat.

With a swift, practiced motion, she gathered the radiant energies of the Light within her palm, compressing it into a concentrated sphere. Just before losing control, she unleashed the searing ball of Light upon her adversaries. Its impact was cataclysmic - a blinding explosion of radiant energy that engulfed the surrounding area.

In the wake of the blast, corrupted creatures and cauldrons alike disintegrated into nothingness, the plague reduced to naught but vapor. The wave of Light surged forward, the Lightforged undead following suit in their relentless charge.

Amidst the dissipating aftermath, Sylvanas remained composed, a sense of unwavering resolve infusing her every step. Here, in this stronghold of darkness, she vowed to strike a decisive blow. Just as she had in Azjol-Nerub, she was determined not to falter. With each stride forward, she reaffirmed her dedication to proving that the trust placed in her was not misplaced.

Sylvanas observed her forces with a stoic demeanor as they pressed forward unrelentingly. Every impediment in their path was swiftly dispatched, their movements seamless and efficient. Her rangers, adept in their craft, skillfully divided their focus between eliminating foes and obliterating any containers holding the Plague of Undeath they encountered.

There were no thunderous war cries or rallying shouts among her troops. Instead, the only audible sounds were the echoes of weapon clashes and the eerie symphony of death emanating from their enemies.

They were the embodiment of silent, deadly retribution. Each member of her force had resigned themselves to a grim destiny, accepting the fate that awaited them after their mission was completed. Yet, amidst their pursuit of vengeance, the prevention of another's fall into their harrowing existence remained a crucial secondary objective. Only they truly comprehended the depths of horror born from their own experiences.

Upon entering the expansive chamber, they beheld a scene unlike the previous quarters. Positioned on a lofty balcony stood a necromancer — Noth the Plaguebringer, if the Light's Chosen's words held true. Sylvanas narrowed her gaze at the figure, disdain etched into her features. Noth was a fool who had chosen the treacherous path for the lure of power. She disregarded his futile attempts at speech and reached for her bow, relishing the opportunity to demonstrate the grave folly of his choices.
​

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​

As Bolvar led his selected men through the protective shield enveloping the Arachnid Quarter, he instinctively tightened his grip on his weapon. Despite the absence of immediate adversaries, they remained on high alert, their collective focus honed to the environment around them. Each step forward was cautious, anticipating a potential ambush lurking in the shadows.

Scanning the vicinity with a vigilant gaze, Bolvar pondered whether their assigned quarter was due to doubts about their prowess or simply because of a lack of detailed knowledge regarding their strengths and capabilities. Such thoughts, however, were swiftly cast aside when enormous spiders abruptly burst from the ground, flinging several of his comrades through the air. Reacting swiftly, Bolvar rushed to confront the closest arachnid, interposing himself between the recovering soldiers and the looming threat.

With a forceful swing, he severed one of the spider's legs and thrust his weapon, finding purchase in its abdomen as it faltered. Yet, distractions were a luxury they couldn't afford. Peripheral movement caught his attention as he spotted more of the creatures descending from the ceiling.

"Above us!" Bolvar's voice resounded, commanding attention as he raised his shield defensively, signaling his men to follow suit. The group braced themselves, preparing for the impending aerial assault as they formed a protective barrier beneath the descending threats.

As Bolvar raised his shield defensively, his men quickly formed a protective circle, their weapons poised to strike at any descending threat. The air crackled with tension as the monstrous spiders swooped down with alarming speed, their hissing mandibles bared for a vicious assault.

With a swift and coordinated maneuver, Bolvar and his soldiers maneuvered to intercept the arachnids, their movements a symphony of defensive tactics. Swords clashed against chitin, axes swung to deter the spiders, and shields were used as barriers against venomous fangs.

The skirmish was a chaos of flying limbs and spitting venom, each soldier fighting ferociously to fend off the monstrous creatures. Bolvar himself stood resolute, deflecting the strikes aimed at him while dealing precise blows to incapacitate the spiders.

The scent of acrid venom hung thick in the air as the clash intensified. The soldiers grunted and shouted, each strike and parry accompanied by desperate calls for support and curses aimed at their eight-legged adversaries.

Despite their efforts, the arachnids were relentless. More of the monstrous spiders descended from the shadowed heights above, testing the mettle of the defenders. Bolvar's heart pounded in his chest, his focus unwavering as he assessed the situation, directing his men with concise commands.

The fight raged on, neither side yielding ground easily. The soldiers maintained their resolve, their determination to push back the looming threat evident in their unwavering stance. Every swing of a weapon, every blocked attack, was a testament to their unity and resilience in the face of the eerie and lethal adversaries.

Despite the challenge posed by the unexpected ambush, Bolvar's band of warriors stood firm, undeterred in their resolve to overcome the danger within the Arachnid Quarter.​

---

The assault on Naxxramas has begun.

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As always three more chapters are available on my Patreon​

 

[Kordelius]

Darion fought with relentless determination against the ceaseless onslaught of Death Knights. Each foe he vanquished was swiftly replaced by another, creating an unending tide of adversaries. From towering, heavily armored warriors to agile and cunning combatants, they represented a spectrum of races, each bringing its own unique fighting style to the fray.

The massive Tauren wielded their weapons with brute strength, their strikes landing like thunderous blows. Darion had to maneuver with swift footwork, avoiding the powerful swings and retaliating with precise strikes to exploit their vulnerabilities. Conversely, the Gnomes darted around him, launching rapid, elusive attacks that tested his reflexes and agility. Their small stature belied their swiftness and cunning, making them tricky adversaries to counter. Amidst this chaotic battlefield, Darion faced a multitude of challenges, each demanding a different response.

Yet, despite his prowess and adaptability, the unrelenting onslaught began to wear him down. With each clash of weapons, every parry, dodge, and counterattack, his movements grew slower and more labored. Fatigue crept into his muscles, causing each swing of his blade to feel heavier than the last. His endurance, though formidable, was not infinite, and the unending tide of enemies began to take its toll.

As the battle dragged on, Darion's injuries accumulated, and the weariness of prolonged combat weighed heavily upon him. Each opponent he felled was swiftly replaced by another, and the strain of constant fighting began to chip away at his resolve. Despite his valiant efforts, the unyielding stream of adversaries proved to be an insurmountable challenge, slowly draining his strength and resolve.

As Darion struggled to his feet after the Light's Chosen had saved him from the brink of death, a chilling realization washed over him. The Light, an embodiment of hope and healing, had shown him mercy once, but its emissary had made it clear that there would be no second chance. He had been given a stark warning, explicit in its gravity and weight.

Those solemn words echoed through his mind like a chilling breeze on a desolate night. They weren't mere words of caution; they were a direct admonition. The Light's Chosen had offered a reprieve but also delivered an ultimatum. Darion understood with a shudder that failure wasn't an option. If he faltered again, he wouldn't be saved. He would face oblivion, forgotten in the depths of this desolate fortress.

This realization gripped him with a cold, bone-chilling fear. To hear such a definitive proclamation from a being of pure Light, an entity of hope and redemption, sent shivers down his spine. There was no room for error or hesitation. His fate hung in a precarious balance, and the weight of the consequences bore down on him like an unforgiving weight.

Amidst the relentless onslaught, Darion battled fiercely, his sword flashing in the dimly lit corridors of Naxxramas. His adversaries, relentless and unyielding, crowded around him, pressing in with a coordinated ferocity that threatened to overwhelm him.

His breaths came in ragged gasps, sweat-soaked and weary. The relentless assault had taken its toll, and for a fleeting moment, doubt clouded Darion's mind. His adversaries, heedless of his fatigue, closed in, their weapons poised for the final strike.

As the Death Knights piled onto him, their blades poised to deal the finishing blow, Darion gritted his teeth and gathered the last remnants of his strength. The pressure of their attack was relentless, but his resolve remained unbroken.

Meanwhile, the Light's Chosen remained eerily motionless, standing apart from the fray, a silent and imposing figure in the midst of the chaos. The Death Knights, knowing the power he possessed, dared not approach him, for to do so was a swift death sentence.

A particularly vicious blow from a larger Tauren death knight struck Darion with a force that sent him stumbling to his knees, his muscles burning with fatigue. The weight of his sword seemed to double as he struggled to regain his footing, the clang of metal against metal echoing in the chamber.

As he observed the Tauren raising its sword, poised to cleave him in twain, a surge of emotions flooded Darion: anger, helplessness, yet amidst it all, a fierce resolve to prevail, to survive, and to triumph. He cursed and prayed fervently, yearning for his weakened arm to rise against the impending blow.

Uncharacteristically, unlike any other time before, his prayers were answered. Strength surged through his body, knitting his wounds and infusing him with renewed vigor. With a swift and determined motion, he sprang to his feet, seizing the opportunity to strike back at the Tauren.

In an adrenaline-fueled rush, he swiftly incapacitated the Tauren assailant that had almost ended him. The victory, albeit hard-earned, bolstered his resolve further, filling him with the determination to press on against the unrelenting adversaries before him.

The silence that followed his display was broken by approaching footsteps. Darion turned to see Light's Chosen slowly making his way towards him until he stood beside him. Darion turned his head to gaze at him. "About time," Light's Chosen remarked, with a teasing tone

Darion's eyes widened at the words. Was this the purpose of the test? Why this unconventional approach? There had to be easier ways to guide someone toward embracing the Light! Doubt and confusion lingered in Darion's mind as he pondered the cryptic method of the Light's Chosen.

"Warriors are forged in battle, Darion Mograine," Light's Chosen spoke with a tinge of solemnity. "Merely wielding the Light does not inherently make one a champion of it. There are those who become powerful through its embrace, such as Sally Whitemane, but your path must diverge if you are to fulfill your destiny."

Darion's brow furrowed as he sought clarity. "And what, exactly, am I meant to become?" His voice carried a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

The focus of Light's Chosen shifted entirely toward Darion, his intense gaze pressing upon him, enveloping the space between them in a contemplative silence. "A champion of the Light," he pronounced with deliberate emphasis, the weight of those words hanging in the air.

Darion swallowed hard, the gravity of the statement hitting him with a profound impact. The weighty responsibility of becoming a champion of the Light stirred a mixture of emotions within him—doubt, uncertainty, but also a glimmer of hope and purpose that had been missing for far too long.

~~~~
​

As Uther gazed upon the defeated form of Patchwerk, a storm of sorrow and anger surged within him. Sorrow enveloped him for the innocent lives that had been sacrificed to create this grotesque monstrosity, while his anger flared intensely toward those who orchestrated such vile deeds.

His anger transformed into unyielding resolve, and Uther lifted his head defiantly. He vowed that nothing of this wretched place would remain standing after he had finished. Never again would he allow such atrocious acts to be committed unchecked.

His unwavering resolve resonated with the Light, granting him a surge of strength. Strength, which he used to give form to his anger and resolve, manifested in wings of radiant energy bursting forth from his back.

The wings radiated an ethereal brilliance, glowing with an otherworldly light that cascaded around Uther, imbuing him with an aura of divine protection and unshakable determination. They unfurled behind him, each feather a shimmering embodiment of celestial might.

With these radiant wings, Uther felt an immense sense of purpose and strength. He knew that he was no longer just a paladin; he was a force of divine justice, a beacon of hope, and a harbinger of righteous retribution against the darkness that had wrought such abominations.

The soldiers surrounding him were struck with awe at the sight of his ascension, their disbelief palpable as they beheld the extraordinary spectacle. Uther, too, took a brief moment to survey his newfound wings, testing their movement to comprehend their capabilities. But his focus swiftly returned to the nightmarish scene before him—a grotesque display of mutilated bodies suspended on hooks, ghastly tables adorned with body parts, and jars containing macabre substances.

His jaw clenched in a display of resolve, Uther spread his newly unfurled wings with a mighty flap, sending forth shards of piercing Light in every direction. The destructive brilliance eradicated the grim contents of the chamber, putting an end to the desecration that had plagued these souls for too long.

With wings of Light guiding his ascent, Uther soared into action. His determination was unwavering as he charged headlong into the approaching horde of undead constructs, his fury propelling him forward with unstoppable force. Each clash was met with resounding impact, his righteous wrath shattering the constructs to pieces. He moved with purpose, delivering retribution upon those who had inflicted such abominable suffering upon innocent lives.

The scene unfolded with a cinematic intensity, as Uther's powerful wings illuminated the darkness, casting a radiant brilliance amidst the grim surroundings. Each strike of his mighty blows reverberated through the chamber, the echoes resonating with the weight of his vengeance. His actions were not only a testament to his unyielding determination but also a pledge to lay the tormented souls to rest and bring justice to those responsible for their agony.
​

~~~~
​

As Noth the Plaguebringer lay sprawled on the floor, his feeble attempts to drag himself away futile against Sylvanas' approach. Her steps echoed ominously in the chilling silence that followed the swift annihilation of Noth's minions and his own downfall.

Sylvanas advanced towards him, her gait deliberate and menacing, each step resonating with a grim determination. Standing over the fallen necromancer, a sneer etched itself onto her countenance. With a swift and commanding gesture, she conjured a magnificent spear of radiant Light, piercing through Noth's body and impaling him into the cold stone floor.

As Noth emitted his final shuddering breath, Sylvanas had already moved away, leaving his vanishing form behind. To her, he was nothing but a pitiful wretch, ensnared by whispers of power and reaping the consequences of his own foolishness.

There may have been a time when Noth posed a genuine threat, a time when Sylvanas might have regarded him with caution. Yet, those days had long since passed. The Light's Chosen had bestowed upon her power that surpassed any the Scourge could hope to wield.

In the pursuit of her vengeance, Sylvanas would harness this newfound power to its fullest extent. And once her mission was fulfilled, she would pledge her loyalty to Light's Chosen, even if it meant following him into the realm of Death itself.
​

~~~~
​

Bolvar gasped for breath, his chest heaving heavily as he surveyed the aftermath of the brutal battle against the Nerubians. The fight had drained him, leaving him fatigued and shaken. It was a struggle even before the colossal crypt lord emerged from the shadows, its devastating strikes cutting through his men as if they were mere paper. Only the presence and power of Lady Sally Whitemane, a beacon of the Light, spared them from the clutches of death.

Witnessing the fallen rise again under the potent influence of Lady Whitemane's abilities rendered Bolvar speechless. Her command over the Light was awe-inspiring, yet the radiance of her power didn't match the grace of her words. Instead of offering encouragement or solace, her demeanor was one of contempt and scorn toward their perceived weakness. She sneered at their struggles, expressing open disdain for the perceived shortcomings of those she deemed as undeserving of the chance granted to them. Her threats of retribution hung in the air, promising death to anyone who failed to meet her expectations. All the while, she unleashed torrents of Holy Fire upon their enemies, incinerating the undead without a trace of mercy.

In truth, Bolvar found Lady Whitemane to be an enigma among wielders of the Light. Her disposition stood in stark contrast to the compassionate and guiding nature he associated with priests and paladins. Yet, in this cursed realm, he had witnessed countless anomalies—once-dead men and women resurrected, their spirits bound to the world again, and the undead themselves infused with the very essence of the Light. Despite her harsh demeanor, Bolvar couldn't deny the sheer power emanating from Lady Whitemane and her abilities.

Though he harbored a wish for her to possess a gentler temperament, he couldn't question her prowess. Her strength in the face of adversity was undeniable, and in this relentless battle against the forces of darkness, her power was a much-needed asset.​

---

And the battles continue, few more chapters and then this part of the story will be done.

Hope you enjoyed this.

As always a few more chapters on my Patreon If you wish to read ahead or wish to support me and what I do.

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​

 

[Kordelius]

As Darion walked alongside Light's Chosen, the tension in the air was palpable. His journey thus far had been a trial by fire, each step fraught with peril and challenges. While Darion grappled with the newfound connection to the Light, facing ever-stronger adversaries, Light's Chosen seemed to glide effortlessly, unperturbed by the dangers that surrounded them. It was a stark contrast that Darion couldn't ignore.

Approaching the place where the Four Horsemen awaited, a maelstrom of emotions churned within Darion. The long-awaited opportunity to liberate his father, Alexandros Mograine, from the clutches of the Scourge was now within his grasp. Yet, the anticipation, trepidation, and fear were almost suffocating as the massive door loomed closer.

Sweat trickled down Darion's face, a testament to the weight of this moment and the uncertainty that lay beyond the doors. Suddenly, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, jolting him out of his internal turmoil. It was Light's Chosen, his presence a grounding force in the midst of Darion's spiraling thoughts.

"Steady yourself, Darion. The moment is at hand. Your final trial," Light's Chosen intoned with a solemnity that resonated in the air.

Taking a deep breath, Darion consciously allowed the Light's energy and an unyielding resolve to surge within him. With a simple nod to Light's Chosen, who removed his hand from Darion's shoulder, the young warrior steeled himself for what lay ahead.

The weight of expectation and the gravity of the situation hung in the air as Light's Chosen strode forward, his presence invoking a powerful force that caused the colossal doors to yield inward at his approach, the sound echoing through the chamber like a declaration of imminent confrontation.

As Darion stood alongside Light's Chosen, he beheld the assembled adversaries – Lady Blaumeux, Thane Korth'azz, Sir Zeliek, and, to his astonishment, his father, Alexandros Mograine. Gripping his sword tighter, he took measured, heavy steps into the room, steeling himself for the confrontation.

"Fools! Flee while you still can!" Zeliek's voice trembled with genuine fear, a rare occurrence for their enemies. The sole female among them interrupted in a seductive tone, "Now, now, don't scare them away so quickly. Let us introduce ourselves."

"Enough of your babbling. Time to fight!" Korth'azz's roar filled the air, clearly eager for a confrontation. He began charging directly at Darion and Light's Chosen, flanked by Blaumeux and Zeliek, while Alexandros remained silent and unmoving.

However, Light's Chosen responded with a soft yet commanding, "Enough." A simple wave of his hand caused a ripple of energy that dismounted the charging trio, their forms ensnared in radiant chains of Light. Silenced by gags forming over their mouths, they were pulled inexorably towards Light's Chosen. Meanwhile, their mounts met a swift and fiery fate, burned to ash by the searing Light that struck them.

The room crackled with a tense energy, the adversaries bound and silenced, rendered powerless against the might of Light's Chosen. Darion stood in awe of the display, a mixture of disbelief and reverence washing over him as he witnessed the overwhelming power wielded by his companion.

Darion shifted his gaze toward his father, who remained impassive even after the defeat of his companions. Alexandros hadn't acknowledged the spectacle, instead silently observing Darion.

"Foolish boy, why have you come here? Only death and misery await you in this accursed place. There is no hope, no Light here," Alexandros rasped, slowly drawing the corrupted Ashbringer from his back. "Flee, my child, while you still can. There can be no saving me."

"You're wrong, father. The Scourge will fall, Light will triumph, and I will free you," Darion responded, determination ringing in his voice.

Their words hung in the air, charged with emotion and unspoken history, as Darion readied himself for what was to come.

Darion squared off against his father, his heart heavy with determination. The chamber crackled with tension as their blades clashed, the sound of steel on steel ringing through the air. The staccato rhythm of their combat echoed in the dimly lit hall, a symphony of clashing wills and opposing ideals.

The room felt charged with conflicting energies—the pulsating brilliance of the Light emanating from Darion's strikes countered by the ominous shadows that enveloped Alexandros's movements.

With each swing of his sword, Darion poured his resolve into the radiant energy of the Light. He moved with purpose and agility, his motions almost choreographed as he parried his father's strikes. His face was a mask of determination, illuminated by the glow of the holy power he wielded.

In stark contrast, Alexandros fought with a ferocity that betrayed the taint of the Scourge upon him. His attacks were forceful and calculated, each swing of the corrupted Ashbringer carrying an air of malevolence. Dark tendrils coiled around the blade, emanating an unsettling aura that clashed with the brilliance of Darion's Light.

Their battle seemed timeless, a clash not just of swords but of ideologies—Light against darkness, hope against despair. Each strike reverberated through the chamber, a testament to the intensity of their conflict.

As the fight continued, Darion's resolve grew stronger. He drew upon his determination to save his father, channeling the Light's power with newfound conviction. Each swing of his sword was a testament to his unwavering will, driving back the shadow that had enveloped Alexandros.

In a decisive moment, Darion gathered the Light's energy, a radiant surge building within him. With a resounding cry, he unleashed a blinding burst of holy energy that engulfed Alexandros and shattered the corrupted Ashbringer.

The darkness dissipated, and Alexandros fell to his knees, his body freed from the Scourge's grip. Darion, standing victorious, looked upon his father with a mix of sorrow and hope. He approached Alexandros, the weight of their history heavy upon them both.

Gently, Darion extended a hand, offering solace and comfort. "Rest now, father. You are free," he whispered, the words filled with a profound sense of closure and redemption. Alexandros, released from the corruption that had bound him, gazed at his son with gratitude before finding peace in the embrace of the Light.

As Darion knelt beside the remains of his father, Light's Chosen summoned the scattered shards of the Corrupted Ashbringer. He called upon the Light, enveloping the shards in its radiant energy. The corruptive taint was purged, and the legendary sword was reforged, now gleaming with a pristine brilliance.

Grasping his blade firmly, the Light's Chosen approached Darion, who stood solemnly where his father's form had become ash. "You have done well, Darion. He suffers no longer," the Light's Chosen praised, a measure of pride resonating in his voice.

Darion was taken aback by the sudden praise, his wide-eyed gaze reflecting his surprise. He watched with a mix of confusion and trepidation as the Light's Chosen's presence seemed to intensify.

Then, unexpectedly, a radiant aura surged from the Light's Chosen, enveloping Darion and causing him to startle. He instinctively turned toward the source, his expression betraying a sense of awe and uncertainty. The Light's Chosen's authoritative demeanor was overwhelming, and the next command that came was firm, though not shouted—it seemed to reverberate through Darion's very being.

"Kneel."

As if compelled by an unseen force, Darion dropped to one knee. He tried to maintain a composed countenance, though inwardly he was filled with uncertainty and anticipation. What would come next? What did this moment signify?

"Darion Mograine," the Light's Chosen's powerful voice resonated. "Are you ready to make your oath?"

The weight of the moment seemed to hang heavily in the air. The gravity of the question was palpable, as if the words carried the destiny of Darion's future. He took a deep breath, steeling himself to accept whatever was about to transpire. This was a turning point, a moment that could change the course of his life forever.

Collecting himself, Darion steadied his nerves and breathed deeply before speaking, each word infused with unwavering determination. "I, Darion Mograine, devout champion of the Light, do solemnly swear to embody its sacred principles. I vow to be a paragon of virtue, guided by compassion, courage, and unwavering faith. I shall stand as a shield against darkness, defending the innocent and upholding righteousness in all realms. I dedicate myself to healing the wounded, vanquishing evil, and spreading hope and illumination to all in need. I pledge my unwavering devotion and my very being to the service of the Light and its righteous cause. May its radiance empower my every action. Light, guide and strengthen me always."

As Darion concluded his oath, a radiant pillar of Light descended upon him, a tangible sign of the Light accepting his solemn vow. As he rose, Light's Chosen approached, offering the Ashbringer to Darion. "Use it well," he imparted, the weight of the legendary blade palpable in the air. Darion reached out and grasped the hilt, feeling a rush of emotions as he wielded the sword that once belonged to his father.

The tears that welled in his eyes and the lump in his throat were testament to the weight of this moment. Darion Mograine, now anointed by the Light, stood tall with the Ashbringer in hand, a solemn embodiment of his oath and a beacon of hope in the face of darkness.

Light's Chosen placed his hand upon Darion's shoulder in silent support, a gesture that conveyed more than words ever could. Turning away, he strode purposefully toward the captives who looked on, wide-eyed and incredulous, unable to comprehend the unfolding events.

Before the gathered undead, Light's Chosen stood tall, his gaze piercing through each of them until it settled upon Zeliek. Anger began to radiate from him, causing both Blaumeux and Korth'azz to instinctively distance themselves from Zeliek, sensing the rising fury. Light's Chosen's hand moved with purpose. With a swift and decisive motion, he clenched his fist, and in an instant, Blaumeux and Korth'azz were consumed by a blinding surge of Light, leaving only Zeliek, trembling and alone in the wake of their sudden demise.

Addressing Zeliek with a voice that carried both authority and a stern warning, Light's Chosen spoke in a tone that left no room for misunderstanding or defiance.

"I grant you a single opportunity to seek redemption for your grave transgressions. Break free from Kel'Thuzad's insidious control, and seek solace and absolution within the Light for the blasphemies you have committed. This is your only chance to find redemption, or face the full force of my wrath."

The weight of the words echoed through the air, carrying a sense of inevitability and impending judgment. The atmosphere crackled with tension as Zeliek gazed up, his fear and confusion palpable. It was a moment of reckoning, a chance at redemption offered amidst the turmoil and despair, and Zeliek was faced with a decision that would determine his fate.

~~~~
​

In the dimly lit chamber of Naxxramas, the clash of steel against steel reverberated, echoing off the cold walls. Uther, empowered by the Light, stood resolute at the forefront of his men, a halo of radiance enveloping him. The tendrils of Light extended from his back, coalescing into majestic, ethereal wings that shimmered with divine brilliance.

Opposite them stood Thaddius, a colossal figure towering over the battlefield. His hulking form crackled with surges of electrical energy, ominous and foreboding. The abomination was a twisted amalgamation of flesh and machinery, a grotesque symbol of the Scourge's perverse experimentation.

The air crackled with tension as the two forces stared each other down. Uther's determination was unwavering, a blazing fire fueled by righteousness and the fervent desire to vanquish this monstrosity.

"FOR THE LIGHT!" Uther's voice boomed with a thunderous command, the rallying cry echoing throughout the chamber. With an indomitable roar, his men surged forward, their weapons held high, guided by the unwavering resolve of their commander.

Thaddius bellowed, a guttural and inhuman sound that echoed through the chamber. His massive form lurched forward, crackling with arcane energy that danced between his grotesque appendages.

The clash was ferocious, a ballet of steel and lightning. Uther moved with grace and purpose, his wings casting shimmering beams of light across the battlefield. His mace struck true, each blow infused with the might of the Light, sending shockwaves of divine power through the air.

Thaddius retaliated with brute force, his thunderous strikes reverberating across the chamber. Arcs of electrical energy surged toward Uther's men, who valiantly held their ground, shielded by the radiance of the Light.

The battle raged on, the tension escalating with every swing of a weapon, every blast of arcane energy. Uther and his men fought with unyielding determination, pressing forward against the overwhelming might of Thaddius.

As the battle reached its apex, Uther's resolve burned brightly. His wings shimmered with an intense glow as he gathered the Light's energy within him. With a resounding cry, he unleashed a surge of divine power, channeling it into a devastating strike aimed at Thaddius.

The abomination let out an unearthly howl as the Light's energy engulfed him, searing through his twisted form. Arcs of lightning danced chaotically, but Uther stood firm, his eyes blazing with determination.

In a blinding flash of brilliance, Thaddius fell, defeated by the unyielding valor of Uther and his men. The chamber fell silent, save for the soft hum of the dissipating arcane energy.

Uther breathed heavily, his men gathered around him, victorious yet weary from the arduous battle. His wings dissipated into tendrils of Light that faded into the ether, leaving behind a sense of awe and reverence.

As the dust settled, Uther stood as a beacon of triumph, a testament to the unbreakable spirit of the Light. The victory was hard-won, but the resolve of the righteous had prevailed once more against the darkness that sought to consume them.

Uther's breaths came in heavy gasps as he knelt, his fingers clutched tightly around the handle of his mace. The confrontation with the abominations spawned within the Construct Quarter of Naxxramas had finally drawn to a brutal close.

The weight of the horrors they had witnessed bore down heavily upon him. Images of unspeakable atrocities, twisted and vile, flashed through his mind—their ghastly forms etching themselves deeply into his memory. Uther grimaced, recalling the grotesque sights that would churn the strongest of stomachs. He had watched as more than one of his men, overwhelmed by the revulsion, had emptied the contents of their stomachs onto the accursed ground. He held no judgment for their reaction; in fact, he empathized deeply with their visceral repulsion. There were moments when his own insides wrenched, the urge to expel the horror clawing at his throat. Yet, against that instinctual response stood his iron will, bolstered by a righteous anger that burned within him, anchoring him to this grim reality.

His gaze swept over the battered and bloodied forms of his comrades. Each of them had borne witness to the abominable creations that defied the Light itself. They were brave souls who had stood unwaveringly against the unspeakable terrors housed within these walls.

The air around them was thick with a haunting silence, broken only by the occasional groan of the wounded or the soft rustle of armor as someone shifted their weight. The aftermath of the battle lay before them—a grim testament to the struggle they had just endured. Strewn across the cold stone floors were the remnants of the grotesque experiments—the twisted remains of once-human forms that had been defiled and transformed into abominations. The scene was a tableau of horror that had no place in the realm of the living.

Uther felt a pang of sorrow and rage collide within him. Sorrow for the innocent lives mutilated and desecrated in the pursuit of unholy power, and rage for those responsible for these heinous acts. These emotions mingled within him, fueling the righteous resolve that coursed through his veins.

As he stood amidst the aftermath, his spirit remained unbroken. He was the beacon of unwavering determination, a testament to the resilience of the righteous against the darkness that sought to consume them.
​

~~~~
​

Sylvanas Windrunner stood amidst the eerie gloom, her presence commanding and resolute. Flanked by her Lightforged undead rangers and other undead forces, they faced the towering and grotesque form of Loatheb, a monstrous abomination infused with the deadly Plague of Undeath.

Loatheb's presence was an oppressive force, emanating a sickly aura that tainted the air around him. The vile spores released from his twisted form hung in the air, a haunting reminder of the dreadful power he possessed.

"With me!" Sylvanas commanded, her voice ringing clear amidst the tension that suffused the chamber. Her rangers, armed with bows of radiant Light and unwavering determination, formed a defensive formation around her, ready to unleash their deadly volleys upon the abomination.

Loatheb let out a guttural roar that echoed through the chamber, a chilling sound that sent shivers down the spines of even the most seasoned fighters. With lumbering steps, the monstrosity charged, toxic spores trailing in its wake.

Sylvanas drew her bow and released a volley of ethereal arrows infused with the Light. Her rangers followed suit, unleashing a barrage of radiant projectiles that streaked through the air, aimed at Loatheb's twisted form.

The Lightforged undead engaged with unyielding determination, their weapons shimmering with divine energy as they clashed against the abomination's hulking frame. The chamber erupted into chaos, the clash of weapons mingling with the roars of Loatheb and the battle cries of Sylvanas' forces.

Despite their valor, Loatheb's noxious presence began to take its toll. The spores unleashed by the abomination spread through the air, causing Sylvanas' troops to falter momentarily, their movements sluggish as the deadly plague threatened to consume them.

Sylvanas gritted her teeth, rallying her troops with unwavering resolve. "Push forward! Do not let the darkness claim you!" Her command cut through the fear, reigniting the fighting spirit within her forces.

With renewed determination, the Lightforged undead and rangers surged forward, their attacks becoming more coordinated and fierce. Arrows of Light found their mark, striking true against Loatheb's corrupted form, eliciting pained howls from the abomination.

The battle raged on, each strike and parry a testament to the unyielding will of Sylvanas' forces. As Loatheb faltered under the relentless assault, Sylvanas seized the opportunity. Drawing upon her own formidable skills, she unleashed a devastating flurry of arrows imbued with the Light's power, aimed at the abomination's weakened form.

With a deafening roar, Loatheb stumbled backward, succumbing to the onslaught. The chamber fell silent, save for the heavy breathing of Sylvanas and her victorious troops.

Sylvanas stood triumphant amidst the aftermath, a sneer on her lips as she surveyed the defeated abomination and the fallen Scourge forces. Her eyes gleamed with a mixture of satisfaction and disdain, relishing in the moment of victory over the pitiful creations of the Scourge.

As the chamber echoed with the weight of their triumph, Sylvanas turned to her assembled forces, her voice ringing out with a commanding presence. "The Scourge falters before us. Let their defeat be a testament to the might of the Light's Vengeance!"
​

~~~~
​

In the chilling halls of Naxxramas, Bolvar Fordragon's eyes blazed with a fiery fury that seemed to reflect the sheer injustice of their battle against the Grand Widow Faerlina. Each step he took resonated with power and determination, his mighty strikes and swift movements revealing the wrath coursing within him.

The very name of Grand Widow Faerlina grated on Bolvar's senses. How could one find glory in betrayal, choosing darkness over the sanctity of life? The cultists who blindly followed her, puppets in her dark game, were nothing more than hollow shells, corrupted and deceived by Faerlina's promises of power.

Bolvar's heart thundered within his chest as he cleaved through the cultists that stood between him and the treacherous widow. His blade moved with a fluidity born of battle-hardened experience, swiftly dispatching those who dared to challenge him.

The Stormwind soldiers, led by Bolvar, fought with an unrelenting fervor, bolstered by their commander's unwavering resolve. Sally Whitemane, a steadfast ally, held her ground beside Bolvar, channeling the Light to shield their forces and counter the darkness that emanated from Faerlina and her followers.

As the clash escalated, the battle against the Grand Widow Faerlina intensified. Her cultists swarmed around, a maelstrom of dark magic and deception. Bolvar's soldiers fought valiantly, their weapons cutting through the opposition despite the eerie and overwhelming presence of the Widow.

Amidst the chaotic fray, Bolvar's voice rose above the din, rallying his troops with words of courage and determination. "Stand strong! We fight for the Light and the honor of all those who have fallen! For Stormwind!"

Sally Whitemane's fervent prayers bolstered their ranks, the Light emanating from her hands dispelling the darkness that surrounded them. Bolvar pressed on, his strikes fueled by a righteous fury that sought justice for the fallen.

After a grueling and relentless battle, their unwavering resolve began to tip the scales. The combined might of Stormwind's soldiers and the unwavering determination of their leaders gradually overwhelmed Faerlina's forces.

In a final surge, Bolvar, with a resounding battle cry, unleashed a decisive strike against Faerlina, his blade fueled by the collective strength of his soldiers and the Light itself. With a shudder, Faerlina fell, her dark machinations crumbling beneath the relentless assault.

The chamber fell silent, save for the panting breaths of Bolvar's forces as they stood victorious amidst the aftermath of their hard-won battle. Bolvar, his chest heaving with exertion, surveyed the fallen and allowed himself a moment of grim satisfaction, knowing that justice had been served.​

---

We are drawing to the end of Naxxramas part. I think I've portrayed this quite well in my own opinion.

Cheers!

As always a few more chapters on my Patreon If you wish to read ahead or wish to support me and what I do.​

 

[Kordelius]

Krasus stood resolute at the entryway, observing the departure of those who had been chosen to assault Naxxramas. He knew his place was not among them, relegated instead to stand guard. Yet, he understood the subtle implications woven into this decision. It was not a test for him, an individual who had seen and endured much, but rather a challenge for those who had volunteered for this perilous endeavor.

As he watched them depart, a mixture of determination and trepidation reflected in their eyes. They were about to face the horrors within Naxxramas, a trial that would test their mettle, courage, and loyalty. Krasus understood this was more than just a mission against the Scourge; it was an assessment of character, of their ability to confront the darkest manifestations of evil without succumbing to fear or despair.

He couldn't help but feel a sense of responsibility, not for their actions but for their well-being. He wished them success, for they bore the weight of Azeroth's hope upon their shoulders. It was not his place to join them, for his role was to remain vigilant, ready to assist if dire circumstances arose.

As the echoes of determination resonated in their departure, Krasus remained steadfast at the entryway, a silent guardian, his mind attuned to any sign of distress or danger. He knew his part was equally crucial, even if it was beyond the reach of the immediate fray.

As he surveyed the formidable Scourge stronghold they had assaulted, Krasus recognized the significance of this pivotal moment. It was a considerable triumph, yet in the aftermath of such a successful attack, lessons could be gleaned and strategies refined. This was their largest offensive against the Scourge to date, and the opportunity to assess and understand areas for improvement was not one to be squandered.

The victory, though assured, did not overshadow the importance of learning from each encounter. Krasus gaze shifted toward the path where Light's Chosen and another individual had departed. He contemplated the tactics and decisions made, pondering how to fortify their strengths and rectify any vulnerabilities. This conquest, although victorious, would serve as a valuable learning experience to strengthen their resolve and combat prowess for future encounters against the Scourge.

His gaze lingered where Light's Chosen and another individual had departed. The mention of Darion's name had elicited a ripple of surprise among the group. If Krasus's deductions were accurate, Darion might be the son of Alexandros. Lost in thought, Krasus absentmindedly rubbed his chin, pondering the significance of Darion's involvement. Was Light's Chosen orchestrating a confrontation between father and son, seeking vengeance? Or was there a deeper motive concealed from view?

The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted his musings. A trio emerged into view, and to Krasus's intrigue, it was not just Light's Chosen and Darion. His perceptive eyes narrowed, registering the presence of a third figure. Could they have freed someone from the Scourge's clutches?

As the trio drew nearer, Krasus beheld Light's Chosen, seemingly unscathed as anticipated. His attention then shifted to Darion, and Krasus found himself impressed. There was a palpable growth in the man, not merely in the weapon he now wielded but also in the strength radiating from within him.

As they moved forward, Krasus noticed a third man trailing behind Darion and the Light's Chosen. A Lightforged undead; could this be Alexandros, he wondered silently.

Krasus interjected with a light tone, his gaze fixated on the undead figure. "Seems like you've had no trouble on your end."

The Light's Chosen walked ahead a few steps, halting abruptly. "Indeed," he replied succinctly, his brevity eliciting a snort from Krasus. The man's penchant for brevity was amusing, to say the least.

Observing the situation, Krasus shifted his focus from the reticent Light's Chosen to Darion and the nameless undead figure at his side. An inquisitive lift of Krasus' brow prompted Darion to introduce the figure.

"This is Sir Zeliek. He was one of the Four Horsemen," Darion explained, gesturing towards the undead. He hesitated momentarily, a flicker of discomfort clouding his expression as he continued, "Despite being raised into undeath, Sir Zeliek remained a devout believer in the Light."

The unease in Darion's demeanor drew a furrowed brow from Krasus. Sensing the underlying tension, Krasus's gaze shifted between Darion and the stoic Sir Zeliek. Darion, after a momentary pause, continued with a worried lick of his lips, adding depth to the troubled situation.

"Light's Chosen took offense to Sir Zeliek's utilization of the Light in the service of the Scourge. He has decreed that Sir Zeliek must seek redemption for what's considered sacrilege within the Light's teachings, or face severe consequences."

The weight of Darion's words lingered in the air, a palpable sense of unease settling around them. The silence between them seemed heavy, pregnant with the gravity of the situation. Sir Zeliek's expression remained stoic, his eyes betraying a sense of inner turmoil and apprehension about what lay ahead.

As the steps approached, heralding the return of the other groups, Krasus observed the weariness etched on their faces. The weight of their grim experiences was evident, pressing down on them heavily. However, despite the burden they carried, their resolve remained unbroken. Each member stood tall, their determination echoing in their strides. They had not allowed the horrors they faced to diminish their strength but rather used it to fuel their resolve.

Uther, Sylvanas, and Bolvar approached the group, and Uther's gaze was inevitably drawn to Darion. There was a hint of surprise in Uther's expression upon seeing Darion, evident in the way he paused momentarily before approaching him. Uther stood before Darion, a mixture of pride and sorrow evident in his smile. "Make us proud, lad," he said, his voice heavy with emotion. Yet, his attention was soon drawn to another unexpected presence.

"Zeliek…" Uther uttered in disbelief, locking eyes with the figure. Zeliek raised his head, meeting Uther's gaze. "Hello, Uther," he responded quietly. However, their reunion was cut short as Light's Chosen's commanding voice pierced through the moment, urging them to move forward.

Both Uther and Sylvanas nodded in acknowledgment, gesturing to soldiers who had been preselected to accompany them. The group had to split for the final assault; proceeding with such a large contingent was not a viable option.

Light's Chosen stepped up beside Krasus, his voice quiet. "Sapphiron awaits," he remarked, a subtle intensity in his tone. Krasus nodded in understanding. He had been briefed about Sapphiron, once a noble blue dragon who had been slain by the Scourge and subsequently turned into a puppet of Kel'Thuzad.

An intense anger surged within Krasus at this affront to dragonkind. "Remember why you're here. Once you collect it, I never wish to see it again and should it ever be used..." Light's Chosen reminded, a warning implicit in his words. The threat was unspoken but hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the dire consequences should the mission go awry.

~~~~
​

Upon their arrival in the vast chamber, a palpable tension gripped everyone present. The sight of the dragon's bones at the room's center foretold the looming threat they were about to face before confronting the dreaded Lich Kel'Thuzad.

Uther stood at the forefront, allowing the Light to fill him with its divine power. His gaze swept across the chamber, taking in the haunting sight of the dragon's remains. Stepping forward with unwavering determination, he felt the radiant aura of the Light enveloping him, lending him strength.

"My comrades," Uther's voice resonated, firm and resolute, "This is the heart of the enemy's fortress. We stand at the precipice of a great trial, a test of our faith and courage. Kel'Thuzad's malevolent presence lingers here, but we must not falter. The Light is our guide, our shield against the darkness that threatens us."

He paused, his eyes meeting each person's gaze, his words resonating with conviction. "We go forth not merely as soldiers, but as champions of the Light. Let the bravery in our hearts and the Light's radiance be our guiding beacons. Together, we shall face this darkness and emerge victorious!"

With his rallying words, Uther inspired hope and fortitude among his comrades, emboldening them for the harrowing battle that awaited. As the echoes of his speech faded, the resounding determination in their hearts burned brighter, ready to confront the looming darkness and emerge triumphant.

In the echoing chamber, Sapphiron's bones began to levitate, pulled by an unseen force until they formed the colossal undead wyrm once again. Its resurrection was heralded by a bone-chilling roar that reverberated through the chamber, issuing a challenge to those who dared stand against it.

Uther, Sylvanas, Darion, and their brave companions readied themselves for the impending battle. Uther's mace glowed with the brilliance of the Light, casting radiant beams across the room. Sylvanas, empowered by the Light, summoned spectral arrows infused with its power, her bow drawn with deadly precision. Darion, wielding the Ashbringer, channeled the Light into the legendary blade, its glow illuminating the darkness with righteous fury.

Sapphiron unleashed a barrage of frosty breath that engulfed the area in a blizzard of ice. Uther raised a protective barrier of Light, shielding his allies from the frigid onslaught, while Sylvanas and her rangers maneuvered with unparalleled agility, launching volleys of arrows at the towering wyrm.

Darion charged forward, the Ashbringer pulsating with radiant energy. He struck with unparalleled speed, carving through the bone-plated scales of Sapphiron with each swing. The wyrm retaliated, summoning chilling storms and freezing waves that threatened to overwhelm the defenders.

With her mastery over the Light, Sylvanas summoned ethereal guardians that shielded her allies, granting them renewed strength and resilience. Uther's command over the Light manifested in brilliant waves of healing energy, rejuvenating his comrades and bolstering their resolve.

The battle raged on, each side exchanging relentless assaults. Uther and his allies fought with unwavering determination, their skills and powers combining to form a formidable force against the undead wyrm. Darion channeled the Light through the Ashbringer, delivering powerful strikes that weakened Sapphiron's defenses.

Amidst the chaos, Sylvanas seized a moment of opportunity. Drawing upon the Light's potency, she unleashed a torrent of radiant arrows that pierced through the wyrm's defenses, finding its mark with unerring accuracy. The combined efforts of Uther's healing, Darion's relentless strikes, and Sylvanas's empowered attacks began to take their toll on Sapphiron.

As the battle reached its climax, Sapphiron let out a bone-chilling cry, signaling its last attempt to turn the tide. But the defenders remained resolute, pushing through the onslaught with unparalleled unity. With a final surge of Light-infused power, Darion struck the decisive blow with the Ashbringer, cleaving through the undead wyrm's core.

Sapphiron staggered, its form disintegrating into a shower of bone fragments and spectral energy. The chamber fell silent, save for the echoing sounds of victory. Uther, Sylvanas, and Darion stood amidst the remains of their fallen foe, triumphant in their hard-won battle against the resurrected wyrm.

As Krasus and Light's Chosen approached the fallen Sapphiron, both having opted to stay out of the battle. Their roles were not in the heat of combat; they had a different purpose here. With a deep sigh, Krasus knelt beside Sapphiron's skull and reached inside, retrieving what he sought.

In his grasp was a key, not just any ordinary key, but the key to the Focusing Iris. An ancient artifact of immense power belonging to the blue dragonflight, the Focusing Iris held the potential for wielding unfathomable Arcane magic. Krasus' task was to safeguard this key and prevent the Iris from being used for malevolent purposes.

Uther approached the two of them, a glint of interest in his eyes as he observed the item in Krasus' hand. "Leave it, Uther. Proceed. Kel'Thuzad awaits. This day is yours, win or lose. I will not intervene," Light's Chosen spoke, surprising Uther, who then composed himself and nodded in comprehension.

Surveying the men and women accompanying them, Uther comprehended. They required this challenge—a hard-fought battle won by their own merits would ignite morale unlike anything else. It would affirm their purpose in being there, fortifying their determination for what lay ahead.

As Krasus observed their departure to confront Kel'Thuzad, he turned to Light's Chosen, a silent query etched on his countenance. "Why?" The simple word encapsulated more than just questioning the absence of assistance. It inquired about the reason behind everything.

"Because the sun sets for us all one day, and all we can do is ensure those that remain are prepared to face what awaits them," Light's Chosen replied after a prolonged moment, leaving Krasus both surprised and contemplative as he pondered over his words.
​

~~~~
​

As they ventured into Kel'Thuzad's sinister chambers, the Lich awaited them with a chilling presence. His piercing gaze swept over Uther, Sylvanas, and their assembled forces, an aura of malevolence enveloping his form. His voice, steeped in anger, echoed throughout the chamber as he addressed them.

"Ah, Uther the Lightbringer, Sylvanas the Banshee Queen. How delightful it is to see you both. I have long awaited this moment," Kel'Thuzad sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Your defiance ends here, mortals. You dare trespass into my domain seeking to challenge me?"

Uther, his expression etched with determination, stepped forward, his grip tightening around his mace. "Kel'Thuzad, your reign of darkness and terror ends now. We will put an end to your vile schemes and bring justice to those you have wronged."

Sylvanas, her eyes ablaze with a mix of fury and determination, spoke with an icy tone. "You underestimate us, Lich. We have faced horrors beyond your imagining, and we stand here united against you. Your reign of terror will crumble under the might of the Light and the Forsaken."

The Lich's laughter echoed through the chamber, a haunting sound that sent shivers down the spines of the brave souls facing him. "Foolish mortals! Do you truly believe you can challenge me? I am eternal, and my power knows no bounds. You will serve me in death as you do in life."

With a wave of his hand, Kel'Thuzad conjured dark energies, unleashing a torrent of shadows and frost upon Uther, Sylvanas, and their companions. The battle erupted in a frenzied clash, the heroes wielding their weapons against the dark sorcery of the Lich.

Uther, drawing upon the Light, unleashed radiant waves of energy, empowering his allies while fending off Kel'Thuzad's malevolent attacks. Sylvanas, harnessing the power of the Light, launched volleys of ethereal arrows that cut through the darkness, striking true against the Lich's defenses.

Amidst the chaos, Darion, wielding the Ashbringer, led the charge, his strikes imbued with the righteous fury of his father's legacy. The heroes fought valiantly, their determination unyielding in the face of Kel'Thuzad's relentless assault.

As the battle raged on, the Lich unleashed a sinister curse, snaring the fallen heroes in his dark magic, resurrecting them into undead minions under his control. Their once-allies turned against them, attacking with ferocity born of twisted loyalty.

Despite the losses suffered, Uther, Sylvanas, and Darion pressed on, their resolve unwavering. With a final surge of strength, they launched a coordinated assault against Kel'Thuzad, overwhelming him with the might of the Light and their undying determination.

In a climactic clash, the heroes delivered the finishing blows, striking Kel'Thuzad with a decisive force. The Lich let out a scream of agony, his form crumbling into darkness as his malevolent presence faded away.

As Kel'Thuzad's essence dissipated, he uttered a chilling curse, vowing his return. "You may have defeated me this day, but I shall return. My darkness will consume you all!" With those ominous words, Kel'Thuzad's presence vanished, leaving the heroes victorious yet wary of the looming threat.​

---

And with that Naxxramas draws to a close. I think I did pretty well all things considerate, if you disagree would like to see your thoughts on the matter.

As always a few more chapters on my Patreon If you wish to read ahead or wish to support me and what I do.

​

 

[Kordelius]

The day had been won, and a great evil had been vanquished; no longer would Kel'thuzad's dark ambitions threaten the world. As they struck down the Lich and he spoke his chilling promise, both the Light's Chosen and Krasus entered the room.

With a wave of his hand, their strength returned, and those who had died were purged of the necrotic taint permeating their bodies. But more than that, as the Light's Chosen extended his arm, he rent the very fabric of space apart in front of him, revealing an urn hidden from their gazes.

"Foolish Lich, did you truly think you could hide from me?" A sneer escaped the Light's Chosen as light engulfed the urn, and screams of rage, pain, and fear echoed around them before falling silent.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, he banished even the echoes of the Lich and turned to regard those who had fought valiantly on this day. "The day has been won, a great victory has been achieved today; no more will this evil threaten the world. The day is yours. Take pride in your accomplishment and stand tall, for it is you who have banished this evil and allowed the Light to shine once more."

With each word he spoke, those before him felt a fire burn in their chests and smiles grow on their faces. Sharing smiles with those around them, they could not contain themselves any longer and released a cheer, thrusting their weapons high and letting the sweetness of this moment fill them.

"Well done," Krasus murmured beside the Light's Chosen. Though initially confused, he quickly understood why the Light's Chosen had not led the charge here and now.

For while he could no doubt have achieved success, it would have made others question their presence and feel unneeded. By allowing them to carry this victory upon their own shoulders, he had strengthened their resolve and allowed them to feel pride in their accomplishment, thus securing their determination and resolve for the true battle ahead.

~~~~​

Sylvanas trudged through the snow, each step burdened with a weight that seemed to increase with every move. The wintry landscape, adorned with pristine white blankets, stood in stark contrast to the gravity of their purpose. Beside her, Sally strode resolutely, unwavering in her commitment. Her determination was palpable, a steadfast resolve to undertake whatever was necessary for the safeguarding of their realm; a duty she accepted willingly.

With a sense of foreboding, Sylvanas murmured, "He will not be pleased with us," dreading the impending conversation.

"Let him. If it means securing the future of this world, I am ready to face his wrath," Sally replied, exuding an unshakable resolve. She remained resolute, unwavering in her chosen path.

As they ascended the final step, they beheld their quarry – Light's Chosen. He had retreated to the mountain peak adjacent to their stronghold, an enigmatic figure observing vigilantly, seemingly impervious to the biting winds and swirling snow. He made no gesture acknowledging their arrival, yet an unspoken acknowledgment lingered in the air, confirming his awareness of their presence.

"What do you hope to achieve with your actions?" His voice reverberated across the expanse, freezing them in their tracks. They exchanged a glance of surprise, silently questioning whether it was possible that he knew their purpose.

The weight of his inquiry hung heavy in the frosty air. Sally's resolve wavered for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features before she gathered herself again, determined not to falter. Sylvanas, on the other hand, maintained her composure, masking her surprise with a cool, collected facade.

The Light's Chosen stood before them, an imposing figure against the wintry backdrop. His presence exuded an aura of knowing, an almost unnerving perception that seemed to penetrate their very intentions.

Sylvanas glanced at Sally, silently urging her to remain steadfast. They had anticipated challenges, but not this level of prescience from the enigmatic guardian of the mountain.

"We seek to ensure the continuation of your legacy," Sally answered, her voice unwavering, attempting to veil her unease. Sylvanas stood by her side, a silent supporter in this unexpected confrontation.

The Light's Chosen remained unmoved, his stance unwavering. "And what legacy do you foresee?" His question lingered in the biting wind, his penetrating gaze seemingly seeing through the veils of their intentions.

Sylvanas felt a knot tighten in her stomach, a mix of apprehension and determination churning within her. The weight of their purpose hung in the balance, under the scrutiny of this guardian whose insight bordered on unsettling.

"We seek to safeguard the future, to ensure that what is left behind endures beyond us," Sylvanas interjected, her voice firm despite the undercurrent of uncertainty.

The silence that followed was deafening, only broken by the howling winds sweeping through the mountaintop. The Light's Chosen remained inscrutable, his unyielding presence casting a formidable shadow over their intentions.

"I have already secured the future; the measures you seek are unnecessary." he continued, maintaining his gaze forward. While Sylvanas contemplated silently, Sally steeled herself, dispelling any hesitations or doubts. Her determination surged within her once more. "Perhaps, but one can never be too certain. I seek to ensure the endurance of your legacy, to always remain prepared to-" "be exploited," he interjected, his words chilling the air.

"What life do you envision for this child? Burdened by insurmountable expectations, perpetually deemed inadequate, never truly cherished for who they are, but rather for what they might become." Turning to face them, traces of anger seeped through his demeanor.

"Deprived of the freedom to make choices, to experience growth through mistakes and learning. Denied the chance to stumble, rise, and live," he spoke as he approached Sally, who stood transfixed.

Coming to a halt before her, he loomed, his face concealed by an inscrutable helmet. "Simply a tool, destined to be used and abused," he concluded, leaving nothing but the chilling rush of the wind as the only audible sound.

~~~~
​

It had been months since their victorious assault on Naxxramas. In the time following it, more and more factions and individuals offered their assistance as it became evident that the Lich King feared their efforts and launched premeditated attacks on almost everyone.

Ironically, his efforts only intensified their anger and resolve to confront him. Even the Horde raised their banners and journeyed to join them, causing inevitable friction with the Alliance. However, under the steadfast leadership of Uther, a tenuous peace was maintained.

Tirion's arrival further solidified their cause. He had left his son Taelan in charge back in the newly rebuilt Lordaeron.

However, none of these developments intrigued Sylvanas as much as witnessing her own people being led by Liadrin, a Matriarch of the Sentinels of Light—an order formed by the Light's Chosen himself. It appeared that this was what he meant when he spoke of securing the future.

More than that, it seemed he had also diverted Prince Kael'thas from a dark path that would have led many of her kind astray. In doing so, he secured an ally in the form of these Draenei.

Initially wary due to their close resemblance to the demons of the Burning Legion, Sylvanas didn't know what to make of them. However, witnessing how the Light responded to them and getting to know them better eased her apprehension. Their positive influence on what remained of her people was undeniable. Prince Kael'thas had opened their lands for them to settle, and once their similarities became known to both groups, a sense of understanding prevailed.

Their shared tumultuous and painful pasts, even encountering the same aggressors in the form of the Orcs, facilitated an easier acceptance of one another. Shared pain often has the power to bring people together.

Another significant change in these past months was the Light's Chosen becoming more withdrawn, offering his input rarely, if at all. He remained within sight yet distant. While he would provide insight if approached, it seemed he had relinquished all responsibilities to Uther and the newly appointed Ashbringer – Darion Mograine, son of the late Alexandros Mograine.

Surprisingly, the attack on Naxxramas and its subsequent destruction and eradication of the evil contained within was not the only goal the Light's Chosen sought. He intended to forge a champion, another method by which he secured the future. Sylvanas felt foolish for the plan she and Sally had devised.

Sadly, Sally took the rejection much harder than Sylvanas did. While her work and determination remained largely unaffected, Sally became melancholic and adrift.

Thus, Sylvanas was surprised to witness the Light's Chosen seeking out Sally and both departing to unknown places a few days ago. Although many dismissed it as another of his excursions, Sylvanas suspected there was more to it. Sally's renewed energy and happiness upon their return, and the smile on her face, confirmed it. Despite her curiosity, Sylvanas decided not to pry. If her suspicions were correct, she believed it best not to draw attention to it.
​

~~~~
​

Uther stood upon a high ledge, his gaze fixed on the construction of their new fortress—a stronghold that would serve as a bastion for their advance into the heart of Icecrown itself. Above them, the majestic city of Dalaran floated in the skies, a testament to the unfathomable possibilities unlocked by magic—be it the guiding Light, the enigmatic Arcane, or even the twisted art of Necromancy. The scope of these powers and their capacity for extraordinary achievements never ceased to astound him, far beyond what he, as a young boy, could have ever envisioned.

Yet, amid this marvel, he couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow at the sight of the undead, shuffling relentlessly towards them, only to be repelled by their determined forces. It was a stark reminder—one he would have preferred never to witness—that while such powers held potential for greatness, they also harbored the potential for darkness.

"Power corrupts," Uther murmured to himself, his eyes tracing the movements of the undead horde. "And from that corruption, evil is born. It festers and grows, morphing into something truly monstrous."

The sight of the undead, mere manifestations of perversion through corrupted magic, served as a stark testament to the perils that lay within the very essence of power. It was a lesson etched into the fabric of his being through the countless battles and trials he'd faced. The allure of wielding immense power often led down a treacherous path, one that tainted the purest intentions and birthed unspeakable horrors.

As he surveyed the scene below, Uther reflected on the responsibility that accompanied wielding such powers. It wasn't merely about the might they offered but the choices one made in harnessing them. The true measure of one's character lay in how they wielded these powers—whether for the greater good or for self-serving ambitions.

The construction of their fortress continued, a testament to their determination to combat the forces of darkness. Uther understood that the true challenge lay not only in building physical fortifications but in fortifying the hearts and souls of those who stood against the darkness. It was a constant battle against the seductive allure of power and the courage to wield it wisely.

With a heavy heart, Uther resolved to ensure that the power they harnessed would always serve the noblest of causes, for in the face of darkness, it was not only their swords but their unwavering resolve that would ultimately decide the fate of their world.​

 

[Kordelius]

Don't forget to not necro threads, boys. I will post one of the patreon chapters hopefully no mod will be angry about necro then.

---

While their advancement toward establishing a foothold in Icecrown was going smoothly, some might argue, perhaps even too smoothly, particularly with the Alliance and this emerging Horde engaging in conflicts over long-standing grievances.

Uther couldn't help but snort as he recalled the chaotic scene of unruly orcs and humans exchanging blows. The emphasis here was on attempting – it appeared that Lady Windrunner harbored little patience for such foolishness and bickering. Without a moment's hesitation, she assertively quashed their altercation, driving them forcefully into the ground while icily reminding them of the purpose that had brought them to this place.

Afterward, she rallied all of them to aid Light's Vengeance in repelling the relentless horde of Undead relentlessly thrown at them. When their individual leaders attempted to voice their objections, Lady Windrunner joyfully retorted that if they were so idle and devoid of constructive tasks, she could easily assign them meaningful work.

This remark, naturally, elicited mixed reactions. Bolvar Fordragon was reminded of old wounds inflicted by the orcs, his response colored by past grievances. Varok Saurfang, on the other hand, appeared more open to discussion, yet he was not inclined to accept Bolvar's words without a response.

Thankfully, Tirion was able to diffuse the situation, reminding everyone present of the true enemy at hand. This was a skill he had always excelled at—bringing adversaries together for a greater cause, uniting even those who were previously at odds.

The implications of drawing the attention of Light's Chosen were best left unspoken. The potential consequences were dire, making it crucial to avoid any action that might invite his scrutiny. Nevertheless, this concern could be addressed at a later time. For the moment, Tirion had to redirect his attention to another pressing matter—the Vrykul.

All their previous attempts had resulted in abject failure, yet Uther remained resolute, unwilling to surrender so easily. However, he found himself grappling with the realization that there seemed to be no viable path forward. There existed only one faction within the race that hadn't forged an alliance with the Lich King. Unfortunately, this faction comprised solely of females who harbored an inherent hatred towards males, regardless of their race.

Uther had made efforts to persuade Sylvanas to engage with this faction, but her lack of interest was evident. He couldn't entirely disagree with her reasoning; it seemed hardly worthwhile.

Nevertheless, this fact gnawed at him. The knowledge that their ancestors willingly chose to align with such a monstrous force and harbored such intense disdain for everyone else weighed heavily on him.

"Are you still wasting your thoughts on the Vrykul?" Sylvanas' voice was filled with exasperation as she spoke from beside Uther, who simply remained silent in response.

Sylvanas let out a silent sigh of frustration. "Uther, give it a rest. The Vrykul are resolute in their decision, and no amount of effort on our part will sway them. They have chosen their path; let them perish with their wretched master." The disdain in Sylvanas' tone was unmistakable when she mentioned Arthas.

Just as Uther was about to reply, shouts from the gate captured their attention. They exchanged a quick glance before hastening toward the source of the commotion.

Upon their arrival, Uther was taken aback by the scene that greeted him. A female Vrykul stood at the gates, engaged in a heated argument and shouting match with the beleaguered soldiers stationed before her.

"I've said it before, you little twerp! I demand to see your leader. Bring them here, or I'll deal with you myself!" the colossal woman growled menacingly at the guard in front of her.

[Insert Pic]

Intrigued by the commotion and feeling sympathetic toward the overwhelmed soldier, Uther continued walking until he reached the scene.

"I am the one in charge here," he declared firmly, prompting the guard to release a small sigh of relief and step aside. "How may I assist you?"

The enormous woman towered over the surroundings, her imposing stature accentuating her significant size. She stood tall, a silent observer of Uther for a brief moment before releasing a disdainful sniff. "A pipsqueak like you? No wonder you come growling to my people for help, and it's no surprise they laughed at you."

Uther felt a surge of anger at the woman's words. "If your intention here is merely to hurl playground insults and scorn, I'd suggest you restrain your spiteful tongue. It appears clear now that expecting you to comprehend the mistake of aiding one who seeks to end all life on this world was a mistake in itself." His voice didn't hide any of his frustration or scorn.

The woman snorted derisively before bursting into raucous laughter. "Haha, those are quite the fighting words, little man." With a menacing leer, she drew her weapon, challenging Uther as he did the same. "Care to stand by them?"

~~~~
​

On the sidelines, Sylvanas could only watch with exasperation as events unfolded before her eyes. From the moment she discovered the Vrykul's willingness to aid the Lich King, they became adversaries in her eyes. She didn't possess Uther's idealism, nor did she believe she could sway them from their chosen path.

Now, they had this... whatever it was, to deal with. A profound desire to bury her head in her hands in despair overwhelmed her—a cascade of what she deemed useless distractions. Not only did she endure the presence of the filthy orcs, whom she considered mere vermin, but she also found some utility in them as effective shields. A grimace twisted her face as she acknowledged the reprimand from the Light for such thoughts. Some days, she regretted the decision she had made, her eyes rolling at the inevitable disappointment she felt from the Light.

Lost in her thoughts, what she considered a squabble continued before her, a mere trifle in her opinion. The others had cleared and area, leaving Uther engaged in combat with the Vrykul woman.

Although the woman displayed prowess, Uther clearly outmatched her, swiftly subduing her.

"Ha! Not bad," the subdued Vrykul woman expressed with obvious glee. "I surrender. Let it be known that I, Syreian the Bonecarver, take this man as my mate!" Her declaration reverberated loudly, stunning everyone present.

This time, Sylvanas didn't hold back her reaction. She allowed her head to fall into her hands, utterly incredulous at what she had just witnessed. The sheer audacity of the situation was beyond belief. She simply couldn't fathom the reality of what had transpired.
​

~~~~
​

Sally found the past few days terribly amusing, largely due to the relentless efforts of the Vrykul woman to persuade Uther into seeing 'sense' and consummating their new relationship. Her constant endeavors never failed to bring Sally a sense of amusement.

As for the others, their reactions were quite varied. Some appeared bewildered, while others seemed simply uncaring. A few, like Sally, found amusement in the situation, enjoying the spectacle as she did. On the contrary, there were those who found it deeply upsetting, conflicting with their deeply held morals and values. The stark contrast in reactions added an intriguing layer to the unfolding scenario.

Regarding Sylvanas, she had nearly fled the fortress entirely and sought refuge on the battlefield, where the chaos somehow felt more comprehensible. Of course, nobody dared suggest that this was her primary motivation.

Her stated reason had been to guarantee that nothing went amiss and to prevent any breach by the undead, or something along those lines. However, those who had witnessed her response to the incident could infer the genuine cause behind her actions.

Regarding the matter at hand, Sally unexpectedly found herself favoring the Vrykul woman. In her view, Uther had appeared overly tense and distressed about his failure to secure Vrykul allies. However, now that he had succeeded and Syreian had affirmed that with fighters of Uther's caliber, they could attract strong Vrykul women willing to test their strengths and, if defeated, join their cause.

Admittedly, it was a barbaric way of life; Sally conceded to that point. Yet, on the other hand, life on this continent was harsh and unforgiving. Ensuring the ability to protect one's home and family necessitated strength.

In a sense, the women were simply taking essential precautions. The reason humans in the Eastern Kingdoms had largely moved beyond such practices was due to the prolonged period of ease and comfort they had enjoyed.

It's essential to note that the women's readiness to embrace these methods might seem unconventional, but it stemmed from the necessity to survive in a challenging environment.

Undoubtedly, the very first humans who were led to the Eastern Kingdoms by their Vrykul parents likely followed similar approaches. However, as they established their own settlements and as safety increased, such practices were gradually abandoned.

The most significant threat their kingdoms had faced were the trolls, but these adversaries had been subdued long before any of the present generation were born. Thus, while maintaining military strength remained a priority, the majority of the populace led simple and secure lives, contending with different types of challenges.

Each time Sally believed she had grasped an understanding of the world, a new revelation emerged, proving her previous notions wrong. Nevertheless, she welcomed these revelations as they contributed to her knowledge of the world and life itself.

Undoubtedly, she had much more to learn, and there would always be aspects that would elude her understanding. Nevertheless, she found solace in the fact that her path was set, and she was determined to navigate it, utilizing all that she had learned to make the best of her journey.
​

~~~~
​

The snow and ice crunched beneath Alexstrasza's feet as she approached the individual she sought to speak with. As was his wont, he was alone—a silent guardian, observing from above. He had withdrawn further and further, evidently preparing others for...

She shook her head, dismissing those thoughts for now. Her purpose for being here was different. Behind her, another set of steps echoed, belonging to the person who had requested to accompany her on this journey after she had assisted Chromie in the caverns of time and had exchanged words with Nozdormu.

Her brother had been... obstinate, but Alexstrasza had remained steadfast. He had become so engrossed in manipulating time that he had forgotten a simple truth—to truly live.

The reason for her visit weighed heavily upon her. She sought to rekindle a spark of life within her brother, to remind him of the beauty and purpose beyond the intricacies of time. Alexstrasza aimed to break through his obsession and bring him back to the present, where life's vibrant moments awaited.

To live means to experience success, failure, and the constant cycle of rising after every fall. Life is a journey marked by its peaks and valleys. Embracing both is essential; striving for an immaculate existence is futile and often ends in disappointment or, worse, calamity.

Attempting to grasp every potential choice and its consequence is an exercise in futility that could drive one to madness. This futile pursuit gave rise to the Infinite Dragonflight. Their obsession with crafting an impeccable timeline led them into madness, transforming them into mere pawns manipulated by the Void.

A heavy, weary sigh escaped her lips, echoing the weight of countless trials and tribulations borne from everyones relentless pursuit of perfection, a pursuit that often morphs them into monstrous beings, erasing their essence along the way.

As she finally ceased, standing beside Light's Chosen, she allowed her eyes to wander across the sight before her, drawing strength from the scene unfolding. Amidst the unity and cooperation, albeit somewhat coerced, a promise of transformation lingered—a prospect of evolving into something superior. It was this potential that she chose to believe in and place her faith upon.

The howling wind became the sole audible presence as they lingered there in silence, each lost in their own contemplations.

After a while, Light's Chosen broke the silence, questioning, "Why have you come?" Alexstrasza remained silent, recognizing that the query wasn't directed at her but at her companion—Soridormi, the one who had approached her earlier, filled with confusion, seeking guidance to lead her to the figure standing beside her.

"To understand," was Soridormi's answer. Ever since she beheld this person, something had drawn her to him. Worse still, she could feel her own power lingering from this individual, yet she couldn't recall ever meeting them before.

Lost amidst the howling winds, a soft sigh escaped the Light's Chosen. "There is nothing to understand—nothing for you to learn here, at least, nothing you do not already suspect."

Pursing her lips, Soridormi spoke matter-of-factly, "You are displaced from your timeline, and I was the one to do so." It wasn't a question; it was a statement of fact. "Why?" Her longing for an answer lingered palpably.

"Because I failed, and she lost her last shred of hope. In her grief, anger, sadness, and hopelessness, she lashed out," the Light's Chosen spoke, his tone masking his own emotions on the matter. "After which, I awoke here."

They stood there in profound silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts, processing the weight of his words and the gravity of Soridormi's actions. Yet, amidst the quiet, Alexstrasza and Soridormi harbored the same burning question: what had he failed?

"What did…" Soridormi attempted to ask, but her words were abruptly halted. "It doesn't matter. I've come to terms with what has happened and what I've become. I've chosen my path and will see it through to its conclussion," he replied sternly, an edge to his tone that signaled his reluctance to delve further into the matter.

Alexstrasza turned towards him, her expression a poignant mixture of understanding and acceptance, and offered a sorrowful smile. She then shifted her gaze to Soridormi, recognizing the array of questions etched across her face, and subtly shook her head.

Soridormi swallowed her questions and bowed her head, her departure marked by a few grains of sand carried away by the wind.

As Alexstrasza turned around and prepared to depart, she felt the need to express one more sentiment. However, it appeared that she wouldn't have the chance. "Save your pity for others; I have no use for it," Light's Chosen spoke, devoid of mockery, simply stating his acceptance of the past and the future.

With that, Alexstrasza departed, her heart heavy with sadness for someone who had already sacrificed so much and was prepared to sacrifice even more.​

---

I will strive to finish this story, but I make no promises when that will be. Sorry.​

 

[Kordelius]

So... uh... been a while? Ye I got no excuse honestly, just did not feel like writing this one I guess. Still it's so close to being finished that I just couldn't leave it and will now attempt to finish it.

---

Syreian strode through the stronghold that her mate's men had erected. Despite his tendency to make excuses and avoid her, she refused to relent. Though he may be of smaller stature, Syreian knew he was a powerful man, and she harbored no doubt that their offspring would inherit both her towering height and his formidable strength.

In her mind's eye, she envisioned a future with mighty Vrykul warriors wielding the Light, crushing unruly clans and uniting them under a single banner. Naturally, she pictured her own children as the charismatic leaders of this formidable force. If only her obstinate mate would overcome his reservations, embrace their connection, and claim her as his own. Frustration bubbled within her, and with each step, her feet struck the ground with unnecessary force.

The nearby men were startled by her presence, and she couldn't help but repress a sneer at what she perceived as their weakness. Why her mate chose to keep them around remained a mystery – perhaps as mere cannon fodder? She scoffed at the thought. As she continued to stomp about, seeking an outlet for her restless energy, her attention was drawn to the Lightforged undead rangers nearby.

Narrowing her eyes at the Lightforged undead rangers, Syreian couldn't shake the impression that they were nothing more than typical undead abominations. Despite this, she had witnessed their prowess in culling the forces of the Lich King, prompting her to reserve judgment and acknowledge their martial skills. In particular, she held a grudging respect for their leader, notably Sylvanas Windrunner, a warrior of formidable capabilities.

However, one figure continued to elude her – the mysterious Light's Chosen. Despite hearing about this person repeatedly, Syreian found herself unable to locate anyone who fit the description. Resigned to seeking assistance, she steeled herself to inquire about the elusive individual.

Spying a woman who appeared unfazed by her imposing presence, Syreian decided to approach. As she halted before the woman, the stranger raised an eyebrow in curiosity, pausing for a moment before inquiring, "Can I help you?" Sally asked, meeting the gaze of the Vrykul woman standing before her.

"Yes, I keep hearing about this Light's Chosen, but I cannot seem to spot him anywhere. Has he left?" Syreian inquired, a realization dawning on her that perhaps the elusive figure was on a mission or undertaking a task that kept him out of sight.

Sally furrowed her brows in contemplation, wondering about the Vrykul woman's interest in the man. "Why?" she asked, refusing to speculate without more information.

"I keep hearing about this impressive person, so I desired to take his measure for my own," Syreian explained, her motive seemingly straightforward. In the world of warriors, following someone required confidence in their worthiness as a leader, and Syreian was determined to gauge the Light's Chosen for herself.

Sally blinked slowly. "Surely you do not mean to challenge him?" Amusement tinged her voice, and Syreian sensed a trace of it, which only served to irritate her.

"And if I am? Uther has proven himself to be capable," Syreian asserted, her gaze sweeping those in proximity before dismissing them with a disdainful sniff. "Even if the others he surrounds himself with seem to be lacking." Sally snorted in response to her observation, but before Syreian could launch into further criticism, the woman extended her arm.

"There, at the top is where you will find him," Sally stated plainly before turning around, clearly uninterested in the Vrykul woman's intentions. If Syreian wished to challenge someone who could effortlessly smite them all, it was no concern of hers.

Syreian huffed in response to the casual dismissal but decided to deal with it later. Finally armed with the information she sought, she knew where to go to find the elusive Light's Chosen.

~~~~

Ascending the path toward the mountaintop, Syreian couldn't shake the nagging curiosity about the Light's Chosen. Why did he choose to seclude himself in such a manner, especially within enemy territory? Was it sheer confidence that, regardless of what the Lich King threw at him, he would emerge unscathed? If the tales she had heard of his deeds were accurate, it seemed a plausible explanation.

As she approached the summit, distant voices began to reach her ears, stirring questions. Had someone else sought out the man? Suddenly, a commanding female voice cut through the air, demanding, "Stop this at once!" Intrigued, Syreian quickened her pace, eager to witness the unfolding scene.

"You do not order me; you have neither the right nor the power to command me. I should kill you where you stand for your failures. The sheer arrogance you have of coming here and believing you can order me is unfathomable," a powerful male voice responded, laced with unwavering resolve.

As Syreian took the final steps, her eyes fell upon the scene unfolding before her. The one attempting to command the Light's Chosen was none other than Eyir, the majestic leader of the Valarjar, the entity who elevated the worthy to the ranks of Val'kyr.

Spoiler: Eyir

Her mind momentarily froze in awe at the sight of Eyir's glory. However, that awe swiftly transformed into fear as Eyir began to exude power in response to the Light's Chosen's words. "Insolent human! You dare threaten me?!" Eyir thundered, her power escalating. Yet, with a mere wave of his hand, the Light's Chosen effortlessly suppressed Eyir's formidable might. The display left Syreian both astonished and apprehensive, realizing she stood witness to a clash of titanic forces.

"Kneel." The command of the Light's Chosen resonated, compelling both Eyir and Syreian to crash to the ground. As Syreian knelt, she pondered the reason behind her compliance, a realization slowly dawning upon her.

"You were entrusted with safeguarding this world, and you have failed time and time again. Do you think I do not know what dwells in Ulduar? Of Loken's betrayal? You had one job, just the one, and you all failed miserably at it. Were I the one to have created you and had you failed me so completely, I would destroy you." The stern words of the Light's Chosen reverberated, leaving Syreian feeling chastised, though she knew little of the failures he spoke of.

"You do not—" Eyir attempted to interject, but a single word from the Light's Chosen silenced her. "Silence," he commanded. "Here is what is about to happen. Soon, the attack on Icecrown will begin. Those that survive will have become hardened from the hardships and horrors they had witnessed. Once that has come to pass, you will return, and you will seek out Matriarch Liadrin. Speak to her of the horrors that hide in this world." The directive unfolded before them, and Syreian couldn't help but feel a weighty sense of responsibility settle upon her.

"After which, you will assist her in preparing the mortal races of this world to face those horrors and destroy them once and for all. Am I understood?" The Light's Chosen's words were firm, leaving no room for argument, as cold as the surrounding ice and unyielding as steel.

Eyir gritted her teeth and snarled, putting all her effort into the words she spoke. "Why should I?" Eyir questioned, each word requiring a significant effort.

"Because that is what should've been done long ago," a calmer and more somber voice responded. As the words settled, Alexstrasza calmly walked towards the subjugated Eyir and the unyielding Light's Chosen. The arrival of the Life-Binder added another layer of gravity to the scene, leaving Syreian to contemplate the weight of the impending tasks that lay ahead for them all.

Stepping beside him, Alexstrasza laid her hand calmly upon the Light's Chosen's shoulder, causing the pressure emanating from him to lessen. A grateful smile graced Alexstrasza's face. "Alexstrasza," Eyir said slowly as she stood up, a hint of confusion and wariness in her voice.

"Eyir," Alexstrasza responded much more pleasantly. A contemplative silence settled over the area as everyone took a moment to reflect on the situation. "Do you think it wise to trust these mortals?" Eyir questioned, directing her inquiry towards Alexstrasza.

"Yes," Alexstrasza responded after a moment. "The mistakes they've made pale in comparison to those made by us. It is time we fix them. So, yes, I will support them and ask for their help to safeguard this world that was entrusted to us," Alexstrasza continued resolutely, locking eyes with Eyir without a hint of wavering.

"Very well," Eyir uttered before disappearing in a tower of Light, returning to the Halls of Valor. Alexstrasza turned towards the Light's Chosen. "A more gentle approach would yield better results; you know this," her tone held a hint of reproach, but in truth, it bore more resignation.

The Light's Chosen remained silent and unmoving, unyielding in his stance. Recognizing that he would not deign to respond, Alexstrasza sighed before turning her attention to Syreian, prompting her to stand quickly and shuffle awkwardly.

Alexstrasza offered Syreian a small, reassuring smile as she approached, stopping before her. "Best not speak of this," her tone remained pleasant, and her smile warm, but the warning in her words was unmistakable. Syreian nodded slowly, swallowing heavily.

A quick glance was spared at the Light's Chosen behind her before Alexstrasza turned her attention back to Syreian. "Best to leave your inquiries for another time, I believe," there was a hint of amusement in Alexstrasza's voice, but Syreian failed to feel it. Another nod followed, and she turned, departing from the scene. The power she had witnessed and the mysteries that surrounded the Light's Chosen lingered in her thoughts as she moved away, leaving her with much to contemplate.

~~~~

Uther stood in the command center, meticulously scrutinizing the plans for the impending attack. His eyes moved across the details, searching for any possible improvements, overlooked elements, or points of concern. However, as he reviewed the strategy once more, a sigh escaped him, realizing that they were as prepared as they could be.

The weight of anticipation settled on his shoulders, and he sagged slightly. The leaders around him shared in the palpable tension, feeling high-strung and restless, waiting for a decisive word from him. Time lingered, stretching with uncertainty. As they hesitated, doubts crept in—would he give the order to attack, or was he waiting for them to take the initiative? The sense of anticipation became a double-edged sword, building a sense of urgency and questioning among the leaders, eager for clarity in their impending course of action.

Uther's self-imposed seclusion had cast a shadow of uncertainty over the leaders in the command center. The palpable presence of their leader had not waned, indicating he was unharmed and aware of their readiness. Yet, the delay lingered, and doubts began to breed among them. Was it truly Uther who hesitated, or were they the ones causing the delay?

Recalling Uther's own words that he was in charge and brought back to lead, a surge of resolve coursed through him. The time for doubt and uncertainty was over. Uther clenched his fists, dispelling any lingering hesitation.

"Guards!" His commanding voice echoed through the room, prompting the doors to open, revealing two men ready for action. Finding nothing amiss, they turned their attention to Uther. "Spread the word. We attack at dawn," Uther commanded. The two men saluted, swiftly leaving to relay his orders, the announcement finally breaking the tense anticipation that had gripped the command center. The decision was made, and the path forward was clear – an attack at dawn.

---

A bit of that and a bit of this.

 

[Kordelius]

As the first light of dawn pierced the icy veil shrouding Icecrown, a charged stillness enveloped the warriors gathered below. Men and women, their breath forming frosty clouds in the frigid air, stood resolute amidst the snow-covered expanse. Their weapons, were clasped tightly, each grip a testament to their unwavering determination.

Today marked the culmination of their relentless pursuit of justice, the day they would finally confront the chilling menace of the Lich King within the heart of Icecrown Citadel. With every fiber of their being, they were prepared to face the harrowing trials that awaited them, for in their minds, there existed no room for doubt or fear.

As the sun ascended, casting its golden glow upon the icy fortress, a silent vow echoed among the ranks: failure was inconceivable, for today, victory alone would grace their swords and shield their hearts from the icy grip of despair.

In the hushed stillness that had settled over the battlefield, a voice resounded with the commanding authority of a seasoned leader. It was the voice of Uther, echoing with a resonance that stirred the very essence of those who stood amidst the gathering storm.

Even the undead, relentless in their assault, faltered at the sound, sensing the shift in the air. The ceaseless onslaught paused, as if the world itself held its breath in anticipation of what would come next. Uther's words, a beacon of unwavering resolve, pierced through the silence, carrying with them a promise of redemption and triumph in the face of darkness.

"Lords and ladies, warriors and champions of the realm, today we stand on the precipice of destiny! For too long have we cowered in the shadow of the icy citadel, letting fear and doubt gnaw at the very core of our resolve. But no more! Today, we march upon Icecrown with hearts ablaze, with swords raised high, and with a fire in our souls that shall not be extinguished!

Look around you, my fellow brethren! See the faces of those who have stood shoulder to shoulder with you through every trial, every tribulation. They are not just comrades; they are family! And together, as one united force, we shall shatter the chains of tyranny that bind our world!

The Lich King sits upon his frozen throne, a tyrant who would enslave us all to his will. But we are not mere pawns in his game! We are free beings, born to carve our own destinies with the strength of our arms and the courage of our hearts!

Today, we fight not just for ourselves, but for every man, woman, and child who has ever dared to dream of a better tomorrow! We fight for the future of Azeroth, for the light that still flickers within each and every one of us!

So rally, my friends! Rally to the banners of hope and righteousness! Let our battle cry echo across the icy wastes, a beacon of defiance against the darkness that threatens to consume us! For today, we stand as one, undaunted and unbroken, ready to face whatever horrors await us within the accursed halls of Icecrown!

Onward, brave souls! Onward to victory! For Azeroth! For freedom! For the Light!"

As Uther's conviction and resolve reached a pinnacle, an awe-inspiring phenomenon unfolded. Brilliant rays of light emanated from his very being, a manifestation of the purest essence of the Light itself. Such was the depth of his unwavering determination that the Light, in all its boundless power, deemed him worthy of its divine blessing.

As the radiant glow enveloped him, Uther's voice resonated with a newfound clarity and strength, carrying his words like a sacred hymn to all who stood witness. His message, infused with the transcendent energy of the Light, reverberated across the battlefield, reaching the hearts and souls of allies and adversaries alike.

In that moment, amidst the chaos of battle, a profound stillness descended as Uther's words, now imbued with the divine essence of the Light, echoed throughout the land. It was a testament to the unyielding power of his faith and the unwavering resolve of those who stood united in the face of darkness.

As Uther's resonant words lingered in the air like a valiant anthem, a chilling presence descended upon the battlefield, shrouding it in an ominous silence. Suddenly, a gravely voice, laden with the icy echoes of the Lich King, shattered the stillness. The malevolent ruler of Icecrown Citadel had heard Uther's impassioned plea and responded with disdain.

"Foolish mortals," the Lich King's voice reverberated, each word dripping with contempt. "Your words are but fleeting echoes in the winds of destiny. You speak of hope and righteousness, yet you fail to comprehend the futility of your struggle. Icecrown stands as an eternal bastion of death, a monument to my dominion over this world."

Despite the bone-chilling proclamation, the warriors below stood undeterred. The Lich King continued, his voice a sinister melody in the frigid air, "Your bravery is commendable, but it is ultimately futile. You cannot defy the inevitable. I am the master of death, and your defiance only serves to amuse me. Your precious Azeroth will fall, its light extinguished by the darkness that I command."

With an unsettling laughter that echoed like a spectral specter, Arthas's voice faded into the winds. However, instead of quenching the flame of determination, his words only stoked the fervor within the hearts of those who had gathered in defiance. Uther's inspirational words had kindled a flame that now burned even brighter, casting aside the shadow of doubt as they prepared to march toward Icecrown's gates, fully aware that the battle ahead would be an epic clash between the forces of light and the looming darkness that sought to engulf them all.

With his mace clenched tightly in his grip, Uther's gaze pierced through the encroaching ranks of undead, a righteous anger burning within him like a blazing inferno. In a swift motion, he thrust his mace ahead of him, its imposing presence commanding the attention of all who stood in defiance of the darkness.

"CHARGE!" Uther's voice boomed like thunder, resonating across the battlefield with an intensity that shook the very earth beneath their feet.

In response to his call, a cacophony of thunderous footsteps reverberated through the air as the warriors surged forward with unwavering determination. Spells crackled and arced overhead, weaving a tapestry of arcane energy that illuminated the darkened skies. With each stride, they moved ever closer to the looming fortress of Icecrown, their hearts ablaze with the fervent resolve to vanquish the looming threat of death and darkness.

The war between life and death had begun, a clash of epic proportions that would determine the fate of Azeroth itself.

~~~~

As Light's Chosen observed from his vantage point above, a mix of frustration and satisfaction washed over him as he witnessed the resolve of those he had gathered finally crystallize into action. They stood on their own feet now, ready to confront the undead menace and fulfill the purpose that had brought them to this battlefield – the destruction of the undead scourge.

"Took them long enough," he muttered to himself, a hint of exasperation lacing his words. A snort from the side drew his attention, and he turned to find Sylvanas, her rangers silent behind them, regarding him with a mixture of amusement and impatience.

"If you did not wish to waste time, a word from you and this would've been over by now," Sylvanas retorted curtly, her gaze sharp with unspoken reproach.

"They have grown too fond of someone else always telling them what to do, always dragging them towards their own salvation. For this world to survive, that cannot continue," Light's Chosen remarked solemnly, his words echoing the sentiments that mirrored Sylvanas' own thoughts.

A figure caught Sylvanas' gaze, Liadrin, carving through undead with the radiant power of the Light. Sylvanas studied her for a moment, her gaze narrowing in contemplation. "Will she succeed?" she asked simply, her voice betraying no need for clarification.

Light's Chosen remained silent for a time, his gaze shifting to observe Liadrin and her order, a diverse assembly of Blood Elves and Draenei united in purpose. "Alone? No," he replied eventually. His gaze then shifted to another figure, Darion Mograine, wielding the legendary sword that incinerated undead with righteous fire – the new Ashbringer. "But if they work together, they may yet succeed. However, should they fail... this world is doomed," he concluded gravely, his words eliciting a grimace from Sylvanas.

Her fingers flexed as thoughts raced through her mind, but before she could voice them, Light's Chosen uttered a single word that stilled her. "No."

It was a simple word, yet it carried a weight of finality that made Sylvanas abandon the thoughts that had begun to gather in her mind. No matter how much she wished to contradict him, Light's Chosen was right. Whether they succeeded or failed, the fate of the world rested squarely on their shoulders. For life belonged to the living, and it was up to them to determine its course.

~~~~

Krasus approached Alexstrasza, the silent understanding between them speaking volumes as they gazed upon the unfolding chaos of the assault on Icecrown. The time had come for them to play their roles in this grand endeavor, each burdened with their own responsibilities.

"Is everyone ready, Krasus?" Alexstrasza's voice, soft yet resolute, cut through the tense atmosphere as she kept her gaze fixed on the scene before them.

"Yes, my queen," Krasus replied, his tone echoing her unwavering certainty. They had been prepared for this moment for a long time, their preparations meticulous and thorough.

In a moment of hesitation, Krasus enveloped Alexstrasza in an embrace, a silent gesture of solidarity and support. For a fleeting instant, she stilled in his arms before succumbing to the solace of his embrace. Ever since the burdensome ordeal with Malygos and the subjugation of the blue dragonflight, Alexstrasza had carried a somber weight upon her shoulders.

Her decisions and their consequences weighed heavily upon her, haunting her with their implications and repercussions. "It does not do to dwell on the past, my love. The future lies before us," Krasus murmured, his words a gentle reminder of hope and resilience.

Slowly, Alexstrasza turned to meet his gaze, a grateful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Thank you," she whispered softly, her gratitude evident in her eyes as she pressed a tender kiss against his lips.

As she broke away from his embrace, a renewed determination gleamed in her eyes. "Will you join them?" Krasus inquired, surprised by her sudden decision to engage directly in the fray.

Alexstrasza's smile widened, a glimmer of anticipation dancing in her gaze. "The future lies before us," she echoed, before gracefully leaping down from their vantage point.

As she descended, a surge of life radiated from her being, a soothing balm that healed the wounded and revitalized the weary. For a moment, Krasus stood in awe, his surprise giving way to admiration as he watched her selflessly tend to the battlefield.

Shaking his head with a wistful smile, Krasus turned to join the others in the relentless assault against the approaching frost wyrms, heartened by the unwavering resolve of his beloved queen and the boundless strength of their united purpose.

~~~~

Velanara grunted as she pushed away another undead abomination, her muscles straining with the effort before she swiftly cleaved it in half with a deft stroke of her blade. Surveying the chaotic scene around her, she nodded to herself in satisfaction. The Sentinels of Light were proving their mettle, their honed teamwork evident in the seamless coordination born of relentless drills imposed by both her and Liadrin.

Their collective resolve and unyielding determination shone like beacons amidst the darkness, propelling them forward with unwavering purpose.

Initially, Velanara had been taken aback when Velen approached her, asking her to join this newly formed order. Having been a part of his honor guard for so long, she couldn't help but feel a pang of anxiety, fearing that she had somehow faltered and was now being dismissed.

Thankfully, Velen swiftly allayed her fears, explaining the vital role he envisioned for this order in the survival of their world. He saw potential in her, a potential that transcended her role as a mere guardian.

As she approached the Matriarch of the order, Velanara found herself under a scrutinizing gaze that caught her off guard. Liadrin's discerning eyes seemed to pierce through her very soul, undeterred even by the reassurances of the Light. No, Liadrin took measure of each individual on her own terms.

Questions upon questions, misdirections, lies, and truths – Liadrin subjected every aspirant to a battery of tests. She tempted them with promises of power, glory, wealth, and pleasures, and those who failed... Velanara winced as she recalled the sight of Liadrin personally cutting down one who had succumbed to deceit and deception.

Later, Velanara learned of the insidious threat that had lurked within their midst – a sect of demon worshippers who had sought to infiltrate and corrupt the order for their own nefarious ends. Liadrin's swift and decisive action had eradicated the threat in a single stroke, their treacherous ambitions laid bare before Prince Kael'Thas and Prophet Velen.

Yet, even this had been a test orchestrated by Liadrin, a test not just for the aspirants, but for the leadership as well. In Liadrin's eyes, the insidious tendrils of evil and corruption could be found lurking in the darkest corners of every soul, and it was the duty of the order to safeguard their world from such malevolence.

Velanara grappled with conflicting emotions, feeling torn between admiration and apprehension at Liadrin's zealous devotion. When she voiced her concerns to Prophet Velen, his laughter caught her off guard. Amidst the echoes of his laughter, he offered a perspective that challenged her preconceptions.

"Why do you think I asked you to join them?" Velen's words resonated with a profound wisdom, shaking Velanara to her core. In that moment, she realized the weight of responsibility that had been entrusted to her, a responsibility that transcended her doubts and fears.

---

As a broken man once said - The time has come! The moment is at hand!

Let's hope they are prepared.

That said there is three extra chapters on my Patreon So if you want to read ahead that is the place.

That said the story will most likely end by chapter 34 or 35, depending on how I write it.