This, then, was what Sargeras planned to do to the eredar. This was the "enhancement" he had spoken of so glowingly. If Velen's people allied with Sargeras, they would become these monstrous things . . . these man'ari. And somehow Velen understood that what he was witnessing was not a single incident. It was not just this one world that would fall. It was not even a dozen, or a hundred, or a thousand.

If he threw his support behind Sargeras, everything would be destroyed. This legion of man'ari would keep moving forward, aided by Kil’jaeden and Archimonde and—may all that was good and pure help him—Velen. They would not stop until everything in existence was as scoured and blackened as this patch of ground that Velen viewed through blurred vision. Was Sargeras insane? Or, worse, did he understand this and still crave it? Blood and liquid fire poured over everything, rained down upon him, burning him and spattering him until he fell to the earth and wept.

The vision mercifully vanished, and Velen blinked, trembling. He was now alone in the temple, and the crystal glowed comfortingly. He was grateful for that balm.

It had not happened. Not yet.

What Sargeras had told them was indeed true. The eredar would be transformed, and their three leaders would be offered power, knowledge, domination . . . near-godhood.

And they would lose everything they held dear-would betray those they had vowed to protect—to do it.

Velen ran a hand across his face, relieved to find it damp only with sweat and tears and not the fire and blood of his vision. Not yet, anyway. Was it even possible to halt this, or to mitigate the destruction the legion wrought in any way?

The answer floated back to him. as reviving and sweet as a draft of dear water in a desert: Yes.

They came at once, responding to the emotion in his mental plea. It was but the matter of a few moments to brush their minds and let them see what he had seen, feel what he had felt. For a brief instant, he knew they shared his sentiments, and hope swelled within him. There was yet a chance—Archimonde frowned, "This is not a glimpse into the future that We can verify. It is only your hunch."

Velen stared at his old friend, then turned his eyes to Kil’jaeden. Kil’jaeden was not bound by his vanity as Archimonde was. He was decisive and wise....

'Archimonde is right," Kil’jaeden said smoothly. "There is no veracity here, only an image in your own mind."

Velen looked at him. pain welling inside him. Gently, sorrowfully, he detached his thoughts from theirs. Now, what was in his mind and heart stayed there. He would never again share it with these two who had once been like extensions of his own soul.

Kil’jaeden took the withdrawal as surrender, which was as Velen intended, and smiled as he placed a hand on Velen's shoulder.

"I do not want to give up what I know to be positive and good and true for what I fear might be unpleasant." he said. "Nor. I think, do you."

Velen could not risk a lie. He merely looked down and sighed. Once. Kil’jaeden and even Archimonde would have seen through such a feeble facade. But now, their thoughts were not on him. They were thinking about the apparently limitless power about to be bestowed upon them. It was too late to sway them. These two once-great beings were Sargeras's playthings; they were on their way to becoming man'ari. Velen knew with terrifying certainty that if they guessed that he was not with them, they would turn upon him with deadly consequences. He had to survive, if only to do what precious little he could to save his people from damnation and destruction.

So he nodded, but spoke nodding, and it was decided that the three leaders of the eredar would ally with the great Sargeras. Archimonde and Kil’jaeden departed quickly to make the necessary preparations to welcome their new lord.

Velen grieved over his impotence. He wanted to save all of his people, as he had sworn to do, but he knew that was impossible. Most would trust in Kil’jaeden and Archimonde, and follow them to their doom. But there were a few who thought as he did, who would forsake everything merely upon his word. They would need to; their home world of Argus would shortly be destroyed, devoured by the madness of the demonic legion. Those who would survive would have to flee.

But... flee where?

Velen stared at the ata'mal crystal, despair flooding through him. Sargeras was coming. There was no place on this world to hide from such a being. How, then, would he escape?

Tears blurred his vision as he gazed at the crystal. Surely it was his tears that made it seem to shimmer and pulse. Velen blinked. No ... it was no trick of the light seen through tears. The crystal was glowing, and before his shocked gaze, it rose slowly from its pedestal and floated until it was directly before him. Touch it, a voice in his head said softly. Trembling, awestruck, Velen reached out a strong blue hand, expecting to feel the familiar warmth of the quiescent prism.

Energy raced through him and he gasped. In intensity, it was almost as powerful as the dark energy that had surged through him in the vision. But this was as pure as that had been foul, as light as that had been dark, and Velen suddenly felt hope and strength well inside him.

The strange, glowing field about the ata'mal crystal grew, stretched upward, assumed a shape. Velen blinked, almost blinded by the radiance but not wanting to look away.

You are not alone, Velen of the eredar, the voice whispered to him. It was soothing, sweet, like the sound of flowing water and the rush of a summer wind. The radiance faded slightly, and hovering before Velen was a being unlike any he had ever seen. It seemed to be comprised of living light. Its center was a soft golden hue, the outer radius a glowing, soothing violet. Strange metallic-looking glyphs swirled around the center, calming and hypnotic, in a spiral dance of color and light. It continued to speak inside his mind, a sound that seemed to Velen to be light itself given voice.

We, too, have sensed the impending horrors about to befall this and other worlds. We strive to keep the balance, and what Sargeras is planning will rip apart everything. Utter chaos and ruination will descend, and the things that are good and true and pure and holy will be lost beyond recovery.

Who . . . what . . . Velen could not even form the question in his mind, so swept away was he by this being's glory.

We are the Naaru, the radiant entity said. You may call me ... K'ure.

Velen's lips curved around the words, and as he whispered them aloud, "Naaru . . . K'ure . . . ," he tasted the sweetness of them, as if speaking the names granted him some of their very essence.

This is where it all begins, K'ure continued. We cannot stop it, for your friends have free will. But you have reached out with an anguished heart, to save what you can. And therefore, we will do what we can. We will save those of you whose hearts reject the horror of what Sargeras offers.

What do I do? Again tears filled Velen's eyes, tears of relief and joy this time.

Gather those who will listen to your wisdom. Go to the highest mountain in the land on the longest day of the year. Take the ata'mal crystal with you. Long, long ago, did we give it to you; it is how we will find you again. We will come and bear you away.

For a moment, a flicker of doubt, like a shadow flame, burned in Velen's heart. He had never even heard of such beings of light as the Naaru, and now this entity, this K'ure, was asking him to steal his people's most sacred object. They even claimed that it was they who had given it to the eredar in the first place! Perhaps Kil’jaeden and Archimonde had the right of it. Perhaps Velen's vision was nothing more than his fear manifesting itself.