The emerald dragon finally bowed her head. “So long as the demons suffer.”

“We will all suffer,” the cowled mage went on. “If we do not stop the portal from reaching full bloom…” Krasus faced the direction of far-off Zin-Azshari. “A thing that cannot be too far-off, if what I sense means anything…”

Sargeras felt Archimonde’s hidden dismay. The demon lord was disappointed with his most trusted servant — who had never failed before — but there would be time to punish Archimonde later. The portal was nearly finished. Sargeras wondered why it had taken so long for him to consider this plan. It had all proven so simple.

Still, in the long run, such things did not matter. All that did was that soon he would step into Kalimdor and when that happened, not all the dragons in that world would be able to save it from him…

They felt the nearness of their freedom quickly approaching. How ironic that it would be one who had once been one of the hated Titans who would prove the instrument of their release! It had taken the combined might of many Titans to even force them into captivity; after their triumphant return, there would be little effort needed to eradicate this single, arrogant creature and turn his warriors to serving their cause.

The portal strengthened. The time when to usurp it fast approached. Most amusing, the pathetic little beings who fought the fallen Titan’s warriors thought that they could take back the disk. Even now, the imprisoned entities could sense the dragons — the Titans’ hounds — approaching the Well.

They would be in for a very fatal surprise.

 A storm raged over the Well, one that from even such a far distance Malfurion could detect all too easily. It was no normal storm, not even in the sense of those that frequented the mystical waters. This one touched upon powers that were not a part of the mortal plane, powers all too akin to those unleashed by the Burning Legion.

The Burning Legion… and something more.

The druid did not quite understand just who or what the Three were even after having been touched by their ancient evil. In truth, Malfurion did not want to know more. What had insinuated itself into his mind during the quest into Deathwing’s lair had been enough to make him determined that such beings could never be allowed to enter Kalimdor… if that was any more possible to achieve than stopping the entrance of the lord of the Legion.

He glanced up and around him at the hope of his world. A dozen dragons, Alexstrasza and Ysera at their head. Another female who represented the bronzes followed close behind. Three others of each flight flew in their wake, all of them consorts of one of the Aspects, including this Nozdormu spoken of earlier by Krasus.

The mage himself rode astride the giant red’s shoulders, seeming to drink in the wind as they sailed. Knowing him for what he was, Malfurion suspected that Krasus tried to imagine himself as one of the dozen leviathans, his own wings sending him coursing through the heavens.

Brox rode the bronze leader and Rhonin one of Alexstrasza’s mates. The red Aspect’s senior consort — Tyranastrasz — oversaw the dragon efforts against Archimonde, but the rest were with her, save the stricken Korialstrasz. As for Malfurion, the night elf had the honor to have as his mount Ysera. She had, in fact, insisted upon his being the one she carried.

“You are his pride,” she had told the druid, speaking of Cenarius, “and for what you sought to do for him and Malorne, I owe you this…”

Unable to articulate any worthy reply, Malfurion had simply bowed before her, then climbed up near her shoulders.

And off they had flown, as simple as all that, to face the terrible might of the demon lord and those manipulating him.

As simple as that… all knowing that they might very well perish.

Yet, for Malfurion, it was even more complex than that. At this point, he had little fear concerning his own death — any sacrifice he made worth it to stop such menace — but there were others on his mind as well. Somewhere near their destination, somewhere near or within vast Zin-Azshari, he hoped to find Tyrande and Illidan.

He still could not forgive himself for what had befallen Tyrande and could not blame her if she could not find it in her heart to forgive him, either. He had let her fall into the Legion’s clutches, a most unthinkable fate. No, if, as he hoped, Tyrande lived, Malfurion expected nothing but hatred and contempt from his childhood friend.

What he expected from himself if he came across his brother, the druid could not even imagine, but something would have to be done about Illidan.

Something…

“Illidan, please! You must listen to me!” Tyrande blurted as the sorcerer dragged her along with him. It was not her first such outburst, but she hoped that this time he might heed her words. “This is not the path you should take! Think! By embracing the power of the Legion, you more and more draw yourself toward their evil!”

“Don’t talk nonsense! I’m going to save Kalimdor! I’ll be its beloved hero!” He turned on her. “Don’t you understand? Nothing else has worked! We fought and fought and the Legion just keeps coming! I finally came to realize that the only way to deal with demons was to understand them as only they can understand themselves! We must use what they were against them! That’s why I came here and pretended to join their ranks! I even fooled their lord into granting me his greatest gifts — ”

“Gifts? You call what he did to your eyes gifts?”

Malfurion’s brother loomed over her, looking at that moment more like one of the demons than any night elf. “If you could see as I do, you’d know how amazing the powers are he gave me…” With an unnerving smile, Illidan allowed her again to see the pits where once his eyes had been. He paid no mind when Tyrande, just as she had upon her first view of the horror wrought upon him, involuntarily pulled back. Replacing the scarf, he concluded, “Yes, the greatest gifts imaginable… and the greatest weapons against the Burning Legion…”

The sorcerer pulled her along again and although it was within the priestess’s power to struggle free of him, in truth, Tyrande did not exactly wish to leave Illidan. She feared for him, feared for his heart and mind and wanted to do what she could to try to save the misguided spellcaster. The teachings of Elune only in part guided her; Tyrande Whisperwind still recalled vividly the younger Illidan, the Illidan full of dreams, hope, and goodness.

She only prayed that some part of that younger Illidan still existed within this more jaded, highly-ambitious figure eagerly dragging her through a demon-benighted land.

Thinking of the armored horrors she had already fought, Tyrande glanced around as they wended their way through the fallen city. Each moment, the priestess expected one of the monstrous warriors to pop up from among the ruins and attack. Surely, Mannoroth knew of Illidan’s treachery by now.

Perhaps noticing her glances or even reading her thoughts, the black-clad sorcerer slyly informed Tyrande, “The spellwork over the Well has Mannoroth’s full attention and he thinks little of me as it is. I’ve cast the illusion that I’ve returned to my quarters and am meditating.” He grinned wide. “Besides that, the flight of several of the Highborne — the priestess of Elune with them — has also taken their focus elsewhere.”

In the distance, they heard Legion horns again sounding the chase. Tyrande prayed to Elune to watch over Dath’Remar and his comrades. They had a long, long way to ride and so many demons to fight through.

Oblivious to her concern for the Highborne, Illidan grinned and added, “Yes, this should give me just enough time for what I planned!”