“And what is that?” Even as she asked, Tyrande saw in the distance the black, foreboding waters. “Why are we headed toward the Well?”

“Because I intend to turn Sargeras’s portal into a full-fledged maelstrom, one that will suck the demons back out of Kalimdor and into their nether world! I’ll utterly reverse the effect of the dragon’s disk! Think of it! With one spell, I’ll save not only our people, but everything!”

His expression shifted, now almost seeming hopeful of her approval. However, when Tyrande did not immediately show such emotion, Illidan quickly became his harsher self again.

“You don’t believe I can do it! Maybe if I was your precious Malfurion, you’d be jumping up and down, clapping your hands at my cleverness!”

“It isn’t that at all, Illidan! I just — ”

“Never mind!” He peered around the stormy landscape, seeking something. His monstrous gaze alighted on a fallen tree home. The angle of the dead oak meant that they could climb inside and get a perfect view of the Well of Eternity. “Just Perfect! Get in there!”

Practically tossed forward, the priestess wended her way into the ruined domicile. The sorcerer followed right behind, all but shoving her as they went.

As she climbed into the overturned structure, Tyrande’s foot kicked something.

A skull.

She found herself standing amidst a pile of bones from at least five or six figures. No skeleton was complete and most of the bones had long, telling scratches and gouges in them. Tyrande shuddered, hoping that the felbeasts had feasted on dead carcasses, not living, helpless victims, but from experience fearing the worst.

“You can pray over them once I’ve saved all of us,” Illidan remarked disdainfully. “Just ahead looks like the best — ”

A monstrously-familiar form leapt out of the shadows.

It took down Malfurion’s twin before he could react. Tyrande screamed, then immediately called upon the power of Elune.

But before she could do anything, the felbeast, its tentacles already seeking Illidan’s chest, howled painfully. The demon hound writhed as the sorcerer calmly rose. Illidan’s right hand held both suckers together.

“I could use the magic you’ve been gorging yourself on…” he commented almost blithely to the creature.

The night elf planted his left palm against the suckers. However, unlike times past, this felbeast showed no interest in trying to drink from its intended victim. Instead, it fought — however futilely — to pull its vile appendages back.

Illidan’s left hand glowed an eerie green that Tyrande recognized as the same color as the horrific flames surrounding the demons. Malfurion’s twin inhaled — and Tyrande watched in horror as the demon literally crumbled to dust from end to front, whining to the last. Its very essence was sucked into the sorcerer’s palm.

As the horrific vision unfolded, Illidan’s aspect became something frightening to behold. Even though he had replaced the scarf over his eye sockets, she could see the terrible fires burning within. The sorcerer wore a wide, almost drunken grin and around him flared green flames as potent as those surrounding any demon. Illidan seemed to swell —

Then, the flames abruptly died away and the sorcerer instantly returned to his normal appearance. He wiped clean his hand, then kicked a little at the ash that was all that remained of the felbeast. Smoothing his hair, Illidan gave Tyrande another confident smile. “Well! Shall we proceed?”

The priestess hid her shock as best she could. This was no longer the Illidan with whom she had grown up. This figure reveled in carnage as much as the demons themselves did. Worse, that he could so eagerly accept into his body the taint of the Legion stirred within her a disgust that Tyrande had never experienced.

Mother Moon, guide me in this! Tell me what to do! Can I still save him?

“Up here,” her companion ordered. “I can focus on the center of the Well from that point on the roof.”

Moving past the bones, they climbed up to what had once been an elegant roof terrace. Broken rails originally shaped from living wood lay scattered on the ground below and a pearl statue of Azshara — still amazingly whole — lay tangled in the dead foliage of the tree that had supported the house.

Illidan propped himself against what had once been the mosaic floor. Bits of the forest pageantry that decorated it still remained, revealing bits of fanciful animals, bucolic scenery, and lush trees.

Queen Azshara’s beatific countenance still made up the center. Malfurion’s brother rested his head against her full, if now cracked, lips.

“Nearly time,” he murmured, speaking to himself more than her. From a pouch on his belt, Illidan removed a long, narrow vial. Although the crimson glass hid exactly what was within, Tyrande sensed just enough about its contents to feel her anxiety rise.

“Illidan… what’s in that bottle?”

His shrouded gaze did not shift from the container. “Just a bit of the Well itself.”

“What?” His words, said so lightly expressed, shook her to the core. Illidan had dared take from the night elves’ source of power? “But — no one — it’s forbidden — even the Highborne would never think — ”

The sorcerer nodded. “No… even they wouldn’t. That is so interesting about our people, wouldn’t you say, Tyrande? Surely, though, the notion occurred to someone before me… perhaps that’s where our legends of our greatest spellcasters comes from. Maybe they secretly borrowed from the Well for a special casting or two! Probably did.” Illidan shrugged, his countenance stiffening again. “But even if no one else ever did, I don’t see any reason why I should hold back. It just came to me, as if out of the blue. Take some of the Well for myself and there will be nothing too great for me to achieve!”

“But the Well — even a drop of it — ” Tyrande had to make him see sense! Dabbling with the waters of the Well in such a way courted disaster on par with his acceptance of the Legion’s dark magic.

“Yes… imagine what forces this entire vial contains…” Had Illidan still had true eyes, they would have lit up with anticipation of the results he expected. “Should be enough to enable me to save the world!”

But the priestess was not so convinced. As an acolyte of Elune, Tyrande was far more aware of the Well’s legends and history than Illidan could possibly be. “Illidan… to use the Well against itself in such a way… you could be opening the doors to utter chaos! Remember the tale of Aru-Talis…”

“Aru-Talis is only that. A myth.”

“And is the gaping crater, so many generations overgrown now by new life, also a myth?”

He waved off her warning. “No one knows what happened to that city or even if it really existed! Spare me your stories of wisdom and fear…”

“Illidan — ”

The scarved face contorted in growing anger. “I want you to be quiet… now.”

“ — ” No sound escaped Tyrande’s mouth despite her best attempt to create even the slightest noise. Even when she coughed, it was in utter silence.

Standing again, Illidan eyed the center of the Well. The storm had grown so intense that the ruined tree home now shook from the rising winds. Over the waters, unsettling, almost ghostly lights flashed.

The priestess shook her head. It bothered her that, despite Illidan’s own confidence in his abilities, they had not been noticed. Surely Mannoroth was not so blind as Malfurion’s twin believed. Yet, other than the hound, they had come across no demons save a pair of Fel Guard early on that Illidan had misdirected with a simple wave of his hand.

Illidan touched a finger to the stopper, which only now Tyrande saw was a tiny, crystalline facsimile of the queen from head to foot. Azshara spun around three times as if dancing for the sorcerer, then the stopper popped off. Illidan caught it with ease.

“Watch, Tyrande… watch while I do what your precious Malfurion could not…”