Something different moved near Malfurion’s enshrouded location, something both familiar… and not.

The archdruid wondered what new torture the Nightmare Lord intended now. The agony of his continual transformation still assailed him, but Malfurion had managed to keep that one part of his mind shielded off from it. He knew that his captor was aware of this and sought to break down that shield and so expected that this was to be the next effort.

Malfurion was not certain of his own ability to hold off anymore.

To do what he had done and still suffer his torments had taken so very, very much out of him. The Nightmare Lord knew well how to torture him, striking through just who and what the archdruid loved or feared the most.

The shape was huge, though not so much as the shadow of a gigantic tree that was all Malfurion knew of his foe. The new shape moved with a confidence and sinuousness that disturbed the night elf. He wished that the thick, unsettling mist surrounding his tiny prison would just for a moment disperse so that he could see the thing better and understand what new evil it brought with it.

I am here… came a voice in his head. However, it was not the Nightmare Lord, but rather the new shape. Nor was it talking to Malfurion; he simply heard it as it reached out to another.

And that other came forth. The shadow of the tree bent over Malfurion’s own twisted form, the Nightmare Lord’s branches reaching like tendrils toward the newcomer.

There was silence. Malfurion realized that his captor spoke to the shape, but unlike the latter, the Nightmare Lord kept his desires hidden from his prisoner. The night elf wondered why that was necessary.

The new shadow let out a mocking laugh. Yes… it shall be done so… what a jest it will be…

The archdruid would have frowned if he could. This was not a new torture for him — at least not directly. Rather, his tormentor had some task for this other shadow.

Understanding that brought resolve to Malfurion. He let his pain focus his powers. He was still in the Emerald Dream — or Nightmare now — and although his efforts thus far to pierce the mist and see how the realm had been changed by the evil that had swept over it had failed, perhaps… perhaps Malfurion could manage enough for something more focused.

The veil would not part. The shape continued to be nothing more than that. Still, the archdruid concentrated, using the same methods needed to peer into oneself for the meditation that preceded the dreamform leaving the body. Sensing all there was to this unsettling visitor became Malfurion’s all. He had tried this with the Nightmare Lord and failed, but if they did not expect him to try again on the newcomer…

Too curious a vermin you are!

Malfurion’s mind was struck by a mental force so great it momentarily stunned him. That had the curious effect of lessening his agony — if but for a second.

I go… the shape said to the night elf’s unheard tormentor. The archdruid managed to refocus enough to see the shape dwindle in the thick mist.

The shadow tree that was the Nightmare Lord’s presence here now twisted back to loom over Malfurion. Too much spirit still, but not for long… so much effort costs, does it not? How fares your mortal cloak, my friend?

The night elf understood immediately. He felt the weakness that originated not from his dreamform but his actual body increase.

His attempt to learn more had cost him valuable power.

The shadow branches draped over his eyes, almost as if they desired to pluck them out. Yet Malfurion was aware that his eyes were perhaps the safest part of his dreamform. The evil that held him wanted him to see, even if there was nothing to see… or perhaps because there was nothing.

You wish to see? Why you only had to ask, my friend… it is the least I can do for one who gives so much to our desires…

The branches stretched forward, separating into two sets that in turn acted as monstrous hands that pushed away the mist…

revealing for the first time what the emerald realm had become.

Malfurion would have screamed if he could, albeit not because of pain.

The branches receded. The mist closed about the trapped archdruid once more.

The mocking voice filled his head. The glee in it was like daggers that constantly thrust at the night elf’s mind. And we are indebted to you for so much of this, Malfurion Stormrage… so much…

The shadow tree vanished. The voice stilled. For the moment Malfurion was being left to dwell on the horror that he had seen. It was but the latest torture designed to break that part of him that had not yet surrendered.

But what his captor did not know was that the night elf had also learned something that he desired to know. Two significant things, in fact. One was the identity of the Nightmare Lord’s servant. The answer should have been obvious, but due to Malfurion’s constant suffering, it had taken the creature’s own abrupt anger to reveal him.

A green dragon indeed served the evil… but not just any green dragon… He prayed that Ysera knew, lest she be caught by surprise. If the mistress of the Emerald Dream was captured, then all was truly lost.

And the second thing, which had come with the unveiling of Malfurion’s true surroundings, served to verify a choice that the archdruid had made long ago.

If there was a chance at all of him saving Ysera and the Emerald Dream, then Malfurion would have to die.

Despite what they had seen, despite what that potentially meant for them, Tyrande and Broll knew that they also had to sleep. The shocking struggle in Auberdine had taken more out of them than they had realized.

They had no idea as to where they were in conjunction to either Auberdine or Ashenvale, but the druid had told her that he thought that they were closer to their goal. Unfortunately, she was now without Jai, which meant that they could not fly. As powerful as Broll’s storm crow form was, it could not carry her and their intriguing companion.

Tyrande continued to study the slumbering human. He appeared a harmless figure and she sensed no overwhelming magical presence around him, even though, as not only high priestess of Elune but one who had through the centuries studied the various magics, she should have noticed something. There was that about him that bespoke of some kind of magic, but it was very subtle, almost as if an inherent part of his most basic being and not enhanced by any study of the mystical arts.

She glanced at the heavens, which were going from gray to black. A day had passed, a precious one lost as they waited for the human to wake up. Though he muttered in his sleep, he did not act like the townsfolk. His nightmares might be vivid, but they had not come to life.

Recalling Auberdine again, the high priestess shuddered. She and Broll had come close to falling victim just as poor Jai had.

Tyrande relived the nightmares she had suffered — hellish, grinning satyrs come to take her to their master — and gave thanks that the human had come when he had. Broll had told her of his own monsters, in his case ghastly demons of the Burning Legion. For both night elves, the creatures had worn horrific parodies of the sleeping inhabitants of Auberdine.

Not for the first time, Tyrande wanted to shake their new companion until he woke. Malfurion slipped closer and closer to oblivion — or worse — with each passing day. However, she and the druid had come to agree that there was no use in attempting such a futile act again. The human had remained unconscious even despite their initial harsh efforts; it seemed he would not wake until he chose to wake.

But I will not lose him again! Tyrande insisted, her expression tightening. I will not lose him even if it is his own fault that he’s come to these straits —