The evil one’s name. The base night elf. Malfurion.

Thura missed the word that followed his name, or she might have wondered if her prey was already dead. Thus, she only knew — or believed — one thing. Soon she would confront Brox’s slayer and he who would also ravage Azeroth…

The orc slipped back, still amazed. The dragon was not there now, but rather some wizard, it seemed. She had not heard enough to know the truth there, either. To Thura, wizards did not rate highly; they were cowards who fought from the back of the battle using methods no honorable warrior would accept. That she felt differently about shaman and even druids was merely a prejudice based on her people’s choices. In her eyes, it only meant one more obstacle that she would face in order to avenge her blood kin.

The orc crept along the landscape seeking a spot from which to watch the hill as a whole. No matter from which exit they left, she would see them. Then, as she had always done, Thura would follow the trail she was given, whether it be by dreams or tracking Malfurion’s companions.

A sound from above sent her flattening against a nearby hillside.

Gazing up, Thura grunted. Now she could account for all her enemies. The last had revealed itself, though the orc still did not know how it had slipped out without her seeing it.

The shrouded form of a dragon glided over the region. Thura watched as it hovered above the hills where she had thought it nested. In the night sky, the dragon was a great, black silhouette.

Indeed, it was hard to separate the dragon from the darkness. It was fortunate that Thura had seen the beast under better conditions, or else at this moment she would have questioned her eyes. The dragon looked much, much larger than before, huge in comparison. In fact, it was so huge that there was no possibility of it being the one she had seen earlier. This was truly a giant among giants.

Thura gripped the ax, ready to use it if need be, but the dragon ceased its hovering and went on the move again. Beating its wings hard, it flew away.

And if Thura had known the land better, she would have realized that the dragon was heading in the direction of Ashenvale.

Little light filtered in from outside. Most of the illumination in the cave was still due to Tyrande’s work. Still, the faint light from without appeared to put the dragon further on edge.

“This is not natural,” he muttered at one point. “The sky should be brighter than this.” Eranikus shut his eyes for a moment. His expression hardening, he opened them again and informed them, “You should not have stayed! I have seen the outside. There is less cloud blocking the sun than a mist that should have burned away by now. It is not natural…I feel…I feel the Nightmare closer than ever…”

The green dragon rarely called the realm by the name by which it had been known since time immemorial. For him there existed only the horror that it had become.

He made no mention either of the fate of its mistress, Ysera, which boded ill to Broll. Yet despite also clearly being concerned about his queen and mate, Eranikus refused to accompany them to Ashenvale — the central subject of what had become an argument raging all night.

Eranikus remained in his false elven shape, as if even being himself for a short time risked being corrupted again. The dragon had bade them leave more than once, but neither the druid nor the high priestess would, not even when threatened. It was obvious to both that with matters so grave in the dream realm, they would need the aid of someone who knew the realm even better than Broll. Fortunately, it had become quite obvious that for reasons of his own, Eranikus had no intention of causing them harm.

“I have been very patient,” the dragon growled, turning from them. “Leave before I cast you out of this place.”

“You could’ve done that more than once,” Broll pointed out. “And you haven’t.”

“Mistake not my misery for weakness!” Eranikus retorted, turning on the night elf. “Nor my regret! I have done great evil and know that, but there are limits to my patience…”

Lucan listened to all of this with a sense of impending doom. The points of the discussion were well above his head, but he did understand that matters were growing worse and that, despite his desire otherwise, he was somehow linked to them.

A desire to have at least a little quiet had been gradually building up inside him. The cartographer finally gave in to it. With the night elves still arguing — arguing — with the dragon, Lucan decided to step away from them. Not far. Just enough to give him some peace.

Eranikus blocked the path by which the trio had entered, so Lucan headed in the opposite direction. He chose a passage at random, only caring that it be lengthy enough to escape the voices.

More and more, he just wanted to be away.

Although he was hardly as stealthy as either the druid or the high priestess, the human escaped the chamber without notice. Already breathing easier, Lucan stumbled down the jagged, narrow passage.

The voices drifted after him. Dissatisfied, Lucan moved further on. The argument faded to mere sounds, but that was still not enough.

Lucan had left the field of illumination, but a dim finger of light from ahead gave him at least some visibility. He instinctively strode toward it.

An exit to the outside world finally greeted him. It was barely brighter outside than where he was and tendrils of mist crept into the passage, but despite his wariness, Lucan felt the urge to continue. There could be no harm in taking a single step outside. If it looked even the least treacherous, all he had to do was enter again.

Convinced by such logic, the human left the passage. He was greeted by a vague landscape that at first put him in mind of the pristine, emerald one of which he had always dreamed and which, though he apparently stepped into it, now feared.

Still, being outside after a night in the cave gave Lucan some relief. I’ll only stay out here a moment , he promised. Perhaps

…perhaps then they’ll know what to do…

The one thing of which he was certain was that not in the least did he desire to travel to this Ashenvale. He had already realized that in some manner the place was tied to the dream realm. Lucan had not told the night elves that the more he was near things bound to what the dragon rightly called the Nightmare, the more the feeling of constantly slipping between Azeroth and it increased. Everything related to the dream realm called to him.

That, Lucan finally understood, was why he had ended up here in the first place. He had been heading toward the dragon from the start, for Eranikus was not only a part of his astounding and terrible past — a past with which Lucan was still coming to grips — but the dragon had, at least in the past, been an integral part of the Nightmare. Whatever had stirred up this part of Lucan seemed determined to set him on a path into the other realm…something he desperately wanted to avoid.

The cartographer paced back and forth. Throughout the night, while the others had struggled to come to some agreement, he had tried to comprehend why this should be forced upon him. An orphan raised by good folk in Stormwind, he had expected his life to begin and end as it did for most people. Magic and monsters were not for him. His thirst for travel focused only on how better he could make the maps on which his master would sign his own name. Lucan had no desires above that.

He was not a coward, not in the least, but neither was he an adventurer beyond his dreams.

The last thought made him grimace. ’Tis my dreams that are the problem!

A clattering of stone made him look around. Only then did Lucan see that he had walked farther away than he had intended. The passage was now a faint shape some distance behind him.