Bowing his head, the tauren replied, “As you say, Archdruid Fandral.”

“Excellent! Now, come with me. I would tell you more about our next effort. It shall be very exerting. It may take more than a day’s meditation to recover from it…”

Fandral started off. Hamuul could do nothing but follow. Yet even as he listened to the night elf begin to explain, he also looked back at the area he had touched. He had heard the incoherent whispering and he knew that it was the voice of the World Tree.

Had not the lead archdruid also investigated, the tauren would have been even more anxious than he was. Still, enough of a concern remained that Hamuul continued to wonder…and worry.

To Hamuul Runetotem, the whispering meant one and one thing only.

Teldrassil was going mad.

They did not enter the portal immediately, although that had been their intention. Eranikus and Alexstrasza cautiously probed ahead, their powers reaching deep within to see if there still lurked some trap by the corrupted Lethon and Emeriss. Only when they were satisfied that there was not did the dragons agree it was safe for Eranikus and the night elves to proceed.

“About damned time,” Broll muttered. Tyrande nodded, mirroring his opinion. They were both filled with an urgency to find Malfurion.

One particular thing that disturbed both was the missing Lucan Foxblood and this mysterious orc. The orc was likely an accidental intruder, and yet…

“You do not yet comprehend the full threat of the Nightmare,” the green dragon responded with some bitterness. “Be not so desiring of entering it without all preparations made.”

“Time is of the essence.”

Alexstrasza dipped her head in agreement. “So it is, Broll Bearmantle, but if I am correct and Malfurion Stormrage has somehow been trying to help guide you, then he would want matters thought through first.” The dragon smiled grimly. “And we have done that now.”

“I am ready,” Eranikus declared.

“Are you certain?” asked the Aspect.

The bitterness grew more evident. “I am. I owe it to my Ysera.”

The Life-Binder bowed her head. A warm, comforting glow radiated from Alexstrasza. It touched the trio. The night elves smiled and even Eranikus looked thankful.

“May my blessing keep you safe and guide your hunt to success,” the Aspect declared.

“We are honored and thank you,” Tyrande replied.

Eranikus took a breath, then stretched his wings. “I will go ahead

…to guard the way.”

The energies within the portal swelled up as he approached. To his credit, the green dragon did not hesitate. He stepped into the portal.

And then he was gone.

Broll and Tyrande strode up to the portal.

“You should stay here,” he said to her.

“I have remained apart from Malfurion much too long already,” she retorted.

Before he could say anything else, she had leapt through.

Broll let out an exasperated sound, then followed.

The sensation of physically entering the other realm was akin to the feeling that one got just before falling asleep. Broll had not had time to think about that when Lethon had attacked them, but now he recognized it. It was far different from sending his dreamform here.

When he did that, it was as if he had cast off a heavy weight and was finally free of all his worldly problems.

Not so now. More than ever, he was aware of what the Nightmare could hold, even if at present he could only see the thick mist ahead. The Nightmare had not entirely departed after all.

“We cannot travel like this,” Eranikus proclaimed. The dragon fluttered just above the night elves, his wings beating in slow motion. He looked as if seen through the ripples of a rushing river, something else that Broll had not had time to notice during the desperate struggle. The same could be said for Tyrande and even the druid himself.

The dragon arched his back, then breathed upon the mist. A soft spray of what appeared to be speckles of emerald light touched everywhere ahead.

“Elune, protect us!” the high priestess gasped as the way cleared.

At that moment Broll would have gratefully accepted the aid of any deity or demigod. Even the company of a dragon did not at the moment seem enough.

Before, the Emerald Dream had been a place that was the world of Azeroth as seen as if no races such as the night elves had ever existed. Its hills and mountains had been perfectly shaped, for erosion did not exist here. High grasses and beautiful trees had spread across a rolling landscape. The fauna had been unafraid, peaceful. To druids, it had seemed a paradise.

But now no name was more apt, at least for the area before them, than that by which Eranikus called it…Nightmare.

The land was draped in a wet, festering substance that bubbled.

The beautiful emerald shading had become the putrid color of rot.

What trees there were had become deformed parodies of themselves. Their leaves were black, sharp, and filled with poisonous stickers. Small dark vermin crawled over the scabby bark, often pausing to dine on the thick, odorous sap dripping from cracks in the trunks.

“Cenarius, preserve us…” the druid rasped. Still eyeing it all in disbelief, Broll took a step forward. A crunching sound beneath his feet made the druid look down.

The ground was covered in small green-black scorpions, sinewy millipedes, finger-sized cockroaches, spiders with bodies as large as fists, and more. A thick, sticky tar now coated the underside of Broll’s sandal, the results of crushing several of the creatures with his step.

“They are everywhere,” Tyrande breathed. “They cover the ground for as far as the eye can see…”

“Not for long,” the green dragon responded with much determination. He breathed over the ground. It was as if Eranikus had exhaled flames. The crackle of thousands of tiny bodies burning to a crisp filled their ears, and even the dragon shuddered at the sound.

The land Eranikus had razed was now charred black. He nodded at his handiwork.

But from the crusted forms there came movement. Out of one burnt roach carapace burst a number of segmented legs. A new cockroach as horrific as the last emerged from its predecessor.

And to the dismay of the three, the act was repeated from every ruined corpse. Whatever Eranikus had destroyed was replaced…

Tendrils of mist played around the macabre scenery, as if seeking to regain the air Ysera’s consort had cleared. The green dragon let out another burst, which pushed the mist away again

…for the moment.

“It is monstrous…” the high priestess said, trying without success to carefully pick her steps. Each footfall was followed by more crunching and the sound of the thick tar oozing from the shattered bodies. Worse, the moment that she stepped away, the hideous rebirth of her victims began.

“This is only part of it…” Eranikus muttered, the gleam of his eyes muted in this place. “I sense that the Nightmare has strengthened, worsened more than I could ever have believed…”

And as he spoke, they all became aware of movement at the edge of the mist. Shapes that were almost seen…but not quite.

“The shadow satyrs have returned,” Tyrande decided.

Eranikus said nothing. Instead, he exhaled again, bathing the closest of the vaguely seen forms. As with the fiendish creatures beneath their feet, there immediately came the sound of burning.

But then, frantic and pleading shrieks all but deafened the trio.

Stunned, the green dragon quickly cut off his attack. Broll and Tyrande clutched their ears at the terrifying sound. These were not the cries of monsters vanquished.

“May Ysera forgive me!” Eranikus managed as the mist burned away and his victims lay revealed.

They were — or had been — night elves, humans, orcs, dwarves

…members of all the mortal races. What remained after Eranikus’s merciless attack were charred bodies that continued to quiver, that sought to reach out for help or at least an end to their suffering.