The head descended back into the Nightmare.

The defenders returned to their overall efforts, but Broll sensed his comrades’ morale drop. This could not have been the first such loss and would certainly not be the last.

Twice this number and more were there of us once, the spirit sadly verified to him. Zaetar clenched his fists. But one way or another, they were taken…and now, as corrupted, they serve it…

“Lethon…” the night elf muttered. The shadow had reminded him of the foul green leviathan.

There are worse things than dragons even, but Lethon and Emeriss have served the Nightmare well…

Broll had seen enough…or too much. “I’ve got to find Tyrande

…she went in search of Malfurion! There’s an orc loose here and she carries a weapon capable of slaying him…”

I have already reached out to all to see if there has been a sign of this, the flickering Zaetar responded, confirming that he saw within Broll’s thoughts. None have responded in the affirmative…

“She headed toward what she thought a keep—”

There is no such structure…

“I saw the outline myself! I was following after—” Broll looked to Arei, but the ancient shook his massive head. “We saw it—”

The mist began to surround them again. One by one, the distant defenders faded from the worried night elf’s view. Somewhere out there was his shan’do and the high priestess.

And a murderous orc.

Zaetar looked disturbed. I know what you plan…it is foolishness! You will only give yourself to the Nightmare —

“If it’s to happen, it’ll happen one way or the other!” Broll said with a snarl. He thought hard. “Where’s the Nightmare worst?”

With resignation, the spirit pointed far to his left. The mist thinned enough to show the undulating emerald-black darkness.

That is only a shadow itself of what is within…stay and fight with us, Broll Bearmantle…

In response, the druid transformed into his cat shape and bounded toward the spot. Arei started after, but Zaetar shook his head. Let him continue on his quest…it may be that he will succeed and they will free Malfurion Stormrage…

“Is this possible?” the ancient asked.

The spirit turned back toward the battle against the evil tide.

Though he stood far from the visual edge of the struggle, his powers already assaulted the ever-growing evil. No…but just as we are doomed to failure and still fight…so, too, will Broll Bearmantle and others such as Malfurion’s love — the high priestess Tyrande Whisperwind — continue to seek him…even though in the end the Nightmare will consume them all…

She was almost there. Thura could smell her prey…or at least thought that she did. He hid somewhere in the shadowy keep.

The orc did not know this foggy land, but what discomfort she felt while traversing it was minor compared to her eagerness at finally closing in on the cowardly murderer. Soon, so very soon, she would avenge her kin.

Something moved in the mist. Thura had been aware for some time that there were others around her. They were more than beast, though they also seemed not quite like any foe she knew. In her mind, they likely served Malfurion Stormrage. Of course he would have others defend him.

She hefted the ax. Since entering the Emerald Dream, it had taken on a golden hue. Thura had accepted that as another of the weapon’s mystic properties.

Something just at the left edge of her vision moved toward her.

The orc swung. The ax met no resistance, but she heard a hiss, followed by a wail. Thura caught a glimpse of something that stood on two hooved legs melt away as if it were truly only made of shadow.

But even as the ax cleaved through that figure, another came from the opposite side. The orc spun around. The ax felt so right in her hands as it sliced through another shadowed form.

Again, there came the hiss and the wail.

There were no traces of her fallen enemy nor any of the one preceding it. The other shadows in the mist had withdrawn to greater distances, a sign that they rightly feared her and the ax.

Sneering at their weakness, Thura turned back to her chosen path.

The keep was no longer there.

Thura uttered an epithet, then looked again. The keep was no longer there, but something else was.

It was a tree.

Orcs had learned to carve out lives in harsh, unforgiving lands and so the twisted, almost painful bend of the nearly obscured tree only slightly bothered her. However, Thura decided that such a tree was suitable for this dank place.

But it was not that for which she was searching. The keep had been her guide. Frustrated, the orc started to turn away. The keep had to be somewhere —

Just before the tree would have vanished from her peripheral vision, the orc noticed a change. She immediately focused on it again.

Only…the tree was now the distant and murky silhouette of a tall, cloaked figure.

Almost as quickly as Thura spotted the figure, the mist wrapped around it. What remained of the silhouette once more resembled the tortured tree.

But it was enough to the fixated orc to thrust her toward it. The silhouette had been telling. She recognized that outline, so often had she seen it in her dreams. A tall figure with the shape and stance of a night elf and adorned at the head with antlers. It could be no one else.

Gripping Brox’s ax tighter yet, the orc grinned without humor. At long last, Thura had found Malfurion Stormrage.

Tyrande felt the gentle touch of a hand on her cheek. She stirred to find someone kneeling next to her.

It was a smiling Malfurion. He was exactly as she last remembered him. Tall, broad-shouldered for a night elf though not built like a seasoned warrior as Broll Bearmantle was. His face and eyes bore the centuries of toil he had performed in service to his calling and Azeroth. His antlers were long and proud, a symbol of his closeness to nature, to the world that he loved.

Heart leaping, the high priestess pushed herself up enough to tightly embrace the archdruid.

“Mal…” Tyrande whispered, sounding for the moment many millennia younger than she was. “Oh, Mal…I found you at last!

Praise Elune!”

“I have missed you so much,” he returned, holding her just as tight. His tone suddenly lost its pleasure. “But you shouldn’t be here. You should go. I wasn’t expecting you to be the one to find me first…”

“‘Go’?” The high priestess stood. Her expression showed her tremendous disbelief. “I won’t leave you now!”

The archdruid looked around as if wary of something. Tyrande followed his gaze, but saw only the pristine, sweeping landscape of the Emerald Dream. It was as beautiful, as untouched, as Malfurion had ever described it —

Tyrande’s head pounded. “This isn’t right…there’s something wrong about us…”

“This is only an image in your mind,” the archdruid answered, his wariness growing. “I wanted you to see me, to know it was me!”

“Malfurion…”

“Listen to me! It’s all about to fall into place. I need you to turn back! You can only be here because he suspected! I should have known that he would plan for this! I should not even be speaking with you, for fear he senses us and gleans the full truth!”

“Who? Who is ‘he’?”

Malfurion grimaced. “You have to listen! If the Nightmare Lord has something in mind for you, then you need to leave as quickly as possible! He’s why you managed to get this far—”

“I’ve nearly died more than once to reach you!” the stricken high priestess returned somewhat angrily. “No one has led me by the nose—”

“He likes to play his games, torture even those he needs! He roots into your dreams—” Malfurion broke off, laughing bitterly.