Far too late…mocked the Nightmare Lord. Far too late…

Shadows draped over Malfurion, skeletal shadows of the unseen tree’s reaching limbs.

But it was not for the archdruid that those limbs stretched.

Instead, they aimed for the others.

Malfurion again sought to warn them, but only the human appeared to notice him. The man eyed Malfurion’s macabre form and then gaped. He started to say something to the two combatants, raising the archdruid’s hopes…

A tremendous emerald force swept over the area.

The shadow tree recoiled but held its position. However, the foremost regions of mist burned away and the horror that Malfurion alone knew still awaited within it likewise vanished, seeking the safety of those areas still covered by the foulness.

Tyrande and Thura paused in their battle to follow with their gazes the human’s outthrust finger. And though Malfurion could not quite see the object of their interest, with his other senses he perhaps understood the enormity of it even better than they did.

The sky was filled with dragons, Ysera’s dragons. All those that remained uncorrupted had come at this desperate point to attack the Nightmare and its sinister master.

More to the point, they had come to rescue him.

This was not how Malfurion had wanted it. The dragons risked themselves. Yet he could not help but take heart in how the Nightmare melted away before them. What had started out as a distraction in order for the archdruid’s plan to succeed had now become part of the actual rescue. The Great Aspect had clearly understood that she could no longer trust for the orc to act as intended. Tyrande’s intervention inadvertently threatened catastrophe.

The mists retreated as if burned. Wherever Ysera’s servants stretched forth their power, the sinister tendrils of fog pulled back and the Dream was restored. The carrion bugs melted under the great emerald glow of the dragons’ power, fading to nothing. The grasses and trees were restored.

And at that moment Thura used the battle to fulfill her quest. She abandoned a distracted Tyrande and shoved past the desperate grab by the human.

Malfurion urged her on. He watched as she raised the ax.

Tyrande saw her. The high priestess glowed in preparation of stopping the orc.

The shadow tree moved. Malfurion realized that Tyrande still did not believe that she could be manipulated. With nothing to lose, Malfurion began to maneuver another root that he had been working with since extending the other beyond his prison. That one had originally been set to aid Thura, not Tyrande. This one would now have to distract the other night elf, if only for a critical second.

But someone else suddenly came to Malfurion’s aid. Even transformed, his identity was known to the trapped archdruid. Broll Bearmantle, racing along in his giant cat form, snarled for Tyrande’s attention. That he did so meant that he knew what was intended, not a surprise to Malfurion as he had obviously arrived with the coming of the green dragons.

His appearance did as intended. Startled, Tyrande lost her chance.

Thura swung. The shadow tree that was the Nightmare Lord reacted too slowly.

The ax cut just as Malfurion hoped. Pain coursed through him, but after the continual agonies he had suffered at the whim of his captor, it was pain easily smothered. What was important was that in cutting into the tree, the ax — forged by Cenarius and with the life force of Azeroth fueling it — also severed the spells that had caught Malfurion by surprise and trapped him so.

With a cry that was of relief, not anguish, Malfurion shed his foul trappings. The black, thorned leaves melted away. The branches that had been his arms and hands shrank and untwisted. The roots withdrew, then became feet, which, in turn, became part of two separate legs again.

And the dark, diseased green that had been his coloring burned away to the brilliant emerald of his dreamform.

No…came the Nightmare Lord’s voice. It is not so simple as that…

The shadows of several branches crossed Malfurion’s chest.

Despite neither they nor him having any solidity — or perhaps because of that fact — the night elf felt as if his chest were being crushed. The euphoria of his escape vanished as he felt his foe once more slipping into his thoughts and his very soul.

“Mal!” Tyrande shouted. She and Broll both surged toward the stricken archdruid. To his credit, the human followed.

Thura stood dumbstruck, the results of her attack hardly what she had expected. Her expression was that of someone just realizing that they had been tricked.

More shadow branches descended, brushing aside with ease Malfurion’s would-be rescuers. Thura, realizing what was the greater threat, swung at one of the shadows draping her former target’s chest.

There was a hiss as the magical wood touched the shadows.

One of the shadow branches flew off as if made of substance. It landed some distance away, where it faded to nothing.

The Nightmare Lord howled, almost causing Malfurion to black out.

The ground erupted at Thura’s feet. Shadow roots seized her legs and as they did, the orc suddenly let out a cry. One hand let go of the ax to claw at the air. The other’s grip weakened dangerously.

The Nightmare means for her to lose Brox’s ax! Malfurion struggled to help her, but the shadows squeezed tighter against his chest.

Come…he heard his captor murmur. Come…

But the archdruid had no intention of surrendering to the darkness. He strained and at the very least seemed to keep from being crushed.

All around them, the green dragons cleansed the area of the Nightmare. The only tendril still extending so far was around Malfurion and the shadow tree. Yet even despite the obvious threat of defeat, the Nightmare’s master would not release him.

Malfurion understood why. The Nightmare needed him. He was key to the Nightmare’s growth in both the Dream and Azeroth.

But others understood that as well. The shadow tree was abruptly bathed with the pure energies of both nature and dreams.

The tree shivered while at the same time the night elf experienced a sense of euphoria.

Only one being could wield the power so in his mind and struggling to look up, he saw that she now hovered over them.

“No taint of shadow shall be left in my domain!” Ysera called.

Her eyes were shut, but Malfurion knew that she saw with more accuracy than anyone where her foe was most vulnerable. “No child of mine left to Nightmare…”

Ysera opened her eyes. The Aspect’s gaze sparkled and though it did not seem at all threatening to Malfurion, he sensed the dismay and fear that it brought out of his captor. The shadow branches fled the druid.

One of the other green dragons dove down to just above the group. Ysera’s servant used magic to pluck up everyone, including Thura. It did not matter even that Malfurion was in dreamform; the dragon’s magic lifted him as if he were flesh.

But as they were carried up into the sky, the archdruid heard the cry of a dragon ring out from near another region of the mists.

From where he floated, Malfurion caught a glimpse of a large male of Ysera’s dragonflight.

Eranikus.

Malfurion was well aware of the consort’s troubled past and had sensed his presence on recent occasion. He had not expected Eranikus to be here, but was also not entirely surprised. Perhaps having sought to further redeem himself, the once-corrupted male had evidently moved with too much confidence toward the Nightmare.

And now it had him. Hundreds of horrific hands of mist clutched him tight. Within moments, all that was visible was his head, one forepaw, and a wing. He looked to Ysera in fear.

The Aspect reacted. She turned to rescue her mate, only for a moment turning her attention from the Nightmare —