As a high-ranking officer of Lordaeron and a High Lord of the Silver Hand, the elder Mograine knew all too well that as a top-level decision-maker, you can never satisfy everyone's whims. Sometimes, you simply give the order and move on—explaining too much to subordinates is a fool's errand.
Rhodes nodded at Mograine's advice. He understood the logic, though finding a human who was actually "friendly" toward Orcs was like finding a needle in a haystack. In the original timeline, Jaina and Thrall shared a bond, but due to Rhodes's intervention, they had barely spoken.
As for the rest of the Alliance, most harbored a deep-seated loathing for the green-skins. The only hero to ever publicly praise an Orc was the exiled Tirion Fordring.
I should seek out Tirion when I return, Rhodes thought. The Alliance needs more veteran commanders to hold the line so I don't have to do everything myself.
"These Orcs... their minds seem controlled by a far more potent force," Prince Kael'thas remarked, using magic to inspect a Fel Orc corpse. "Compared to these, Thrall's New Horde could almost be called 'civilized'."
Indeed, these Orcs were so deeply corrupted by Fel that they were physically warping into demons.
"It seems the situation in Outland is more complex than we imagined. We must find General Turalyon immediately; they've held out here for years and must have vital intelligence," Archmage Rhonin urged.
He was desperate to see his old comrades again, but his primary motivation was personal: his wife, Vereesa, had begged him to find her eldest sister, Alleria. With Sylvanas having "died" in Silvermoon (before her current state) and Alleria missing in the void, the Windrunner family was fractured.
Rhodes smiled inwardly but remained silent. While most of the expedition was alive, Alleria and Turalyon were currently unreachable—they weren't even in Outland anymore. In the true timeline, they had been fighting in the Twisting Nether for a thousand years (due to time dilation), with Turalyon having been Lightbound by Xe'ra to become immortal.
This made Rhodes reflect on his own mortality. In Azeroth, there were many ways to cheat death: Light-binding, Fel-corruption, Undeath, or Shadow-transmutation. But for a human, only Light and Life were culturally acceptable.
He felt "Life" was his best bet. The World-Soul of Azeroth was the ultimate representative of Life. If he could earn the blessing of the Titans or the Wild Gods, he might become an immortal being like the Ancients. I need to stay on Cenarius's good side and eventually reach out to Azeroth herself, he decided. If that fails, the Light is Plan B.
After a brief rest, the group pushed on. Rhodes mounted his massive Great Phoenix and soared into the sky, casting View Earth. A vivid mental map of the surrounding terrain bloomed in his mind, revealing the exact location of Honor Hold and the looming Hellfire Citadel.
Under his aerial guidance, the team advanced. As they neared Honor Hold, demonic activity actually thinned out, replaced by wandering "Broken" Draenei—deformed survivors of the Fel—and strange local wildlife like Tabulks. They began to see man-made trail markers and makeshift fortifications.
"Look there!" a sharp-eyed Paladin shouted, pointing to a distant hill.
Perched atop the ridge stood a rugged, crimson-stone fortress. Though worn by years of war, it stood proud. Human-style battlements and watchtowers were visible, and most importantly, a tattered flag fluttered defiantly against the orange sky: a golden lion on a blue field. The banner of Stormwind. The symbol of the Alliance.
"We found it! That's our architecture!" Dathrohan exclaimed, and even the stoic Mograine let out a sigh of relief.
"Move out! Double time!" Rhodes ordered.
As they ascended the steep mountain path, the silhouette of the fortress sharpened. They could see sentries on the walls in ancient, polished armor from the Second War. When the bells of the fort rang out, the heavy gates groaned open. A squad of wary, grizzled soldiers marched out to meet them.
The lead officer was a man of significant years; his temples were white, but his posture remained iron-straight. He wore the crest of Stormwind on a faded, battered cloak. Like him, most of the veterans looked decades older than they should—life in Outland was harsh, and time had not been kind.
The soldiers were visibly trembling with emotion but remained cautious, fearing a demonic illusion. It wasn't until the two groups were mere yards apart that the commander recognized two legendary faces: the Ashbringer and Saidan Dathrohan.
The officer stepped forward, his hand trembling as he slammed a fist against his chest in a formal Alliance salute. His voice cracked with disbelief. "I am Danath Trollbane, Force Commander of the Alliance Expedition. Are you... truly from Azeroth?"
Rhodes stepped forward and nodded. "General Danath Trollbane, I am Rhodes, Regent of Lordaeron and Grand Marshal of the Alliance. We come on behalf of Princess Calia Menethil and Lord Uther the Lightbringer. We have crossed the stars to this world for one reason: to bring you home."
The word "home" hit the veterans like a thunderclap. For a moment, there was absolute silence, followed by a sudden, deafening explosion of cheers and uncontrollable weeping. Years of isolation, sacrifice, and hopeless vigil had finally reached their end.
Danath's eyes reddened instantly. He took a shaky breath, trying to maintain his military bearing. "Grand Marshal! We are... beyond grateful. But you shouldn't have opened the Dark Portal. When we stepped through years ago, we never intended to return if it meant risking our world."
"The Dark Portal remains closed," Rhodes assured him. "We arrived through other means. There is no threat to Azeroth."