Azjol-Nerub. 15th year since the opening of the Dark Portal.
The Aqir were a multifaceted race with interests that sometimes lay in completely opposite areas from the perspective of other forms of intelligence: cannibals and scavengers, connoisseurs of the art of web weaving, great architects, mages, ruthless warriors, subjects loyal to the Queen... In short—sentient insects.
Their descendants, the Nerubians, undoubtedly followed the path of their distant ancestors—for they possessed all the described qualities. Many sentient beings made the mistake of thinking that insect intelligence left much to be desired, failing to take into account the achievements of this once-great race. The primary argument was citing bees and ants as examples—they too could boast of many things, including achievements in construction, but remained what they were—non-sentient bugs. Thus, the inhabitants and guests of Northrend formed the same opinion of the Nerubians: "Dangerous, but... slightly smarter than a bee, slightly larger than an ant." The Spiders themselves had a different way of thinking and worldview, not to mention a level of intelligence that surpassed the vast majority of the sentient races of Azeroth, which is why they were in no hurry to disabuse anyone of anything... Especially when it came to food: talking to your prey? That wasn't the Nerubian way...
Anub'Arak, King of the Nerubians. In his chitinous limbs was concentrated the primary power of the sizable underground kingdom of Azjol-Nerub. Formally, the Queens were in charge, for no inhabitant, including the King himself, could dispute their orders thanks to the pheromones they emitted. However, as is usually the case, there was one "but"—the Queens cared for nothing except breeding offspring. Yes, through their offspring, they managed the development of their colony, breeding specialized individuals depending on the need, but the vector of development was determined by the King—the strongest individual in the kingdom, the smartest... and the one with the highest resistance to the effects of pheromones.
When Nerubians began disappearing from different ends of the kingdom one by one or in small groups, no one was concerned, not even Anub'Arak, to whom information flowed from all areas subject to each of the Queens. However, over time, the number of missing slowly grew, and this fact finally interested the giant armored spider. The Queens paid no attention to it and merely adjusted the number of eggs laid. But Anub'Arak was a good king, and everything that fell outside the boundaries of the ordinary was important to him, for it could carry either a threat or a benefit to the kingdom.
The investigation did not take long. Curious details emerged: in the vast majority of cases, no one ever saw the bodies of the missing, nor signs of battle—nothing. In rare cases, Nerubian gatherers fell victim to surface predators, or workers were caught in cave-ins—but these cases did not exceed statistical probability, and the bodies did not disappear.
The mechanism for executing orders began to turn; all cases were reported immediately after a kinsman went missing, and reinforced search parties were sent out on the fresh trails of the most recent and promising ones. They did not find their brothers, of course, but they discovered that in the places where the trail of tracks ended, there was a lingering emanation of unknown magic. It remained unknown only until diligent subordinates took the parameters and scoured the libraries. In the sources of knowledge, presented in the form of specially woven webs, they found much of interest regarding this topic. The kidnappers turned out to be none other than the inhabitants of the Great Nothing, which other races knew as the Twisting Nether.
Demons were plotting against his people. And something definitely had to be done about it. First, using bait squads that were heavily monitored by remote means, they figured out exactly how the attacks occurred, and at the same time confirmed the identities of the kidnappers.
Horns, hooves, wings, claws, Fel—these traits were quite enough for confident identification. The question of the enemy's numbers was secondary for now, but the ease with which the demons used magic to move through space was an unpleasant surprise. All the kingdom's strength had to be thrown into defending against the threat of penetration into the holy of holies of Azjol-Nerub, and only then could they think about retaliatory measures...
———
Lordaeron.
A pair of young people strolled leisurely through the paved streets of the capital of the most powerful human state. A tall, blue-eyed, strapping blond—a practically established Paladin in gold-shining armor—and a future temple priestess—a fragile young beauty of a novice with a mane of wheat-colored hair and eyes so bright blue that one could not see a sky of a similar color on every fine summer day.
The sweet cooing of the pair in love mostly boiled down to the girl's requests to tell of her chosen one's martial feats and other achievements, including in the field of politics, accompanied by enthusiastic gasps, subtle flattery, delicate praise, and gracious smiles interspersed with affectionate touches. In short, Arthas Menethil was once again offering praise to the Holy Light that his path had crossed with this perfect girl, seeing a sign of fate in that meeting that occurred in a nameless alley, where he had heroically saved the frightened novice from robbers. And the fact that this unfortunate girl looked like a mirror image of his former fiancée could not help but stir the prince's emotional wounds and plant an attachment in his heart for the rescued stranger, who did not remain a stranger for long and, introducing herself as Dayana, made a serious bid for success...
The success of whom or what? This could only be known to outside observers, such as the prince's bodyguards and servants, and only then if they thought to look into the home of the young novice, who was the offspring of either a middle-class merchant or a ruined noble family—the prince didn't particularly look into it. Thus, as soon as the door of her childhood home closed behind Dayana to the accompaniment of the future king of Lordaeron's parting words, the girl literally transformed. Kindness and a gentle smile turned into a cold smirk; innocence left her gaze and was replaced by cynical calculation. But what did not appear in the spy's appearance were things like overconfidence, fanaticism, and other unnecessary traits that hinder an experienced specialist.
The question of who exactly had embedded "Dayana" with the second-in-command of Lordaeron was rhetorical. As soon as the modest-looking medallion left her chest, which stood out clearly under her tight, fitted robe, it turned out that the blessed emanations of the Holy Light did not come from an innocent girl at all, but from the trinket, which was an artifact. After removing the light illusion and the weak Fel emanation dampener, it was revealed that short horns were hidden under the mane of hair on the spy's head, which, though cute in appearance, still quite definitely indicated the non-human nature of the prince's girlfriend. Coupled with the light aura of Fel she exuded, the options for her employers were narrowed down to just one position.
And although a certain madness appeared in her gaze after removing the disguise, and her facial features became more predatory, strangely enough, "Dayana's" outward appearance did not change at all—the demons had approached the selection and adjustment of their agent of influence's appearance very thoughtfully, not relying solely on disguise charms—who knows where a succubus quarter-breed might end up? The Nathrezim handlers had insistently advised her never to venture into the mages' domain or the border territories with the elves, such as Stratholme. Of course, Dalaran was unrivaled in terms of security, but the protection of the palace complex was also significantly better than that of the capital itself. However, she was more concerned not with magical alarms, but with the church she had to visit daily according to her cover story. That was where she truly suffered from fear—should her amulet fail, a live fish thrashing on a hot frying pan would pity her—they would burn her at the stake for sure! After all, for such weaklings as this girl with the cute horns, the Holy Light and its followers were enemies, even more bitter than Order—though one would think that Chaos, to which every demon was an adherent with rare exceptions, was quite compatible with the Holy Light in the global distribution of forces, rather than being its antagonist...
Ignoring the bowing "father" and "servants," who as less valuable agents had fallen under her command, the girl headed into the depths of the basement—where else but there to hide all sorts of demonic gizmos capable of betraying a family of ardent cultists?
"Dayana" had to report on the current state of affairs. To avoid various types of incidents, she contacted her superiors infrequently, about once every two weeks, and even then it was one-way—the Nathrezim passed orders through other, non-magical means.
Ensuring the door was locked, the furthest room reliably cut off from the rest of the house, and the small cat statue was peacefully asleep, curled in a ball—a sign that no scanning or eavesdropping weaves were affecting the room—the spy picked up a small, inconspicuous stone tablet covered in Nathrezim symbols, poured a small amount of mana into it, and began reciting the message:
"Succubus charm has almost no effect on the Paladin. The Plan cannot be accelerated. At least another six months are needed."
She set the transmitter artifact aside and thought. Mephistroth always felt his subordinates worked too slowly: one of the Nathrezim responsible for the operation on Azeroth thought that by constantly reducing the allotted time and prodding "lazy failures," he would achieve success... However, who was she to criticize the master's methods? The main thing was that she shouldn't be punished for being slow, but unlike her less experienced kin, "Dayana" was strong not so much in her ability to use the racial seduction ability, but in her knowledge of male psychology and the art of managing the reproductive instinct. The success of the mission to tame the prince of Lordaeron was already visible on the spy's horizon. Although, of course, in the boy-girl relationship, she did not want to bring the situation to the final stage due to the personal dislike she felt for the target, given his stupidity, mule-like stubbornness, arrogance, and other negative character traits...
———
"Malfurion," the sigh that drifted through the semi-material world was full of compassion for the intelligence level of the uninvited but expected guest—much like a loving mother sighs at the sight of another prank by a non-sentient child.
In this meeting, Ysera immediately appeared in the form of a tired elf, hoping thereby to shorten the negotiation time.
"I am here for a different reason this time, Ysera. Much closer to your profile than the struggle with N'Zoth."
"And what is that?" the dragoness asked, not interested in the least, being firmly convinced that the visiting Druid's question was in one way or another related to the aforementioned Old God.
The Aspect was one hundred percent right.
"We need help in purifying Nordrassil. Yours and Alexstrasza's." Malfurion was also not inclined to dally; his time was short.
"Have you already figured out how to deal with N'Zoth?" the guardian of the Emerald Dream asked in surprise.
"No, we will deal with him using the power of the purified Well."
"And who then will protect us during the purification of the World Tree from the emanations of the Void?" the obvious question followed, but judging by her frowning face, Ysera was already beginning to guess the answer.
"We will."
Ysera sighed, but the softness did not leave her voice; on the contrary, it intensified.
"Malfurion, listen—I understand that things are hard for you, and you are ready to grasp at any straw, but what you are proposing is like treating symptoms while ignoring the disease."
"Fine," the Druid nodded, not at all disappointed by the refusal.
The leader of the Kaldorei was increasingly favoring Tyrande's recent proposal to move to another continent. Azshara managed it—so why were they any worse? Of course, it would be hard without the Well, but in fact, it was already gone, and they could make at least some semblance of it. They even had the essence of Illidan's Well, which they had collected just in case immediately after Azshara's departure. So the visit to the Emerald Dream was merely a formality, so as not to ask himself questions later like: "What if Ysera would have helped?"
"Understand at last—Alexstrasza and I are no match for N'Zoth."
"If not, then no," Malfurion shrugged indifferently, finally disillusioned with the Aspects.
For millennia, his brothers had helped Ysera restore the Emerald Dream, but trouble struck, and what? They were left alone...
"Enough worrying about universal happiness: save the world from demons here, restore the Emerald Dream there—I'm tired of it! It's our turn to be offended and selfish," Malfurion, having decided everything for himself, turned silently and, without saying goodbye, headed toward the place from which he could create a portal to Azeroth.
The sad gaze of wise dragon eyes followed the guest to the very "threshold," but the hostess's sympathy meant nothing to the Druid.
———
Somewhere deep underwater.
Once this city was called Ny'alotha, but the races living now had long forgotten both the inhabitants who populated it and the city itself. It is worth noting that Ny'alotha was underwater as far back as the time of the great Sundering caused by the destruction of the Well of Eternity. Since then, the city had only slightly changed its location due to the tectonic shift of plates, simultaneously collapsing almost to its foundations, and had acquired a new inhabitant—or rather, the shadow of his presence, because it was impossible for the Old God imprisoned in the Titans' dungeon, even if he was N'Zoth himself, to manifest in the reality of Azeroth in a physical body. Not yet...
A dark, formless cloud, immune to currents, hovered in the center of one of the surviving halls. At the dawn of Azeroth's formation, even before the arrival of the Pantheon, N'Zoth fought simultaneously with two of his brothers—C'Thun and Yogg-Saron. N'Zoth did not achieve victory, nor did he suffer defeat, but he is here now and still rules on Azeroth (whatever the Titans' servants might imagine). The mere fact that his name is known and brings trepidation to the powerful of this world speaks for itself! And who remembers C'Thun and Yogg-Saron now? The first is entrenched in the depths of An'Qiraj and is known only to the dragons, and even then only to those who tried to penetrate the ancient ruins and as a result remained prisoners of C'Thun in the kingdom of the Qiraji forever. But even so, the god himself doesn't even show his nose out of his sands! As for the second, even he himself, N'Zoth, knows nothing, let alone the others! Previously, by the way, this ignorance bothered him greatly—no one likes competitors—but time passed, and the search for the god who escaped from Ulduar led to nothing. N'Zoth convinced himself that his former "comrade" had hidden from him in some dense corner of Azeroth and generally did not threaten his plans. But still, N'Zoth would occasionally keep an eye on the activity of the Void on the planet—just in case.
Now he was, as usual, engaged in strategic planning, adjusting existing developments and building new schemes. The recent loss of such a wonderful tool as Deathwing forced changes to many designs. However, his vanity (and who is without sin) was soothed by the fact that the assistant turned out to be a fool and could not handle the situation he had driven himself into, even with the help of an artifact accumulating the power of all five Aspects... Well, what kind of idiot do you have to be? Fine, Neltharion chose to die himself, but what annoyed N'Zoth most in that situation five years ago was the Dragon Soul falling to Azshara.
And with the latter, he had a long-standing mutual and sincere "love." Her name alone, thanks to his flawless memory, made him recall the grand failure that happened ten thousand years ago. Yes, yes, that very episode in his unthinkably long life when he managed first to lose the elven queen along with another powerful artifact, and then to miss Sargeras's toy, for which he had special plans... And later, N'Zoth's eternal life was nearly ended when he, yielding to a sense of revenge, decided to take care of the afterlife of the suicidal psycho who managed to screw him over for ten millennia to come: for the god had not planned to announce his return to all of Azeroth so early, and now all the major forces in the world know of his presence, not to mention the actual fortified area created by the frightened elves.
N'Zoth generally preferred not to recall the name of the Demon Hunter even mentally—a rare case when the god so easily fell into uncontrollable rage! Fear of death... can anything else frighten an immortal god more?
Well, let not everything have gone as planned, but he had learned his lesson—why should he stick to such convoluted plans and maneuvers, imitating Yogg-Saron, when he has strength? He only needs to increase it, making it overwhelming, ensuring absolute superiority on all fronts. And it cannot be said that over the past ten thousand years he has not achieved any success in this field. Azerothians are right to fear the watery expanses; the sea depths hide an untold army that grows in number day by day. In Deepholm, the sanctuary of the now-dead Neltharion, captive Earthen make defensive artifacts for his troops. The day is approaching when a wave of monsters will sweep the undesirable from the path, and no Well or Aspects will help them! And what especially fueled N'Zoth's vanity—this wasn't even the primary plan!
However, the time to put the final period had not yet come; he needed to drain even more energy from Nordrassil. And so far, this was succeeding without interference. He was able to distract everyone: Azshara, by organizing constant attacks on her kingdom; Malygos, by slipping him the damaged soul of his dearest spouse, which the Aspect, as N'Zoth calculated, would never guess; Ysera, by playing with Yogg-Saron's creation—the Emerald Nightmare... He even misinforms the demons regarding his strength! But not long remains, and if everything goes according to plan and no one interferes, he will be able to fling open the gates to the Void and obtain his own Source of Magic in just a few years—is Azshara the only one who can build portals on a Well? And then... the world awaits rebirth, and everything will return to its proper place, and Azeroth will become his personal fiefdom...
———
Evening. The sun had not yet fully dipped below the horizon, but a bonfire was already burning brightly on the hill. From the foot of the hill, from the side of the steadily murmuring sea, a chill was blowing, but the heat of the fire stood as an insurmountable barrier in the path of the fading daytime breeze. Near the source of heat sat a young man and a girl, embracing. The thick, spicy aroma of field herbs mixed with the smell of the sea. The bonfire, the sunset, the stars beginning to light up, the embrace of a pair who liked each other—all this created an atmosphere leaning toward clear romance... except the topic of conversation was diametrically opposite.
"... I used to think that power could be obtained in only three ways. You can be born with it, you can train it, or you can take it. Do I need to give examples?"
Jaina shook her head.
Receiving another confirmation of her quick wit, Lin continued:
"But recently I learned that there is also a fourth way. It turns out you don't necessarily need to have your own power; it's enough to know how to manage someone else's."
His friend felt that there was significant meaning behind the words—after all, Lin didn't like to chatter pointlessly—but exactly what he wanted to convey to her, the girl did not understand, despite her success in the field of information analysis—there was a sharp lack of raw data for an assessment. Jaina remained silent, easily suppressing her curiosity—the time for questions had not yet come; she would be told everything now anyway.
"Once I saw playing children in Dalaran, using the handiwork of Dwarves and Gnomes, burning drawings onto wooden benches. Without any magic," the guy clarified the aspect that particularly impressed him.
"Using the Gnomish power of lightning?" Jaina inquired, simultaneously showing that she kept abreast of the latest innovations from the long-famous inventors.
"No, although we'll get back to lightning. They had magnifying glasses."
While Jaina, wrinkling her forehead, remembered what those glasses were, he threw a couple of logs into the fire and glanced at the pile of brushwood nearby—would it last the night, or would he have to go down to the small grove by the stream flowing between the hills? Но the supply of food for the fire was reassuring in its solidity and firm promise to last until late morning, that is, until the very moment when the girl woke up, she who so loved to linger over books and participate in nightly gatherings.
"I have a couple in my bag, but now, at night, they are useless—they only work in sunlight. This glass somehow collects the sun's rays and focuses them on a single point, increasing their power many times over. So much so that the wood catches fire, though not immediately. I'll show you tomorrow, but the very principle of the device's operation is very interesting in that the larger its size, the faster and more strongly the irradiated surface heats up and, accordingly, the faster the object catches fire."
"So, if we create a huge glass with magic and focus it on an enemy, they'll be in trouble?"
"Exactly! And that's in the worst-case scenario. Ideally, only ash should remain of them, but that's not certain—it needs to be tested. The only thing I haven't figured out yet is exactly how the device does what it does. However, as a last resort, we can obtain the technology for making glass. Without that knowledge, we won't be able to recreate its magical equivalent."
"Well, and we also need to understand what is more profitable in terms of mana costs, spell power, and time spent on magic—creating this glass or an ordinary spell. If the former consumes as much as a rain of fire but hits only one target, then perhaps the game won't be worth the candle."
- "But the impact effect won't contain mana. None at all. And that is an undeniable plus, as such a strike will pass right through Magic Defense," the narrator countered, planning to emphasize this specific feature when using the new spell.
- "Not just any defense, only standard ones," Jaina clarified. "If it's ordinary light, even if concentrated, it can surely be reflected by something like mirror shields, for example, like a solar arrow. And that's a minus."
- "Reflective defense? Hmm... Yes, you're right," Lin responded after a few seconds of reflection, momentarily pressing his Friend closer to him, showing that he appreciated her contribution to the burgeoning brainstorm.
- "Perhaps shields from the Shadow school or any other impenetrable barriers will also be immune to ordinary beams," she didn't dwell on the topic of mirrors, but instead tried to dig in another direction, prompted by her rich imagination.
- "..." as paradoxical as it sounded, the silence was quite eloquent.
- "Curse it!" Lin swore nonetheless. "When I saw this piece of glass and realized the prospects of its application, I immediately lost my critical thinking."
- "Don't be so hard on yourself," now the initiator of the conversation was subjected to an encouraging hug. "The study of magic rarely brings the desired result quickly. As a rule, the goal is achieved through long, painstaking research and experiments."
- "You took the words right out of my mouth..." here the guy tensed slightly, which the Friend pressed against his side noticed immediately. "It seems we have guests. We'll discuss the other ways of amplification later."
- "What, is there something else?" Jaina gave vent to her curiosity.
The mention of guests, of course, made her wary, but to a much lesser extent than if Lin had suddenly jumped up and started throwing Fireballs in all directions shouting "Enemy!"
- "I've told you about the artifacts and the glass, but I have a couple of ideas in reserve... These are elves," he somehow determined the racial identity of the late visitors.
- "Which ones exactly? From Kalimdor again, or locals?"
- "Most likely my former acquaintances—I invited them myself, after all."
At that moment, Jaina also felt that her signal circuit, laid out at the foot of the hill more for practice than for protection, had been disturbed.
A couple of minutes passed in silence. The crackling of the fire was joined by the hum of a gathering Protective Shield, which Jaina deployed around their small camp. Lin merely gave an indefinite grunt but did not protest.
And here it was, the historical moment—the first meeting in ten thousand years of the three famous elves, the only pupils of the demigod Cenarius. And although outsiders were present at the meeting—Illidan's companion and a guide with purple hair who had joined the guests—even these trifles, like the fact that one of them could no longer be called an elf, could not infringe upon the uniqueness and singularity of the event.
The atmosphere of solemnity that appeared when the figures, barely discernible in the falling twilight and dim starlight, slowly stepped into the circle of light cast by the fire and stopped at the edge of the protective dome, did not last long. No, at first everything was going well and quite appropriately for such a landmark meeting...
- "Ishnu-alah, brother, Tyrande Whisperwind, Shandris Feathermoon."
What could go wrong when a man, who long ago declared his love under the light of the same stars that illuminated Azeroth on this moonless late evening, appears for a meeting with his former beloved in the company of a new girlfriend? And although the former had long since married his own older brother, when did that ever matter to a woman when a "competitor" appeared in her field of vision?
Malfurion Stormrage frowned but remained silent. He strongly doubted that this person was his brother, and therefore for now gave the leading role in the conversation to Tyrande Whisperwind. The man knew his wife perfectly well, and it was quite obvious to him that she would not rest until she shook the soul out of this newfound "relative."
- "Illidan Stormrage, what happened? Where did you disappear to? And who is this girl?!"
- "I'm glad to see you too," Lin smiled. "I'm feeling a real wave of nostalgia."
- "Illidan Stormrage, we're in no mood for jokes! What happened? Why are you in this form?!"
The guy sighed.
- "I can tell you from the very beginning... If you have the time, of course."
- "There is time..."
- "But not very much, so keep it short," casting a suspicious glance at the teenager, Malfurion Stormrage interrupted his wife, guessing that she would drag the conversation out to the last in a blind hope of confirming the narrator's identity.
- "You've changed, brother... become so distrustful."
- "I don't believe in such timely, miraculous "resurrections-appearances" of an elf who disappeared ten thousand years ago."
- "It wasn't me looking for you, but you looking for me," Lin reminded them of a significant circumstance. "I have a different life now, different interests."
- "We can see your "interests,"" the priestess of Elune snorted, glancing displeasedly toward the princess of Kul Tiras. "Maybe you'll tell your girlfriend to take down the defense? We just came to talk."
- "The last time you came to me and we "just talked," a suicidal attack on the royal palace took place the next day. And here history repeats itself—you've suddenly turned up, and I'll bet you want to drag me into another adventure again."
Unexpectedly, Tyrande Whisperwind smiled, a spark of superiority flashing in her eyes for a moment.
- "This time, Illidan Stormrage, we handled the problems without your help."
- "Handled them?" the guy was sincerely surprised by such a turn of events; he, of all people, understood N'Zoth's capabilities better than anyone, and such a statement, despite the person who made it, involuntarily caused doubt in its truth. "You got rid of the Old God?"
- "Something like that," Malfurion Stormrage hurried to interject before his spouse blurted out all their plans to a suspicious individual who reeked of Azshara's schemes from a mile away. "It doesn't matter. That's not why we're here."
- "Strange, the letter said something else..." Lin did not hide his bewilderment at this inconsistency and glanced at Shandris Feathermoon, who had delivered the aforementioned message.
- "Didn't you write back that if a task can't be solved head-on, one must look for indirect paths? Consider that we followed your advice."
- "Excellent, I'm happy for you!" the former elf congratulated his kinsman, continuing to sit by the fire embracing his Friend, and immediately added with irony: "But allow me to doubt that you visited me just like that—merely to reminisce about the past. That's not like you."
- "We came to make sure that you are you."
At these words, his wife Tyrande Whisperwind pursed her lips in displeasure—she no longer doubted the identity of the inhospitable host and did not understand how Malfurion Stormrage could fail to recognize his brother.
- "Malfurion Stormrage, enough beating around the bush!" the priestess intervened. "Ask what you're interested in. You said yourself we're short on time, so don't waste it."
Malfurion Stormrage did not expect to receive a barb from his wife during negotiations, but it failed to disconcert him.
- "How is your escape connected to the appearance of Azshara?" he preferred to address the presumed brother impersonally, without mentioning his name.
- "You want to learn something unknown to you from a person you don't trust and whose identity you doubt? Amusing," Lin smirked, but answered nonetheless. "In short—I helped her escape from N'Zoth's captivity."
- "I knew it!"
Malfurion Stormrage had long suspected that his brother was involved in the memorable appearance of Azshara on the shore of the second Well, and as paradoxical as it sounded, despite his biased attitude toward the young human mage, he now confirmed his guesses, believing the stranger's words.
Tyrande Whisperwind could also boast a significant supply of prejudices, but they were clearly directed not at Illidan Stormrage, but at the absent queen of Quel'Thalas... and the girl sitting by the fire. That was why, hearing the fact of assistance rendered to Azshara, the elf with green hair frowned along with her husband.
- "Why did you help her after everything she did?!"
After thinking for a moment, Lin answered his brother:
- "Perhaps it was an attempt to atone for at least part of the betrayals."
- "So you were thinking with the same part of you as back then, when you created the Well without consulting us," Malfurion Stormrage stated. "You have once again gone against the interests of the Kaldorei."
- "I fought against demons, not Azshara and the Highborne."
- "But at that time we thought they were together!" Tyrande Whisperwind joined in.
- ""At that time," yes? Admitting one's own mistakes is a strong move," Lin nodded his head, keeping silent about the fact that he himself had thought the same back then.
- "After ten thousand years of peace, it's foolish to deny the obvious—she had plenty of opportunities to let Sargeras's lackeys into Azeroth, or even the man himself," the druid admitted he was wrong.
Lin sighed barely audibly. The meeting of friends and relatives, or already former friends and former relatives—he still hadn't figured that part out—had veered somewhere off course. Strange questions, strange hints, a strange conversation about nothing... the reunion had clearly failed.
***
The spatial dimension that is the domain of the Magic Aspect has undergone some changes in recent days. The chains of runic text shimmering with multicolored brilliance on the floor and in the air had not gone anywhere, but their content had changed. On a platform floating in the void, right on the runes, dragon remains now lay in unsightly heaps. Ancient bones, carelessly cleaned of frozen earth, lay mixed with the bodies of several Blue Dragons who until recently had been quite alive but had "sacrificed" their lives for their master. The only piece of interior that remained completely unchanged was a piece of precious stone suspended in the air, right in the center of the entire composition.
But despite the apparent completion of the upcoming ritual, Malygos was in no hurry to begin another attempt at resurrecting his beloved. For complete certainty, he required only a sample of Sindragosa's body itself, not her distant relatives whose remains his subordinates had dug up—that is, that very "trifle" for which the Aspect had spent most of the last ten thousand years searching... And only now, when he had distracted himself for a while from the unsuccessful attempts and directed all the power of his mighty intellect toward solving this secondary task, Malygos had managed, with the help of the soul, to discover the approximate area of his spouse's death. The dragon's remains, as it turned out, were literally under his nose! Right in Northrend, in its northern part.
Currently, most of the Blue Dragonflight was exploring the ice-bound cliffs and snow-covered mountain gorges, and Malygos did not doubt success—what is a couple of hundred square kilometers of even difficult terrain compared to all of Azeroth, which is mostly covered by water. The Great Sea is not the most convenient place to search for anything.
Other kin were participating in the preparation of a return visit to the demons entrenched in Northrend. And while Malygos could easily ignore the persistent requests for help from the messengers of the Wyrmrest Temple in the upcoming act of Project Retribution, the fact that the Aspect had nearly lost the ritual components he so badly needed due to the desecrators of the graveyard sent him into a rage, and he did not regret pulling a dozen skilled mages away from the search. The demons were lucky they hadn't reached the remains of his dead spouse's kin that Malygos was interested in. Otherwise, the enraged master of Magic would certainly have personally led the planned attack on the graveyard looters and made their lives very difficult or staged a second War of the Ancients for them—depending on the degree of his fury.
Now the ancient lizard only had to wait for news from both detachments, and he did not doubt for a moment that the first group would complete the task faster, which was confirmed only two days after the search began.
- ""Master, we found it!""
- ""Bring me the skull if it survived,"" suppressing his joy, Malygos reminded them of the assignment.
- ""It is intact, as is the rest of the skeleton, but it is deeply frozen in ice. We need half a day to extract it without damaging it.""
- ""Do not fail me.""
- ""Yes, master!""
Compared to the time that had passed since his spouse's death, another day was a drop in the ocean. Well, it wouldn't be long now...
***
Somewhere in the Gnome quarter of Ironforge.
The control device, which fit in the hand of the apprentice engineer, was equipped with only a large red button and a short antenna protruding from the casing by a couple of centimeters. And although the small palm held the homemade remote confidently, that was more due to the fingerless gloves than faith in her own creation: the sweat produced abundantly from nervousness was reliably absorbed into the fabric, preventing the metal box from slipping in her palm. The young inventor's anxiety was quite justified: after all, it was time to test her first serious invention!
At first, eyes the color of ripe walnuts watched intently the eccentric composition of units fastened together on the workbench, choosing as the monitored element the crude coils of wire clinging to a squiggle of unclear purpose. However, the latter could safely be said of the entire prototype, which was a sort of elongated device that somewhat resembled Dwarven rifles in appearance...
Then her face was hidden behind dark goggles, belonging to those artifacts in which one could easily look at the sun and not go blind. The freckles decorating her cheeks in a small scattering turned red, standing out brightly against the light-gray hair pulled into two fluffy pigtails on the sides of her head. The finger stroking the button tensed and sharply pressed it into the casing of the signal transmitter.
For the first second nothing happened, but then something inside began to hum, and then the crackle of forming electrical discharges was heard, and the workshop was illuminated by rapid white flashes that merged into one continuous bright spot within some ten seconds. The darkness before the young inventor's eyes dissipated, turning into deep twilight with a clearly visible white ball emitting short discharges in all directions. The tiny lightning bolts did not disappear without a trace, as one might expect from this natural phenomenon caused by artificial means, but seemed to flow down an invisible sphere, accumulating in its lower part and rapidly vanishing into the depths of the rectangular box. In the adjacent block of the unit, next to this illumination, a red glow was born. And even though the tester was in protective goggles, she didn't need sight to understand exactly what was happening there—after all, she was the one who had brought her own idea to life, and therefore knew perfectly well that right now energy was concentrating in a small faceted ruby to pass the final stage of transformation and finally turn from lightning into the "All-Destroying Red Mega-Beam of Death." Yes, Trixie Quicksnap understood that the name was so-so... but this was still just a prototype! And when the invention worked and was recognized by her kin, she would come up with a cooler and not-so-short name...
Another quiet crackle was heard, the gathering radiance suddenly went out, and the air filled with the unmistakable smell of a burnt device. The latter was often present in Gnome workshops, especially those of novice engineers. Later, when young inventors matured and received the revered prefix "master," they got rid of the lion's share of failures and stopped resembling their green-skinned colleagues—the midget Goblins—in their mishaps. But the rank of apprentice gave the rising generation of engineers no guarantee of the success of their undertakings... which had just been confirmed.
- "Argh!"
Upset by the result, Trixie Quicksnap took off her goggles and approached the prototype. Enclosed in a thick flask carved from a solid crystal druse, the ruby had crumbled into fine red dust, through which webs of discharges occasionally flickered—residual effects from the failed shot. Carefully examining the other components of the monstrous-looking cannon, Trixie Quicksnap pursed her lips—she had hoped for the best, of course, but the calculations had been justified more than completely. The ruby turned out to be the weakest link—the precious stone, despite all its hardness, simply lacked strength. And since increasing the latter was beyond the power of even a master engineer, she, the apprentice, was left with the last possibility. Although the use of magic was not encouraged among engineers, it was not forbidden either. And only magic could increase the strength of a natural crystal! By Trixie Quicksnap's estimates, she only needed to slightly increase the hardness of the material, bringing it up to the standards of the crown of precious stones—the diamond...
"How much simpler everything would be if diamonds or sapphires could be used as storage! Even if the latter are not superior in strength to rubies, their brittleness could be compensated for by their size: rubies of the necessary proportion, according to the Dwarves, simply don't occur in nature! And with a diamond it would be even better—its strength would allow for reducing the size of the prototype!" the girl fumed, shaking out the ruby dust. "...But for some reason, energy accumulation only works with red stones, and of those, as far as is known, the ruby is the strongest stone..."
The workshop door, made in the shape of a large gear, slid aside to the accompaniment of a cheerful beeping. Into the inner sanctum burst a girl, small even by Gnome standards, with freckles and striking bright-red hair tied in three short pigtails: two on the sides and one on top.
- "Trixie Quicksnap! Hide me, please! The master wants to beat me!" the novice engineer began running circles around her older sister's workbench.
The owner of the workshop, paying no attention to the scarlet-colored blurring, continued to clean up the consequences of the test launch and simultaneously ponder where she could get a skilled mage specializing in enchantment, and most importantly—one willing to help for a modest, in the literal sense of the word, reward.
Midget Gemma Quicksnap was not just an apprentice to Master Engineer Spring-Noise—her sister's mentor—but the youngest ward, and now she wanted to attract her relative's attention by all available methods, and therefore began waving a wrench held in her hand in dangerous proximity to the prototype of the "All-Destroying Red Mega-Beam of Death." To continue ignoring the "problem" that had fallen on her head meant subjecting her brainchild to unnecessary dangers and her nerves to tests of strength. And, alas, having the famous "break-master" of the engineering circles as a sister, those very non-recovering gray cells had to be protected, for they were far from the strength of the aforementioned precious stones.
- "Well, what now, Gemma Quicksnap? Can't you see I'm busy? How many times do I have to tell you not to burst into the workshop during my experiments? What if I'd dropped a soldering iron on my hand?!..." the girl erupted, and the further she went, the more the Gnome worked herself up.
- "Oh, come on!" the uninvited guest waved it off lightheartedly. Realizing her goal was achieved and she had finally managed to distract her sister from her favorite pieces of iron, Gemma Quicksnap stopped her run across the other's territory. "In my memory, you've never dropped anything yet, not to mention explosions."
- "Your memory just resets every day, that's why you don't remember anything," Trixie Quicksnap grumbled in response.
- "Not true! I remember my favorite big sister! The most caring..."
- "Fine, fine! What do you need this time?" the creator of the weapon cut off the praises in her honor, which had already set her teeth on edge. "I'll tell you right now—I'm not giving you any money! I need it myself."
- "Oh, who needs it!" the one who just a week ago was begging everyone for money for some "cool gadget" without which, according to her, she couldn't complete her exam work for the rank of apprentice, carelessly dismissed the suggestion. "I have plenty of it, but an emerald nail file... that one, with the pink handle—I don't have! Lend it to me, eh?" Gemma Quicksnap asked soulfully, looking into her sister's eyes.
Before the words of categorical refusal (to covet the sacred!) could burst from her half-open mouth, Trixie Quicksnap froze. She liked the idea that had come to her.
- "You say you have plenty of money?" the girl, like a predator out on the hunt, measured the "prey" with an appraising look and stepped forward cautiously, so as not to scare her off.
However, the red-haired guest possessed a rare sense for trouble; otherwise, she would long ago have been subjected to that very beating Gemma Quicksnap had wailed about when bursting into the workshop.
- "No-o-o-o! Not my savings!" the "rocket motor in a skirt" started up and began running around the room again, winding circles in an attempt to slip away from her sister's nimble hands.
- "You want the file? Prepare the gold!" a girl's voice whispered into the ear of the caught but still kicking young Gnome.
And one could be sure that within an hour the youngest would have to pay up significantly—after all, for all their outward dissimilarity, the two Gnomes were blood sisters and had grown up together, so it was not surprising that their characters had acquired common traits... Such as, for example, a dismissive attitude toward the concept of personal property—well, what kind of "private property" could there be between the closest of kin?!
***
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Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: patreon.com/Granulan