Vengeful Gladiator's Linked Armor

"My liege, the Scourge are renewing their assault!"

Shadowy granite gargoyles swooped down on the beleaguered elven forces, spitting bolts of foul necrotic energy at the stalwart defenders. Zombies, ghouls, and skeletons scrambled up the hills, while hulking abominations stomped behind them. Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider lifted his eyes and saw several large winged forms approaching in the distance, a faint blue glow clearly identifying them. "Frost wyrms," he muttered, then turned to face the soldiers assembled before him.

When they had arrived in the icy lands of Northrend a few days ago, they numbered three thousand strong. Though they had fought valiantly to reach and destroy the evil Lich King, the undead Scourge's vastly superior numbers had taken their toll. Now only a third of that remained, many too injured to continue fighting.

"Fight on, brothers!" shouted Kael'thas. "For Quel'Thalas! For the Sunwell! Selama ashal'anore!" He punctuated his words with a fireball, burning at least a dozen ghouls. Still the undead horde pressed on, unfazed by their comrades' destruction. Suddenly a crack of thunder split the air. "Skeletal mages!" yelled Kael'thas. "Spellbreakers, find and destroy them! We cannot let them overwhelm-"

"No, my Prince, look!" yelled one of the magisters at Kael's side. The prince turned and followed the magister's outstretched finger towards the enormous mountain of ice containing the Lich King's seat of power, the Frozen Throne. An enormous sheet of ice had broken off and was sliding down the mountainside. Another burst of thunder heralded yet another avalanche, quickly followed by a third.

"The Frozen Throne cracks…" said Kael'thas. "Anar'alah belore, victory is ours! Lord Illidan has slain Arthas and destroyed the Lich King!"

"No, Prince Kael. We have lost," hissed a voice behind him. Up the path slithered a figure whose sight still unsettled the prince. Her scaly body was that of a woman, but only from the waist up; below she had the tail of a serpent. Her hair was a writhing mass of snakes, and she carried a longbow in one of her six arms.

"Lady Vashj, what-" Kael'thas stopped talking as his gaze went behind her, to a pair of hulking naga myrmidons. Between them was supported a heavily muscled figure, his massive wings draped across their backs. His horned head drooped down in unconsciousness, and his hooves dragged through the snow. Dark blood oozed and dripped out around a bandage hastily wrapped around his torso, leaving a purple trail in the snow. "Illidan…" whispered Kael'thas. "What happened?"

"Lord Illidan battled the death knight Arthassss at the foot of the Frozen Throne, and lossst," hissed one of the myrmidons.

"But if Illidan was defeated, then why is the glacier crumbling?"

"I know not, Prince Kael," hissed Lady Vashj, "But I do not believe we want to be here when we find out."

Kael'thas looked at the crumbling glacier, then back to the massive undead army coming up the hillside towards his troops. Even with the help of the newly arrived naga, they would still likely be overrun. "Very well. We will retreat. I have just enough magic left to open a return portal to Outland."

"But what of Lana'thel, and the others?" asked one of the magisters. "They have not yet rejoined us, and they cannot survive on their own. Surely you would not allow the high blade Quel'Delar to be lost in the frozen wastes?"

"I recognize the importance of that blade to our people, Zerevor, but there is no time. The undead will be on us in a matter of minutes; we must leave now if we have any hope of survival. I am afraid Lana'thel's forces are on their own now." He turned to one of his mages. "Rommath, it may be a long time before we can gather enough power to open another portal between worlds. I want you to take a handful of magisters and return to Silvermoon City. Tell them of what has happened; perhaps, in time, they can find a way to join us in Outland."

"I understand, your majesty. Once the city has been rebuilt, I will ensure that our magisters focus all their energy on finding a way to return to Outland." Rommath turned and opened a small portal, which three of the other magisters stepped through. "Al diel shala, my prince."

"Shorel'aran, Rommath." Rommath bowed his head and stepped through the portal, which disappeared in his wake. Kael'thas promptly conjured up a much larger portal of his own. On the other side was Outland's Shadowmoon Valley, a desolate land of blackened rock. Green lava bubbled up from cracks in the ground. Kael'thas sighed. "I do what I must. For Quel'Thalas." He gave one final, forlorn glance at the Frozen Throne, and stepped through the portal.

Kael'thas sat in his quarters, lost in thought. It had been nearly two years since their defeat in Northrend, and things had not gone the way he had hoped. Though the elven priest Lady Malande had healed Illidan's physical wounds, Kael'thas often thought his grasp on reality was slipping. Disagreements had also come up between the pair; Illidan had promised the demon lord Kil'jaeden that he would destroy the Lich King, and having failed was clearly afraid of his impending wrath. Illidan had grown obsessed over safety and security, wanting to fortify his fortress, the Black Temple, against possible demonic incursions.

Kael'thas, meanwhile, had tried to convince him that they should gather their resources and open a new portal to Azeroth. With fresh reinforcements from Quel'Thalas, he believed a renewed assault upon Icecrown could be successful. Lady Vashj, as usual, simply pledged to do whatever Illidan desired of her and her forces. In the end, Kael'thas had decided to put some space between himself and Illidan, taking his best magisters and constructing a new settlement called the Sanctum of the Stars a short distance away from the Black Temple.

Kael'thas stood and walked to the window. In the distance loomed the massive Black Temple. Beyond that was simply nothing; all of Outland was contained on a massive, continent-sized rock floating within the Twisting Nether. Kael'thas stared out into the swirling energies of the nether and sighed. He frowned as he heard a rolling of thunder and looked up. Dark clouds were gathering overhead, bolts of red lightning crackling through them.

Scowling, Kael'thas grabbed his staff, and placed his hand on a red orb on his desk. In a flash of magic, he was transported to the observatory at the top of the tower. He gazed up into the magical storm, now bursting with spurts of flame, and threw open his arms. "So you have come for me at last," he said. "Well? Here I am! But know this, Kil'jaeden! You will not find the prince of Quel'Thals to be easy prey!"

A deep, rumbling laughter echoed clearly over the roar of the storm as a column of fire erupted into existence in front of Kael'thas. "Boldly stated, elf." From out of the flames stepped the demon lord Kil'jaeden, ruler of the Burning Legion. Two black horns curled back from the top of his head, and a pair of great red wings swept out behind him. He was clad solely in a black metallic kilt and a set of dark metal pauldrons. A burning skull-shaped pendant hung from his neck. "But tell me truly. What could you hope to accomplish against me?"

Kael'thas took a two-handed grip on his staff and steadied himself. "I am a magister of Quel'Thalas, a member of Dalaran's Council of Six, and one of the greatest wizards my world has ever seen. You underestimate me at your own peril, demon!"

Kil'jaeden crossed his arms and laughed, his wings wrapping around himself like a cloak. "You have courage, elf. It is what first drew my notice to you and your kin in the first place. Your incredible sense of courage against an overwhelming foe. Your tenacity in the face of absolute adversity. Your race was nearly extinguished, and yet you persist! Through any means necessary, you continue to survive."

"Stay your tongue, fiend. Do not think to tempt me with gilded words and false praise. Our people endure such hardships because you forced us to! Because your Scourge ravaged our homeland, defiled the sacred waters of the Sunwell, and drove us to the brink of extinction! Oh yes, Illidan has revealed much about you. Do not think to deceive me into lowering my guard; I will fight to the bitter end, and die, if I must, but the Sin'dorei will continue to survive, as they always have, as they always will!"

"If I desired your death, you would not be standing before me as you are now. Were I so inclined, I could destroy you with barely a thought. You are quite powerful, yes, but I am stronger still. I have not come to kill you, Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider of Quel'Thalas. Merely to talk."

"Talk? And why should I listen to anything you have to say? You and your demons seek the destruction of my world! It was your ilk who destroyed Dalaran and burned the kingdom of Lordaeron! Your undead Scourge that blighted Eversong Woods and defiled our fallen defenders with your vile necromancers!"

"It is as you say. The legacy of the Burning Legion is grim indeed. And yet, surely you are aware that its previous ruler, Archimonde the Defiler, was destroyed atop Mount Hyjal? That our other lieutenants, Mannoroth the Destructor and Tichondrius the Darkener, were slain as well?"

"Get to the point."

"The point is that for thousands of years, Archimonde has been the driving force behind the Burning Legion. Together with Mannoroth and Tichondrius, the Burning Legion sowed a path of terror across the universe, destroying all that lay before them. Though I did not agree, I had little choice but to comply. Archimonde had always been stronger than I and with Tichondrius and Mannoroth at his side, there were none who could oppose him and live. But now, those who once drove the Burning Legion in its blaze of destruction are dead. I am now in charge. And unlike its former masters, I have no desire to see destruction for destruction's sake. No, I wish to focus the Legion to another goal, a more noble purpose: justice."

Kael'thas laughed. "Justice? You dare speak to me about justice? Where was your vaunted justice when your Lich King's armies tore their way through my homeland? When his champion, that bastard son of a whore Arthas, killed my father and raised our best rangers into undeath? Where was your justice in Northrend, where what few of us remained were slaughtered or lost? What could you possibly know of justice?"

"I know that you desire it. That you need it. That you deserve it. For what it is worth, I apologize for the horrors your people have had to endure. Had I any say in the matter, the Scourge would never have set foot in Quel'Thalas. And yet, it is for precisely that reason that I seek now to dismantle the Scourge, to slay the Lich King and destroy the abomination that I have loosed upon your world. You already know that I wish the demise of the Lich King; it was the request I made of your master Illidan. The Scourge have wrought a terrible evil upon Azeroth, and they must be punished. Justice demands it. Justice for all who have suffered on their account. Justice for all who have fought and died and returned in the Lich King's unholy service. Justice for your people. The Lich King's death will mark a new beginning for the Legion. We will go out into the universe and bring justice to all of creation. We will destroy those who have done great evil, those who deserve the harshest of punishments for their crimes. We will blaze a trail of righteous fire throughout the stars, a burning crusade to cleanse the wickedness and impurities of the universe!"

Kael'thas relaxed his hold on his staff, but his eyes never left Kil'jaeden. "And how do I know that what you say is true? How do I know that you will not simply kill me once I have done your dirty work and killed the Lich King for you?"

"What would I gain from your death, o prince? No, you misunderstand me. I am not simply asking you to destroy the Lich King, as I asked of Illidan. I am asking you to join me. To join the Burning Legion. To join us in our new cause. You and your blood elves wield powerful magic. I have seen how you fought to save Quel'Thalas. I have seen how you fought for vengeance in the frozen wastes of Northrend. I have seen your enemies fall helplessly before the might of your arcane prowess. In you and your blood elves I see great power… And even greater potential. Join me, and I will give you the power you have always wanted. The power to destroy your enemies, to see justice done, and yes, even to restore your homeland, with even more splendor than ever before! Join me, and I promise you that when the Lich King is dead, you will lead the greatest empire on Azeroth. Not just as a prince, but as a king! The Alliance that betrayed you will bow before your power, and the Horde that burned your forests will suffer your retribution!"

Kael'thas did not answer. He was tempted – Kil'jaeden's offer was good. Too good. As much as he wished to believe Kil'jaeden's promises, he knew that making a deal with a demon lord was risky, and there was always more to such offers than met the eye. At last, he spoke. "No."

Kil'jaeden arched an eyebrow. "No?"

"No. I reject your offer, demon. It is true, I desire vengeance against Arthas and the Scourge for what they have done to me, to my people. But I will take my chances with Illidan. Destroy me if you wish, but I will not join you."

Anger flashed across the demon's face, and for a moment Kael'thas feared he really would be destroyed. Then Kil'jaeden threw back his head and laughed. "It is true, my kind does have quite the reputation. I did not expect that convincing you would be easy. For what it is worth, I am sorry for the destruction of Quel'Thalas. Such a monumental loss should never have been allowed to occur. And it is for precisely that reason that I now wish to turn the Burning Legion to a more noble purpose. I will honor your choice, and take my leave. But I think, in time, you will come to see the wisdom of my offer."

He pulled a metallic, crystal-topped device from his kilt and placed it on the floor. "Contact me when you change your mind. I promise everything I have said is true. And I will uphold my end of the bargain." There was a roar of flame and a bright flash, and Kil'jaeden was gone, the clouds above rapidly burning away. Kael'thas stared at the demonic communication device on the floor. He wanted to hurl the thing into the Twisting Nether, but some small part of him he couldn't explain stopped him.

"My liege? Is everything alright?" Kael'thas turned to see his advisor standing at the top of the ramp leading up to the observatory. "I saw the flames from below, and wondered…"

Kael'thas chuckled. "Do not trouble yourself about it, Pathaleon. Suffice to say, I have had time to reconsider our options. Now, go fetch Voren'thal. Tell him that we are returning to Illidan."

Six months had gone by since Kil'jaeden appeared to Kael'thas. Though he had initially decided that Kil'jaeden's interest in him was a good incentive to return to Illidan, he couldn't help wondering if he had made the right decision. Every few days his mind returned to Kil'jaeden's promises of a reformed Burning Legion and a reborn Quel'Thalas. Even now, as he strolled across the Ata'mal Terrace outside the Black Temple, he imagined standing on a gleaming balcony of the newly rebuilt Sunfury Spire, casting Arthas's severed head down to the crowds below. He chuckled a bit at the thought, and then sighed when he considered that it may not be possible without Kil'jaeden's help.

The last six months had not gone well. Kael'thas had suspected before that Illidan's sanity was slipping, but now he had no doubt. Illidan raved constantly about the threat of Kil'jaeden returning to punish him for his failure, yet the demon lord had seemingly made no attempts to do so. For Kael'thas, the deciding moment had come only a week ago, when Illidan claimed that he had actually succeeded in killing Arthas and destroying the Lich King, and that now Kil'jaeden was reneging on their deal and coming to kill him anyway.

Kael'thas had begun to find some comfort in talking with Akama. Akama was one of the locals, leader of a race known as the draenei, and had pledged his people to Illidan almost three years ago when Kael'thas and Vashj were helping Illidan eradicate the Burning Legion from Outland. Though his outward appearance was rather grotesque, Kael'thas found that Akama agreed with his concerns regarding their master.

More worrying than Illidan's growing insanity, however, were the changes Kael'thas was beginning to notice in himself and his people. Their faces were becoming drawn, almost gaunt. Their bodies were getting thinner, their breath shorter. It was as though they were slowly wasting away. Kael'thas wished he could be surprised by this. The "limitless magic" that Illidan had promised them to feed their addiction had never materialized, and much of the magic they did have was being used to conjure bread and water; any real food had long since been consumed. Kael'thas knew that if they didn't find a solution soon, they may not live long enough to find a way back to Quel'Thalas.

A voice called out in greetings, interrupting his reverie. He looked up and saw two tall, lightly armored figures walking towards him. "You are Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider, are you not?" asked one of them in heavily accented Common. Kael'thas eyed them suspiciously. Though they were not making any outwardly threatening moves, they both had massive crystalline hammer strapped to their backs and resembled nothing more than smaller versions of the Burning Legion's commanders. "I am Exarch Koraanus. We have come to speak with your master, the one you call Illidan Stormrage."

"You can speak your piece to me, demon," spat Kael'thas, readying a fireball spell. Suddenly, Illidan's paranoid delusions of persecution by demons did not seem so far-fetched after all.

The figure sighed. "Despite our appearances, my comrade and I are not demons. We have lived on this world for many decades now. We are called the draenei."

"Draenei?" exclaimed Kael'thas. "You lie. I have met draenei before, and they do not look like you."

"It is... Difficult to explain, but those you have met – the Broken – were once also draenei, although they are no longer. But it is inconsequential. You see, our true reason for being here is to reclaim what is ours. This place was once called the Temple of Karabor, and was a great holy site for our people. We wish to negotiate-"

"There can be no negotiation!" boomed a voice from above. Kael'thas looked up in time to see Illidan landing heavily on the ground next to him. "So the Burning Legion has come for us at last, Kael'thas, and yet you waste time talking with these demons?"

"Ah, you must be this Illidan we have heard so much about. As I was telling your companion, we are not-"

"KILL THEM!"

The fireball left Kael'thas's hand almost before Illidan finished the command. Koraanus managed to narrowly dodge out of the way, but his partner was utterly consumed by the blast. Koraanus rolled to his feet, bringing his massive hammer to bear. "You have made an unwise decision." He charged forward, but Illidan was faster; his blades suddenly appearing in his hands and plunging into the draenei's chest.

"Next time, do not hesitate," Illidan said, pulling out his blades and kicking Koraanus's lifeless body to the ground. "The Burning Legion is cunning and crafty. You must destroy them utterly, instantly, and without mercy. As I destroyed Arthas."

"NO!"

Kael'thas turned to see Akama coming towards them. "Illidan, what have you done?" he rasped. "What have you done?"

"I have done what I have always done, Akama. Those demons-"

"Were my people, Illidan! And you had them murdered in cold blood! I should never have joined our fate to yours, Betrayer! In doing so I have merely traded one evil master for another."

In an instant, Illidan was upon Akama, his hand tight around the draenei's throat. "Betrayer? You dare to call ME the betrayer? It is clear to me now what has been happening, Akama. You would betray me to the Burning Legion! What has Kil'jaeden promised you, worm? Power? Wealth?"

Akama struggled to speak, grasping at Illidan's hand. Kael'thas could only watch, unsure of what to do. He had thought Akama a friend, and yet he was claiming to be aligned with the demons he had just slain? Had he really betrayed them, or was this more of Illidan's madness?

"I should kill you right now," said Illidan, "But I think I shall make a more fitting example out of you for your followers. I will ensure that you can never again act against me." Shadows swirled around Illidan, and the tattoos across his chest flared bright green. There was a flash of energy, and Kael'thas sensed the presence of something intangible being pulled out of Akama. As the shadows subsided and the glow of the tattoos faded, Illidan released his grip. Akama collapsed in a coughing, sputtering heap on the ground. "Now, you are mine." Illidan spread his wings and took off into the sky.

Several moments passed. When Kael'thas was sure Illidan was gone, he slowly went and crouched down at Akama's side. Very slowly, he lifted his head up and looked into Kael'thas's eyes. To Kael'thas, it seemed there was a sort of emptiness when he looked back.

"Illidan…" rasped Akama. "Illidan has taken… A portion of my soul…"

"Come, Akama. I will take you back to the Temple." He slowly helped Akama to his feet and then, supporting him on his shoulder, began to walk back to the Black Temple. Kael'thas still was unsure where Akama's allegiances truly lay, and whether the pair he had killed were truly draenei, or demons, or both. All he knew was that Illidan's madness had consumed him, and he had to leave before Illidan decided to do the same to him... Or worse.

Kael'thas stood within the observatory atop the Sanctum of the Stars, staring out across Shadowmoon Valley. The ground had long ago been scorched to black, the trees reduced to skeletal remnants. To the north was the Hand of Gul'dan, a massive volcano that was in a constant state of eruption. Lava spewed out of it, glowing with the telltale sickly green of demonic corruption. To the west, just barely visible over the hills, he could make out the tips of buildings that he now suspected were draenic in origin. To the south the walls of the valley rose up sharply, but he knew that beyond them was the vast emptiness of the Twisting Nether. To the east, massive crystals thrust up from the ground, around which a group of shimmering shark-like dragons had made their home. And beyond, the imposing edifice that was the Black Temple.

When Kael'thas had left a week ago, he had sworn never to return. He did not let on to Illidan, of course; he hoped the mighty demon hunter would continue to think them allies for a very long time. Long enough, at least, to find a way back to Silvermoon. He had set Voren'thal and the rest of the magisters to work aiding Pathaleon on that project, insisting that they do nothing else until a means of returning to Azeroth had been found.

Every day for a week he had asked Pathaleon about their progress, and every day for a week he had been told that there was no progress; they simply did not have massive amount of magic it would take to open another portal to Azeroth. Every day Kael'thas gazed out across the blasted landscape, hoping for some sign that this was anything other than the forsaken wasteland it appeared. Kael'thas kept telling the magisters to keep trying, but his heart was no longer in it. Something deep inside told him that they were never going home. They would succumb to their magic addiction and die here, forgotten and alone.

He looked at the communicator. After Kil'jaeden's visit, Kael'thas told himself he would never use it. He had spent every day for the last week trying to remind himself of that promise, trying to convince himself that there was some other way. The ground shook as the Hand of Gul'dan erupted again, spurting yet another gout of bright green lava into the sky and raining down upon the dilapidated orc structure below. Kael'thas coughed as a cloud of ash wafted through the observatory. When the air had cleared, he took a deep breath and steadied him for what he was about to do.

"What I do now—what I must do now—I do for Quel'Thalas."

With a heavy heart, Kael'thas placed his hand on the device's crystal. It instantly flared to life, and a transparent green image of Kil'jaeden appeared before his eyes.

"And so we meet again, Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider," the demon lord said. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?"

"I have considered your offer these last six months. After much deliberation, I have decided to accept. The Sin'dorei will join the Burning Legion."

Kil'jaeden smiled, a wide toothy grin that was vaguely unsettling. "As I knew you would, sooner or later. You will be richly rewarded for your service."

"You said you had the power to return us to Azeroth. Show me."

"In time, Prince Kael'thas. In time. First, there are a task that I require of you here in Outland. Then, I will show you how to obtain you the power you require to journey between worlds once more."

Kael'thas frowned. "You didn't mention any tasks before."

"Let us say that I will require some measure of assurance that you will act as you say."

"I might say the same of you, demon. We both know the kind of reputation you have. Show me that you will do as you say. I wish to see proof of the renewed glory you promised for Quel'Thalas."

Kil'jaeden laughed. "And so you shall, young prince. So you shall."

Kael'thas reeled as he was thrust into a sudden vision. He found himself flying through the forests of Quel'Thalas, passing the town of Tranquillien, no longer surrounded by the dead, blackened trees of the Ghostlands but with a thriving forest. As he continued north, over the Elrendar River, he caught a brief glimpse of gleaming spires in the distance before the thick canopy of the Eversong Woods hid them once more. When he at last emerged from the forest he gasped as he beheld Silvermoon City, no longer in ruins but restored to its former splendor. Sunfury Spire reached high into the air, taller and more majestic than it had ever been. Kael'thas picked up speed as he flew over the Great Sea to the Isle of Quel'Danas. The island was dominated by a gleaming, majestic sanctum, a torrent of energy rising into the clouds from within the largest dome. Kael'thas dropped down into the dome and his heart nearly skipped a beat as he saw the Sunwell, no longer corrupted but overflowing with enough magic to sate his people for dozens of their considerable lifetimes. Kael'thas looked up and saw, on the walls above the Sunwell, an impressive bas relief of hundreds of cheering blood elves. And in the middle, looming larger than life, he saw himself, wearing the royal crown of Silvermoon. King Kael'thas Sunstrider.

Kael'thas gasped as he found himself back in the Sanctum of the Stars. He grasped the railing as he caught his breath, his head reeling with the visions he had just seen. Kil'jaeden's image simply stared from above the communicator. At last, Kael'thas found his voice. "You… You can do… All of this?"

"All of this and more, Prince Kael'thas. There is but one thing you must do first."

"What would you ask of me?"

"There is a race of beings living here in Outland called the draenei."

"I have encountered them. They looked like demons, like Archimonde."

"You are perceptive, young prince. They are indeed demons. And they are indeed like Archimonde. In order for the new Burning Legion to do what I intend for it to do, we must first purge it of those elements that would see us return to the days of destruction and chaos. There is a draenei outpost just east of your position. Slay them, and I will guide you to the power to save your people."

"It shall be done… Lord Kil'jaeden. Before the week is out, the draenei will be destroyed."

The draenei outpost burned. The battle had been fierce, but with the draenei so badly outnumbered it seemed a foregone conclusion. Still, Kael'thas thought the outcome had been disastrous. He walked among the ruins, his ears filled with the cries of the wounded and his eyes taking in every elven body lying dead in the streets. Though Gathios and Lady Malande were doing what they could to save their fallen brethren, their power had its limits and they were beginning to tire.

Kael'thas knelt down beside a dead magister, removing a crystalline draenei sword from his chest and throwing it aside. As Kael'thas looked into his face, a name sprang to his mind: Halendor. Once he had been a brilliant magister. Now, he was just another casualty. "We were so few already..." he whispered. "How many more must die? How much more of my people's blood must be spilled?"

Kael'thas stood up and strode to a large building that was still mostly intact. A blood elf was crouched beside the doorway, making sure that a draenei was truly dead. "Stand guard," Kael'thas told him. "Tell anyone who comes that I am not to be disturbed." Without waiting for the guard's reply, he entered the building and began searching. Eventually he found a room at the top of the stairs that seemed to be secluded. Just in case, he cast a spell that would stifle any shield the room from prying eyes and ears.

He hadn't told the others about Kil'jaeden. They hadn't seen the vision he had seen, hadn't been told what he had been told... They would not have understood. Kael'thas would tell them when the time was right, but not yet. In order to create a believable cover story for the attack and to keep up the appearance that he actually still served Illidan, he had gone to the Black Temple and enlisted the mad demon hunter's aid. Unfortunately, Illidan had insisted on taking command and ordered the blood elves to go in first, in advance of the naga. The elves suffered heavy losses: losses which Kael'thas felt could have been prevented by keeping the magisters in reserve.

Through the window, Kael'thas could hear Illidan shouting a victory speech, likening their victory over the draenei to victory over the Scourge. To Kael'thas, it served only to remind him just how far gone his former master really was. He sighed, and activated Kil'jaeden's communicator. The demon lord's visage appeared once more.

"So, Prince Kael'thas, I assume the draenei have been dealt with?"

"They have, but at such a cost to my people... Our numbers were so few to begin with, and now we have lost so many more. And you! You sit there on your throne and have done nothing to aid us. You knew what we were going to face, and yet you allowed us to go to the slaughter. Had I not enlisted Illidan's aid in order to maintain the idea that I am still serving him, even more would have died!"

Kil'jaeden glared at Kael'thas. "There can be no victory without sacrifice, mortal. Did you think you could simply take what you needed, and that there would be no consequences? No price to pay?" Kael'thas stared silently back, until at last Kil'jaeden continued. "Still. You have done well, and I believe you should be rewarded. Anukh-Kyrie!"

A burst of pale green energy pulsed forth from the crystal, flowing out the windows. Kael'thas heard cries from outside, and looked to see what had happened. To his amazement, several of the wounded blood elves were slowly getting to their feet, their wounds suddenly healed. Those tending to them were clearly baffled by this sudden turn of events. Illidan began preaching about how this was proof that they were fated to destroy the Burning Legion and all its agents, that the very stars themselves favored them. "I have done what I can for those who still live," said Kil'jaeden.

"I... Thank you, my lord. I am sorry for doubting you. It's just... My people have suffered so much already, and to see even more of them among the dead and dying..."

"Sometimes, loss is necessary to achieve a greater goal, Prince Kael'thas. You must always keep that in mind. What we are doing is for a higher purpose, and there must be some sacrifice along the way."

"You promised that when the draenei were slain, you would give me the power to return my people to our home."

"And so I shall. You must gather your people and take them north, past the Blade's Edge Mountains. There you will find the Netherstorm: a land filled with magic. And, at the far end of it, one final task remains before you can claim the power you so desire. There is a grand palace called Tempest Keep, a bastion for those who in their arrogance call themselves the chosen of the Light. These beings, called the naaru, seek to harness the magical energies of the land for themselves, for their own ends. Make no mistake, their goals are contrary to our own. They are not to be trusted, nor can they be allowed to have this great power for themselves. Take control of Tempest Keep, and you will have an unlimited supply of magic for your people."

"And once again, I suppose you will not be helping in this assault?"

"The naaru would be expecting me, and have defenses in place that would turn my own powers against me. But you, Prince Kael'thas... You and your blood elves would be the last thing they would expect."

"And these naaru... They are powerful?"

"I would be cautious, Prince Kael'thas, if you do not wish to lose more of your people. It will take all of your power to defeat them. But I trust you are more than capable. Now go. Claim Tempest Keep, and the magic you so richly deserve!"

The communicator went dark. Kael'thas returned it to his pocket before going to the window. Illidan's ranting had reached a fever pitch. Looking out over the crowd, Kael'thas could tell that most of the other blood elves did not look pleased. They were tired, worn, haggard, and injured. They had grown thin and pale from the lack of magic, and of any substantial nourishment. They knew as well as Kael'thas did that Illidan's promise of a magical paradise had proved to be a hollow one. And yet, several others seemed to be hanging on Illidan's every word, transfixed by his ravings. Gathios and Malande in particular seemed to be leading the cheers when he spoke of toppling their enemies.

"Some sacrifices must be made..." muttered Kael'thas. "They have made their choice."

As Kael'thas led his people through the Blade's Edge Mountains, he began to grow excited. A few days before they had begun to detect the tingle in the air of unbound magic, and it had been growing steadily stronger ever since. For the first time in a long time, Kael'thas was feeling optimistic about the future of his people.

After the battle with the draenei several months ago, Kael'thas had taken some time to determine who was loyal to him, and who was loyal to Illidan. Those who seemed to favor Illidan were left behind to garrison the draenei ruins, while Kael'thas had taken those loyal to himself and built a new outpost called Firewing Point in Terokkar Forest. The forest was much more hospitable than Shadowmoon Valley, and they had taken some time to build up food stores and provisions before setting out on their long journey north, through the forest, past Zangarmarsh, and up into the mountains. Now it seemed they were at last nearing their salvation.

As Kael'thas crested a ridge, he stopped as his breath caught in his throat. Below, near the spot where the mountains dropped off into the infinite void of the Twisting Nether, was the land they sought. A dozen massive asteroids floated around each other, magical energy wrapping and flowing around them. From this vantage point, Kael'thas could see for miles. Five of the asteroids contained curious structures which seemed to be funneling the magic from the air down into themselves. Large tubes ran from each structure, linking up as they travelled southeast until they at last converged on their destination: an immense crystalline fortress hovering just above one of the asteroids. Four smaller structures floated around it, and magical energy crackled across its surface.

"Tempest Keep..." said Kael'thas. He turned to the rest of the blood elves coming up the mountain behind him. "Behold: the Netherstorm!" he shouted, as they too saw the wonders below. "We were led to Outland by Illidan with the promise that we would find a land brimming with magic, where we could sate our arcane hunger and thrive! Up to now, this promise seemed a hollow one. And, I admit, I too had begun to despair of ever seeing Silvermoon again. But now, I have taken hold of our own destiny, and led us to a land where we can begin anew! All of you can feel the magic in the air, all of you can see the arcane flows wrapping around the very land itself! Here is the place where we will find our salvation, where we will gain that which we were promised so long ago... At long last, we will have the power to return to Quel'Thalas once more!"

As the last few blood elves joined the group atop the ridge, Kael'thas continued. "However, such great power is not simply ours for the taking. As you can see, others have come to this land first, to take its magical energies... To take what should rightfully be ours! These beings, the naaru, would use this magic against us. And so we must march into their stronghold and claim it for ourselves. Only then will we be free to return home. Only then can our thirst for magic be ended. Only then will we have the power to exact our revenge on Arthas for the atrocities he has committed against our homeland and our people! Only then will Quel'Thalas have justice... And be reborn! Now, my brothers, we march! For glory! For the Sin'dorei! For Quel'Thalas!"

Kael'thas stared out the great crystalline window and into the depths of the Twisting Nether, lost in thought. For the last several months, it seemed everything was finally going in their favor. They had left Illidan, found a land rich with magical power, and after a long struggle had even managed to capture the naaru fortress of Tempest Keep. Though it had cost them nearly a dozen magisters to do so, they had managed to subdue the lone naaru that had been left to guard the fortress. Everything had been going so well the past two weeks, and now... This. Kael'thas looked again at the letter in his hands. He had read it several times already, but still could barely believe its contents.

"My liege," it began. "As you know, Voren'thal took many of our most powerful magisters earlier this week on a mission to assault the draenei city of Shattrath in Terokkar Forest, which has allied with the remaining naaru in Outland. Upon arriving at Shattrath, Voren'thal and the rest of the magisters laid down their arms and demanded an audience with the naaru, A'dal. Voren'thal said that he saw the naaru in a vision, and that our race's only hope for survival lay with them. Though it pains me to have to bear this news to you, it is my responsibility to inform you that Voren'thal has defected."

Kael'thas read the last line again. Voren'thal has defected. "You were ever my closest confidant, Voren'thal," Kael'thas muttered. "How could you have betrayed me? How could you have sided with our enemies?" Kael'thas crumpled up the letter and threw it across the room. "I have failed," he said to the empty room. "I have failed my people, I have failed my homeland, and I have failed myself. My actions have cost valuable lives against the draenei and the naaru, and now we have lost even more of our people to those who are now our enemies." He sighed. "Was it a mistake to side with Kil'jaeden? Perhaps if we had merely gone to live in Terokkar…" He shook his head. There was no use thinking about what he might have done or what could have been. He had made his choices, and there was no going back.

He strode through Tempest Keep, eventually emerging on a balcony overlooking the Netherstorm. Below, in the fortress's courtyard, what few magisters remained were practicing their magic. Many other blood elves were busy transporting containers from the manaforges. They ran constantly now, drawing massive amounts of magic from the air. In time, they would have enough magic to open a permanent portal to Silvermoon. After the battle, Kael'thas and Pathaleon had surveyed Tempest Keep and determined that there was enough magic stored to open a small, temporary portal to Silvermoon. They used it to send word of their situation to Rommath, who was delighted to hear back from them. Before the portal closed, Kael'thas sent the naaru through as well; the elves of Silvermoon were still struggling with their magic addiction, and the naaru had enough magic in it to satisfy their thirst for quite some time.

"Hail!" came a voice from below. Kael'thas looked down to see the remaining magisters looking up at him. "All hail Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider!"

"No," chimed in another voice. Kael'thas recognized it as that of Capernian, one of the few high-ranking magisters that had not left with Voren'thal. "He is not our prince. Not anymore." Kael'thas stared at her. Was she going to defect too, like Voren'thal had? "He is our king!" she shouted, and dropped to one knee. "All hail, King Kael'thas Sunstrider! May his glorious reign last forever!" The rest of the magisters joined in the cheering, dropping to their knees as they did so.

"Anu belore dela'na, sin'dorei!" shouted Kael'thas. "Glory to our people!" He had not failed, he decided. His people still followed him, still trusted him. He had given his people everything, and yet Voren'thal and his renegade magisters had thrown it away. Now, they would never again return to their homeland. It was tragic, really, but they had made their choice and Kael'thas could not afford to waste time brooding on it. He had a future to plan.

"With the power of Tempest Keep, none can stand against our might!" he called to the growing crowd. "Soon, we will return to Quel'Thalas, and with the magic we glean from this place we will rebuild Silvermoon, even more glorious than before! We will reignite the Sunwell, and not even the Scourge would defy us! The time of the sin'dorei is now, and we will not be stopped! For Quel'Thalas!"

"For Quel'Thalas!" the crowd shouted back. "Hail, King Kael'thas Sunstrider!"

Kael'thas turned and began walking back to his room. He thought back once more on all that had happened, including the deal he had made with Kil'jaeden. He would tell them, eventually, when the time was right. They may not understand, at first, but they would come to see the reason behind his decision. They would come to see all that Kil'jaeden could do for them, all he had already done for them.

"Everything I have done," Kael'thas said aloud, "I have done for Quel'Thalas."