World of Warcraft: Stormsong

Early summer in Lordaeron brought with it the promise of warmth and vibrant colors. The land, once shrouded in the cool embrace of spring, now burst forth with life. It was during this season of renewal that Thorwin embarked on a journey, his heart light with the anticipation of adventures to come after the heavy atmosphere that encompassed him within the Palace walls of Lordaeron, the once beautiful place had become oppressing by itself.

He led a convoy, positioned at the front on a magnificent steed bestowed upon him by the Menethil family. To his right rode Jaina, her smile radiant as the sun that bathed them in golden light. At his side, matching the proud stride of his own horse, was none other than Arthas Menethil, the prince of Lordaeron. Thorwin had heard whispers of Arthas' fervent pleas to his father, King Terenas, to be allowed to accompany them on this expedition. Prince Arthas had proven himself relentless in his pursuit of Jaina's friendship. Despite initial resistance, the two had gradually formed a bond during their time in the palace. Arthas, ever forward in his approach, refused to be deterred by Jaina's initial reservations. Over time, she had grown accustomed to his presence, and little by little, she had allowed him into their own little world.

As Arthas and Jaina engaged in their light-hearted banter, Thorwin found himself lost in a sea of nostalgia. The scenery that surrounded them was achingly familiar, evoking memories of a time when he had first embarked on this path with his beloved grandfather. It was a journey he had undertaken as a child, a time when his innocence was untouched by the complexities of the world.

The landscape was a vivid tapestry of lush greenery, rolling hills, and picturesque villages that stretched out before them. The roads they traversed were well-trodden, bearing the weight of countless travelers who had come before them. Each bend in the path, each quaint little hamlet they passed, held echoes of his past, stirring emotions he had long thought buried.

Continuing eastward, their guide offered some welcomed information. The guide spoke of a nearby town known as Ambermill, a place where they could find refuge and, hopefully, warm hospitality for the approaching night. Thorwin, ever attentive to the well-being of his companions, couldn't help but notice Jaina's evident discomfort from a day spent in the saddle. he signaled to both his own men and Arthas' entourage to halt by the roadside. Here, they would rest for a brief respite, taking advantage of the scenic surroundings. Blankets were spread out, and a hearty picnic was arranged.

While they savored their simple yet satisfying picnic of bread, cheese, and refreshing juice, a Lordaeron guard approached their group, addressing them with a proposal. "With your permission, sir," he began respectfully, "we can make the necessary arrangements to spend the night in Ambermill. This would allow us to continue our journey to Dalaran tomorrow, and Lady Jaina should reach her destination before nightfall."

However, Arthas seemed to have a different plan in mind. With a firm shake of his head and a determined gleam in his blue eyes, he asserted, "No, let's keep moving forward. We can camp overnight in the Hillsbrad Area. This way, Lady Jaina can reach Dalaran even earlier, by mid-morning tomorrow." His warm smile was directed towards Jaina, making his intentions quite clear.

Thorwin saw Jaina smiling back, though he caught a hint of disappointment in her eyes. "Even with fifty of my most loyal guards patrolling overnight, the possibility of danger may still put Jaina in harm's way. I insist we stay in Ambermill for the night."

Jaina, however, interjected with a hint of defiance in her voice. "It's alright, Thorwin, Kayvan," she spoke, turning to Thorwin with a confident smile. "I'm not a fragile little figurine, you know."

Thorwin couldn't help but feel a twinge of irritation as he noticed Arthas's grin widening. It was moments like these that reminded him that both Arthas and Jaina were still naive to the perils that lurked beyond their protective circle. The area was a dangerous place, he had heard that there were orcish remnants and other threats that plagues the southern parts of Lordaeron, even Doomhammer might be one of those roaming orcs. Yet, he respected Jaina's decision, even if it made him uneasy. Gazing at his hands, he made a promise that this hands of his would not let any harm befall Jaina.

When the servants and guards efficiently set up their camp, Thorwin decided to join Arthas and Jaina on a brief exploration. They soon found themselves atop a picturesque hill that offered a breathtaking panoramic view of their surroundings. To the west, the quaint town of Ambermill sprawled out, with the distant spires of Baron Silverlaine's keep in the background, a testament to the rich history of the Gilnean lands. Turning their gazes eastward, the trio was greeted by the awe-inspiring sight of Dalaran, the city of magic. Its towering spires seemed to have reached the heavens, casting elongated shadows in the afternoon sun. Jaina, in particular, was captivated by the distant city's grandeur, her gasp of astonishment evidence of the wonder it stirred within her. To the south of Dalaran, however, lay a stark contrast. An orcish internment camp stretched out before them, a reminder of Terenas' mercy. Enclosed by wooden walls, the camp housed huts and structures that spoke of confinement and hardship, a visual testament to the hard-after treatment to the orcs. But it wasn't harsh enough, nor they were deserving of such "kind" treatments, Thorwin thought.

They feasted on a roasted deer for dinner around a campfire the guards had set up and retired to their tents shortly after. Sleep proved elusive for Thorwin. Resting on one of the makeshift trunks they had arranged as seating, he idly fiddled with the pistol Khadgar had entrusted to him. His mind drifted back to his late teacher, Khadgar, whose recent passing weighed heavily on him. In his reflections, he felt a deep sense of gratitude for the knowledge and wisdom Khadgar had shared with him. However, his thoughts were interrupted by a rustling sound originating from behind him, snapping him back to the present. Reflexively, he raised his pistol in the direction of the disturbance, on high alert. But the potential intruder turned out to be none other than Arthas and Jaina, disheveled from their hurried exit.

Thorwin lowered his weapon, relief washing over him. "What are the two of you doing?" he asked, still somewhat wary.

Arthas, undeterred by Thorwin's caution, responded, "We were going to explore the area we saw earlier. Come on, don't be a spoilsport. There's no danger, and no one will even know what we're up to."

Thorwin, however, had reservations. He glanced at Jaina, his expression filled with concern. "It's too risky, Jaina. I understand everything is new and exciting, but I can't take the chance of you getting hurt."

Jaina's expression shifted, guilt flickering in her eyes. "I wanted you to come with us, Thorwin," she admitted softly. "I feel safer when you're around."

Thorwin sighed, relenting in the face of her earnest request. "Fine, but we'll need to be quick," he conceded, aware of the annoyance in Arthas' expression. The prince had likely intended this outing to be a secret shared only between him and Jaina, and Thorwin's presence had disrupted those plans. Though if Arthas and Jaina had really managed to go out on their little adventure by themselves and if she somehow were to get hurt, he wouldn't know what he could do, even what had happened in their spar would be an understatement.

In the cover of night, Thorwin made a discreet signal to Martin and four other guards, instructing them to follow the trio surreptitiously. While Martin and the guards had shed their armor to move more stealthily, their weapons remained at the ready, a potent force even in the absence of their protective gear. They bided their time, allowing the trio to move ahead before shadowing their path. Thorwin accompanied Arthas and Jaina as they once more ascended the hill they had climbed earlier. The night added an element of challenge to their trek, but the moonlight bathed their surroundings in an eerie glow, ensuring their footing remained secure.

Arthas pointed into the distance, indicating their destination. "There it is," he declared.

Jaina's unease was palpable. "The internment camp?"

"Have you ever seen one up close?" Arthas inquired.

"No, and I don't want to," Jaina replied, her voice tinged with apprehension.

Thorwin voiced his concerns, his tone unwavering. "And she shouldn't need to, Arthas. This recklessness will only put the three of us in harm's way."

Arthas' voice rose with frustration. "You've been like this ever since we've met, Thorwin. What's the matter with you? I just wanted to show Jaina what these orcs look like. I'm sure she's curious."

Thorwin, his anger simmering, responded sternly, "They killed Derek, Arthas. Our old friend and her own brother."

"And they killed Varian's father, too," Arthas retorted. "They've killed many people, and that's why they're in these camps. I know for a fact that your family funds half of the internment camps. If you truly mourn for our friend, then you would never have done so."

Thorwin seethed, his patience wearing thin. "Don't downplay their deaths, Arthas. These camps are the sole decision of your father. In fact, this very decision made their deaths in vain." Be it diplomacy or war, he doesn't care anymore if he could land a fist on this boy's face.

Jaina, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, unexpectedly intervened. "Stop, Thorwin," she said firmly, surprising them both. "Let's go." Her voice carried a weight of finality, urging them to put aside their heated disagreement and continue their journey.

She appeared visibly dejected, her once-confident stride faltering as she distanced herself, albeit subtly, from Arthas. Thorwin couldn't help but notice this shift in her demeanor. Arthas, on the other hand, seemed wholly engrossed in detailing the camp's security measures, discussing the patrols and the estimated count of guards both on the ground and stationed in the watchtowers. His voice carried on, unwavering, oblivious to the tension brewing among their group. It was a rift that had emerged, driven by differing perspectives and the words spoken earlier.

Under the veil of darkness, they descended the hill with the careful precision of shadowy figures. The trees became their allies, providing cover and concealment as they ventured deeper into the night. The camp's guards, perhaps lulled into complacency by the quietude of the evening, were sparsely spread out, making it easier for the trio to navigate their way through the dense underbrush, inching closer to the camp's looming walls.

A hushed command broke the silence. "Get down," Arthas whispered urgently. He moved to usher Jaina to the ground for cover, but before he could, Thorwin acted swiftly, pulling her into his protective embrace and guiding her down, settling onto the earth with a stealthy grace. Their forms melted into the night, hidden from the guard's prying eyes, who had focused right on their spot.

Thorwin's heart was calm as they huddled in the undergrowth, concealed from the guards who passed not too far from their location. He knew that even if they were discovered, the guards would likely recognize them and not pose a threat, but the complications and explanations that would follow were they ought to avoid. A subtle shift in one of the guards' attentions alleviated their immediate concern, and Thorwin couldn't help but steal a fleeting glance at the patrol as they strode past them. They remained undetected, and a collective sigh of relief from Arthas, Jaina, and himself filled the air.

Breaking the silence, Thorwin turned to Jaina, a mixture of worry as she was forcefully dragged on to the ground by him. "I'm sorry, Jaina," he whispered sincerely, his arms still wrapped around her, not just out of caution, but also as a reassurance that she was safe in his embrace.

Jaina responded with a warm smile, her eyes reflecting gratitude as she gently disentangled herself from his embrace, leading her to crouch beside him. "What should we do now?" She asked.

"Might as well continue onwards," said Thorwin, his gaze shifting between Arthas and Jaina. They waited for a few moments until the patrol was fully out of their sight. 

A few minutes later they quietly pressed against the makeshift walls of the orc internment camp. Thorwin couldn't help but observe the crude construction of the walls, logs hastily fastened together to contain the captive orcs. It was a stark contrast to what he had heard about Durnholde Keep, a heavily fortified stone stronghold rumored to house a vast number of orcs in comparison to these makeshift camps.

The shroud of night made it challenging to see clearly, but they could still make out the imposing, monstrous figures within the camp. Indeed, they were orcs, but Thorwin couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between these downtrodden creatures and the bloodthirsty orcs he had encountered in Stormwind. These orcs appeared defeated, as though they had lost the fierce spirit that once defined them. Their demeanor spoke of captivity, as if their fangs had been figuratively removed. Some of the creatures he had always thought as monsters laid absentminded on the ground, curled up and covered by blankets. They deserve this treatment, he thought. However, it would have been better if they were all executed instead.

Among the orcs, there was a family of orcs huddled together. Amid this harsh environment, there stood a male orc, a female with a slightly smaller frame, and a young orcling. The female cradled something small to her chest, and as Thorwin squinted through the shadows, he realized it was an infant.

Jaina, who had been observing alongside him, couldn't help but express her thoughts, her voice a soft and innocent whisper reminiscent of her younger self. "Oh," she murmured, her eyes reflecting a mix of sympathy and sadness. "They look so... miserable."

Arthas snorted beside them, but stopped when Thorwin shushed him. They quickly glanced at the watchtower but saw the guard had not taken notice of them. Arthas then began speaking. "Miserable? Jaina, these brutes had killed your brother, for light's sake. These monsters destroyed Stormwind and wanted our kind extinct. Don't waste any pity on them."

Jaina's voice quivered with empathy as she continued, her gaze locked on the orc family within the camp. "I... didn't think they would have children," she mused, her youthful innocence evident in her words. "Do you guys see the one with the baby?"

Thorwin nodded in acknowledgment, his agreement with Jaina's sentiment unspoken. While he couldn't fully share her compassion for the orcs, he respected her empathy. "Even animals have children, Jaina," he explained gently, his voice measured and thoughtful. "The orcs would do so as well."

Arthas, on the other hand, had a starkly different perspective. His voice held an edge of conviction as he interjected, "And those orcish offspring deserve imprisonment. They could be as dangerous as their bloodthirsty fathers."

"They look harmless enough, are you sure they belong here?" Jaina turned her face to Arthas then swiftly shifted to Thorwin, her eyes steadily gazed at Thorwin's, waiting for his opinion. "It's expensive to keep them here. Maybe they should be released."

Thorwin leaned closer to Jaina, his voice soft and carrying the weight of concealed truths. "Jaina," he began, his words deliberately chosen to veil his inner thoughts. "I... don't think anyone deserves to be imprisoned in such a harsh environment as this," he said, his voice filled with false sympathy. It was the first time he had lied to Jaina, and it gnawed at him. "But we must think of our people, and the panic it would bring if we ever released the orcs free to roam our lands once more."

A barely audible murmur escaped from Arthas's lips, "Liar." Jaina seemed not to have caught the faint utterance, but Thorwin did, and he shot a quick glance at Arthas, who responded with a jerk of his head.

"Maybe when Arthas becomes king," Thorwin continued, steering the conversation toward the prince, "he would be able to do so."

Jaina and Thorwin turned their expectant gazes to Arthas, awaiting his response.

"They're killers," Arthas asserted firmly, his conviction unwavering. "Even if they look so miserable right now, who can say what would happen if we released them."

Alas, Arthas was caught in a trap. Thorwin couldn't help but notice the disappointment in Jaina's eyes. While he and Arthas had hinted at the same underlying meaning, she was clearly not prepared to hear such words delivered so directly. Arthas, however, had never been one to speak in anything less than straightforward terms.

The trio lingered in silence for a moment, Jaina's eyes shifting from Arthas to Thorwin as if searching for answers in their expressions. It was evident that they had seen enough of the camp, and the atmosphere was starting to wear on Jaina. Sensing her discomfort, Thorwin spoke up, breaking the stillness. "We should go back," he suggested, his voice carrying an air of finality. Jaina nodded in agreement; her gaze still fixed on him.

Arthas, on the other hand, appeared reluctant to leave. It was unclear whether it was due to the unsettling atmosphere he had created or because he harbored a desire to gloat over the orcs further. Yet he could do nothing but follow once Thorwin held Jaina's wrist, gently dragging her onto the bushes, where they would need to pass through once again stealthily.

Afterwards, they ran towards the hill, steering away from the route of the patrols. The trees were their sign to navigate the woody hill back to their encampment. Though, once they have reached a certain point, Thorwin could hear Jaina gasping for breath from behind. He looked back and saw sweat trinkling down her face, prompting him to stop. "Let's rest for a while," he said. The three decided to sit against a large tree, waiting for Jaina to regain a little bit of her energy.

The forest was cast in an eerie silence, broken only by the rustling leaves and the occasional hushed whispers of the trio. Arthas, usually lively and talkative, had been uncharacteristically silent the entire way back, a stark contrast to his usual self. The tension in the air was palpable, and Thorwin couldn't help but feel that something was amiss.

Then it happened—a sharp crack as a twig snapped beneath an unseen force. All three of them turned their heads in unison toward the source of the sound, their hearts pounding in their chests. Thorwin felt Jaina's grip on his arm tighten, and he could sense her fear even in the dim moonlight.

Before them stood an orc, one of the very brutes they had been observing earlier. Its bloodshot eyes gleamed with an unsettling malevolence, and a twisted grin adorned its rugged face. Gripped firmly in its gnarled hand was a bloodied axe, a chilling sight against the backdrop of darkness. Skulls were tied to its waist, perhaps as charms or gruesome trophies.

A heavy, tense silence hung in the air, broken only by the ominous sound of the orc's raspy breathing. Thorwin knew he had to act swiftly, not wanting to escalate the situation further. He stealthily reached for his sword, which he had laid on the ground earlier, knowing that the use of his gun would be too gruesome for Jaina to witness.

Slowly, Thorwin rose to his feet, his eyes locked onto the orc. With a deliberate motion, he signaled for Arthas and Jaina to do the same, trying to exude an air of confidence despite the thundering of his own heart. It was a precarious situation, one that required them to remain calm and composed, for any wrong move could spell disaster.

"On my signal, you two must run back to camp and don't ever look back." Thorwin's voice was hushed yet commanding as he whispered his instructions, his eyes darting between Jaina and Arthas, a mix of determination and worry etched on his face. The forest seemed to close in around them, and the moonlight cast long, eerie shadows on the ground.

Jaina shook her head with a stubborn resolve that matched the fiery spirit Thorwin had always admired in her. Her gaze, filled with fear but unwavering determination, bore into his. "I won't leave you," she insisted, her voice tinged with defiance.

Turning to Arthas, Thorwin sent a signal with his eyes, silently hoping that the prince would understand the gravity of the situation. Arthas, to his relief, nodded in agreement and immediately grasped Jaina's hand, pulling her along as he sprinted away from the menacing orc. Thorwin watched them disappear into the darkness, the sound of Jaina's distressed cries haunting his ears. He had sent them away to protect her for no harm should ever befall her.

Left alone to face the orc, Thorwin took a deep breath, his grip on his sword tightening. The orc's laughter, guttural and filled with malice, echoed through the still night air. It spoke, but Thorwin couldn't understand its harsh, guttural language. The mere sound of the orc's voice sent shivers down his spine, an unfounded fear that clawed at his heart.

Thorwin sought solace in the light, his thoughts turning to the Light within him. He whispered a silent prayer, hoping for guidance and strength. The fear he had initially felt ebbed away but just as he reached for the pistol at his waist to end the orc in an instant, it had already lunged forward with savage determination. Its sheer force caught Thorwin off guard, and the pistol tumbled from his grip, clattering to the ground, and leaving him with nothing but his sword.

The orc's triumphant roar echoed through the forest, a chilling sound that seemed to reverberate in the very marrow of Thorwin's bones. Its malicious glee was palpable, as if it saw Thorwin as nothing more than a helpless morsel in the eyes of a predator. The creature's arrogance shone through, making it believe it had already won the battle.

Yet, it was this moment of the orc's arrogance that allowed Thorwin to regain his composure. As the beast gloated, Thorwin steadied himself, his breathing slowing as he took a step back. He shifted into a combative stance, gripping his sword with both hands and holding it at eye level. The blade glinted menacingly in the dim moonlight, a silent declaration that he was not to be underestimated.

In that fateful moment, a profound silence descended upon Thorwin's mind. His racing thoughts ceased, and a chilling clarity replaced them. It was as if time itself had slowed, granting him a brief respite amidst the impending battle. He could hear the rustling of leaves, the distant chirping of crickets, and even the faintest heartbeat within his chest. But within this newfound tranquility, a raging tempest of emotions surged. Beneath the veneer of calm determination, an unquenchable thirst for vengeance smoldered. Thorwin knew what he had to do. He must kill to survive, to emerge from this encounter alive. He must also kill to avenge every innocent life that had fallen to the orc's brutality, to honor their memory. But most importantly, he must kill so that he could once again see Jaina, her safety and well-being his paramount concern. With these thoughts surging through him, Thorwin's grip on his sword tightened. His eyes, once filled with trepidation, now blazed with an unwavering resolve.

As the orc beheld Thorwin's transformed demeanor, a momentary hush fell upon it. The human before it no longer exuded the aura of fear and vulnerability it had anticipated. Instead, Thorwin's countenance radiated determination, a steely resolve that had replaced his initial trepidation.

"Lok-Tar Ogar!" the orc bellowed, its guttural cry echoing through the night. Its bloodshot eyes gleamed with a savage fervor as it swung its massive axe with a malevolent intent. The axe's blade hissed through the air, and the clash of metal reverberated as the orc's weapon met Thorwin's sword in a tumultuous collision of strength and will.

Undeterred by the orc's brutal assault, Thorwin parried the blows with skillful precision. The orc, not content with its bladed weapon, unleashed a powerful punch aimed at Thorwin's face. The impact was staggering, and the force of the blow sent shockwaves of pain through Thorwin's skull. But he refused to yield. Gritting his teeth, he retaliated with a punishing left hook, his fist connecting with the orc's grimacing visage.

In this primal contest of strength and willpower, they engaged in a relentless exchange of blows. The combatants, locked in a furious dance of steel and flesh, seemed evenly matched, each strike met with an equal and opposite parry. The conflict raged on, the moonlight bearing witness to their fierce struggle.

He maintained his unyielding gaze upon the towering orcish adversary who stood defiantly before him, a nightmarish tapestry of violence etched across its formidable form. Crimson streams of blood meandered down the orc's sinewy muscles, tracing a macabre map of the brutal combat that had unfolded. Savage sword wounds crisscrossed its massive frame, each gash a testament to the relentless clash they had engaged in.

He, too, bore the physical toll of their vicious duel. His once immaculate armor, a symbol of his noble lineage, had been transformed into a battered testament to the savage nature of their confrontation. Gouges and dents adorned its surface, inflicted by the deadly swings of the orc's brutal weapon. His handsome visage, now obscured by a mask of blood, told a story of the ferocity that had consumed him during their harrowing exchange. In the eerie, moonlit arena that nature had become, they stood as two warriors locked in a gruesome dance of life and death, with the ground beneath them forever marked by the intensity of their brutal struggle.

There was silence. Thorwin found himself at the precipice of his own physical limits. Every ounce of his strength had been expended during their grueling bout, leaving him gasping for breath, teetering on the precipice of exhaustion. His voice, barely a whisper, barely reached the world around him as he uttered Jaina's name—a faint plea that carried with it the weight of a thousand memories.

As he goes on the brink of oblivion, fragments of his life flickered before his eyes like fading stars. In those fleeting moments, he glimpsed his parents, his mentors, and his cherished friends, each one a vital piece of the tapestry that had been his existence. But among the myriad images that danced through his fading consciousness, one figure stood out with crystalline clarity: his beloved grandfather.

The memory of the old man, filled with strength and wisdom, surged through Thorwin's veins like a life-giving elixir. In that pivotal moment, when death loomed so close, he found a renewed reservoir of determination, a flicker of inner fire that defied the encroaching darkness. With all the strength he could muster, both physical and spiritual, Thorwin rallied to speak in a language he had grown intimately familiar with—the arcane language.

Words flowed from his lips, Thorwin's voice grew in power and resonance, each syllable infused with arcane energy. "Ignitus flamma... elementum ardeat!" His incantation reached its crescendo with a resounding roar, and in response to his commanding voice, a massive conflagration surged forth.

Fire, the element he had beckoned, erupted in a blaze of crimson and gold. It spread voraciously, a tempestuous maelstrom of flames devouring everything in its path. Trees became towering torches, their wooden forms consumed by the relentless inferno. Smoke spiraled upward, darkening the once-clear sky with its choking presence.

Amid this cataclysmic display, Thorwin remained steadfast, his unwavering gaze locked onto the lone orc. The creature, seemingly unyielding in its resolve to confront death itself, pressed forward through the roaring flames. As it drew closer, its body became a burning husk, its skin blistering and blackening.

Thorwin held his ground until the charred, lifeless form of the orc fell at his feet. The battle had ended, but victory came at a cost. By then, darkness enveloped Thorwin's consciousness, and he succumbed to the relentless toll the battle had exacted upon him.

…

As Thorwin gradually emerged from the abyss of unconsciousness, he found himself surrounded by the gentle symphony of nature. The melodious chirping of birds and the vibrant hum of life echoed through his ears, a stark contrast to the darkness he had just traversed. Weakly, he shifted his gaze downward and felt a gentle weight resting on top of his hand. There, peacefully asleep, lay Jaina.

The warm embrace of sunlight filtered through the windows, casting a soft glow upon her serene face. It accentuated the traces of dried tears that clung to her cheeks and the linen of the bed. With great effort, Thorwin summoned the strength to speak her name, his voice a mere whisper in the tranquil room. "Jaina," he murmured, the realization of surviving the brutal battle intertwined with the throbbing pain that coursed through his body. He couldn't ignore the bandages that enveloped him as he uncovered the blank that covered him.

Thorwin's thoughts raced as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings. The room was adorned with pristine, white-painted walls etched with intricate markings that seemed to whisper secrets of forgotten magic. Its interior, while simple in design, exuded an air of elegance and sophistication, evident in the remarkable quality of the furnishings that adorned the room.

A question nagged at him: Had they reached Dalaran? The enigmatic city of mages where Khadgar came from had always intrigued him, and the idea that he might now be within its hallowed walls filled him with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. Slowly, he gently shifted his hand from under Jaina's head, carefully assisting her to rest more comfortably on the bed. The pain that gnawed at his body served as a constant reminder that he was far from recovered, but he couldn't ignore the urge to look outside from the balcony. With cautious movements, he began to rise from the bed, every muscle protesting against the effort.

When he had made his way to the window, he was greeted by a mesmerizing sight that left him momentarily breathless. Graceful towers, like sentinels of magic, reached skyward, their bases hewn from pristine white stone and their apexes adorned with vibrant shades of violet, encircled by intricate gold accents. The towers appeared to pulse with arcane energy, each accompanied by a radiant, hovering orb of light that cast a warm, ethereal glow upon the surroundings.

The air was filled with the intoxicating fragrance of countless flowers, their vibrant colors and sweet scents intermingling in a symphony of nature's beauty. It was a sensory overload, a tapestry of sights and scents that tugged at his soul. But beneath the surface of this natural wonderland, there was something else, something more profound.

A deep connection to the arcane resonated within Thorwin. It was as if the very air around him thrummed with the essence of magic, and the sensation left him feeling both awed and overwhelmed. He couldn't help but compare this to Silvermoon City, the majestic home of the high elves, where magic flowed like a river. Here in Dalaran, it felt different, almost more potent.

His gaze shifted to Jaina, who lay still in peaceful slumber. Thorwin couldn't help but feel a surge of pride for his friend. She was blessed with the opportunity to study and live in a place like this, a center of magical knowledge and power. Then his thoughts turned to his teacher, Khadgar, and he wondered what life had been like for the wise mage within these shimmering walls.

"I am glad you have recovered well, Thorwin Stormsong," came an old, yet surprisingly vibrant voice from behind him. Thorwin turned toward the source of the voice, his eyes falling upon an elderly man who seemed to defy the passage of time. Silver hair flowed down the man's shoulders and back, framing a beard that mirrored its lustrous hue. His eyes, though aged, held a profound and penetrating gaze that seemed to reach into Thorwin's very soul.

Dressed in a deep blue robe adorned with arcane symbols and sigils, the man exuded an aura of authority and wisdom. A rich cloak, embroidered with intricate mystical patterns, was draped over his shoulders, completing his distinguished appearance.

Thorwin found himself momentarily at a loss for words. He had a strong inkling of the man's identity, but it seemed almost too audacious to voice it. Taking a deep breath, he finally spoke, his voice tinged with both uncertainty and respect. "Greetings, Lord Antonidas."

The old man's smile, in response to Thorwin's address, confirmed his conjecture. It was indeed Antonidas, the esteemed ruling archmage of Dalaran and one of the founding figures of the Alliance of Lordaeron. "A very accurate guess," he acknowledged, a twinkle of amusement in his aged eyes. "You have made quite an extraordinary arrival here in dalaran, a first of its kind."

"I apologize for the inconvenience this has brought the Kirin tor, Lord Antonidas."

The archmage waved a dismissive hand, his expression turning somber. "No need for apologies, it is quite an interesting matter. Though it is saddening that your mentor and the rest of the expedition are lost in another world, I am now assured that Khadgar had chosen the right person to inherit his knowledge."

Thorwin's eyes held a genuine warmth as he responded, "Thank you. My teacher had always spoken of Dalaran's beauty, and how one day he would bring me here. My expectations were surpassed even more now that I have seen it firsthand." There was a hint of sorrow in his voice, a reminder of the unfulfilled promise Khadgar had made before reality changed their course forever.

"You are welcome here—" Antonidas spoke, his eyes scanned Thorwin's body. "—To learn. However, I understand that Alonsus would not allow such a thing now that you are under his tutelage."

"I do wish to enhance my knowledge here, sir. Yet, I have much to learn under father Alonsus."

"It is a lamentable circumstance that we were unable to witness your growth alongside us," Antonidas began, his voice carrying a weight of loss. "But I must impart upon you a crucial matter. Prior to Khadgar's departure with the expedition force, he left behind a will. In it, he stated that you shall be given his extensive library, the culmination of his life's work, and all of his personal belongings."

Thorwin was taken aback by the weight of Khadgar's bequeathment. Emotions swirled within him, a mix of grief for his mentor and a burgeoning sense of responsibility for the knowledge and legacy now entrusted to him. He struggled to find the right words, his throat tight with emotion.

Antonidas, perceiving Thorwin's inner turmoil, spoke with understanding and encouragement. He approached Thorwin, standing beside him in a comforting manner. "I realize that this is a lot to take in," Antonidas began gently. "You need not respond immediately, for the burden of such a legacy is heavy. But I want you to know that your future is filled with promise, Thorwin. The mages I dispatched to investigate the aftermath of your battle with the orc were left in awe. None could believe that a young individual possessed such extraordinary power and could unleash such destruction."

The archmage continued, his tone earnest, "This unfortunate event has sent ripples across the alliance and the council, particularly Admiral Proudmoore and your father. Thankfully, your guards managed to bring you here, where our clerics have been tirelessly attending to your recovery."

"May I ask how long I have been unconscious?"

Antonidas responded to Thorwin's inquiry, his gaze shifting to Jaina, who lay asleep nearby. "Seven days," he replied with a soft sigh. "And in those seven days, your young friend here has scarcely left your side."

At the same time, Thorwin's gaze shifted to Jaina, she began to stir. Her eyelids fluttered open, and a moment of confusion washed over her face as she took in her surroundings. Upon spotting Thorwin standing beside her bed, her expression shifted to one of pure joy. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she made a clumsy dash toward him, her embrace filled with warmth and relief. At this moment, it was as if the weight of the world had been lifted from both of their shoulders.

Antonidas offered the two a warm smile. "I shall leave you two to catch up," he said kindly, his eyes flickering between Thorwin and Jaina. With that, he turned and made his exit, the soft sound of the door closing marking his departure.

Jaina held onto Thorwin as if she were afraid he might vanish if she let go. Her world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them, and Antonidas' presence faded into the background. Her eyes were fixed on Thorwin, filled with an unspoken plea for forgiveness. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice tremulous. "None of this would have happened if I had just listened to you."

Thorwin gazed into her eyes, his thumb gently brushing away the tears that streamed down her cheeks. His heart ached as he looked at her, her vulnerability and regret etched on her face. "Jaina," he said softly, his voice filled with gentleness. "I'm just grateful that you're safe. That's all that matters to me." As long as he could see her and hold her close, everything felt right in the world.