Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Anduin woke with a start as something jabbed his ribs. He was shocked to see that night had fallen over the forest, casting long shadows through the bamboo bars of his cage as a great fire burned at the center of the village. 

He must’ve dozed off while waiting for the perfect opportunity to orchestrate some escape. The undead rogue and the orc sharpshooter who initially imprisoned him made him walk on very little food and water for a day and a half. Exhaustion was bound to catch up.

Anduin blinked, scanning the darkness, and quickly found the source of his rude awakening.

 A hozen stood outside the cage, holding a bowl and a long stick.

"Eat," the monkey-like creature grunted, placing the bowl just within the prince’s reach.

Warily, Anduin scooted closer, expecting some cruel trick. But his hands wrapped around the bowl without incident. Though he couldn't see its contents in the dim light, the smell of cooked meat wafted up to him. After days without a proper meal, his stomach growled, making the simple fare seem like a feast fit for a king.

The hozen then retrieved something from his belt, shaking it so that the liquid inside sloshed loudly. "Thirsty?" he asked.

"Oh," Anduin said, genuinely surprised by the offer. "Yes, actually—"

The hozen extended his long, furry arm through the bars, holding out the waterskin. Anduin reached for it, only for the waterskin to be yanked away at the last moment.

"No. Open mouth," the hozen said, his voice peaking with amusement.

Anduin's brow furrowed. There was the humiliation he had anticipated. His throat was parched, but his pride balked at such a demeaning act. Being captured by the Horde had been indignity enough.

"You cannot be serious," he remarked, retreating to his former spot.

"Hm. This wikket no fun," the hozen muttered with a shrug, tossing the waterskin into the cage.

Most of the water splashed onto the grass, but Anduin managed to salvage some, tilting the skin to preserve what remained. He waited until the hozen was out of sight before daring to drink, not wanting to provide any more opportunities for torment.

Lifting the waterskin to his nose, he sniffed cautiously for poison but smelled only water. Thank the Light. Tilting his head back, he emptied it far more quickly than he liked.

He tucked the empty waterskin beneath his leg, thinking it would be helpful when he escaped. For now, he had been wandering Pandaria with nothing but the clothes on his back.

Once he realized that a cannon had struck the ship's hull, he understood that his time was minimal. He couldn’t salvage much from his quarters as they filled with water, and at that moment, he was more focused on escaping the sinking ship than gathering tools for survival—a shame he had to leave his notebook behind, though.

Anduin lifted the bowl containing the chunk of meat, sniffing it in an attempt to discern its contents. It smelled like... meat. 

His mouth watered, and he decided he didn’t care what it was.

The meat was overcooked, too gamey, and completely flavorless, but at least it was edible. The portion provided was barely adequate, just enough to keep him alive.

And weak, he thought bitterly.

Anduin sighed, set the bowl aside, and leaned against the bamboo bars. He searched for the familiar constellations over Stormwind, but the Pandarian night sky was entirely foreign.

A pang of guilt struck him as his thoughts drifted to his father, followed by an ache he could only describe as homesickness.

How many nights had passed since he shipwrecked on Pandaria? His father was probably awake right now, anxiously awaiting any news of Anduin’s safety and unleashing his fury upon anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path.

A few nights ago, he had the chance to return to safety when agents of SI:7 tracked him down. In hindsight, Anduin realized he wouldn’t currently be in the Horde's custody if he had complied instead of running away. But what he'd encountered was fascinating even during the short time he spent in Pandaria—prisoner or not. If he allowed himself to be ‘rescued,’ he would likely be marched back to Stormwind, losing the opportunity to explore this new continent for himself.

Just then, he noticed General Nazgrim approaching with one of his commanders. Judging by the state of the orc’s black and red armor, and the small cuts on his emerald skin, he had just come back from some excursion. 

Anduin inched closer, straining to listen to the conversation between the two orcs. His cage had been placed just outside the village, likely to prevent him from gaining any information on their plans should he escape—and he would escape. If he could thwart their plans while doing so, all the better.

“They aren’t ideal, but this is as good as we’re going to get,” the female orc said, glancing back at the village, her eyes betraying a flicker of doubt. Anduin recognized her as Shokia, one of the women who had captured him.

“We’ll have to hope that the Alliance is even less prepared,” Nazgrim responded gruffly, crossing his arms. “But I refuse to report back to Garrosh with failure.”

Less prepared? Prepared for what? Anduin wondered, his mind racing with possibilities.

“Go get some rest, Shokia. We march at first light,” Nazgrim ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument.

The female orc nodded curtly,  and with weary, deliberate steps, she returned to the village. Anduin expected Nazgrim to follow, but he lingered at the edge of the clearing, his gaze fixed intently on the ink-black wilderness before him. The night was eerily tranquil, punctuated only by the distant calls of unseen creatures and the gentle whisper of leaves dancing with the breeze.

Nazgrim remained there long enough for Anduin to wonder if he should say something. Eventually, as if breaking free from a trance, Nazgrim finally gathered his scattered thoughts. He turned back toward the hozen village, but not before casting one last, unsettling gaze in Anduin’s direction. The young prince met the orc's gaze steadily.

When Nazgrim finally disappeared into the shadows, Anduin allowed himself to relax slightly, though his mind remained alert. He needed to be ready for whatever came next. The Horde was planning something significant, and he needed to find out what it was.

Anduin settled back onto the cool grass, ignoring the gnawing hunger and thirst still plaguing him. Again, he allowed himself to lean against the bamboo bars and gaze skyward.

This land was a far cry from Stormwind and the safety of his father's castle. But Anduin was determined. He would survive this, learn from it, and someday return home wiser and stronger because of it.

Chapter Text

Adellaine had encountered several magical creatures in her short lifetime, but none were as captivating as dragons.

She had seen Archmage Kalecgos, outside his human visage, soaring over Dalaran’s spires, yet always from afar. Never had she beheld any draconic creature up close as she did now with the azure serpent before her.

Scales of deep blue shimmered and shifted, spreading and contracting like ripples upon a darkened sea along its sinuous body. As she laid her hand upon its flank, she felt the surge of arcane within, potent energy that thrummed through the beast and resonated within her own magic.

“What’s its name?” Adellaine asked the serpent’s trainer, Bao, her gaze entirely enraptured by the creature.

“Hyacinth,” he responded, patting the creature affectionately with a large paw. “I never believed in love at first sight until I saw her hatch from her egg.”

  She smiled at the pandaren, touched by his sentiments for the serpent. “Hyacinth,” Adellaine repeated, softly trailing her fingers across its back.

A race was held earlier. She arrived just in time to slip between two spectators, who kindly explained the race rules and shared some history about the Order of the Cloud Serpent. It was hard not to imagine herself in the place of one of the competing riders, who skillfully soared on their serpents over the lush hills and dipped low enough to skim the crystal-clear sea. How they managed to stay saddled was beyond her. 

Sighing, Adellaine withdrew her hand from Hyacinth’s scales. Elder Anli's words echoed in her mind; she was still too small and light to ride a cloud serpent, and the bond between rider and serpent needed to be formed from the creature’s birth. The training alone would take years; regrettably, her stay in the Arboretum was not likely to last much longer. 

Her eyes drifted towards a familiar silhouette emerging from the fragrant grove of cherry blossoms, the delicate petals swirling in a gentle breeze around the figures. Archmage Phemé, a striking high elf with cascading silvery hair, was engaged in conversation with Lorewalker Cho, the pandaren who had guided them to the Jade Temple. Adellaine noticed that Cho animatedly gestured as he spoke while Phemé listened intently with polite curiosity.

“Looks like that’s all the free time I get today. Thank you for letting me pet her,” Adellaine said to Bao, who bowed politely and led Hyacinth away. 

Adelliane cast one last wistful glance at the serpent before moving towards Phemé, waving to the two familiar figures. 

“I thought I’d find you here,” Phemé said, a smile gracing her lips. Beside her, Lorewalker Cho bowed in greeting, his eyes twinkling.

“Ah, magnificent creatures, aren’t they? Every cub dreams of becoming a serpent rider at some point,” Cho said, his tone amused. “Perhaps when you’re older.”

Adellaine resisted the urge to roll her eyes, a gesture she’d been taught was rude in unfamiliar company. She had heard the phrase countless times before, and it was beginning to become incredibly annoying.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Adelliane asked, sliding into place at Phemé’s side.

“No,” Phemé sighed. “As fascinating as the scrolls are, nothing pertains to my condition. It looks like we have to look elsewhere.”

Though Adellaine sympathized with Phemé’s disappointment, she was secretly pleased that it meant they would explore Pandaria even longer.

The archmage had come as soon as news of the legendary continent reached Dalaran, and Adellaine, as Phemé’s apprentice, had followed. Phemé spoke little of what compelled her to pursue the arcane sites scattered across Azeroth. Adellaine had witnessed the onset of her mentor’s episodes: intense headaches, disorientation, and unnatural fevers. 

Phemé usually locked herself away for the worst of it, sometimes for days. Still, from the little Adelliane witnessed, she understood Phemé’s urgency and desperation for answers. Despite the best efforts of mages, scholars, and healers, none could discern why the magic that once freely coursed through Phemé was now consuming her from the inside out.

***

Adellaine hadn’t realized how exhausted she was until she sat down. Lorewalker Cho had led them back to The Dancing Serpent for supper. The inn was cozy, with red lanterns casting a warm glow and the scent of beer wafting through the air. Travelers, adventurers, and natives alike filed into the inn as night descended. 

The two mages shared a table with some adventurers lured in by Cho’s story.  She half-listened while struggling with her chopsticks, her thoughts mainly on how desperately she wanted to crawl into bed. Phemé must’ve grown weary of watching her apprentice fail to grasp her food and conjured a fork from thin air. It looked suspiciously familiar to the silverware set Phemé had at her apartment.

Adelliane turned to thank her mentor but was surprised when she noticed Phemé had quickly grabbed a napkin and pressed it against her nose. The high elf softly cursed as the cloth became slowly stained with blood. 

Before anyone else could notice, Phemé rose to her feet and gracefully side-stepped through other patrons to exit the inn. Adellaine watched her disappear beyond the doors, brows furrowed in concern. None of the other travelers at the table seemed to notice or care as she stood up and followed after her mentor.

She found Phemé standing to the side of the inn, bloodied cloth still in hand, as she leaned back against the stone walls. 

“Are you okay?” Adellaine asked, approaching slowly. 

Phemé’s glowing violet eyes peeked out at her from beneath long eyelashes, and she gave Adellaine her most convincing smile. But the human girl had spent enough time around the archmage to know when she was putting up a facade.

“Yes, sweet girl. Though I think it’s time I retire for the night,” she said, her voice soft and laced with weariness. 

Adellaine nodded in agreement and wordlessly wrapped her arm around Phemé’s, supporting her as they returned inside. During a brief pause in his story, Cho caught Adellaine’s gaze, his paws raised mid-gesture. A glance at Phemé was all Cho needed to understand that they would be going upstairs; he nodded and continued entertaining his audience.

For once, Adellaine managed to undo the arcane lock without issue, and she guided Phemé inside their rented room. As soon as the door closed behind them, the archmage slipped from Adellaine’s grasp and allowed herself to collapse onto the bottom bunk, fingers pinched at the base of her nose between her eyes—the telltale sign of an oncoming headache. 

Adellaine rummaged through her backpack, enchanted to hold far more than it should, and pulled out some cloth she had reserved for first aid. Turning to the water basin, she dipped the cloth and used frost magic to cool it before placing it on Phemé’s forehead. 

Phemé smiled weakly at her apprentice, but her furrowed eyebrows and beads of sweat forming on her forehead showed that the pain was increasing.

“Thank you. Don’t worry about me; go back downstairs and finish your meal,” she urged.

“I’m not hungry,” Adellaine replied with a shrug, clearly a pretext.

Whether it was pride or shame, Phemé was stubborn when it came to keeping Adellaine away whenever any symptoms surfaced. Nevertheless, helping her mentor through these recurrent headaches and fevers was the least Adellaine felt she could do to repay the archmage. 

Adellaine settled into her nightly routine, changing into more comfortable clothing, undoing her braided hair, and washing her face. Under different circumstances, Adellaine would be talking Phemé’s ear off about what she’d learned about cloud serpents. Instead, she took her journal from her backpack, climbed to the top bunk, and wrote about her experiences. She didn’t realize how or when she fell asleep, but her dreams were filled with images of serpents soaring through the sky, and strangely enough, of a childhood memory.

***

The next morning, she awoke to an empty room and frantic voices outside the door. She strained to make out the words spoken, her mind still foggy from sleep. Something was wrong, and a profound unease settled deep in her chest.

Adellaine quickly dressed, her fingers fumbling with the fastenings in her haste. She stepped to the door, pressing her ear against the wood. The voices were louder now, urgent and filled with tension. She recognized Phemé's voice, speaking in a low, calm voice to a pandaren.

She carefully opened the door, peering into the inn’s hallway. Phemé stood at the bottom of the staircase, her attire disheveled and arms crossed, as she faced two pandaren. 

"I told you," Phemé said, her tone a sharp. "I am neither Alliance nor Horde; there is no command I can issue that they would heed.”

The armed pandaren’s shoulders slumped in resignation, his gaze shifting to his companion, an instructor from the temple by her attire. “Then, we must brace ourselves for the worst,” he said before turning away.

Adellaine stepped fully outside, her unease evident. "What’s happening?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Phemé sighed, pressing against her nose again before she made to return upstairs. "War camps have sprung up overnight at Serpent's Heart. They sought my aid, but..." She let the sentence hang, a grim acknowledgment of their impotence.

Adellaine's heart sank, leaden with dread. Why would the Horde and Alliance clash here, of all places? The Jade Temple and its denizens were innocent, untouched by their endless feud.

"Pack your things," Phemé commanded, retreating into their room. "We must leave before the fighting begins.”

Adellaine hesitated.“But you’re not well enough to travel, are you? Can we not stay and help defend the temple?”

“I’m perfectly well; all I needed was some sleep,” Phemé countered. “And no, I will not have you endangered by this battle.”

Adellaine frowned. “So we’re just going to leave them to die? To fight on their own? What if the Horde storms the temple? What if the Alliance needs our help?”

“We’re not here as Alliance soldiers, Addie. We’re part of the Kirin Tor.”

“No, we’re here because you wanted to come,” Adellaine retorted. “Khadgar wouldn’t leave these people. Lady Jaina wouldn’t either.”

Phemé opened her mouth to speak but paused, her hands mid-motion over a pile of clothes. She turned to her apprentice, a hand resting on her hip. “To hear and learn of war is one thing. To see it happen before you, to know the finality and cruelty of it...” she trailed off, her eyes distant as if remembering something. “It changes you, Addie. Forever. Do you think you’re ready for that?”

Adellaine shifted uneasily. 

Stormwind and her people were no strangers to war, and she was no exception.  During the Cataclysm, she witnessed the steady influx of the wounded and the dead, soldiers and civilians alike. It had been a time of tragedy after tragedy, and she had found herself drawn into the city's efforts to heal. 

Adellaine, her brother, and their mother volunteered at the camps, where they tended to the injured and read to them during their recovery. Though her mother had tried to protect her from the worst aspects of the situation, Adellaine witnessed images she would never forget. It was true that she had not experienced the full horrors of war, but the thought of abandoning those who had shown them such kindness felt even more unbearable.

“I may never be ready,” she confessed. “But I cannot abandon these people to a war they have no part in.”

A flicker of pride brightened Phemé's eyes, and she turned away, pensive. “One of us could get hurt. One of us could die— in fact, people will die,” she said as she continued to throw her clothing into her enchanted pack haphazardly.

Another wave of uneasiness washed over Adellaine as she let that sink in. It was true. Leaving now would mean the both of them would escape the battle unscathed. And yet something in her soul insisted that she must stay. 

  “We lessen the fatalities by offering our assistance,” Adellaine insisted, her voice softer than before. 

Phemé buttoned the front of her pack closed, and with a wave of her hand, it vanished. "Very well,” she said softly. “Let us speak with Priestess Summerpetal. Perhaps we can erect an arcane barrier at the gate."

***

From the vantage point atop the temple, Adellaine's gaze swept over the Jade Forest, now marred by the stark contrast of red and blue banners fluttering defiantly on opposing sides. The sun climbed steadily, casting a harsh, unforgiving light over the chaotic scene below. 

The temple grounds and Serpent’s Heart buzzed with frantic activity. Warriors, grim-faced and resolute, lined the gate walls, ready to repel any who dared to desecrate their sacred grounds. Monks and Lorewalkers flocked around Phemé, their voices murmuring with incantations and prayers as they bolstered her strength while she meticulously wove arcane barriers.

In the main courtyard, those who volunteered to fight were hastily armed and assigned their positions, their expressions a mixture of fear and determination. Adellaine had eagerly offered her assistance to Phemé in reinforcing the barriers, but her mentor had declined, insisting she conserve her strength for the inevitable battle. Should the barriers fail, Adellaine would need every ounce of her power to survive.

She glanced down at her hands, the only weapons she truly possessed. Her training in offensive magic had only recently begun, and while she considered herself competent, she was aware of her limits. How could an apprentice mage defend herself against the brutal force of a great axe or the raw fury of an enraged orc?

Her hands clenched into tight fists as anxiety burned in her chest. Taking a steadying breath, she stepped away from the ledge, ready to descend the stairs back into the courtyard. Before she could move, a warhorn's deep, mournful call split the air.

The sound was soon followed by war cries, a deafening cacophony that seemed to shake the very walls of the temple. Adellaine spun on her heel and rushed back to the ledge, her heart pounding. Below, Horde soldiers erupted from the shadowy embrace of the forest—a tidal wave of steel and fury.

Orders were barked from the Alliance side, and the front lines immediately lowered into a defensive position. Then, the Horde and the Alliance collided.

Adellaine’s breath caught in her throat as the first waves of combatants met with a thunderous crash. The clang of steel against steel, the screams of the wounded, and the war cries of warriors drowned out the blood pounding in her ears. She couldn’t look away, her eyes wide as she witnessed the scene below. Not just humans, elves, orcs, and goblins clashed on the battlefield, but also pandaren, jinyu, and even hozen. The natives of Pandaria, who had known peace just weeks ago, were now fighting and bleeding for a cause not their own. A wave of nausea roiled in her stomach.

Suddenly, a firm grasp yanked her back from the ledge. She screamed, expecting a blade at her back, her hands flaring with magical energy. 

“Adellaine!” Phemé’s voice cut through her fear like a knife. Adellaine turned to see her mentor’s face, fierce and resolute, as she dragged the young girl towards the stairs.

"Come," Phemé said, her grip unyielding. "We need to get to the courtyard. There’s no time to waste."

Her heart hammering, Adellaine followed, casting one last glance at the chaotic battlefield. As they descended the stairs, the roar of battle outside weaved with the activity within the temple. Priests chanted prayers, their voices rising in a desperate litany. Monks and acolytes, armed with whatever weapons they could muster, braced themselves for the impending breach. The temple was a hive of anxious energy, each person a part of a larger, desperate effort to defend their sanctuary.

Phemé’s voice was a steady beacon, cutting through the chaos. “Stay close to me, and remember your training,” she instructed, her tone leaving no room for argument. She pressed something into Adellaine’s palm, her eyes stern. “And take this. Should the worst come to pass, flee. Do not come back for me.”

Adellaine furrowed her brows, glancing down at the object in her hand—a hearthstone with the sigil of the Kirin Tor carved into its surface. “A hearthstone?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“It will take you home to Dalaran,” Phemé explained with a curt nod. “Hide it well.”

Swallowing hard against the knot in her throat, Adellaine nodded, her fingers trembling as she tucked the stone into the inner pocket of her tunic. The weight of their dire situation pressed heavily on her chest, and if it weren’t for Phemé’s steady hand gripping her arm, she might have crumpled to the ground.

An overwhelming sense of helplessness tightened in her stomach, as if a heavy fist had struck her gut, stealing the breath from her lungs. Emotions washed over her like a tidal wave, closing in tightly and leaving her gasping—suffocating, she was suffocating. They should’ve run while they had the chance; she should’ve—

Then, like the sharp sound of glass shattering, a thunderous crack rang out, slicing through the din of battle. Horrified gasps spread like wildfire among the crowd as startled faces turned upward, their expressions mirroring her shock. Adellaine caught a shimmering flash of jade in her peripheral vision for a fleeting moment before a cacophony of crumbling stone filled the air.

The magnificent jade serpent statue—a symbol of hope and rebirth, a labor of love crafted by the Pandaren over countless generations—had collapsed, sending debris cascading down onto the temple grounds like rain.

For a heartbeat, the battlefield fell into an eerie silence, a collective gasp of disbelief reverberating through the ranks. A thick, churning fog rolled in, battering against the outer walls and permeating the sacred temple. It seeped through the arcane barriers easily, as though they weren’t even there. 

Suddenly, the silence was torn apart by a spine-chilling shriek as a dark, looming figure replaced the once-majestic statue, its very presence eclipsing the sun and casting a shadow that twisted and writhed like a living thing.

“The Sha!” cries of panic erupted from behind.

The air thickened with the creature's palpable malevolence, a chilling black-and-white aura swirling around its form, bleeding milky darkness into the once-clear sky. The vibrant greenery that adorned the temple succumbed to decay, leaves crumbling to ash. The cries of both Horde and Alliance soldiers morphed into frantic screams of terror as the creature's corrupting influence spread like wildfire.

All eyes were drawn to a younger acolyte who suddenly erupted in a deranged scream, clutching his head as if to stifle the maddening visions that assaulted him. Behind him, another pandaren crumpled to the ground, a howl of pure despair tearing from his throat as he scrambled backward against the cold stone wall, his mind unraveling into incoherent mutterings.

One by one, the pandaren within the temple began to transform, the vibrancy of their once-healthy fur draining away, replaced by an unsettling pallor — shades of gray that seemed to suck the light from the very air around them. They writhed in agony, their forms warping into grotesque parodies that mirrored the creature looming above them. 

Phemé’s grip tightened on Adellaine’s arm as they watched in horror. “The hearthstone, use it!” she urged. 

A l l  i s  l o s t.

Her plea went unheard, and Adellaine felt her mind starting to slip out of her control. Panic gripped her heart like a vice as she glanced back at the nearest gate, at the shimmering arcane barrier that Phemé had erected only moments before. What was meant to protect the temple and its inhabitants now felt like a death trap. Adellaine let out a hysterical sob as the grim realization dawned on her—they would die here.

Y o u  c a n n o t  e s c a p e  m e.

The corrupted pandaren didn’t take long to notice the two mages. Shadows danced around their hulking figures, twisting and contorting as if alive. A low, guttural growl reverberated from deep within their throats, their voices coming out wrong and distorted.

“Adellaine, focus!” Phemé hissed again.

S u c c u m b.  S e e  h o w  e a s i l y  y o u  b e c o m e  u n r a v e l e d.

“Phemé, I... I can’t,” Adellaine stammered, her voice barely above a whisper, as though even the air itself could betray her. Panic gripped her heart as she glanced around, and in that moment, she thought she saw her mother standing just a few feet away. The woman’s dark eyes bore into her like daggers, filled with a cold, unmistakable disgust. Voices overlapped, a cacophony of accusations and regrets, each twisting into her mind like parasites. 

She clutched her head between her hands, the pressure of the memories threatening to crush her as a cold sweat began to bead on her brow. Desperation clawed at her throat, and she wasn’t sure if the scream came from her mouth or someone else’s.

Phemé was a whirlwind of magic beside her, hurling arcane projectiles at anyone who got too close. Each strike seemed to drain her further, the weariness etched into her features growing more pronounced with every spell she cast. “Adellaine, you must fight it!”

The corrupted pandaren closed in, their greyed forms a terrifying sight. One lunged at Phemé, and she barely managed to deflect it with a shield of arcane energy. But she was tiring, her movements slower, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

T h e y  wi l l  d i e  b e c a u s e  o f   y o u.  

Phemé’s cry of pain snapped Adellaine back to the present, if only for a moment. A pandaren had broken through her defenses and landed a blow across her right arm. Phemé staggered, blood trickling from her wound. Desperation filled her eyes as she turned to Adellaine. She erected a final barrier between them and the advancing horde, but it flickered weakly, on the verge of collapse.

Before Adellaine could process what was happening, Phemé pushed her backward. Adellaine stumbled; the temple walls blurred past, and suddenly, she found herself surrounded by endless green.

Chapter Text

A subtle hue of pink stained the pandaren sky when a hozen came to retrieve Prince Anduin. He must’ve been tired, as he had apparently slept through an entire mobilization of a hozen army. Although, it seemed increasingly likely that the water he was given was spiked with something. A strange, tingling aftertaste lingered on his tongue.

The Horde had armed the hozen with rifles and spears, some of which he realized were Alliance weapons hastily painted over in crude paint.

With a spear aimed at his chest, Anduin was removed from his bamboo cage and forced into some tight bindings. He was even afforded a drink of water before Nazgrim found him. Hopefully, this time, it wasn’t drugged.

“I considered leaving you here,” Nazgrim said as he slowed his pace to walk alongside Anduin. The Horde army had begun to march forward, their torches lighting the way through the Jade Forest. “But I wanted you to witness the Alliance’s pathetic attempts to thwart our plans.”

Anduin said nothing, though he couldn’t stop his jaw from grinding in frustration. Nazgrim was toying with him, trying to get a rise out of him. Well, Anduin wouldn’t give him the pleasure.

“Cold shoulder, eh?” the orc replied. He shrugged. “Fine.”

Hours stretched into eternity as Anduin trudged forward, each step growing heavier. His regal attire had begun to fall apart, and he was certain he looked no more indistinguishable than a stowaway. His tabard was torn, trousers ripping, boots fraying at the edges. The soles of his shoes had nearly given up entirely, intermingling with the sticks and dirt that threatened to gnash at his flesh. 

If he so much as slowed, sharp jabs from his hozen escorts’ spears urged him onward, the cold metal uncomfortably close to his spine. The relentless march had worn his body raw—blisters burned on the soles of his feet, and when he tried to whisper a quiet healing prayer under his breath, a sharp crack to the side of his head silenced him. His jaw ached from how tightly he was clenching it, a poor attempt to brace against the exhaustion and pain creeping through him.

Anduin knew they had reached their destination when the massive jade serpent’s head emerged above the dense treetops, its intricate form bathed in the golden hues of the rising sun. The scent of ripe oranges filled the air, their sweetness a cruel contrast to the dread coiling in his gut.

He had been here before, the night he was captured by the Horde, but familiarity offered no comfort. Soon, the ground beneath his feet would be soaked in blood.

Without warning, the imposing figure of Nazgrim stretched out his massive axe to block Anduin’s path. With a curt signal, hozen appeared, dragging Anduin roughly off the main road. His heart pounded, and his eyes darted as he tried to anticipate their next move.

Should he make a desperate run for it now? Could he try and fight in this position? No, it would be senseless. He wouldn’t last very long against Nazgrim.

He twisted against the ropes biting into his wrists, but they held firm, the coarse fibers digging deep into his skin. A rough shove sent him stumbling back against a tree, the bark scraping against his arms as the hozen tightened the bindings around his chest, securing him in place.

Heavy clouds loomed overhead, thick and swollen, threatening rain at any moment. The air was dense with the scent of damp earth and distant smoke, the weight of an impending storm pressing down on the jungle.

“We won’t be long,” Nazgrim said, his voice calm, almost casual. “I’ll be sure to return with Admiral Taylor’s head.” Without another glance, he turned on his heel and strode back toward the main road, his heavy boots crunching against the wet undergrowth.

Anduin swallowed down the curse burning on his tongue. His jaw clenched as he glared after the orc before shifting his anger toward the hozen standing guard. They paid him little mind, their crude weapons resting lazily in their hands, their sharp eyes watching him more out of boredom than caution.

The rough ropes bit into his chest and wrists, the bark of the tree pressing uncomfortably into his back. He tried to settle against it, but the bindings forced him into an awkward position, his legs aching from bearing his weight too long. He shifted from one foot to the other, hoping to ease the numbness creeping into his limbs, but it was little relief.

Frustration gnawed at him. He despised feeling powerless.

Had his hands been free, he might have attempted to use mind control on the hozen. It wasn’t a tactic Velen would entirely approve of, but Anduin doubted there was any other way to talk his way out of this. He had already tried—first with Shokia, then Nazgrim, then anyone who had pretended to listen for more than a few seconds.

It had been useless.

Even the hozen, primitive as they were, seemed to understand the value of keeping Stormwind’s crown prince captive.

With no option but to wait and in no mood to strike up a conversation with the hozen, Anduin retreated into his thoughts. 

The distant clamor of the Horde encampment reached even this secluded stretch of forest—the sharp bark of orders, the clanking of armor, the restless energy of soldiers preparing for battle. He tried not to dwell on how many lives would be lost by nightfall—not just Horde and Alliance soldiers, but the natives who had been dragged into this war.

Again, the hours stretched by, each longer than the last. Anduin forced himself into a meditative state, focusing on his breathing, on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat—anything to distract from the biting pain of the ropes chafing his wrists and the dull ache in his numbed legs. His shoulders throbbed from being bound in the same position for so long, and each shift of his weight sent needles of pain prickling through his limbs.

When the war horns pierced the air, his fragile trance was shattered.

For a moment, he almost mistook them for a crack of thunder—their deep, resonant wail rolling through the jungle with the force of an oncoming storm. But thunder didn’t shake men to their cores. Thunder didn’t herald bloodshed.

The battle had begun.

It was impossible to ignore what followed. The clash of steel rang out, distant at first, then nearer—an eerie, discordant symphony of war. The sharp cries of warriors cut through the humid air, some roaring in fury, others choking in agony. The earth itself seemed to tremble beneath the weight of armored bodies colliding, shields splintering, and the sickening crunch of flesh meeting cold iron.

Anduin shut his eyes tightly. He couldn’t see the battle, but he could hear it, could feel it in his bones. He forced himself to focus, murmuring a silent prayer under his breath, trying to drown out the sounds of war with the steady cadence of sacred words.

Suddenly, a sharp crack shattered the air, wrenching Anduin from his thoughts. His head snapped up, eyes scanning the canopy as birds erupted from the treetops in frantic, discordant swarms. The jungle came alive with movement—small creatures darting through the underbrush, their instincts screaming at them to flee. Even the hozen gripped their spears with white-knuckled fists, their wide eyes brimming with fear.

The earth shuddered beneath him.

It was not the rhythmic tremor of marching soldiers or the distant pounding of war machines—this was something else. Something wrong. He felt it before he saw it, a void of twisting black-and-white tendrils consuming everything in its path. It did not merely move—it devoured, swallowing the world in an unnatural, seething hunger.

A screech—inhuman and deafening—pierced the air, making his bones feel like they might splinter from the sheer force of it. The clash of battle weapons faltered, and the once-roaring war cries of soldiers crumbled into raw, primal panic. Then came the first figures bursting from the jungle—soldiers, tearing through the dense foliage, their faces contorted in terror.

Anduin could do nothing but watch as a wounded hozen, its leg dragging uselessly behind, tried to limp away. It moved as fast as its failing limbs would allow, but the void was faster.

The darkness slithered up its body like grasping fingers, draining the color from its fur, its eyes, its very essence. The hozen barely had time to release a strangled, gut-wrenching wail before its form collapsed inward, its body dissolving into a thick, inky mass that melted into the abyss.

A terrible silence followed—an unbearable, suffocating absence where life had once been.

Anduin’s breath came fast and shallow, his heartbeat hammering against his ribs.

Desperation surged through Anduin as he strained against his bindings. His hozen guards took one look at the encroaching abyss and bolted, their panic overriding any sense of duty. They didn’t spare him a second glance, their spears abandoned as they vanished into the jungle.

“Wait—damn it!” Anduin shouted after them. He thrashed against the ropes, his breath coming fast and uneven. He couldn’t die like this.

Not here. Not like this.

Summoning what little focus he could muster, he clenched his fists, calling on the Light, on anything—but his attempts stuttered and failed. The Light slipped through his fingers like water, unable to take hold, suffocated by the oppressive weight of whatever this was.

The forest around him was already crumbling, its vibrancy wilting into a twisted, lifeless husk. Branches curled inward, their leaves shriveling into brittle husks. The ground beneath him blackened, rich soil turning to dry, crumbling dust.

Anduin screamed, all he could do when the ropes wouldn’t budge. His Light was failing. The void was closing in.

Then, a flash of light to his left.

His breath caught as he instinctively braced for a new threat—but what he saw wasn’t another horror born from the abyss.

It was a girl.

She collapsed onto the ground as a portal behind her snapped shut, her form trembling, eyes wide with confusion and fear.

“Phemé!?” she cried out, scrambling back on her palms as she noticed the state of the forest.

“Over here!” Anduin yelled.

Shards of ice crackled into existence above the girl’s head, hovering like daggers poised to strike. She spun toward him, her breath quick and uneven, fear stark in her wide eyes.

Anduin barely had time to take her in—she couldn’t have been much older than himself, maybe the same age—but the insignia on her tabard caught his attention immediately.

 Kirin Tor.

What were the Kirin Tor doing here? And why send someone so young?

Questions could wait. Right now, only one thing mattered: survival.

“Help me, please?” Anduin implored, shifting his shoulders to indicate his bindings.

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she hesitated, staring at him as if he were some strange creature she wasn’t sure was real. He held her gaze, willing her to act, and something in her expression changed—her fear didn’t vanish, but it softened, giving way to determination.

Without another word, she rushed forward, pulling a small blade from her boot.

Her hands trembled, but she didn’t waver, her focus sharp as she pressed the blade to the ropes and began sawing.

Anduin watched her, hardly daring to believe this wasn’t a dream. The Light responded to his desperation, just not how he had initially hoped.

As he studied her, the thought rooted itself deeper in his heart. Her copper hair was tied back in a messy braid, strands sticking to her sweat-streaked face. She moved quickly, her brow furrowed in concentration, and when the ropes finally fell away, Anduin stumbled forward, his legs shaky.

He needed to get them both to safety.

“We need to go,” he urged, already moving away from the darkening forest. But even as he stepped forward, he couldn’t tear his gaze from her. She had saved him—this girl that appeared from literally thin air.

“Wait, your hands,” she called, reaching for his bound wrists.

“Later! We have to go!” he insisted.

The girl looked between him and over her shoulder at the temple and at the massive monstrosity that had birthed this avalanche of death. “But—”

Anduin would grab her hand if he could, but all he could do was urge her to follow. Lips pressed tightly, she slowly nodded and ran alongside him. 

The storm finally broke, rain cascading from the sky in heavy sheets, turning the jungle floor into a mire of mud and slick roots. Mist clung to the air, thick and suffocating, blurring the world around them in a haze of silver and shadow. 

He wasn’t sure where they were going, only that they had to keep moving. 

As they stumbled onto the main road, Anduin barely registered the mud clinging to his boots, the cold weight of exhaustion pressing against his bones. Every breath felt heavier, his limbs sluggish from the desperate sprint through the jungle. Beside him, the girl wasn’t faring much better, her breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Then, through the haze of fatigue, he saw it.

A cart.

It creaked along the dirt path ahead, an ox pulling its weight beneath the burden of supplies and passengers. In the back, a pandaren family huddled together, their shapes barely illuminated by the lantern swaying gently from the driver’s perch.

Anduin’s heart slammed against his ribs—their only chance.

“Come on!” he rasped, gathering the last of his strength.

The girl didn’t need convincing. Without hesitation, they bolted forward, pushing their aching bodies beyond exhaustion, beyond pain, toward salvation.

As the cart neared, a female pandaren—likely the mother—spotted them first. Her brows knit together in concern, but her reaction was swift. She leaned toward the driver and whispered something urgent.

The cart lurched to a stop.

Anduin nearly collapsed from the sheer relief.

The pandaren female wasted no time. With a kind but firm expression, she extended a hand. “Come, quickly.”

Anduin grasped it without hesitation, allowing himself to be pulled up. The girl followed suit, scrambling up beside him. As soon as they were aboard, they collapsed onto the wooden planks, breathless and drenched.

Two pandaren children stared at them with wide, unblinking eyes, clutching their blankets as if unsure whether the strange, soaked humans were friends or foes.

Anduin let his head fall back against the cart’s side, exhaling deeply. He didn’t care about appearances—he was alive.

The girl, equally exhausted, muttered a quiet, “Thank you.”

The pandaren mother smiled gently and tucked the blankets tighter around her children. “Rest,” she said, her voice warm but firm. “You are safe now.”

Anduin wanted to believe her. He truly did.

Both teens were drenched in rain and cold sweat, their faces pale. Anduin tried to wipe his forehead with his shoulder, but his bound hands made it impossible.

The girl, noticing his struggle, leaned forward and began cutting through his bindings. Her hands still trembled, forcing her to adjust her grip often, but finally, the ropes fell apart, and his wrists were free. He sighed in relief, rubbing the raw skin.

“ Thank you ,” he exhaled, feeling it was too small a repayment for saving his life.

“You were prisoners?” the mother asked, looking between the two humans.

Anduin nodded. “I was. She saved me,” he said, glancing gratefully at the girl.

The pandaren woman shook her head. “What troubled times we live in…”

“Thank you for stopping,” Anduin said, placing a hand over his heart. “You put your family at risk, and I won’t forget it.” He turned to the girl, his voice softening. “And again, thank you, for cutting me free. You saved my life, and… I didn’t even get your name.”

The girl hugged her knees. “Adellaine,” she replied quietly. “And you?”

“Anduin Wrynn,” he answered instinctively, though he regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth.

Her eyes widened in shock. “W-Wrynn? As in…”

“Yes,” he cut in, not wanting her to finish. He sighed, watching her struggle to process the weight of his name.

Adellaine’s expression shifted from disbelief to something bordering on offense, as if his presence here was unsettling. “How on earth did you end up here?” she asked, incredulous.

Anduin rubbed his sore wrists. “I was returning from a diplomatic mission when the Horde attacked our flagship. It didn’t end well for the crew.” His voice wavered, a flicker of pain crossing his face. “I barely made it out alive. After the ship sank, I washed ashore here.”

“So that’s why the Alliance came to Pandaria,” she murmured. “They were looking for you . I thought it was just to keep the Horde from claiming these lands first.”

“It’s probably both,” Anduin admitted ruefully, noticing the driver’s sharp glance at the word “claiming.” 

“My father sent the SI:7 after me, of course, but…” he paused, unsure how to articulate his plans. “There’s something I need to see here, first.”

Adellaine’s gaze softened as she looked at him, and he felt an unexpected warmth rise to his cheeks. By the Light, what a mess he must look like, covered in mud, dried blood, and what else.

“What about you?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even. “Surely a stray portal didn’t bring you this far out.”

“No,” she replied, her voice lowering. “I came with my mentor on a discovery mission for the Kirin Tor. But then the Horde and Alliance arrived at Serpent’s Heart… and that thing emerged from the broken statue. The pandaren called it a… Sha?”

The word sent a shiver through him, a reminder of the devastation he had witnessed. He had barely escaped that fate himself.

“It drove everyone mad,” she continued, her voice thick with emotion. “It gets into your mind, shows you things that aren’t real. The affected turned on us… and my mentor had to send me away through a portal.”

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she glanced back toward the Jade Temple. “I don’t know if she’s alive. By the Light, I hope she is.”

Anduin’s chest tightened at the sight of her grief. “We’ll find her,” he said, the promise spilling from his lips before he could stop himself. “She’s alive. I’m sure of it.”

Before she could respond, the driver cut in with a gruff tone, “Whatever your people did, it unleashed a terrible evil upon us.”

“Kwang,” the mother hissed at the driver. “These two are victims as much as any of us. Forgive my husband’s rudeness,” she added, turning to the teenagers. “I’m Li-Jun, and these are our children, Meng-Lei and Xue-Jin. We, too, managed to escape the worst of the battle.”

Anduin offered a kind smile to the children, who continued to stare at him with wide, curious eyes. “This Sha … do you know much about it?”

“They are malevolent spirits,” Kwang answered. “Born from emotion. We’ve spent generations keeping them at bay, but when you outsiders arrived, you shattered that balance.”

A wave of guilt washed over Anduin, and he pressed his lips into a thin line. He hadn’t been the one to order the Alliance to come to Pandaria’s shores, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of culpability.

“From emotion?” Adellaine echoed, her brow furrowing.

“Anger, hate, despair—negative emotions like that,” the pandaren continued. “They feed on our emotions, grow stronger from it.”

Adellaine flinched and her expression hardened. Anduin felt a knot form in his stomach, wanting to probe her thoughts. There was still much about her presence in Pandaria that he didn’t understand. But Kwang pressed on.

“I do not know much of your people or their past,” he said, “but whatever enmity you harbor towards this ‘Horde’ has been enough to awaken the Sha. And now we must also bear the burden of your conflict.” The pandaren shook his head slowly.

Li-Jun sat tense, his eyes locked onto the back of Kwang’s head, the air thick with unspoken words. The heavy silence that settled among the group confirmed what they all understood too well: the Horde and Alliance were unmistakably to blame.

Chapter Text

Something cold and damp fell onto Phemé’s lap as she abruptly sat up. Her gaze fell upon a sodden rag, its moisture seeping into her tunic. She felt a trickle down her forehead, and instinctively raised a trembling hand to her brow, only to feel the sticky residue of a poultice mingling with sweat.

She groaned. Even the simple act of moving her eyes sent a sharp pain through her skull, and she squeezed them shut, her head throbbing with each pulse.

Phemé waited for the world to stop spinning, but her vertigo only worsened. Her mouth was dry, her throat parched, and her body’s plea to stay cocooned in the safety of her bed, she desperately needed water.

Slowly, painfully, she slid her legs off the bed, her muscles trembling with the effort. Each movement sent fresh waves of fire through her veins, as though her very blood was aflame.

Her knees buckled almost immediately when she finally pushed herself up, and she crumpled to the floor. The cool wooden floor beneath her palms was a brief respite from the inferno inside her, but the room spun, and bile rose in her throat. She clung to the leg of a nearby table, fighting the urge to retch, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

The door to the room swung open with a suddenness that startled her, and through her fogged vision, she saw the broad form of a pandaren. Before she could react, he scooped her up with ease, returning her to the bed she had so desperately tried to leave.

“You cannot be out of bed,” the pandaren said firmly. “You’ll only worsen your injuries.”

His voice was familiar. A thread of recognition pierced through the haze in her mind.

“Master Cho…?” Phemé’s voice was a rasp, barely more than a whisper.

“You’re burning with fever,” Cho murmured as he gently pressed the poultice to Phemé’s forehead. “It’s a miracle you made it out of that battle at all.”

Battle…? 

The word echoed in her mind, dredging up memories she wished she could forget. The temple, the chaos at Serpent’s Heart, and— Addie . Her heart clenched, and a cold dread spread through her as she recalled how she had come to be in this wretched state. Her breath caught, and she reached out, nails digging into Cho’s arm.

“Addie… where is she? Please, tell me she’s safe,” Phemé’s voice was thick with fear.

The pandaren’s gaze softened, his eyes narrowing as he looked away. “I was hoping you would know.”

Guilt tightened around Phemé’s throat, making it difficult to breathe. 

It wasn’t the fever that choked her now but the crushing weight of responsibility. The thought of her young apprentice alone and possibly hurt—or worse—was more than she could bear.

“I have to find her,” Phemé’s words tumbled in an incoherent rasp. She struggled to rise from the bed, but her body betrayed her, the effort triggering a violent wave of nausea. She retched onto the bamboo floor, the remnants of bile burning her throat.

Cho sighed, his hand gentle on her back as he steadied her. “You’re in no condition to do anything of the sort. Tell me where you last saw her. I’ll search for her.”

Wiping the sick from her lips, Phemé fought to push back tears, but the rage and despair roiled within her like a storm. She cursed the ailment that had taken hold of her, the result of however long she had been trapped within the leylines. Coming here in her state was borne out of desperation for answers, a journey she realized she should’ve taken alone. And now her apprentice may have just paid the price for her recklessness.

Lorewalker Cho gently helped Pheme onto her feet and back onto the bed.

“That thing corrupted everyone,” she rasped, body trembling with the effort it took to return to the bed. “It was overtaking Addie. I had no choice—I had to get her out. I opened a portal. I don’t even know where it sent her.”

A reckless portal, born of desperation. She knew the risks of such a spell. Addie could have ended up anywhere—or nowhere. But what choice had she? Leave the girl to be consumed by the madness overtaking the temple?

Phemé prayed to the Light, to any gods that might still listen, begging that Addie had found her way to safety, perhaps back to Dalaran or an Alliance camp somewhere in Pandaria.

Lorewalker Cho rose, his expression grim. “I’ll ask the survivors if they’ve seen her. Human children are not a common sight here—she’ll be noticed, one way or another.” He looked down at Phemé, his voice firm. “But you must stay here and rest. I’ll bring you something light to eat to regain your strength.”

Phemé wanted to protest, to argue that she needed to be the one searching, but the fight drained out of her as quickly as it had come. Exhaustion pulled her back toward the bed, her limbs heavy and uncooperative.

***

The events at the temple played on an endless loop in Adelliane’s mind. She had spent the entire day dissecting every moment, desperately trying to pinpoint the exact second everything had gone wrong—where she could have acted differently, where she could have stopped it.

But no matter how many times she turned it over, the conclusion never changed.

It was all her fault.

If only she had been stronger. If only she hadn’t been so vulnerable to the Sha’s whispers. She could have fought alongside Phemé instead of becoming another liability. She could have run for help. Maybe, if she had acted quickly enough, she could have teleported them both to safety.

But she had done none of those things.

She let the darkness slip into her mind, twist her thoughts, and paralyze her. And it might have cost Phemé her life.

And now, she was running away ?

Her throat tightened, and the tears she had fought so hard to suppress finally broke free, slipping down her cheeks in silent betrayal. She wiped them away hastily, refusing to let herself fall apart. This was exactly why it happened—Adellaine allowed her fear and hesitation to dictate her actions. She failed Phemé because she hadn’t been strong enough to control herself.

It couldn’t happen again.

She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, forcing herself to breathe, forcing herself to feel nothing .

Desperate to ground herself, Adellaine forced her gaze to their surroundings, pulling herself back to the present.  They were halfway across a long wooden bridge, which groaned under the weight of the ox and the cart.

They had left the Jade Forest behind and entered a vast stretch of open fields, seemingly endless, with the horizon dotted with warm golden lights from nearby settlements. The wind swept across the plains, carrying with it the crisp scent of rain. Above them, the sun slipped behind dark, billowing clouds, promising another downpour overnight.

Adellaine hugged herself tightly as the cold set in, the sharp wind biting at her cheeks. She glanced at the others in the cart. The children had quieted, nestled under a linen blanket beside their mother, who kept them close with a protective arm. Anduin sat with his knees drawn to his chest, his head leaning back against the wagon’s side. His eyes were closed, his breathing soft and steady.

Anduin had tried to start a conversation earlier, but she had been too shaken to manage more than a few mumbled replies. He was patient, but eventually, he must have realized she wasn’t in the right state to talk and let her be.

A flicker of guilt crept in—he had been trying, and she had barely given him anything in return. She had questions too, which lingered at the edges of her thoughts, but in the wake of everything that had happened, they felt small. Insignificant.

Adelliane studied him for a moment, wondering if he was asleep. The way his golden hair tumbled over his brow gave him an almost peaceful look, as if the weight of the world didn’t press down on him the way it did on her. A part of her wished the sun had lingered a little longer—just enough to catch the outline of his face in the fading light.

Kwang yawned loudly, snapping Adellaine’s attention away from the prince. He gave a low whistle and pulled on the ox’s reins as they approached a small village. The streets were empty at this hour, but the warm glow of lanterns flickering in the windows brought a sense of comfort she hadn’t realized she needed.

The wagon creaked to a stop, stirring Anduin awake. Li-Jun gently roused her cubs, her voice a soft murmur as Kwang hopped down from the cart, stretching his arms wide. His joints cracked audibly, followed by a satisfied groan.

Adellaine slid off the cart, grateful for the chance to stretch her legs, and Anduin followed close behind. They exchanged glances, the unspoken question lingering between them: What happens now?

Did the family live here? Would they offer shelter, or would she and Anduin need to find a place to camp for the night? She silently hoped for the former—she didn’t relish the thought of sleeping outside under rain-heavy clouds.

Nearby, she heard Kwang and Li-Jun whispering. Kwang took one of the sleeping cubs from his wife, cradling the little one with the ease of a practiced father. His heavy sigh and the slump of his shoulders made it clear he wasn’t pleased with whatever his wife had requested, but too exhausted to argue, he trudged toward one of the village homes without a word.

“Come, come,” Li-Jun said kindly, motioning for the teenagers to follow.

Adellaine exhaled a quiet breath of relief, exchanging a brief smile with the prince before falling into step behind the pandaren mother.

***

The family’s arrival at Mei Barrelbottom’s home was unexpected, but if the pandaren was surprised, she didn’t show it for long. When she opened the door, her warm smile faltered briefly as she took in the strange group before her—her sister’s family, drenched and weary, and two exhausted human teenagers trailing behind.

Without hesitation, Mei stepped aside and welcomed them in, her eyes flickering with quiet curiosity as Anduin and Adelliane hesitated at the threshold before slipping inside.

Introductions were swift, more necessity than formality. Mei was Li-Jun’s sister; Anduin was Anduin; Adelliane was Adelliane. The exchange felt almost hollow—names seemed so trivial after everything they had endured.

Fortunately, Mei had prepared more than enough food that evening. Plates were brought out, and soon the room filled with the comforting clatter of the table being set up. The aroma of warm food coaxed the drowsy cubs awake, their energy returning in full force as they eagerly dug into the meal.

Adellaine and Anduin ate with similar enthusiasm, savoring their first proper meal in days. Neither spoke much as they ate, both too weary to do more than exchange a few grateful glances.

As everyone ate, Mei listened attentively to Li-Jun and Kwang’s account of what had occurred at Serpent’s Heart. Her cheerful demeanor dimmed as they spoke, her expression growing solemn. She shook her head in sorrow when they described the destruction of the statue and of her sister’s home, murmuring soft words of comfort.

It was then Adellaine learned that Kwang had been one of the stonecarvers working on the jade serpent statue. He had survived only by chance, spared by the simple fact that he had been off-duty that day, home with his family instead of at the temple.

A pang of despair spread through her chest, cold and sharp.

The stonecarvers who had been there that morning—what of them? Had they even had time to run? Had their families known what became of them, or were they still waiting, hoping for loved ones who would never return?

Suddenly, the meal's warmth turned to stone in her stomach. Adellaine had been so wound up in thinking about her situation, her own loss, that she hadn’t even stopped to realize the magnitude of the devastation that one battle had wrought. Phemé’s words echoed in her mind.

To hear and learn of war is one thing. To see it happen before you, to know the finality and cruelty of it...

As if sensing the young girl’s thoughts, Mei focused on the two humans. “You must have been through so much,” she said gently.

Adellaine paused mid-bite, feeling the weight of Mei’s gaze. It wasn’t unkind, but there was a quiet curiosity there, as though she were trying to understand how these two humans had ended up in her home. 

Anduin turned to Adellaine, his gaze quietly asking permission to recount what had happened. She met his eyes and gave a subtle nod of approval, grateful he had offered to speak on their behalf. She wasn’t sure she could get through the story without her voice cracking—or without bolting from the room to search for Phemé.

As Anduin began recounting the events, Adellaine felt her appetite entirely vanish. Each word he spoke seemed to tighten the knot of guilt in her chest, and she fought to keep her breathing steady, forcing herself to stay rooted in the present. 

“This is worse than I feared,” Mei murmured, shaking her head. “Chi-Ji should hear of these events immediately.”

Li-Jun gave her sister a solemn nod, but Kwang grumbled under his breath, shifting his weight irritably on the cushion. “And what good will Chi-Ji or Koro do now? The temple was overrun. The statue was destroyed. The Sha let loose.” He shook his head, bitterness lacing his voice. “We’ve lost everything—thanks to them .” 

His eyes flicked to Anduin and Adellaine, his gaze burning with the frustration of someone who had suffered too much in too short a time. 

“Kwang,” Li-Jun warned softly, touching his arm.

Kwang exhaled sharply, running a paw over his face. “Don’t pretend it isn’t true. This all started the moment they arrived, and now we are caught in the middle of it.”

Adellaine found herself silently agreeing, and she clenched her fists under the table. Anduin must have sensed her growing frustration because he nudged her knee with his own— whether by mistake or to grab her attention. She glanced at him, though she failed to keep her expression neutral, judging by how he winced.

“Perhaps, Kwang,” Mei replied calmly. “But we must still try. If not for ourselves, then for those we couldn’t save. And what if there are yet survivors?”

Adelliane sat up straighter, her pulse quickening. “There have to be survivors,” she blurted, her hands pressing flat against the table with enough force to make it tremble. The sudden outburst even caught Anduin by surprise—it was the most she had spoken all evening. “I was there. There were still people behind the temple walls.”

A heavy silence followed, and the entire family stared at her in stunned quiet.

Thankfully, Anduin was the first to break it.

“Perhaps it’s not my place,” he said carefully, “but I agree—we should speak with Chi-Ji. If there’s anything we can do to help, we will.”

Mei smiled, though the sadness lingered in her eyes. “You have all been through much today. It is best to rest for tonight and leave the planning for tomorrow.”

Kwang rose with a tired grunt, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I’ll see if there are any spare blankets,” he muttered, shuffling toward a back room.

Li-Jun, also done with the conversation, gently gathered her cubs into her arms and led them away from the table.

Adelliane felt her face redden, feeling as though the break in the conversation was her fault. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said anything at all. She sank back into the soft cushion beneath her legs, staring at her half-eaten meal.

“I’ll help you clean up, Mei,” Anduin offered, rising from his spot next to Adelliane. He was likely being polite, but she couldn’t help but feel he, too, was distancing himself.

Mei glanced at Adellaine again, her expression softening, and pressed a gentle paw onto the girl’s back. “Whatever happened, you made it here. That’s more than some can say.”

***

After the teenagers helped Mei with the dishes, Kwang called Anduin outside, muttering about him being the smelliest of them all. Though displeased with this comment, Anduin followed Kwang out the door. 

The cubs, too, were ushered off to wash up before bed, leaving Adelliane alone in the quiet warmth of the home’s main room.

With nothing else to do, she sank onto one of the floor cushions, absently smoothing her palms over the fabric as her thoughts drifted. She pulled out the hearthstone Phemé had given her, turning it over in her palms, feeling the ridges of the carved symbol. It brought her a little comfort, at least.

When the cubs finally finished, drowsy and wrapped in soft linen, Li-Jun called Adelliane over.

“Go ahead,” she said. “There’s still water for you.”

Adelliane murmured a quiet thanks and slipped off to wash up.

The wooden tub Mei had indicated was large—built for a pandaren rather than a human girl. After the cubs had finished, fresh water had been poured in, though it was disappointingly cool. Adelliane dipped a finger into the surface, murmuring a quiet spell as warmth radiated from her fingertips, sending soft ripples through the water.

As she sank into the tub, a pang of homesickness tightened in her chest. The last time she bathed like this, she was in Dalaran, in Phemé’s apartment. Her mentor’s bathing room had been nothing short of luxurious, fitted with a grand porcelain tub, undoubtedly of blood elven craftsmanship. It was enchanted to always be the perfect temperature,  and often infused with the delicate scents of oils and salts Phemé favored; it was one of Adelliane’s favorite indulgences.

By comparison, this tub was humble—wooden, with no enchantments, no lingering perfume of lavender or jasmine. But by the Light, was she grateful for it.

Not just to wash away the sweat, grime, and dried blood clinging to her skin but because she felt like she might snap if she internalized even a sliver more of the day’s weight. She let the warmth soak into her muscles, breathing deeply, willing the tension to unravel.

But her mind refused to be soothed. Anxiety sat deep in her chest, heavy and unmoving. 

Phemé. The battle. The Sha.

Once again, she had no choice but to shove her thoughts deep down, burying them beneath the motions of the present.

She scrubbed at her skin harder than necessary, the reed-woven sponge dragging over her arms and shoulders with a rough insistence—as if she could wash away her failures along with the grime.

By the time she had finished and changed into clean nightclothes, the cubs were already tucked into their blankets, their soft, rhythmic breathing filling the space. The bedding for her and Anduin had been laid out as well—a single, oversized sleeping mat clearly meant for pandaren.

Adelliane hesitated.

It was more than enough space for both of them, but the thought of sharing a mat with Prince Anduin Wrynn sent an embarrassing heat crawling up her neck. At least they had separate blankets and pillows. Trying not to overthink it, she picked her spot, settling into the farthest corner of the mat, and curling onto her side.

And despite her exhaustion, she waited.

She wasn’t sure why. She didn’t even know if Anduin would end up sleeping here. But the thought of settling in without him felt wrong, somehow.

She groaned softly, rolling onto her back, eyes tracing the flickering lantern light as it danced along the wooden ceiling. The warmth of the home should have been comforting, but the restlessness refused to fade, coiling in her limbs like an untamed spell. The weight of everything sat heavy on her chest, and she had to clench her jaw to keep the tears at bay.

She desperately wanted Phemé here.

Half an hour passed before the door slid open again. Anduin stepped inside, looking freshly washed, barefoot, and completely ridiculous in an ill-fitting shirt.

Adelliane’s jaw went slack before she clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling a giggle.

Anduin paused in the doorway, immediately catching her expression, and smiled, fully aware of how absurd he looked. “It’s... uh, one of the cubs’ shirts,” he admitted, glancing down at himself. He lifted his arms, revealing how the fabric rose comically above his stomach, the sides hanging loose. “A little roomy.”

Adelliane muffled another laugh, her shoulders shaking. “ Roomy’s one way to put it,” she said.

Anduin chuckled, running a hand through his damp hair. “Yeah, well, it was either this or something of Mei’s.”

She shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips despite everything. Somehow, despite the fear, the exhaustion, the lingering grief—this fleeting moment made her feel lighter .

It was strange how something as simple as laughter could ease the weight pressing down on her shoulders.

Anduin lingered in the doorway, and Adelliane followed his line of sight to the mat and pile of blankets and pillows. The awkwardness crashed over her like a tidal wave.

Her heart gave an odd flutter as Anduin took a slow step forward, softly clearing his throat. She had shared sleeping spaces before—cramped inn rooms with Phemé, childhood nights in the same room as her baby brother, and the novice dormitories in Dalaran. But this felt different.

Anduin lowered himself onto the mat beside her, sitting cross-legged as if testing the space between them. They both fidgeted awkwardly—Anduin pulling at the hem of his oversized shirt, Adellaine adjusting the blanket over her legs even though it didn’t need adjusting.

He cleared his throat again and said, “Nice of them to allow us to sleep here.”

“Yeah,” Adellaine murmured, avoiding his gaze. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, though she tried to ignore it. 

It’s just sleeping, she told herself firmly. Just two people trying to survive the night.

He shifted onto his side, trying to find a comfortable position. Then his shoulder brushed against hers as he settled, and the brief contact sent an unexpected jolt through her. She hoped the dim light would mask the way her cheeks burned.

“Sorry,” Anduin said.

“No, it’s fine,” Adellaine said a little too quickly. 

As if in sync, they both rolled onto their backs, eyes fixed on the ceiling above. Silence enveloped them, punctuated only by the gentle, rhythmic sounds of the sleeping cubs. Outside, the rain had resumed, drumming against the window panes in a persistent, soothing pattern.

Anduin exhaled softly, his voice low in the quiet. “If it makes things less awkward, we can just... pretend to sleep.”

Adellaine smiled despite herself. “That’s probably a good idea.”

He turned his head and gave her a sheepish grin, the kind that made her heart skip in a way she wasn’t ready to admit. Their shoulders were only a breath apart, and she was acutely aware of every inch between them, every rise and fall of his breath.

Now that they finally had a quiet moment together, the irony was not lost on her—they couldn’t even talk for fear of waking the sleeping cubs.

The questions that lingered at the edges of her mind finally buoyed to the surface. She wanted to know what he had been through—how he had ended up in Horde captivity, why the Alliance hadn’t yet rescued him.

Again, the realization settled over her: This was Anduin Wrynn, the crown prince of Stormwind.

She had, of course, known of him—who in the kingdom didn’t? But she had never given much thought to the gossip that swirled around his name. She recalled hearing that he had left Stormwind to study priesthood, that he was often criticized for being too soft-hearted, that he and King Varian shared a strained relationship. His name even surfaced in Dalaran from time to time, usually in relation to Archmage Jaina Proudmoore, whenever he visited her.

It was all distant noise, nothing relevant to her life. She was too preoccupied with her own struggles—her strained family ties, her relentless tutelage under Phemé, the constant pressure to prove herself as a mage. 

And yet, here he was. Flesh and blood. Not just some distant name but a real, breathing person, no different than her.

And, if she was being completely honest with herself…He was cuter than she had expected.

She swallowed, suddenly feeling much too aware of the space—or lack thereof—between them.

Light, I need to sleep.

Adellaine closed her eyes, listening to the rhythm of his breathing, which was steady and oddly comforting. Tomorrow, she assured herself, she’d have a proper conversation with him.

Chapter Text

Koi fish drifted lazily above Phemé’s vision as she floated just beneath the surface of the pond, her body suspended in the still, icy water. For a few blissful minutes, the relentless burning inside her eased as the cold seeped into her skin.

She closed her eyes, letting herself sink further into the weightlessness and quiet. 

Against her better judgment, Phemé decided to search for the arcane tether she had connected to Adelliane. Her body immediately protested—mana flaring like fire through her veins, muscles screaming with every breath—but the thought of doing nothing was worse.

Here, submerged and still, the pain was just bearable enough to try.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she concentrated, willing herself to block out the inferno raging inside her. Somewhere out there, Adelliane was waiting—alive, she had to believe that—and Phemé needed to find her.

The tether hadn’t been a particularly ethical choice, but a necessary one. Phemé wasn’t just a mentor to the girl; she had taken responsibility for her entire life after her family had cast her aside. Keeping track of her apprentice’s whereabouts had seemed prudent—especially with how often they traveled. 

The last time Phemé tried this, it nearly killed her. She’d blacked out from the strain, waking to a nosebleed and a skull that felt split in two. She braced herself for the same outcome but persisted, ignoring the pounding headache and the way her limbs trembled beneath the water.

She reached deeper into the space between them, pushing through the arcane haze like someone grasping through thick fog. Her mind throbbed with effort, vision swimming behind closed eyes. 

Then—something. A flicker. A faint brush against her consciousness.

Adelliane!

The name tore from her in a silent scream, her mind clawing at the presence just beyond reach. She reached—desperate, frantic—

And then the moment shattered.

Something tickled her foot.

Phemé gasped and jolted upright, breaking the surface with a splash. Ripples fanned outward, scattering the koi in a flurry of motion.

At the pond’s edge stood Lorewalker Cho, holding a long stick, his expression hovering somewhere between concern and exasperation.

“If you keep freezing the water,” Cho said, tapping his stick against the ground, “you’ll kill my fish.”

Phemé blinked water from her lashes, her eyes narrowing as she noticed the delicate spiderwebs of frost creeping along the pond’s edge. A low sound of frustration escaped her through clenched teeth as she pushed wet strands of hair from her face.

“I was in the middle of something,” she snapped. “I could have located Addie if you hadn’t just—”

The cool, numbing relief of the water was slipping away, replaced by the slow, familiar burn beneath her skin. The fever returned with a vengeance, curling through her muscles and igniting her mana-choked veins.

She swayed slightly, catching herself against the nearest stone. Her head throbbed with each heartbeat, and her vision blurred at the edges.

Lorewalker Cho didn’t turn. “I’ve made you another pot of tea for the pain,” he said simply, already walking ahead.

Phemé groaned, dragging herself upright. “I’ve had enough blasted tea...” she muttered, following him toward the house. “Any news?”

Cho poured the tea with a steady hand, his back still to her. “Yes, actually. Some traders near Nectarbreeze Orchard mentioned a cart heading west with two unusual outlanders aboard.”

Phemé’s heart stuttered, but she forced her face into practiced stillness.

“Headed where?” she asked quietly, accepting the cup he offered.

“Toward the Valley,” Cho said, finally glancing over his shoulder.

She scowled at the tea, then at him, but took a reluctant sip anyway. It tasted as awful as the last pot, but it did soothe her headache somewhat. A necessary evil.

“I’ll come with you,” she declared, downing the rest of the tea in one gulp, her jaw tightening against the bitterness.

Cho folded his arms across his chest. “And have you collapse halfway there? I think not.”

Phemé set the empty cup down with a clink, leveling a glare at him. “Believe me, I’ve endured worse.”

Cho gave her an indulgent smile, the kind that made her feel both like a stubborn child and an old friend. “I believe you. But you can barely stand,” he pointed out gently.

Phemé opened her mouth to argue, but a sharp pulse of pain ripped through her skull. She winced, gripping the table’s edge as the world tilted briefly beneath her.

Cho, ever the gracious host, pretended not to notice. “While you were freezing my koi pond,” he added lightly, “I visited the market. Hosting so many people has taken a toll on my stores.” He gestured toward a woven basket filled with fresh produce and unfamiliar herbs. 

Phemé, suspecting another one of his winding stories, retreated behind a folding screen to change. With a flick of her hand, she summoned a fresh robe from her arcane inventory. It was a simple spell, one she could normally cast without a thought—but even that small effort sent a sharp, searing jolt through her core. She bit back a hiss and fumbled to pull the robe over her still-damp skin, her movements stiff and clumsy.

“Before you came along, I was visited by some of your people,” Cho continued, voice drifting over the screen. “Alliance, I believe. They were searching for someone very important.”

That caught her attention. She paused, head poking out from behind the screen, brows furrowed. “Who?”

“A prince,” Cho said with a nod. “Young and golden-haired if the painting they presented me with was any accurate.”

Phemé’s eyes narrowed. “You’re talking about Anduin Wrynn.”

Cho gave a satisfied hum. “Ah, so you do know him.”

She stepped out fully dressed but visibly wincing. “I know of him,” she clarified. “Why would they come here?”

“To ask about the whereabouts of their prince. I question their wisdom, letting a young boy wander unattended through these lands. Pandaria is not what it once was—not since the Sha awakened.”

The archmage sank into a nearby chair with a weary huff, deciding to ignore the last half of his statement for both their sakes.

She quickly began to put the missing puzzle pieces together. The sudden presence of Horde and Alliance forces on Pandaria’s shores, their desperate scramble to gain ground in a land that had remained hidden for centuries—it wasn’t just about conquest or exploration. It was about him . The missing prince.

The realization settled in her gut like a stone. Of course they would move quickly. Of course they’d risk disrupting the fragile balance here.

For a Wrynn, they would move mountains.

For Adelliane? She had only herself.

“They were thoughtful enough to trim my shrubs, so I agreed to make them one of my special brews.”

Phemé’s brow arched. “You made them tea.”

“ Not just tea,” Cho corrected, lifting a finger. “A dream brew. It connects the mind to the land,” he explained. “To the memories of the forest. You see through its eyes—feel through its roots. It’s not precise, but it can guide the heart toward what it seeks.”

Phemé folded her arms. “And... did it help? Did they find him?"

Cho gave a pleased little nod. "Whatever they saw, it was enough to make them leave in quite a hurry."

She furrowed her brows, realizing what Cho was really trying to insinuate with this tangent.

"You think it can help me find Addie.”

The pandaren inclined his head to the right. “The last ingredient I needed was just restocked at the market today—good timing, I’d say. With the right preparation, and your unique connection to her, it could work even better for you.”

Phemé hesitated, glancing down at her clenched hands. She hated being this fragile. Hated needing help. But… if it gave her even a chance of finding Adelliane…

She looked up, jaw set. “Very well then. Brew it.”

Cho beamed. “Wonderful. I’ll put the kettle on.”

***

Adelliane shot upright with a jagged gasp, her breath catching painfully in her throat. The lingering sensation of something—someone—slipped away the moment she woke.

Her dream had started pleasantly enough, something about cake tasting at the Legerdemain Lounge. But then it shifted, twisting into something dark and unsettling. She’d found herself lost in a void, the air thick with the sense of being watched. The presence closed in from all directions, like unseen hands reaching for her. She wandered aimlessly, until something tugged at her arm, her name whispered urgently from the emptiness. 

And then she woke.

Her pulse thundered in her ears as reality slowly drifted back into focus. She scanned her surroundings, her heart still racing. The cubs were gone, and daylight spilled through the gaps of the window shutters. The sun sat high in the sky; it was later than she’d expected.

Beside her, Anduin slept soundly, his breath deep and even. 

She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady her breathing. The urge to wake him, just to remind herself she wasn’t alone, gnawed at her. Her fingers twitched toward his shoulder, but she stopped herself. Let him sleep, she told herself. It was just a dream... wasn’t it?

Instead, she sank back into the blankets, pulling them over her head. She closed her eyes and willed her heart to slow, but the dream—no, the feeling —stayed with her, clinging stubbornly to the edges of her mind.

Who called out to me? she wondered, squeezing her eyes shut.

The void, the tug on her arm, the voice—it had felt too real. But the only sound in the room now was the steady rhythm of Anduin’s breath beside her.

She curled tighter beneath the blanket, her heart thudding against her ribs. Whatever it was—dream or not—she couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t a coincidence.

With little else to do but ruminate, Adelliane sat up and began dressing for the day. She rummaged through her backpack, pulling out a fresh set of clothes, a comb, a brush, and some toothpaste. The small, mundane routine gave her something to focus on, a way to steady her nerves.

She moved quietly, careful not to wake Anduin.

Was it normal for him to sleep for this long? Or did he rely on servants to come in and wake him at a decent hour? Then again, he probably didn’t get proper rest as the Horde’s prisoner.

Her expression immediately soured. The thought infuriated her. 

With a frustrated huff, she turned back to the floating mirror she had conjured and continued to work through her hair, braiding it with practiced fingers. Her hair was fully brushed and plaited by the time the sound of shifting sheets made her pause.

Adelliane glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Anduin stirring awake, his eyes still half-lidded with sleep, golden hair tousled wildly from where it had been mashed against the pillow. The sight made her smile—he looked impossibly endearing.

His sleepy gaze drifted around the room until it landed on her, and the corner of his lips curled into a soft, crooked smile.

“By the Light…” he muttered, rubbing at his eyes with his palm. “How long was I asleep?”

Adelliane glanced toward the window, where bright sunlight spilled through the cracks in the shutters, warming the edges of the room.

“Almost afternoon, I think,” she said. “We slept in.”

Her stomach fluttered at the use of ‘we’.

Anduin blinked at the window, then gave a soft, amused huff. “Guess I needed it.”

He stretched his arms above his head with a groggy yawn, his ridiculously sized shirt riding up slightly—just enough to expose a sliver of skin before he let his arms drop back down. Adelliane immediately turned around, her grip tightening on her braid as she mindlessly began to fiddle with her hair tie.

“You’re already dressed,” he realized. “You’re making me look bad.”

She laughed, a quiet sound that she hoped didn’t sound too forced.

“Any chance you’ve got an extra set of clothes in there for me?” he said as he stood up. 

She understood he meant it as a joke, but Adelliane found herself seriously considering the idea. At the start of her apprenticeship, Phemé had taken it upon herself to buy Adelliane an entirely new wardrobe—finely tailored robes and outfits to suit her new life. Most of the fancier articles had been left behind in Dalaran, but she knew there were still a few loose shirts buried somewhere in her enchanted backpack.

She glanced at Anduin through the mirror, her gaze studying his build as she mentally sorted through her options. “Maybe,” she said at last. “Might be a little snug, though. And… decorative.”

A smile tugged at her lips as she imagined him squeezed into one of her more frilly shirts—lace cuffs, embroidered trim, perhaps a ribbon at the neck. The thought amused her far more than it should have. Then a second thought hit her: I could actually have the Prince of Stormwind wearing my clothes.

Her cheeks flushed with sudden warmth, and she quickly bowed her head, focusing intently on her braid to hide the rising blush. What had seemed like a practical offer a moment ago now felt far more personal—too personal.

“Decorative?” he echoed, taking a few steps towards her. “I think I can handle decorative. May I see?”

Adelliane froze for a moment, unsure if she should follow through. Then, without a word, she leaned over and rummaged through her backpack. After a bit of digging, she pulled out the white shirt. The fabric was soft and light, with delicate deep-blue flower embroidery along the cuffs.

She held it out to him, cheeks warm. “Probably not your style, but it may fit.”

Anduin took the shirt from her, his fingers brushing lightly against hers in the exchange. The contact was brief, but it sent another flutter through her chest. He held the shirt up, giving it an appraising look.

“I imagined much worse. Lace and pink frills, or something.”

Adelliane fought back a laugh, rolling her eyes. “I mean, if you really want lace, I do have a dress in there somewhere.”

Anduin snorted, shaking his head. “Tempting, but I'll have to decline.”

Then came the inevitable pause—he needed to change, and the only option was to do so here, in front of her. The realization hit them both at the same time. Anduin cleared his throat, glancing awkwardly at his current shirt, then at her.

“So... I’ll just...” He motioned vaguely toward himself, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

“Oh—right.” Adelliane’s eyes widened, and she spun around so quickly her braid slapped against her shoulder. “I’ll... give you a moment.”

She kept her back to him, staring at the floorboards with her heart thudding louder than she liked. She focused on the sounds behind her—the quiet rustle of fabric as Anduin pulled off his old shirt, the soft shuffle of his bare feet on the floor.

Her face burned hotter with each passing second, even though she had no reason to feel embarrassed. It’s just a shirt , she told herself, as if that would make her pulse slow down.

After a moment, Anduin cleared his throat again. “Okay... you can look.”

She turned cautiously, just in time to see him adjusting the sleeves. The shirt fit surprisingly well—not tight, but snug enough to outline his shoulders, the loose cuffs falling perfectly at his wrists.

Adelliane couldn’t help but smile, the warmth in her chest refusing to fade. “It... actually suits you,” she said, surprised by how soft her voice sounded. “Better than I expected.”

He spread his arms with an exaggerated flourish. “Told you I could pull off decorative.”

Anduin reached for his boots and immediately frowned. One of them flopped open, the sole hanging by a few stubborn threads. He muttered what sounded like a swear and closely inspected the bottom of the shoe. 

An idea occurred to Adelliane. “Give it here,” she said. “I think I can fix it.”

She pulled a small, metal box from her pack and pried it open, revealing a neatly organized sewing kit. Anduin raised his brows.

“You carry that with you?”

She shrugged, lowering herself onto the wooden floor. “Never know when you’ll need it.”

He handed her the boot and sat across from her, watching quietly as she examined the damage.

“I’m no cobbler,” she said, tracing the edge of the sole with her thumb, “but if I reinforce it here—” she pointed along the seam—“it should hold. Mageweave thread is sturdier than it looks.”

Anduin smiled, his brows lifting just slightly in that gentle way of his. “You’re a lifesaver. Quite literally.”

Her cheeks warmed again, but she kept her eyes on the boot as she began to thread the needle.

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly. “All girls my age are taught this stuff. ‘Housekeeping skills,’ or whatever they call it now. Though it’s usually for embroidery and—” she snorted—“needlework that no one actually wants.”

“Embroidery, huh?” he repeated with a tilt of his head. “So… you’re nobility?”

Her hand froze mid-stitch. The needle hovered just above the worn leather.

Was. She was nobility.

In her head, the name Lescovar rang like a warning bell. Her family history—her house’s history—had never mattered much in the company of mages. 

But it mattered now.

Especially here. Especially with him.

She glanced up and found him watching her with mild curiosity. But that didn’t ease the knot forming in her chest.

Should she lie? Brush it off?

She didn’t want to explain why her family name was whispered with caution and distaste among the other houses. And certainly not to a Wrynn.

“Adelliane…?” Anduin asked gently, noticing her sudden stillness.

She forced her eyes back down to the boot, her voice a touch too light. “I was friends with a few noble girls. We’d pass time stitching and trading gossip. That sort of thing.”

It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the entire truth either.

“And I’ve had to patch my own clothes more times than I can count.” Because there was no money for new gowns. Because one of the other children had pushed her into mud, and she’d torn the hem of her dress. Because she miscalculated a jump and caught her sleeve on a jagged rock.

He chuckled softly. “Well, I’m glad one of us is handy with a needle.”

She smiled faintly, but her mind drifted, the omitted truth clinging to her like a shadow.

He didn’t press her. And for that, she was grateful.

But she couldn’t help but wonder: if he ever found out the truth about her and House Lescovar, would he still smile at her like that?

***

Phemé sat cross-legged on the floor of Cho’s pagoda, her hands pressed to her knees, her spine trembling with the effort to stay upright.

“Focus,” Cho murmured, seated nearby, his eyes half-closed. “Not on silence… but on stillness. Let the land meet you halfway.”

Easy for him to say.

Phemé’s body ached, her mana surging and buckling like a storm barely held at bay. Each breath was fire drawn through her lungs, and the pounding in her skull had taken on its own rhythm—steady and merciless.

Still, she forced her eyes closed.

Center yourself. Breathe.

But every breath only reminded her of the pain.

She tried anyway, drawing her focus inward, toward that tiny thread of self that hadn’t burned out yet. Her mind skittered, pulled first by pain, then memory, then doubt. The tea’s warmth spread through her, unnaturally slow, like ink bleeding through parchment.

A gust of icy wind struck her face, sharp as daggers. She shuddered as her eyes flew open, arms instinctively raised in front of her to block a flurry of snow. The air buzzed with magic—raw, ancient.

Phemé staggered, grasping at the edge of a half-formed memory—one of many that had haunted her since she had reawakened in Azeroth. It was like staring into a cracked mirror: she saw herself, younger, but the details were distorted. Out of reach.

Then—light. Off to the right, a flicker of gold, warm and inviting.

She turned toward it.

The light shimmered, delicate and pulsing, winding through the fog. She followed it, drawn forward as her surroundings shifted again.

She stood at the edge of a wide, open space. Great pillars rose skyward, supporting sweeping roofs adorned with curling motifs and carved tiles. Lanterns bobbed gently in the breeze. A massive crane statue loomed in the distance, wings open mid-flight.

Then, she saw them.

A cart rested near the gates, and inside, wrapped in a blanket, Adelliane rested her head against the cart’s edge, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion and focused on someone across from her. 

Anduin Wrynn. His head was bowed, but he was speaking softly. Phemé couldn’t hear the words. Her heart clenched. Relief swelled in her chest, sharp and sudden.

She reached for Adelliane, arm outstretched, fingers nearly brushing the vision—

The ground beneath the temple cracked. Black veins splintered through the stone. Something sickly pale and slow began to rise from beneath the crane statue, like rot seeping through a wound.

Phemé stumbled back a step, and Adelliane turned her head toward her.

Only it wasn’t her anymore.

Her pale-green eyes had turned glassy and grey. The color had drained from her face, her lips tinged a lifeless purple. Shadow laced the veins in her neck. Her limbs twitched, like puppet strings pulled by an invisible hand.

She opened her mouth to speak, and what came out was an inhuman, rasping cry.

Phemé’s stomach dropped.

Something slithered beneath her skin, cold and hollow. Despair wrapped its fingers around her heart and squeezed .

Her breath caught.

Her knees buckled.

Tears spilled before she even registered them.

This wasn’t fear.

It wasn’t illusion.

It was truth.

Adelliane was dead.

You should have stayed buried in the Nexus.

Pheme collapsed into the dream-soil, body trembling, hands limp at her sides. The crane statue shattered behind her. The world bent under the weight of despair.

The golden thread snapped.

BONG.

Phemé jolted awake with a ragged gasp, soaked in sweat. Her hands trembled uncontrollably, wounded and bleeding from the shattered teacup at her feet.

Cho was already kneeling beside her.

“You’re back,” he said softly. “What did you see?”

She sat up slowly, clutching her robe close, her voice hoarse.

“Adelliane. I saw her—she was in a cart, heading somewhere. And she wasn’t alone.”

Cho tilted his head. 

“The prince. They were together, near some kind of temple. Red stone. Lanterns, statues. A… a crane.”

At that, Cho's expression shifted.

“And something else,” she added, her brow furrowing. “I’ve never felt anything like that, pure...unadulterated despair.” A sob started to form in her throat. “It had her, I think it killed her...”

Cho sat back, eyes closing briefly in contemplation.

“You saw the Temple of the Red Crane,” he said quietly. “One of our most sacred temples. And...it seems, the Sha aren’t far behind.”

Phemé’s throat dried. “It’s there? With them ?”

“I do not know,” Cho admitted. “But if your vision is true, then their path will take them straight into it. Or it already has.”

Phemé clenched her fists, her breath still shallow. “Then we have to go. Now.”

Cho didn’t argue. For once, he simply nodded and rose to his feet.

Chapter Text

With slow, deliberate steps, Anduin hefted the final crate, his arms straining as he lifted it toward Kwang, who took it with ease and slid it onto the cart without so much as a grunt. The prince exhaled, rolling his shoulders to ease the ache. This was just one of many crates Kwang had tasked him with hauling; an endless procession that had left his neck and forehead slick with sweat.

Anduin glanced over his shoulder toward the stack of remaining goods and felt a surge of relief. Finally, that had been the last of whatever it was he’d been moving.

“Not used to hard work?” Kwang asked, his tone edging on mockery.

“Nothing like this,” Anduin admitted, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

Kwang snorted, casting a quick, assessing glance at him but making no further comment. He turned to check the cart’s load, tugging on a rope to make sure the crates were secured. “Looks like that’s the lot.”

Anduin leaned against the side of the cart for a moment, catching his breath. “What’s all this for?” he asked, eyeing the neatly stacked supplies.

“Supplies for the Order of the Red Crane,” Kwang replied curtly. “We’ll be heading there tomorrow morning.”

Anduin blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “We’re going to the temple?”

“That’s what I said,” Kwang muttered, tightening a strap around the cart with quick, practiced movements.

A spark of hope flickered in Anduin’s chest. “I thought Adelliane and I would have to go alone.”

Kwang gave him a sideways glance, the faintest hint of a scowl darkening his features. “I’m just delivering supplies, and Mei wants us to alert the temple of what’s happened. You and your friend better keep up, or I’ll leave you behind.”

Anduin pressed his lips into a thin line but nodded. The bitterness in Kwang’s tone wasn’t unexpected—he hadn’t exactly warmed to Anduin or Adelliane since they’d arrived. But if traveling with Kwang meant reaching the temple safely, it was worth swallowing his pride.

“Understood,” Anduin said evenly.

Kwang gave a curt nod, and the prince watched Kwang disappear back toward the house. 

Anduin tugged at the hem of the borrowed shirt, airing it out, and was immediately met with the delicate scent that clung to the fabric—a subtle sweetness, floral...perhaps honeysuckle?

The fragrance caught him off guard, freezing him mid-step. His chest tightened unexpectedly, the realization hitting him like a delayed spell. He was wearing a girl’s shirt, after all. A piece of Adelliane wrapped around him.

He flexed his aching hands, trying to shake the flustered sensation that had settled over him. 

Anduin gave the cart one last inspection, making sure everything was secured, then headed toward Mei’s home, following the same path Kwang had taken. His boots squelched softly against the damp earth as the first drops of rain began to fall again.

***

The scent of freshly cooked food lingered in the air, stirring Anduin’s appetite as he stepped inside. Adelliane was already seated at the low table, two bowls of steaming rice and vegetables in front of her. But she wasn’t eating. Her gaze was fixed on the hallway that led to the bedrooms, her expression stitched with worry.

The sound of Anduin’s boots on the bamboo floor pulled her attention, and she offered him a weak smile as he approached and sat beside her. His eyes flicked over the trays and pots of food laid out before them, and the empty seats around the table only added to the unease settling in his chest.

"Where is everyone?" Anduin asked, glancing toward the empty hallway.

“In Mei’s room,” Adelliane said, her fingers tapping anxiously against her knee. "I think the cubs are sick."

“Sick? Both of them?” His brows furrowed.

She nodded, her gaze dropping to the untouched bowl in front of her. "I don’t know how bad it is, but Mei asked me to stay out here."

Anduin followed her gaze down the dimly lit hallway. Without another word, he stood and made his way toward the sound of soft voices.

He might not have yet finished his priest training, but he had done his fair share of healing.

He tapped his knuckles lightly against the bamboo door, and the hushed voices inside fell silent. After a moment, Mei slid the door open, her kind eyes shadowed with exhaustion.

“Anduin,” she said gently, though her voice was strained. “There’s no need to trouble yourself. Please, eat. We’re attending to the children.”

Anduin leaned slightly, catching a glimpse of the cubs nestled shoulder to shoulder on a pile of blankets and pillows. They lay perfectly still, their eyes half-lidded, as though too weary to even blink. Their parents knelt beside them, worry etched into every line of their faces.

“I’m a healer,” Anduin said. "Maybe I can help."

Before Mei could respond, Kwang’s head lifted, his gaze sharp and unwelcoming. His mouth opened, clearly ready to refuse, but Li-Jun spoke first, her voice heavy with desperation.

“Yes,” Li-Jun said, nodding quickly. “Please. Come in.”

Mei hesitated, her gaze flicking between Anduin and the cubs, before she finally stepped aside and allowed him into the room. He crossed the threshold and immediately sensed it: the air felt thick and heavy, as though each breath had to be pulled through mud. The meager grey light from outside didn’t reach this far. Shadows pooled around the room, broken only by the flicker of a single lantern that cast long, wavering shapes across the floor.

Anduin knelt beside the cubs, his heart sinking as he beheld them up close. They weren’t restless or in pain. They were conscious but utterly still, their dull, lifeless eyes staring past him. There was no sign of fever, no outward injury. Just... absence, as if they’d been hollowed out.

Gently, Anduin placed a hand on one cub’s paw and called on the light, letting it flow from his palm. The warmth spread over the cub like a blanket, but there was no flicker of recognition.

Anduin withdrew his hand, frowning deeply. He tried again with the other cub, channeling another pulse of healing energy, but the result was the same. The light hovered on the surface, like water unable to sink into parched earth.

“I don’t understand,” Anduin murmured. “They’re... awake, but it’s like they’re not really here.”

Mei knelt beside him, brushing a lock of hair from the younger cub’s face. “It came on suddenly,” she said quietly. “We were in the kitchen, and I came to check on them and...they were like this.”

Anduin’s mind raced, searching for answers. He’d seen sickness and injury before, but this was different. It wasn’t physical.

“I’m telling you. It’s the Sha,” Kwang cut in, his voice gruff and impatient after Anduin’s healing attempt fizzled out. “No magic’s going to fix this. It’s all up here.” He tapped a finger against his temple, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

“The Sha? Out here?” Mei asked, disbelief clouding her expression as she shook her head. “It’s only been a day.”

“It spreads fast,” Kwang muttered darkly.

Mei rubbed her hands together anxiously. “The monks at the Temple of the Red Crane might know more.”

“How far is the temple?” Anduin asked, glancing toward Kwang.

Kwang grunted. “Half a day’s journey if the weather permits.”

Li-Jun ran her hand gently over one cub’s fur, her fingers trembling slightly. Her expression was a mix of fear and quiet resolve. “We have to take them,” she whispered. “We can’t leave them like this.”

Anduin nodded slowly, determination settling over him. “I’ll help,” he promised. “Whatever it takes.”

Kwang’s sharp gaze cut toward him, but Anduin met it without flinching. There was no room for debate, not when children’s lives were at stake.

With a reluctant sigh, Kwang gave in. “Fine. But we leave now .”

Anduin gave a small nod and stood, casting one last sympathetic glance at the cubs before heading toward the door. 

He slipped quietly from the room, closing the door behind him with a soft thud, only to nearly collide with Adelliane in the hallway. He stepped back just in time, and she blinked, startled.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I was worried... Are they okay?”

Anduin leaned his back against the door, his expression grim. “We think they’ve been affected by the Sha,” he murmured, his voice low. “Not even the light reached them...”

Her brow furrowed with disbelief. “The Sha? But we’ve traveled so far from the Jade Temple. How could it have reached this far so quickly?”

Anduin shrugged, helpless against the same question. “I don’t know. But we’re taking them to the Temple of the Red Crane. Right now.”

Adelliane’s eyes widened, processing the urgency in his words, but she didn’t hesitate. She gave a sharp nod, determination flickering across her features. “Good. I’ll grab my things.”

***

Half of the supplies Anduin and Kwang had packed onto the cart were hastily unloaded to make room for the extra passengers. This time, Adelliane joined in alongside Mei, the four of them working quickly under the relentless downpour. The rain soaked through their clothes, yet no one complained, as the weight of urgency pressed heavier with every passing minute.

When enough space had been cleared, Mei went inside to retrieve Li-Jun and the cubs, who were tightly bundled against the rain. The little ones barely stirred, their dull, vacant eyes peeking out from beneath layers of blankets.

Anduin pulled his old clothes back on, layering what little he had in a futile attempt to stave off the sharp drop in temperature. The chill gnawed at his skin, worse than any cold he remembered from this region. As he worked, he overheard the pandaren murmuring among themselves about the unusual weather—how rain wasn’t rare here, but the unrelenting downpour, coupled with the sudden drop in temperature, was far from normal.

Once the cart was ready, Adelliane raised her hands, arcane light flickering softly from her fingers as she cast a protective shield over the passengers, just enough to keep the rain off their heads. Li-Jun gave her a grateful nod as she settled into the cart, carefully tucking the cubs close under her arms.

Mei approached quietly to say her goodbyes, her fur matted from the rain. She placed a hand on Anduin’s shoulder, then on Adelliane’s, giving them each a brief, firm squeeze. “Good luck,” she whispered, her voice heavy with unspoken worries. She lingered for just a moment longer, her eyes filled with the weight of things unsaid, before stepping back to watch the cart lurch forward.

The ox grunted as Kwang urged it into motion, and the cart began to creak along the muddy path. The rain drummed steadily against the wooden boards, and the wheels groaned under the shifting weight of passengers and supplies. Anduin adjusted his damp cloak—another loan from Adelliane—and gave a final glance back at Mei, who stood in the doorway, her figure a shadow against the dim light within the house.

As the cart trundled into the misty road, Adelliane cast a quick look at Anduin, her wet braid plastered against her shoulder. They shared a wordless understanding. 

They were in this together now.

***

The Temple of the Red Crane sat at the heart of the Krasarang Wilds, a sanctuary from the dense and mist-laden wetlands. As the cart rounded a bend in the path, the temple came into view, its elegant silhouette standing tall against the night’s gloom.

Though the hour was late, the temple remained alight, lanterns flickering along the curved rooftops and casting a soft glow that spilled out into the surrounding wilderness. It was as if the temple itself refused to succumb to the surrounding darkness, standing as a beacon of hope amidst the tangled, shadowed wilds.

Anduin leaned forward instinctively, his breath catching at the sight. Even in the dim light, the temple's beauty was unmistakable. Tall, slender pillars framed the entrance, supporting the gracefully sloping roofs. Vibrant banners fluttered from the highest arches, each bearing the symbol of the Red Crane.

Anduin’s chest swelled with quiet relief, a flicker of hope igniting within him at the sight of this sanctuary. The cart rumbled to a halt at the temple’s grand entrance, and Kwang wasted no time. He climbed down from the driver’s seat with practiced ease and strode toward the nearest pandaren, whose robes were damp from the lingering rain. The young monk looked up, his expression shifting from surprise to curiosity at the unexpected visitors.

“We have sick cubs with us,” Kwang said, his voice firm and direct. “We need to see Chi-Ji.”

The monk’s ears flicked slightly, and he frowned in confusion. “Chi-Ji is not seen by just anyone,” the monk said cautiously. “But the temple can offer aid—”

“Our children are sick,” Kwang interrupted, crossing his arms. “The cubs have been affected by something... dark.”

Li-Jun, holding the cubs tightly in her arms, climbed down from the cart with Anduin close behind her. He extended his hand to Adelliane, who accepted it and carefully jumped down, surveying the temple grounds. If he could feel the temple’s incredible energy, she certainly could too.

The young monk hesitated for a moment, clearly uncertain, but the look on Li-Jun’s face seemed to sway him. “Come inside,” the monk said at last. “We’ll take you to the healers.”

Inside the temple, the air was warm and fragrant with the scent of incense. A soft hymn echoed from deeper within the halls, blending with the quiet footsteps of monks gliding across the polished stone floors. The interior was just as breathtaking as the exterior—intricate murals of Chi-Ji adorned the walls, depicting the Red Crane soaring above lush landscapes, its wings spread wide in graceful arcs. Every detail appeared meticulously crafted, as if the walls were designed to inspire peace and hope.

The young monk gestured toward a side chamber, where several robed healers awaited, their serene expressions shifting with concern as they spotted the unconscious cubs. "They will do what they can," the monk assured them. "And they will contact Chi-Ji's acolytes if the need is great."

Kwang muttered something under his breath, something Anduin suspected was a mix of gratitude and frustration, but he followed silently, his sharp gaze fixed on the cubs. Deciding to give them privacy, and also wanting to explore further in, Anduin did not follow the family. Adelliane stopped next to him.

He glanced sideways.

Adelliane was tense. She was trying to hold herself together, he could tell. There was a fatigue in the slope of her posture, in the way her eyes lingered too long on the floor ahead, like she was trying to keep herself moving one careful step at a time.

She looked so tired. 

Not just from the journey, but from everything. The fear, the confusion, the weight of what they’d seen. He recognized it. He’d worn it often enough himself. 

“You okay?” he asked softly, keeping his voice low. The temple was quiet, sacred. It felt wrong to speak too loudly here.

She nodded, but he didn’t believe it. Not fully. “Yeah. Just… worried.”

He let the moment stretch, the instinct to reach for her tugging at him, but he held back, not wanting to overstep. Instead, he offered a quiet nod and said, “Me too.”

Ahead, the monks were ushering Li-Jun and Kwang toward the inner chamber, murmuring to each other in the gentle cadence of practiced calm. Anduin tried to take comfort in their presence, in the warmth of the lanterns and the serenity of the temple. But the heaviness in his chest remained.

“Do you think they’ll wake up?” Adelliane asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“I hope so,” he answered, because it was the only truth he had. 

A voice broke the stillness.

“Outlanders,” came the call of a passing monk, older than the rest, his white whiskers braided neatly down his chest. “There are rooms for travelers near the southern wing. You’re welcome to rest there.”

Anduin dipped his head in thanks, and Adelliane offered a polite nod before following the monk’s gesture.

The temple’s inner halls were calm, lined with hanging scrolls and drifting incense. Rain still tapped softly against the tiled roof, and the flicker of lanterns painted shifting shadows on the polished stone. The path curved past a meditation garden, now silent, save for the faint rustling of the trees, and led them to a row of modest rooms, their doors left slightly ajar for wandering visitors.

“Sleep, if you can,” the monk said, pausing at the second available room. “We will summon you if there is any news.”

He bowed and left them at the threshold.

Anduin stepped inside first, the room barely large enough for two sleeping mats, a basin, and a low table with a chipped teapot. The air was damp and cool, touched by the scent of wet stone and earth. The only light came from a single lantern flickering in the corner, its flame swaying as the wind slipped through the cracked window.

Adelliane was quick to shut it. “I’m freezing,” she mumbled, hugging her arms close as she stepped aside.

He watched her for a moment before moving toward the table, checking the teapot. Empty, but stained with dark brown rings.

Adelliane sat down on one of the mats with a tired sigh, drawing her knees up and resting her chin on them. Her shoulders were tight, her expression guarded. He knew that look. He’d worn it himself more times than he could count.

He settled across from her, careful not to invade the small bubble of space between them. “You know,” he said lightly, “if you ever need anything, I’m only about… two feet away.”

That earned a faint exhale, half laugh, half sigh. “Thanks.”

The silence that followed was quieter, less brittle. She stared at the floor for a long time, then finally spoke.

“I think this is my fault.”

Anduin looked up. “Huh?”

“When I saw the Sha… back at the temple, it felt like it looked straight at me. Like it touched something inside me. I thought I’d shaken it off, but—” Her voice dropped further. “What if I didn’t? What if I brought it with me?”

He didn’t speak at first. The Sha was still a mystery to him in many ways, but the way it preyed on emotions was not. That much he understood. Fear, sorrow, anger… they fed it like kindling to fire.

“I don’t think the Sha works that way,” he said softly. “It festers where there’s pain. Anger. Grief. Doubt. But that doesn’t make it your fault.”

Adelliane didn’t seem convinced. “They’re just children. If I hadn’t come back with it clinging to me—”

“You didn’t,” he insisted. “It was already there. Perhaps not yet visible, but close enough. You didn’t cause this.”

She was quiet again. Her jaw clenched slightly, and he could tell she was holding something in.

Anduin scooted a bit closer. “The Light doesn’t ask us to be fearless. Only that we keep trying, even when we’re afraid.”

She exhaled, a small sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “You sound like a priest.”

He grinned. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

That coaxed a reluctant smile from her. She shook her head and leaned back against the wall, pulling her arms around herself again. 

Anduin let the quiet stretch. There wasn’t anything else to say—not about the cubs, or the Sha, or the fear that still clung to them like damp air. Instead, he let his gaze linger on her for a moment longer.

Adelliane looked tired in a way that sleep wouldn’t fix. Her hair was still damp from the rain, copper strands curling against her cheek, and there was a faint smudge of dirt across her jaw she hadn’t noticed. 

Every time they ended up in these quiet moments, Anduin found himself with a dozen questions he didn’t know how to ask. Where had she grown up? What had Dalaran been like for her? What places had she seen, traveling with her mentor? What was it that made her look so distant, so guarded, even when she smiled?

And then her gaze lifted and caught his.

He looked away too quickly to pass it off as anything casual, reaching back to rub his neck as if it were sore. “We should try to sleep,” he said, his voice softer now. 

She didn’t acknowledge his staring. Just gave a quiet nod and shifted onto the mat, curling onto her side, her back to him.

Anduin lay down as well, folding his arms beneath his head. The mat was thin, the stone beneath it cold and uneven, but he barely noticed. His thoughts tangled restlessly around the cubs, around Pandaria’s growing Sha problem, and, inevitably, around the girl only a few feet away.

Several minutes passed in silence, and just as he thought she’d drifted off, he heard her voice.

“Anduin?”

He turned his head toward her, surprised to hear her speak again. “Yes?”

A pause. Then: “Would you… say a prayer?”

Her voice was quiet. Not uncertain, exactly, but subdued. She didn’t look at him. Just stared at the wall, her fingers curled tightly into the blanket.

He didn’t ask why. He didn’t need to. 

“Of course.”

Anduin closed his eyes, letting his breathing steady as he found the words. The Light didn’t need grand temples or perfect litanies. Only faith and intention.

“May the Light shelter us through this night,” he prayed, “and carry us through whatever darkness waits beyond it. May it keep safe those we care for… even when we cannot.”

When he opened his eyes, she was still turned away, silent.

But her shoulders weren’t as tense.

And just before he lay down again, he thought he heard her whisper, almost too soft to catch.

“…Thank you.”

Chapter Text

By the time Phemé stepped out of the Lazy Turnip, the inn she had no memory of renting the night before, the morning light was already cutting through the pink-streaked sky. She squinted against it, one hand rising to shield her eyes as she scanned for her pandaren traveling companion.

For the first time in days, she didn’t feel like death. Aside from the fact that she remembered little from the previous night, she felt as though her body had mainly returned to normal. This bout of mana sickness was mercifully short, and she partially wondered if Cho’s dreadful teas had any effect.

Phemé narrowed her eyes as she watched the greater part of Halfhill village gravitate toward the fields. It was impossible to miss why: the once-lush rows of crops now lay wilted and blackened, their brittle stalks crumbling at the touch. Thin wisps of pale, smoky vapor curled from the soil, which appeared to be stained as if by a glob of ink. Farmers and villagers stood in clusters, their voices low and uneasy, their expressions taut with worry. 

Phemé spotted Lorewalker Cho kneeling at the edge of a blackened plot, one broad paw pressed into the soil as if he were listening for something beneath the surface. After a moment, he rose with a low, thoughtful hum.

“Master Cho,” she called, picking her way toward him, her gaze passing over what must have once been massive turnips.

The pandaren turned to greet her with a nod. “Good, you’re awake. And some color has returned to your face.”

“What happened here?” she asked, glancing toward the anxious farmers.

“More Sha corruption. Unless the root of the matter is addressed,” Cho said gravely, “this corruption will spread. And even if the Sha is driven back, food will be too scarce before the next harvest.” He sighed. “It is as if the ground itself has turned against us.”

Phemé pressed her lips into a thin line. “Surely not all the crops have been tainted?”

“Not all,” Cho admitted with a slow nod. “We have our suspicions about where this blight begins, but solving it may take longer than you and I can afford.”

“It emanates from the Temple of the Jade Serpent, doesn’t it?”

“No,” Cho replied, shaking his head. “That is but one wound upon the land. This rot took hold in many places… even before the statue fell.”

Their eyes met. He didn’t need to speak the question; she heard it all the same.

Phemé’s jaw tightened. “I sympathize with Halfhill’s plight, I truly do. And under different circumstances, I’d lend whatever help I could.” She clenched her fists, feeling guilt burn in her chest. “But I must find Adelliane. I can’t be drawn into anything else...not now.”

Cho studied her for a long, silent moment, his ears twitching slightly. Then he nodded, giving in.

“Very well,” Cho said. “The Sha is drawn to conflict, to fear and anger. If your apprentice is anywhere near where its influence grows, her path and ours may already be winding toward the same destination.”

Phemé stilled, his words needling their way past her resolve. She hated that he might be right.

“You saw the Temple of the Red Crane in your vision,” he continued. “And I have reason to believe this blight may also find its way there. If that is where your apprentice is headed…” He let the thought trail off.

Phemé exhaled slowly. “Then we have no time to waste.”

“Agreed,” Cho said. “But I cannot go with you. There is work here that cannot be left to chance. Still…” He tapped a knuckle thoughtfully against his chin. “There are merchants here who make regular deliveries toward the southern coast. With the right persuasion, I believe I can convince them to take you as far as Zhu’s Watch.”

She gave a curt nod. “Thank you. I’ll be ready within the hour.”

Cho inclined his head, the faintest glimmer of a smile in his eyes. “Then I will see you off, Phemé. And… be careful. The Sha is not the only danger you may find on that road.”

With that, he turned toward the gathering farmers, leaving her to make her preparations.

***

Anduin watched in quiet amazement as Chi-Ji spread one great wing over the two cubs, the tips of the crimson feathers glowing with a radiant, blue light. 

He and the celestial had spent the better part of the morning speaking together, and it reminded him of the many lessons he had received from Prophet Velen. Chi-Ji answered each of his questions patiently, sometimes even pausing to let him wrestle with the weight of the answers.

Already, Anduin felt as though a veil had been lifted from his mind. Hope came easier here. Breathing came easier. He only wished Adelliane had chosen to sit beside him and hear these words herself.

The fatigue in her eyes had lessened since their arrival, the oppressive despair of the past days finally ebbing, but she wasn’t ready for conversation—not even with him. At the very least, it seemed that the temple’s serenity was enough for her, even without Chi-Ji’s direct counsel.

Anduin turned his focus back to the water.

The cubs stirred, faint whimpers slipping from their throats as something dark and inky began to seep from their skin, coiling out into the pool. The shadow spread like spilled oil, staining the crystalline water. Anduin’s breath caught, his hands balling unconsciously into fists. For a moment, he feared the Sha would overwhelm, even here.

But Chi-Ji’s radiance intensified, the blue light deepening to a brilliant white that lanced through the corruption. The inky tendrils recoiled and dissolved into nothing.

Anduin let out a shaky exhale just as the first cub blinked her eyes open, pupils darting in confusion until they settled on a familiar face.

“Xue-Jin,” Li-Jun whispered, tears bright in her eyes as she clasped her daughter’s paw. “My little one...oh, thank the Celestials…”

Anduin closed his eyes, letting the warmth that swelled in his chest wash over him. It was hope. Pure, steady, and alive. The Sha could be fought. Its grip could be broken. Anduin knew now, with the kind of certainty only the Light could stir, that despair was not final.

Meng-Lei stirred as well, and Kwang was on his knees in an instant, scooping the boy gently into his arms. He pressed his forehead against his son’s, silent words trembling on his lips. For once, the harsh edge in his expression was gone, melted into raw relief. Anduin looked away, the sight cutting deeper than he expected.

It was the kind of moment he had imagined a hundred times over, in the rare seconds he let himself think of home. His father’s face came unbidden to his mind—stern and unyielding, but shadowed always with the weight of worry.

Varian must be desperate. Not knowing if his son lived or lay dead beneath foreign soil. Not knowing if the Horde had taken him, or if the sea had claimed him. And here Anduin was, still breathing, still fighting, while his father bore that torment alone.

His throat tightened.

If only Father could see this, he thought. If only I could bring this knowledge home. The war doesn’t have to consume us.

Another thought pressed at the back of his mind: Adelliane.

She should have been here to witness this.

Anduin rose quietly, excusing himself with a respectful bow to Chi-Ji and the healers. His boots clicked softly against the temple’s polished floors as he slipped out, his thoughts already reaching beyond the healing pool.

The temple’s vast halls seemed quieter now, the hymns of the monks softer, almost reverent in the wake of what had just occurred. He moved through them with a gnawing urgency in his chest, searching.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long to find her.

The temple’s outer gardens opened into a courtyard of mossy stone and curving trees, their leaves dripping with the remnants of the rain. There, beneath one of the larger trees, sat Adelliane. Her pack leaned against the trunk, half open, and in her lap rested a thick grimoire. The faint glow of runes shimmered across its pages, her fingers tracing symbols in the air as she whispered quiet incantations under her breath.

She bit her lip in concentration, brows furrowed, her free hand hovering just above the parchment as if coaxing the magic into order. The spell wavered, fizzled, then steadied again, light sparking briefly against her fingertips before dissipating. She groaned, the sound heavy in the hush of the garden.

Anduin lingered in the archway, watching her. There was something about the way she carried herself—even in solitude, even when struggling—that struck him. 

He stepped forward, boots crunching against the gravel path. Adelliane startled, her head snapping up, and quickly snapped the grimoire shut. Her cheeks flushed as though she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

“Sorry,” Anduin said softly, lifting his hands in a gesture of apology. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

She glanced down at the book, fingers brushing the worn cover, then gave a small exhale. “You aren’t. I’m just a bit...jumpy. This jungle puts me on edge for some reason.”

And that is precisely why you should’ve gone inside with me, he wanted to say.

Instead, Anduin nodded, pretending to understand more than he did. He lowered himself to the ground across from her and brushed a damp leaf off his knee. For a moment, the only sounds were the faint drip of rain from the branches overhead and the muted voices of monks somewhere deeper in the temple. He let the quiet linger until her shoulders stopped looking quite so tense.

“I was just with Chi-Ji,” he said finally. 

That drew her eyes up. “And?”

“The cubs woke,” he told her, warmth rising in his chest as he said it. “They’re safe and whole again. It was… incredible.”

For the first time since he’d met her, her face lit up. Relief softened the lines of worry around her mouth. “That’s good,” she whispered, her hand tightening against the grimoire’s edge. “That’s really good.”

Anduin hesitated, then leaned forward. “You should have seen it. Chi-Ji… I don’t even know how to put it into words. Just being near him—” he pressed a hand lightly against his chest, “—it was like hope became something you could touch.”

Her lips curved into the faintest of smiles, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She tilted the grimoire slightly, as though debating opening it again. “...That sounds wonderful. I’m sorry I wasn’t there, I just—I needed to pretend I was somewhere else for a bit.”

“And studying helps with that?”

She looked down at her grimoire and smiled unevenly. “Well, I’m also three semesters behind, so I also can’t afford to take much time off.”

He snapped up, eyes wide. “Three? Why three?”

“I was a late applicant. Years late. But Phemé saw something in me, I guess, so she agreed to take me on as an apprentice under the requirement that I would catch up in time,” Adelliane explained. 

The way her voice caught on her mentor’s name made Anduin’s chest tighten. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “In that case, I should leave you be. I’d hate to be the reason you fall even further behind.”

That earned him a soft huff of air—half laugh, half exasperation. She tugged at a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes briefly meeting his before darting back down to the book.

They sat in silence for a while again, and Anduin debated whether he should excuse himself or stay. He found himself searching for reasons not to. He liked this. They’d rarely had the chance to talk without the weight of survival pressing on their shoulders, without Sha and war at their heels. Various conversation topics swirled in his mind, attempting to settle on something that would least likely cause her to shut down, as she had done in the past.

After a long pause, he cleared his throat. “I think… after this, I’ll seek out the Alliance camp.” His words came out low, but steady. “I’ve worried my father enough already.”

Adelliane’s brows lifted slightly, but she said nothing, so he kept going. “I thought I could lose myself here, maybe learn something useful before going back. And I have. But the truth is: every day I stay hidden, people get hurt. I’m sure my father’s worrying himself to exhaustion. The Horde and Alliance are at each other’s throats, and the pandaren are caught in the middle of it all. I can’t keep pretending I don’t have a duty.”

Her expression softened, though she didn’t interrupt.

He let out a breath. “I think I can do more for Pandaria if I’m at his side again.”

Adelliane’s fingers worried the edge of her grimoire. She looked like she wanted to say something, but instead only murmured, “Do it. Your father loves you.”

Anduin tilted his head, studying her. There was something in her tone, a brittleness tucked neatly behind the words, that made him pause. He wanted to ask about her family again, but her shoulders had gone taut, her gaze fixed firmly on the grass. 

“You don’t have anyone waiting for you back home?” he asked, the words tumbling out of his mouth anyway.

Something in her expression darkened. “Not really.” A beat, then she added, more firmly: “I have Phemé. That’s enough.”

Anduin opened his mouth, ready to respond, but the words never made it out.

A sound cut through the courtyard. Low at first, almost like the groan of shifting stone, then rising, swelling until it rattled in his chest. The air grew heavy, thick as tar, and the temperature seemed to drop instantly.

Anduin shot to his feet. “Do you feel that?”

Adelliane stiffened, eyes snapping upward. The lanterns that lined the temple walls flickered violently, their flames bowing as though in a sudden gale. But there was no wind. The silence fractured with a keening wail that drove a shiver down his spine.

Then came the panic. Shouts echoed from deeper in the temple halls, the hurried pounding of feet. The hymns that had filled the air moments before turned to cries for aid.

Anduin’s gaze darted back to Adelliane. Her knuckles had gone white around the grimoire, her eyes wide with fear.

“Stay close,” he said, more command than request, as he reached instinctively for the Light. But even as he called to it, a creeping chill threaded through his chest—an echo of despair, clawing at the edges of his mind.

He extended his hand to Adelliane. She took it without a word, her grip tight, as if letting go might see one of them torn away. Together they hurried along the rain-slick stones, the silence between them taut with unspoken fear.

The moment they entered the courtyard, they both gasped. It was chaos. Monks shouted, acolytes staggered, some already on their knees as the Sha hollowed them from within. The once-serene incense now reeked acrid and sour, clinging to the back of Anduin’s throat.

And at the heart of it all stood Chi-Ji. The great crane blazed with radiant fire, wings unfurled in defiance, his cry ringing like a bell of hope. Opposite him, the Sha of Despair towered—a writhing mass of black smoke and pale voidlight, its voice a chorus of futility that gnawed at every thought. The weight of it pressed so heavily on Anduin’s chest that he nearly faltered.

Adelliane gasped beside him. “No…”

Anduin tightened his grip on her hand. “Don’t listen to it.”

A monk broke from the chaos, striding toward them with a staff in hand. His brown-and-white fur was damp with rain and grime, his expression firm.

“You two, out of here!” His voice was sharp, cutting through the din. “We must evacuate, you cannot stay!”

Anduin straightened, chest rising with protest. “We can help!”

“No,” the monk said firmly. “Every moment you remain, the Sha feeds. If you wish to help, you’ll do it by seeing yourself to safety.”

Adelliane’s grip tightened on Anduin’s hand, her voice breaking through the fear. “But you’ll need—”

The monk shook his head again, resolute. “Chi-Ji will hold. My duty is to lead whom I can from here. Yours is to live and help those too weak to walk on their own. Go to the northern paths. We’ll regroup there. There’s a clearing in the wilds where we can form a camp. It’s the only way anyone survives this.”

Another shriek split the air as the Sha’s tendrils lashed outward, slamming against Chi-Ji’s blazing wings. Several monks collapsed at the edges of the courtyard, their faces hollow, hope stripped from their eyes.

And they were just supposed to walk away?

Anduin’s heart ached to stay and fight beside the Red Crane. But he swallowed that feeling and nodded, “We’ll get them out.”

The acolyte gave them one last nod, then turned back to the fight and shouted orders to his fellow monks.

The temple’s eastern passage was a storm of confusion. Monks tried to guide frightened survivors through the stone halls while shadows pressed against the windows like a living fog. The Sha’s whispers threaded through every mind—futile… hopeless… doomed—until even Anduin felt his chest constrict with the weight of it.

“Keep moving!” he shouted, voice steadier than he felt. He offered his arm to a limping acolyte, helping her down the steps as Adelliane steadied an elderly pilgrim on the other side.

Ahead, the path sloped toward a river that carved its way through the wilds. Anduin’s relief at seeing it was short-lived. As people tried to wade across, panicked cries rang out as creatures lunged, sharp teeth sinking into unguarded legs.

“They’re poisonous!” one monk cried, hauling a bitten brother out of the water. Foam already flecked the injured monk’s lips.

Anduin’s stomach lurched. 

“We can’t keep crossing like this!” he shouted over the commotion. 

Adelliane, pale with fear, stepped to the water’s edge. She dropped her grimoire onto the grass, her hands lifting as ice crackled between her fingers. The river mist thickened, swirling to her command. “Stand back,” she murmured.

The water hissed as frost leapt across its surface, weaving outward in jagged plates. The Strikers thrashed violently beneath, some leaping free only to land with a thud on the frozen bank before wriggling back into the depths. The river groaned, cracked—and then held.

Gasps rose from the crowd. “Go!” Adelliane urged, her voice trembling but fierce. “Hurry, before it breaks!”

Anduin waded to the edge of the ice, steadying a young acolyte as he stepped onto the slick surface. “One at a time, don’t crowd it!” He caught Adelliane’s gaze and saw the strain on her face as she maintained the spell, desperately wishing he could help. 

The monks began ferrying the wounded first, their sandals scraping against the ice. Behind them, Kwang and his family clutched one another, eyes wide as they hurried across the frozen crossing. 

Adelliane’s arms trembled as frost continued to bloom outward beneath her hands, the cold seeping into her bones. Anduin’s heart lurched at the sight, but he forced himself to keep helping the next pilgrim onto the ice, then the next.

When the last monk staggered across, hauling a fellow brother in his arms, he barked, “That’s everyone! Break for the northern path!”

Anduin hurried to Adelliane’s side, catching her shoulder as she swayed. “You did it,” he whispered, steadying her as the ice bridge cracked ominously behind them.

She gave a faint, exhausted smile, her breath clouding in the air and clung to his arm as they followed the stragglers north. Behind them, the Sha of Despair’s voice rolled over the night like thunder, haunting their every step.