A Nerubian's Journey - Epilogue |
Thrall did his best to project calm and confidence as he was escorted through the entrance of Dalaran by a contingent of Alliance soldiers.
It wasn’t every day that an orc was allowed to enter one of the most advanced and prosperous cities in Azeroth, filled with a greater diversity of people than Thrall had ever thought possible. Even after only a few seconds of walking through the gates, he could already see races of people that he had only ever read about in books. Night elves, tauren, the mythical pandaren, and even strange humanoid fish people dressed in long, flowing robes as they walked through the bustling streets.
Thrall was well-acquainted with the magical city—thanks to his sister Taretha’s fifteen years of study here and his occasional secret visits under the cover of illusions with Krivax—but he still found Dalaran to be breathtaking. Not only because of the sheer variety of life, but also because of the magical and technological innovations that only seemed to have grown more advanced with each visit. Arcane constructs patrolled the streets, floating platforms carried goods through the air, magic pulses on nerubian silk ropeways transferred messages from one end of the city to the other, and gnomish teleportation platforms derived from Titan technology allowed for instant travel across different parts of the city.
Even the food market seemed extraordinarily vibrant and diverse, thanks to the newly developed agricultural magics from the Red Dragonflight and elven druids.
All Thrall wanted to do was sit down and contemplate how these amazing innovations could help his people as they did the rest of Azeroth. Even as the Alliance had faced what seemed to be a constant series of external threats, the actual lives of its citizens improved year on year.
It was all quite impressive. Thrall was glad that the thorough leadership training by Drek’Thar—the closest thing he had to a father— had prepared him to succeed as the Chieftain of the Frostwolf Clan.Otherwise, he would have looked like a child in a gnomish toy store.
However, Thrall felt like it would be much easier for him to stay calm if the large portion of the citizens did not openly glare at him while he enjoyed Dalaran’s fascinating sights without. He’d long since accepted the fact that orcs were one of the most hated races in the Eastern Kingdoms—superseded only by gnolls and more recently trolls. But it still gnawed at him to be looked at with such obvious animosity.
It was almost enough to make Thrall regret refusing the Kirin Tor’s offer of magical transportation, but he believed that it was best for the common people to see an orc walking peacefully through their streets.
“Are you truly certain that this is a wise decision, Chieftain? It feels as if we are walking unarmed into a gronn’s lair.”
“It’s probably a bit too late for us to choose differently, Palkar. It would be more than a little awkward to turn around and leave now,” Thrall said with a slight smile as he offered a silent prayer of gratitude to the local wind spirits, who were keeping their conversation private. “Besides, we did come here for a reason. These negotiations are far too important to abandon at the first sign of discomfort. Being recognized as an Associated Nation of the Alliance is the first step to finally bring about the prosperity that our people deserve.”
Thrall had been working toward the successful integration of the orcish people into Azeroth’s society from the very moment that he had become Chieftain of the Frostwolf Clan and then High Chieftain of Durotar. Despite his relatively young age, the Clans had chosen him to lead them shortly after the Alliance permitted them the formation of their own nation, and he would rather die than let them down.
Even 21 years after the end of the Second War and 15 years after the Alliance’s defeat over the Lich King, animosities still remained due to the atrocities committed by the Horde. That was more than clear from the hushed whispers and open hostility directed toward him and his retinue as he walked through the bustling streets. That was especially the case among the older generations who had personally experienced the Second War.
These, admittedly justified, feelings of distrust and resentment had created a barrier that seemed nearly impossible for Thrall to overcome, despite his best efforts. A reality that Palkar was always quick to remind him of.
“I’ve no idea why you believe these negotiations will be different from any of the rest, Chieftain,” said Palkar, predictable in his skepticism. It was fortunate that the elderly orc wasn’t the only person willing to advise him.
“Oh, calm down, old man,” Taretha said as their escort led them toward the fabled Violet Citadel rising in the distance, which was supposedly quite close to Alliance Headquarters. She glared fiercely at Palkar despite being a human female half his size. “My brother’s not an idiot. He wouldn’t waste everyone’s time if he didn’t have good reason to think this time would be different. We’ve got a good chance after Thrall and a lot of the other orcs helped end the Gurubashi Wars.”
Thrall was grateful for his sister’s support and political acumen, glad that she had reached the same conclusion as himself. The Gurubashi Wars had been the Alliance’s first major conflict since their victory over the Lich King.
From the reports he had received from the Alliance, they had been instigated by a troll warlord from Zul’Aman by the name of Zul’Jin who had been granted the favor of one of the strange beings they referred to as Loa. Exploiting the diminished human presence in the southern portion of the continent after Stormwind’s destruction during the Second War, Zul’Jin had traveled to Stranglethorn Vale and gradually seized control over all of the local troll tribes. The humans hadn’t noticed anything until after Stormwind was rebuilt and began reestablishing its influence in the region, eventually sending scouts further south to assess the current situation.
Thrall wished that he could have been in the room, when instead of finding the scattered and disorganized clans that they expected, they were instead greeted with a quickly growing troll kingdom. Perhaps after enjoying their shocked expressions, he could have advised against the impulsive decisions that led to the increasingly violent skirmishes.
But Thrall knew that was unlikely. The spirits had revealed much of this world’s history to him, and the animosity between humans and trolls was even more intense than the hatred directed toward orcs. If not for the existence of the Loa, then the Alliance would have delivered to the trolls a fate far more final than the orcish internment camps.
It was for this reason that the conflict between Stormwind and the resurgent Zul’Gurub kingdom had escalated so quickly and burned so brightly. It helped little that Zul’Aman and Zul’Drak had both seen a potential opportunity in a troll nation rising up while the Alliance was still licking its wounds after slaying the Lich King. This meant that Azjol-Nerub and Quel’Thalas had been too preoccupied to offer much aid, while the Dragonflights and night elves cared little of mortal conflicts that didn’t truly threaten Azeroth.
Thus, after a few years, the Alliance had begun searching for an alternative source of manpower and settled on an unlikely solution. This allowed for the perfect opportunity to negotiate the end of the internment camps and the formation of an orcish nation, in return for orcish bodies.
Thrall was still surprised at times that the Alliance had actually agreed, though the costs of feeding and housing millions of orcs likely had something to do with it.
“You’re not incorrect that orcish participation in that war has gone far to quell old hatreds, Arcanist Taretha,” Palkar admitted with a respectful nod to Thrall’s sister. “But there’s no guarantee that this will be enough to overcome the resentment that remains.”
“I don’t see why not. It’s only because the Alliance emptied the internment camps for warriors that they were able to force a peace treaty,” Taretha said carelessly as she waved at an elvish mage who had paused to observe them, likely someone who she knew from her magic lessons. “Him and his army of freakish, Loa-empowered monsters would’ve kept the fight going for so much longer without the orcs. Besides, the Alliance owes Thrall in particular after he helped Jaina push the trolls back at the Battle of Vale Reef.”
Thrall nearly let out a groan of frustration. He appreciated his sister’s words of confidence, but he was really tired about being praised over that damned battle. All he’d done was ask the local water elementals to lend their aid, and they’d been… a bit more enthusiastic than expected. Lord Admiral Proudemoore had been more than willing to exploit the resultant tidal wave and freeze the enemy army in place, leading to a decisive victory.
Thrall had no idea why the elementals seemed to like him more than most shamans, so it made him feel more than a little uneasy to be praised for something he had little control over.
Still, Thrall wasn’t above using his unearned fame for his people’s advantage. The Alliance and the remnants of the Horde both certainly loved to venerate their heroes, so Thrall had done his best to make a name for himself. That was likely a key factor in his success at convincing the other clans to allow him to represent them.
Aside from elevating himself, the orcish participation in the wars against the trolls had also helped soothe old hatreds.
Many of the younger citizens of Dalaran were staring at their procession with curiosity and cautious interest rather than with scowls. Even better, none of the nerubians that he could see did not seem the slightest bit bothered by the presence of orcs walking through Dalaran—though the spider folk had always been somewhat different from most races.
Orcs were by no means accepted by most of the Alliance’s citizens, but things were much better than they were when Thrall was still a slave.
“We won’t solve every problem in a day, but that doesn’t mean that this step is not important,” said Thrall, interrupting the bickering between his sister and his supposedly venerable advisor. “In this, it would be best to follow the wise words of Azjol-Nerub’s head ambassador. A tangled web can only be unpicked one strand at a time.”
“Ugh. There you go again, quoting Krivax,” Taretha said with a roll of her eyes, though a fond smile played at the corner of his lips. “Honestly, can’t you find other people to quote?”
“You would do well to admire some of our own sages as well, Chieftain,” Palkar said with a disgruntled grumble.
Thrall was unapologetic. Both he and Taretha owed Krivax deeply for what he’d done when he freed them from Lord Blackmoore and drastically changed the course of their lives for the better. Thrall had never been able to get a straight answer for why Krivax had done this, but he’d also never forgotten the nerubian’s act of kindness. Especially not after the nerubian reached out to him a few years ago and began teaching him about the broader world beyond Alterac Valley.
Even beyond what he’d done for Thrall personally, Krivax’s achievements throughout the years were worthy of admiration and respect. Thrall had studied history, diplomacy, and all manner of topics that he would need to bring prosperity to his people, and much of that had centered around the nerubian. It was difficult to tell based purely on publicly known information, but Taretha’s connection to Archmage Krasus had made it possible for Thrall to piece together just how important Krivax had been to Azeroth.
In Thrall’s eyes, the numerous significant diplomatic achievements directly attributable to Krivax made the nerubian a worthy role model. That Krivax was directly responsible for Thrall’s freedom only made his admiration ever deeper. In fact, Krivax had confirmed that he would be attending the upcoming meeting today, and he hoped that he could speak with him beforehand.
“Ambassador Krivax is a perfectly acceptable person for me to admire,” Thrall said defensively as he stared at sister, daring her to disagree. Unsurprisingly, he was only met with teasing laughter and further jibes at his so-called ‘hero worship’.
Fortunately, Thrall only had to put up with this for a short while as it wasn’t long before their group arrived at the Alliance’s Headquarters. While nowhere as large as the Violet Citadel, the structure was still an impressive size, designed to accommodate the diplomats, warriors, artificers, and support staff from the many larger races within the Alliance. Thrall and his retinue waited patiently as a nerubian Spiderlord made his way into the headquarters before being led inside.
The Kirin Tor guards then placed them through a litany of security checks to ensure that nobody was suffering from magical compulsions or had been replaced by a sneaky shapeshifter.
This was the third time that Thrall had been subjected to such thorough inspections, but the paranoia was warranted given the recent discovery that the Black Dragonflight had infiltrated many governments across Azeroth. The insane void-corrupted dragons had apparently been advancing some sort of scheme to distract the Alliance while they freed some sort of evil god over in Kalimdor.
From what Krivax had told Thrall during their most recent conversation, the Black Dragonflight had only been discovered due to the tireless investigation of Krivax’s mentor, Vizier Hadix. Krivax had then told him stories about the new Aspect—a black dragon by the name of Ebyssian—had helped deal with the rest of his corrupted kin, but Thrall admittedly hadn’t listened to the details as closely as he should have.
However, the earth spirits were now more active and present than Thrall could remember them ever being, so things were probably moving in the right direction.
Once Thrall and his retinue passed through the final security checkpoint, they entered the citadel's main lobby and were quickly approached by a… rather unusual representative from the Alliance. Thrall’s countenance was once again put to the test as he watched an undead pandaren of all things move to greet them.
“Auspicious greetings to you, Honored Chieftain. The spirits of the ancestors smile upon your arrival,” said the creature, his voice unexpectedly smooth and warm. “I am Shang Xi, leader of the Remnants and a member of the Alliance High Tribunal.”
Thrall blinked in confusion until he suddenly recalled his lessons with Krivax and realized what he was looking at. The Remnants was the name of the sapient undead that the Alliance had managed to free of the Lich King’s control after his defeat. He recalled being told that Azjol-Nerub had somehow managed to decipher the necromancy research of some long dead Archmage in order to grant the undead actual autonomy.
Unfortunately, many of those who were freed promptly ended their own existence—unable to bear the weight of their memories and new circumstances—while many others proved themselves to be threats and had to be put down. What remained was an… eclectic group of individuals of all different races, cultures, and backgrounds who had banded together in an attempt to reconcile their unnatural existence. The Remnants.
Thrall collected himself quickly and extended a respectful nod to Shang Xi. “Greetings to you as well, Lord Shang Xi. It is an honor to meet you.”
Shang Xi’s smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “The honor is mine, Chieftain. But please, just call me Shang Xi. I am no Lord. The most common title used to describe me is simply Master Shang Xi, if you insist on formality.”
Thrall found himself relaxing at Shang Xi’s surprisingly friendly demeanor. What cursory knowledge he had about necromancy from listening to Taretha had led him to believe that Death magic tended to warp the minds and souls of those it touched, so he’d expected someone much less pleasant and unfeeling. However, Shang Xi seemed to radiate a strange aura of serenity and the spirits also didn’t seem particularly hostile to the undead as they often were toward Fel and Void entities.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Something must have shown in Thrall’s expression, because Shang Xi gave a small chuckle before speaking.
“You appear to be surprised, Chieftain. I suppose you cannot be blamed, as many people have very strong opinions regarding undead due to the Lich King’s actions,” Shang Xi said with a rueful smile. “Fortunately, many among the Remnants have found the teachings of the Five Dawns sect to be quite helpful.”
Thrall perked up at that tidbit of information and found himself immediately bombarding Master Shang Xi with a series of questions about his faith and people. He could already feel Taretha staring at him with exasperation and could imagine Krivax’s chittering laughter, but Thrall couldn’t help that he enjoyed learning new things.
He was grateful that Shang Xi seemed more than willing to indulge his curiosity, sharing stories about his people and homeland. Thrall had always been fascinated by Pandaria and dreamed of its many wonders. He was determined to one day see the legendary mountains of Kun-Lai, the beautiful Jade Forests, and the famous monument of Ra—which was a towering statue created by Keeper Archaedas himself to honor his fallen brethren.
Krivax had spoken much about Pandaria over the past few years due to Azjol-Nerub’s successful war against their sister-kingdom, Manti’vess. Though, it was less a war and more of a brutal campaign of annihilation, as Azjol-Nerub had used its superior technology and political connections to eradicate the void-corrupted Mantid from Pandaria.
Eventually, Shang Xi politely put an end to Thrall’s enthusiastic questioning and began to lead him to a waiting room in the upper levels of the Alliance Headquarters. Since he was informed that the meeting would be delayed for an hour, Thrall decided to settle his retinue and ask Shang Xi to escort him and Taretha to the wing of the Alliance Defense Force. His request seemed to confuse the undead, but Shang Xi quickly agreed and led them back through the headquarter’s spatially-expanded corridors.
Thrall hadn’t been sure if he would be able to find the person he was looking for, but it fortunately wasn’t long before he heard a familiar chittering voice off in the distance.
“—hy can’t those uppity high-elf magisters ever arrive on time? They’re honestly worse than Viziers! They should have already arrived more than an hour ago, though I do admit this meeting is mostly a formality. The Church of the Holy Light has given their endorsement to grant the orcish Clans associate status with the Alliance, which should placate the human kingdoms, and I managed to convince the High King that Azjol-Nerub should support the petition as well. I suspect that Belo’vir will be the most vocal detractor, but Illidan promised to me that—”
“Krivax!”
Krivax flinched as his political monologue was unexpectedly interrupted, startled by the familiar, booming voice of Thrall. He’d been a bit too engrossed in prattling on about his current problems to Masruk, who seemed like he was about to fall asleep and Vizier Hadix, who had almost certainly tuned him out as he read a detailed mission report on the other side of Krivax’s office.
Honestly, they could at least pretend to be interested, Krivax thought mulishly before turning to the source of the commotion.
Krivax was glad to see that Thrall—the most powerful shaman in Azeroth and the greatest hope of peaceful coexistence with the orcs—appeared to be in high spirits. Preparations for the upcoming siege on Ulduar had demanded most of his attention, so he hadn’t been able to check in with Thrall much recently and was thus eager to see him.
“Thrall! It’s good to see you,” Krivax greeted warmly as he quickly swept his gaze over the young Chieftain and his sister before humming in approval. “Hmm, I can sense that you’ve managed to deepen your connection with the elements. Impressive. Oh! And Taretha, did my advice regarding Krasus’ passive abjuration spell help you and Jaina? I remember you were struggling with it the last time we spoke.”
Taretha beamed with pride as she and Thrall stepped into Krivax’s absurdly large office. “It definitely did, Krivax. Jaina and I tested it out while sparring against a few folks and the Adventurer’s Guild and the constant magical shielding worked wonders. Tried the same thing against my brother, but the big guy’s always been a cheater.”
Thrall huffed in amusement, shaking his head. “If you consider the spirits favoring me a bit more than most to be ‘cheating’, then I guess I’m guilty as charged.”
A bit more than most? What an understatement, Krivax thought fondly but kept his thoughts to himself.
Over the past decade, Krivax had done his best to delegate away most of his diplomatic duties so that he could have a bit more free time to himself. It’d been… more than a little difficult convincing High King Anub’arak and the rest of his council on the benefits of the ‘un-nerubian’ concept of balancing work and leisure, but Krivax had managed it eventually once his department became self-sufficient.
Following that, Krivax had finally been able to take some actual time off for himself to enjoy more of this magical world and build an actual life for himself. That meant going on impromptu adventures with Masruk, exploring distant lands without the threat of war or political maneuvering hanging over his head, or simply immersing himself in magical research.
Aside from those endeavors, Krivax had also focused on nurturing Azeroth’s next generation of heroes and giving them the tools they needed for the trials ahead. Jaina and Taretha had flourished under Krasus’ instruction, and even little Karfu was shaping up to be quite the shaman, but Thrall was honestly on another level with his unparalleled connection to the elements and innate leadership abilities.
It was honestly quite the experience to watch the young Chieftain grow into his role and a source of hope that made the future seem just a bit brighter.
“Hmm. They are strong? How strong are they, Krivax?”
Masruk’s deep voice echoed through the office, announcing that the Lifeweaver had awoken and joined the conversation. Thrall and Taretha seemed momentarily taken aback as they stared at Masruk with awed expressions.
That wasn’t all that surprising given that Masruk had done a lot to make a name for himself. Not only had Masruk participated heavily in the Troll Wars as a member of the A.D.F, but Krivax had also sent him to handle many issues across Azeroth over the years.
Krivax had decided a few years ago that he should finally reveal elements of his past life and metaknowledge to his closest friend, though glossing over the whole ‘fictional world’ part of things. He effectively gave the same ‘reincarnation’ explanation that he had used to explain things to the Aspects.
He’d been extraordinarily nervous about the whole thing, only for Masruk to accept it with barely any surprise.
Apparently, Masruk’s primary theory had been that Krivax was a secret renegade Bronze Dragon attempting to save Azeroth from a catastrophic timeline.
Krivax had initially thought the theory to be absurd, only to discover that Vizier Hadix—who had long since grown suspicious and decided to magically eavesdrop on the entire conversation—had settled on a stunningly similar theory. The truth comparatively seemed only marginally less absurd, though quite a bit less awesome.
A part of Krivax still wished that he’d been reborn as a dragon.
Regardless, it only made sense for Krivax to make use of his allies to head-off potential crises, which was why people now tended to look at them both as if they were celebrities.
“Had you chosen to read the Circle of Vizier’s intelligence reports regarding the recent war, then you’d be aware that these hatchlings are quite formidable,” said Vizier Hadix as he idly glanced up from his reports before huffing with irritation. “It is truly ridiculous how quickly the surface races can accumulate power. Infants barely into their third decade, yet still more powerful than many Viziers.”
Someone is spending too much time with Malygos, Krivax thought but didn’t dare say aloud. The two grumpy old wizards had mellowed out a bit over the years, but Hadix still wasn’t someone to antagonize.
Predictably, Hadix’s response immediately caused Masruk to grow excited and challenge Thrall to a friendly sparring match. Thrall may be a bit more ‘docile’ than most orcs, but he was still a warrior at heart and eagerly accepted the challenge, arranging it to take place soon after the meeting.
“So, Thrall. Was there something in particular that brought you here so early, or did you simply want to see your favorite diplomat,” Krivax asked with a hint of amusement once the excitement had settled.
For a single moment, Thrall looked uncharacteristically uncertain of himself before he managed to gather his thoughts. “Speaking honestly, I truly did just wish to see you before meeting with the leaders of the Alliance. This moment is… everything that I’ve been working toward for most of my life, and I find myself terrified that I might somehow fail my people.”
Krivax offered Thrall what he hoped was a sympathetic expression, though he suspected that the insectoid features didn’t help.
“Thrall, I won’t lie and say that everything is going to be solved today, but you heard what I said before you entered my office. Not only are the politics in your favor, but even more importantly than that, I believe the people of Azeroth are ready for a new beginning. People are beginning to understand that petty hatred and old grudges are only going to hold us back and prevent us from surviving the challenges ahead. It hasn’t been easy and it’s taken a lot of effort, but I truly believe that the Alliance is on the path to bring a new era of unity and cooperation.”
His impromptu speech perhaps wasn’t the most inspired or original, but Krivax genuinely believed every single word.
The Dragonflights had become more integrated with the mortal races, lending their ancient wisdom and power to ensure the protection of Azeroth. Uldaman—with the enthusiastic assistance of Gnomeregan—was spreading more Titan technology with every passing year, revolutionizing the lives of the citizens of Azeroth. The Kaldorei were… facing a bit of internal turmoil recently for a variety of reasons, but many night elves were finally beginning to see the wisdom in collaborating with other races.
Even Illidan was working for the betterment of Azeroth by teaching people how to properly control Fel magic, under strict supervision, and turn it against the Burning Legion.
There were still tensions, such as those between Azjol-Nerub and Quel’Thalas, as well as many threats that still needed to be confronted. Plans were already in the works to deal with the Old God prisons, with Yogg-Saron and C’thun being the primary targets in the short-term and N’zoth’s requiring a great deal more planning given that it was at the bottom of the ocean.
Despite this, Krivax was well informed about the efforts to address these matters and he’d never been more optimistic about Azeroth’s future.
Krivax took the time to thoroughly explain his perspective to Thrall and ease his worries, causing the young Chieftain to smile widely with relief and gratitude. “Thank you, Krivax. It means much to know that my people have such strong allies and that you’re so hopeful about my future. I wish I could speak with you longer, but I can tell that the time for the meeting is drawing near. May the spirits bless you, friend.”
Thrall and Taretha both made their way out of his office with a noticeably lighter demeanor than when they arrived.
Krivax allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of accomplishment for several moments before he was loudly interrupted by a rude scoff.
“Hmph. Still as soft and sentimental as ever, apprentice. I feel as if you’re moments away from declaring that a grand era of peace and absolute harmony before disappearing with that tuskarr cub of yours.”
Krivax had no doubt that Hadix’s eyes would be rolling if they were capable of doing so. Despite this, he only felt a growing trace of fondness and amusement for the ornery old Vizier’s predictable response.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t criticize anyone for growing soft or running off to raise children, Vizier Hadix,” Krivax said teasingly, turning to look at his mentor. “Did you not just return from playing with Malygos’ whelplings?”
“Playing?! I was teaching magic to a group of students with unprecedented affinity with the arcane!” said Hadix, somehow managing to sound more offended than should be reasonably possible. “If anything, I should be commended for fostering relations that will undoubtedly be invaluable for Azjol-Nerub.”
Krivax snorted in disbelief. By now, he’d known Hadix long enough not to take his words to heart, and neither he nor Masruk were too intimidated to press their advantage.
“Are those whelplings not too young to even read,” Masruk said with what Krivax now understood was fake obliviousness. “I recall reading about dragon bodily development when I wished to learn how old they must be before they could fight.”
“Ha! At least Karfu knows his letters and knows how to call on his local spirits,” said Krivax, chuckling at Hadix’s growing indignation. “Somehow, I doubt Malygos’ kids are doing anything more than chewing on your carapace and biting your robes.”
Krivax’s words were mocking, but his tone was teasing and full of fondness. He wasn’t wrong to say that Hadix had mellowed out significantly over the years, which had gone a long way in bringing them closer together.
He’d never said it out loud for fear of Hadix immediately polymorphing him into a lobster out of sheer embarrassment, but he’d definitely grown to think of the old Vizier as family.
Him and Masruk both.
“Impertinent brats. Be grateful that the Red Dragonflight finally purified the last remnants of the Lich King’s corruption or I would teleport you both into Lordamere Lake’s festering waters for the disrespect,” Hadix said threateningly, though notably not actually doing anything more than blustering.
Krivax chuckled and made his way over to his desk as Masruk and Hadix began sniping at each other, intent on addressing the last of his unexamined communications. Hadix had a sharper tongue, but Masruk had grown pretty good at hiding his cleverness under a veneer of simple-mindedness, so it was fun to listen to their banter.
Long-distance communications had become much more cheap and convenient ever since Azjol-Nerub figured out how to create a telegraph system using magical silk—an idea that Krivax had suggested to the Circle of Vizier’s years ago. This meant that Krivax was able to receive constant updates from his friends and allies across Azeroth.
Let’s see. Trixie and Anub’rekhan are off setting up nerubian fortifications near Ulduar? I’m curious what excuse the big guy used this time to convince the High King to involve an outsider in nerubian affairs, but I guess it doesn’t matter. The two of them definitely seem to enjoy each other’s company.
Oh, Kel’Thuzad, now a lich, accidentally destroyed his body again and got sent back to his phylactery? How many times is that lunatic going to die? This must be the third time ever since he revealed that Tichondrius failed to put him down before secretly approaching Azjol-Nerub for funding in his research. I should talk to Queen Kith'ix about his behavior. She’s probably still in her lab with Mr. Bigglesworth purring away on her abdomen.
What else, what else. Xal’atah is still missing? Why is that knife so sneaky? The Draenei’s naaru is proselytizing and trying to convert more people to the Light? To be expected. Malygos’ new Prime Consort has an idea regarding what to do about the Draenor situation? I should go talk to her after the meeting. I never liked that we pretty much had to abandon the entire planet.
Gnomeregan wants me to help convince Quel’Thalas that the partially completed Stormwind-Ironforge-Dalaran tram system should be expanded to Silvermoon? Ha! Unlikely. Those uppity elves would sooner admit that they evolved from trolls.
Once he finished reading through his messages, Krivax turned to his companions and was about to interrupt their bickering when he suddenly found himself struck by an intense wave of emotions that he didn’t fully understand. It took several moments of watching an agitated Hadix lecture Masruk for Krivax to realize what it was that he was feeling…
It was… contentment.
This realization was so profound to Krivax that it momentarily overwhelmed him. Krivax could hardly remember the last time he had felt so… at peace.
Thinking back on it, Krivax could recall a thin layer of constant anxiety plaguing him from the moment he hatched and realized that he’d been reborn in Azeroth. Every day had been filled with him worrying about looming apocalyptic threats, the confusion of living in an entirely alien body, and the uncertainty of what exactly a single person could do about it all. Krivax had grown used to this ever-present tension, to the point that he hadn’t really realized when it had started to fade…
Oh, there were still many terrible challenges ahead, but for the first time, Krivax genuinely felt as if they were surmountable. Not because he had managed to grow so powerful that he could sweep them aside single-handedly. That had never been his strength. Instead, Krivax realized that his new-found sense of fulfillment and optimism was owed to an entirely different source.
“What’s wrong with you, brat?” Hadix asked curtly, though a small trace of genuine concern tinged his voice. Krivax’s emotional state must have been far more obvious than expected. “You look as if Anub’rekhan just bathed you in Light.”
“Hmm. Vizier Hadix is correct, friend. You do look as if Karfu suddenly presented you with an entire bucket of lobsters,” Masruk said jokingly, though clearly also somewhat worried. “Has something happened? Are you worrying about the future again?”
Krivax remained silent for several moments, absorbing the sincere concern reflected in Hadix and Masruk's expressions. With each passing moment, a warm feeling grew within him. Both of these people had stood by his side through countless trials and knew him better than anyone else.
Krivax wasn’t quite sure when his perspective changed and when he began truly trusting those around him… but he couldn’t deny that he viewed them akin to something like family.
Masruk, his battle-hungry, loyal, and deceptively clever little clutch-brother who ever since he had been told the truth constantly tried to stop Krivax from fretting over things he couldn’t change.
Hadix, his curmudgeonly, sharp-tongued mentor who never failed to come through in the most crucial moments.
Krivax had seen and experienced far too much to believe something as naive as ‘the power of friendship and family can solve all problems,’ but he couldn’t deny that the support of his allies was the reason he felt ready to face the challenges ahead.
Not only the support of Masruk and Hadix, but also all of the other allies he’d made throughout the years. Whether it be Malygos and his resurgent Dragonflight, Illidan and his burgeoning group of demon hunters, or the orcs who were on a path to genuine reconciliation with the Eastern Kingdoms—all of this resulted in a single, amazing conclusion.
“No, nothing’s happened,” Krivax said softly, hoping to reassure his brother and mentor. “For the first time in my second life, I can genuinely say that I’m fine. I just… suddenly realized that the future looks bright.”
And even though he wasn’t actually a Bronze Dragon capable of seeing the future, Krivax somehow knew that his words were true.