Alexstrasza glanced at Broll, who hid his curiosity as best he could.
Like most druids, he knew of the two magi Krasus and Rhonin, very active in these times, who were said to have played a part in Malfurion’s growth as a druid some ten thousand years before.
How that could be, his shan’do had never made clear. “And is he, also?”
“He does not know. I know because of Malfurion.”
“As is just, considering your part in so much, Tyrande Whisperwind.” To Broll Alexstrasza said, “And it is just that you also know. My consort Korialstrasz and the mage Krasus are one and the same.”
“One and the same?” It explained so much, yet Broll knew that he would have never made such a connection himself.
The great dragon rose up on her hind legs and folded in her wings. As she did, she began to shrink. Her wings shriveled, quickly turning into nubs, then nothing. Alexstrasza’s forepaws became arms and her legs twisted outward, resembling more those of a night elf.
Now barely twice the height of Broll and only a fraction of her former girth, the Aspect continued her remarkable transformation.
Her maw receded into her face, becoming a separate nose and mouth. The horns dwindled and lush hair sprouted. In another blink of an eye the change was nearly complete, and a figure who was and was not any sort of elven offshoot stood before the druid and his companion.
Lush tresses of fiery hair — and, indeed, there were licks of flame constantly escaping the wild mane — cascaded down her slim shoulders. Alexstrasza was clad as a warrior maiden, with long, armored boots rising to her thighs and a breastplate that accented the curve of her feminine body. Her hands were shielded by intricate gauntlets reaching almost to the crooks of her arms and a crimson cloak that resembled a membraned wing in form fluttered behind her. What had been her horns were to Broll’s amazed gaze either an intricate headpiece well-placed atop her head…or still smaller horns.
Crimson, violet, and touches of blue-black — all framed with gold edging — were her garments’ colors, and her skin was a soft brownish red. Her face was rounder than that of Tyrande or any night elf, almost as if mixed with human traits. Her nose was smaller and her mouth perfectly curved. Her hair formed a widow’s peak and then framed her face on both sides.
Only the Aspect’s eyes had not changed, save to have adjusted for her size. Broll and Tyrande both instinctively went down on one knee and bent their heads in homage. Although they served other patrons, all honored the Life-Binder.
“Rise up,” she commanded. “I do not seek subjects, but allies…”
Rising, Tyrande solemnly said, “If Elune grants it, what power I wield both with my glaive and through my prayers to her will I offer! I stood with yours against the demons ten thousand years ago and if, as I think, our concerns coincide, I will do so again!”
“They do.” The glorious figure looked to Broll. “And you, druid?
What say you?”
“Our lives are owed to you already, mistress, and you’re sister to She of the Dreaming. I can think of no other reason for you to be here save our own, and so there’s no argument as to whom I lend my hand…”
She nodded gratefully. “My Korialstrasz, my treasured mate, lies in a troubled slumber from which he cannot wake, though I sense he tries. He is far from the only one, my children, as you likely already suspect. Not only are others of my kind affected — though fewer since dragons do not need to sleep as much as most races — but this dread slumber has touched every other race. Worse, it finds particular interest in those of prominence and power: magi, kings, generals, philosophers, and the like.”
“Shandris!” Tyrande breathed.
“If she is one of yours, my child, then her chance is better. The night elves have not suffered to the degree of many races. I find this intriguing. I think that we have another ally, though I am amazed if my guess is correct…”
Before she could say more, a moan arose from the side. Broll glared at Eranikus, who still lay where he had fallen after escaping his corrupted kind. “A better ally than that sorry sight, I hope!
Fleeing for his life after letting others take the lead to a place he better knows—”
The green dragon raised his head. His reptilian features were twisted in a pathetic look. “You do not understand even now, little druid! Did you not see them? Did you not understand what Lethon and Emeriss have become? Did you not also want to flee?”
“Not without any of my friends.”
With another moan, the dragon turned away. “You do not understand…”
Alexstrasza turned to the gigantic beast. Although her expression held no anger, her tone was not one of forgiveness.
“Nor do I, Eranikus…and that in itself says much concerning your actions.” As the green dragon began to protest, the Aspect cut him off. “And, yes, I know what it is like to be a slave to the dark will of something else, a slave responsible for abominable acts.”
Eranikus eyed her, then finally nodded. “So you do.”
“And I also know more about what is happening here than even you do.” She stepped just in front of his immense jaws and, though in her present form was so much tinier than him, stood as the greater over the lesser. “I know that Ysera was aware of your redemption and survival…and aware of your choice at the last moment not to return to her side after all for fear that the Nightmare might yet cause you to someday betray her again.”
His powerful gaze was as nothing to her. Broll, watching, had at first wondered why he did not shut his lids and see her through the ways of his kind. Only now did it occur to the druid that to resume doing so meant Eranikus opening himself up to the Nightmare, the last thing he desired.
“She — knew?” the behemoth finally asked Alexstrasza. “She knew that as I flew to her in the Dream, I sensed the Nightmare calling to me despite the cleansing of my corruption, calling to me with such strength that I understood my renewed confidence was but a false hope?”
“She knew immediately. Yet she loves you so much that she accepted your choice in the hopes that eventually you would still return to her.”
“And now…and now it is too late…she is taken also…”
The Aspect’s own amazing eyes narrowed. “No…not yet.”
Eranikus looked with desperate hope to her. “She is safe?”
“Hardly that.” Alexstrasza extended a hand to include the two night elves. “There is more known to me about the Nightmare than any of you three have thus far learned. It is a danger that Ysera has fought for some time…”
Ysera, the red dragon informed them, had noticed her dreams grow dark, even despite her absolute control of them. At first she had blamed her own concerns but then had discovered the truth too late. The nightmares she experienced touched Azeroth, took lives of their own, and reached into the minds of the mortals there.
It was then that Ysera had made a terrible error of her own. The mistress of the Emerald Dream had looked into the slumbering minds, seeking the source of what had even infiltrated her own subconscious. She did so unaware that the source of the threat desired just that of her.
“Lethon came upon her while her mind was deep in her search beyond,” Alexstrasza told them. “He was accompanied by shadows, the satyrs that these night elves just fought. They fell upon her dreaming form while he took that which was most desired
…the Eye.”
Eranikus jumped to his feet. His gaze became all but impossible for Broll and Tyrande to behold. “The Eye of Ysera taken? I had feared as much! How can you say then that my beloved queen is not prisoner?”
“The Eye is where Ysera and her flight most often congregate in the Dream,” Broll quietly informed Tyrande. “It’s said to be the most idyllic place there. Malfurion’s seen it and I know Fandral, also, but few others even among us druids. I’m told it’s a valley nestled among great, encircling hills. The land is lush and filled with grass and flowers, but the name comes from the magnificent golden dome in the center, where Ysera herself dwells…dwelled…”