“What did you do then?”
“We awaited the reinforcements promised by King Varian. We became a city preparing for war—stockpiling food, weapons, bandages. The soldiers trained every day. We expected the Horde to come sailing into our harbor at any minute.” Her heart rate sped up as the questions drew her inexorably closer to speaking of the Destruction of Theramore itself.
“Did the promised aid arrive?”
Jaina bit back a retort. Everyone knew these events. Everyone knew what had happened at Theramore. Surely, even the celestials did. But this was what she had been waiting for, was it not? To make Garrosh Hellscream pay. And if it meant reliving the events of that horrible day again, she would do so.
She cleared her throat. “Yes, it did. The 7th Legion arrived with twenty ships and half a dozen of the Alliance’s finest generals . . . and one great admiral.” Aubrey, who had barely survived the attack on Northwatch Hold, only to die in Theramore . . .
“Lady Proudmoore?” Tyrande asked.
“I-I’m sorry. Could you repeat the question?”
“I said, the attack from the Horde did come, did it not?”
“Yes.”
“And were you prepared?”
“Yes. We won, eventually, but it was hard earned, and we had a significant number of casualties. In the midst of everything that was going on, we uncovered a traitor. Thalen Songweaver. A member of the Kirin Tor—one of the Sunreavers.” Jaina tried to speak dispassionately, but she snarled the last word. Her fists clenched. Why hadn’t she realized then they were not to be trusted?
“Did you lose anyone close to you?”
“Captain Wymor. He was a friend of many years’ standing.”
“Anyone else whose loss you felt especially deeply?”
Jaina shook her head. “No. Not . . . not then.”
“Did you have any inkling that the Horde was doing anything other than its level best to destroy Theramore through conventional means?”
“No. They fought fiercely and took many casualties. We had every reason to believe that they were giving their all, as we were.”
“So you thought it a genuine victory.”
Jaina nodded. “Yes.”
“What did you do after the Horde retreated?”
“What must always be done,” Jaina said. “We tended the wounded. Buried the dead. Comforted those who had lost loved ones. Held those who had survived.”
Kinndy . . .
She swallowed. “We discovered that during the battle some of the Horde had liberated Thalen Songweaver. Vereesa and Shandris Feathermoon set off to see if they could find the trail before it went cold. So they weren’t—” Her throat closed up.
“So they were not there when the mana bomb fell,” said Tyrande, with deep sympathy.
Jaina was glad that she had thought to tuck a handkerchief in her sleeve. She pulled it out and dabbed at her eyes. “No,” she said, “thank the Light, they survived.”
“Chu’shao,” said Taran Zhu, “would you like to call a respite?” Tyrande looked at Jaina. The archmage shook her head. It took everything she had to be here, in this moment, saying these things, and she was not sure she could do so again if she stopped now.
“No, we will continue,” Tyrande said. “So you thought the battle was over and the Alliance was victorious. You began to take care of your people. When did you realize that something was wrong?”
“Kalecgos had come to Theramore before any of this happened.” The “if onlys” would not be ignored. They galloped through her mind like a herd of talbuk, never one at a time, but many. If only they had tried harder to find the Focusing Iris. If only it had not been stolen. If only . . . “A precious artifact known as the Focusing Iris had been stolen from the blue dragonflight, and Kalec had sought my aid in locating it. Shortly after the battle, he informed me that he was able to sense the Focusing Iris—and that it was rapidly approaching Theramore.”
“The Focusing Iris,” Tyrande mused. “Can you tell us more about this?”
“It had lain dormant for millennia, until Malygos began to use it to direct surge needles. These needles pulled arcane magic from Azeroth’s ley lines and channeled it into the Nexus,” Jaina explained. “After Malygos died, the Focusing Iris was utilized to animate Chromatus, the only chromatic dragon experiment that was successful. It took all four of the Aspects, along with the assistance of Go’el holding the power of the element of earth, to defeat him.” Once again, Jaina was forced to recall what the former warchief had contributed to the world. Angrily, she pushed the thought away.
“A powerful artifact indeed, and obviously devastating in the wrong hands,” Tyrande said. “What happened next?”
“Kalec went to find it,” Jaina said. “And Rhonin—” Her voice cracked. She poured a glass of water with a hand that trembled and took a sip. Her heart was beating as fast as a rabbit’s.
Tyrande made a movement, as if she wanted to put a hand comfortingly on Jaina’s, but did not complete the gesture. Instead, she turned to Chromie and said in an almost reverent voice, “May it please the court—with great respect, I present a Vision of that event.”
Chromie looked more solemn than Jaina had ever seen her. The little gnome gently placed her hands on the Vision of Time, and then began to weave the spell that would awaken the slumbering metal dragon.
Jaina bit her lip, hard. An image began to form, and she recognized herself and Rhonin, who had given everything. Her eyes stinging with tears, she looked up in the stands to see Vereesa. The high elf’s hands were clenched into tight fists, and she did not appear to be breathing. Jaina did not know whether to be sorrowful or joyous that Vereesa was to witness this moment. It would be devastating, but she would see, really see, the true heroism of the man she had loved. And so would everyone else.
The scene took place in her tower—her beloved tower, filled with books and scrolls and little seating areas where one could read, with potions brewing away and bottles of elixirs of this and that scattered about with cheerful haphazardness. A window was open, letting in light and air—and showing the sky galleon of the goblins, as of yet only a small dot. This was the place where she and Pained and Tervosh had spent countless hours. And now, where Rhonin, so very vibrantly alive, awaited the Jaina of the past as she hastened up the stairs, followed by some volunteers who had been helping her and, she realized belatedly, whose names she did not know.
“Is it the Focusing Iris?” asked the image of Jaina.
“Yes,” said Rhonin. “It’s powering the biggest mana bomb that’s ever been made. And putting out a dampening field so that no one can get away. I can divert it. But first, help me—I can hold back the dampening field long enough to get these people to safety.”
“Of course!” The image of Jaina began to cast a portal. Stormwind, Jaina remembered; she’d been planning to send her companions there. But she saw, and now everyone else did as well, that the portal was going to open on a small, rocky island in the Great Sea.
“Why are you redirecting my portal?”
“Takes . . . less energy,” grunted Rhonin. His efforts to hold back the dampening field were clearly draining him. Jaina started to protest, but he cut her off. “Don’t argue. Just—go through, all of you!”
Jaina’s companions obeyed, but she didn’t. She watched herself turn a shocked expression to Rhonin. “You can’t defuse it! You’re planning on dying here!”
“Shut. Up. Just go through! I have to pull it here, right here, to save Vereesa and Shandris and as . . . as many as I can. The walls of this tower are steeped in magic. I should be able to localize the detonation. Don’t be a foolish little girl, Jaina. Go!”
“No! I can’t let you do this! You have a family. You’re the leader of the Kirin Tor!”
“And you’re the future of it!” Rhonin snapped. He looked as if he was about to collapse, as if he stayed on his feet only by an act of sheer will.