Kalec raced up, his face almost as pale as Jaina’s, as the archmage exhaled a red, frothy bubble. The dragon fell to his knees, taking her face between his hands. “Jaina,” he whispered. “Don’t. Don’t go. You’ve faced so much more than this. You’re so strong, Jaina. You hang on. Do you hear me? Hang on!”
“Jaina,” Anduin urged. “Please . . . please, don’t leave us. I already watched myself die today. I can’t watch you too . . .” Tears poured down his face, and even as he uttered the words, the Light faded.
Her chest barely rose and fell. A few more breaths and she would be gone. Go’el’s friend for so long would be lost to him forever. There would be no chance to repair what had been damaged. Jaina would have died his enemy, and Go’el could think of nothing worse than that. Unable to speak, he gently placed a hand on Aggra’s shoulder, interrupting her spell. She looked at him, and he shook his head. Her face contorted, not with her own pain, but with empathy for her mate, and she embraced Go’el fiercely.
Anduin lifted his hands. They were drenched with Jaina’s blood. Beside him, Kalec had gone very still. He looked stunned, utterly disbelieving.
“Anduin,” said Varian, in the gentlest tone Go’el had ever heard from him, “come away. There’s nothing you can do.”
Even those who had opposed Jaina seemed shaken. There was no expression of glee or triumph on any face, just shock that one who was so legendary, so much bigger than life to so many, was still subject to its rules.
“No,” Anduin whispered. “I can’t . . .”
“And so, the student remembers the lessons of my temple,” came a voice that was at once young and ancient, eager and solemn, and unspeakably kind. “Hope is what you have when all other things have failed you. Where there is hope, you make room for healing, for all things that are possible—and some that are not.”
Go’el looked up to see Chi-Ji, the Red Crane, hovering in the air above them. The wind from his wings was cool, so refreshing after the heat of battle and the warmth of tears. It smelled of spring, and new beginnings, of life and hope. The orc’s aching heart eased, and filled instead with peace. The bruises to body and spirit, the wounds and hurts both great and little, melted away like snow beneath the sun. Calmness and contentment settled upon him, and when he looked down at Jaina, the bleeding had ceased and the archmage’s flesh was once again glowing with health. Jaina opened her eyes, looking at the sea of faces—human, dragon, orc, and so many others—gazing at her with wonderment and joy. She reached for Kalec, and he pressed her hand to his cheek.
To Anduin, she said in a voice still somewhat weak, “You’re getting pretty good at this.” The prince laughed shakily. Kalecgos gathered her in his arms, holding her tightly and pressing his face into the soft crook of her neck for a moment. Go’el realized that Jaina looked . . . happy. Perhaps she had been healed in more than body, and he wondered how she had been able to accept her raging alternate self. He supposed he would never know. Their eyes met, and he smiled at her. And when she stretched out a hand to him, he took it. She squeezed it once and let go. Elsewhere, others too were rising, hale and whole and looking not a little bewildered.
“Thus is the blessing of Chi-Ji,” the crane said. “No more shall die this day. Take this second chance, and use it wisely.”
“I thank you, Red Crane,” Varian said, and he bowed deeply. He turned to look at Chromie. “Garrosh is gone. It was Kairoz, wasn’t it? How did that happen?”
Chromie looked as angry and defeated as Go’el had ever seen her. Pale, her brown and golden tabard spattered with blood and dust from the Sands of Time, she addressed them.
“We once knew the timeways inside and out,” she began. “We could see the past and the future with perfect clarity. Our flight’s charge, from the moment Nozdormu became our Aspect, was to protect the sanctity of the timeline. And we were given vast power to do this. Now . . . things aren’t quite so clear. We can still travel the timeways, but we don’t have that perfect knowledge anymore. That’s why we’ve enlisted mortals to help us keep the timeline safe. But there have been some mutterings. Some of us think that perhaps we should use what skills we have left to manipulate the timeways. Alter the past, change the future to something better.”
She smiled sadly. “Of course, who’s to say what is ‘better’? Especially when we don’t have the perfect insight we once did. That’s what’s held most of us back. But it’s obvious now that Kairoz was among those who thought that the bronze dragons could and should change things. He always did like to tinker . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“How could this have happened? You told us that the Vision of Time had limited abilities,” Tyrande said. It was clear that she was trying not to attack Chromie, who was obviously as devastated—perhaps more so—as they were, but the high priestess was extremely frustrated and angry. “That it could only show images of things past or future, not manifest them or alter them in any way.”
“That was true until this morning,” Chromie said. “Nozdormu was adamant about that. But the Vision of Time was Kairoz’s creation. He must have constructed it with a way to bypass the safety measures.”
Varian frowned and looked at Go’el. They both remembered finding Kairoz’s behavior odd. “He did it this morning,” Varian said. “Right out in the open, in front of us all. He’s a bold one, I’ll give him that.”
“Wrathion’s in on it,” Anduin said. “He was the one who knocked out me and the Chus.”
An uneasy silence settled on everyone. Vol’jin broke it. “So now we got a high and mighty bronze dragon inventor, the last black dragon, and the son of Hellscream all working together, and we don’t even be knowing where or when to look for ’em.” He shook his head.
Go’el turned his attention to the celestials. Other than Chi-Ji, they had remained silent and somewhat distant. “You did not join us during our fight against ourselves physically, but you granted us the gifts of insight. I understand why you did not do more,” he said. “And all of us are grateful beyond words to you, Chi-Ji, for the life of Jaina and others. But I would have thought you would be more”—he strained for the word—“distressed that Garrosh is gone, since it was your duty to pronounce sentence.”
“August Celestials, please sate this pandaren’s curiosity,” said Taran Zhu. “Do you know what verdict you would have rendered?”
“Indeed we do,” rumbled Niuzao. “We knew from the very beginning.”
Everyone stared at the celestials. Go’el struggled against his anger, and Tyrande looked stunned.
“And . . . what would you have decided?” asked Taran Zhu.
“Garrosh Hellscream would live, so that he would continue to learn,” said Yu’lon, undulating her graceful green form. “Dear ones, wisdom, fortitude, strength, and hope cannot be learned in death.”
“Life is not about reward and punishment,” said Xuen. “It is about understanding, accepting who oneself is right now, in order to know what to change, and how.”
“We feel that justice has been done,” said the Black Ox, stamping a hoof and shaking his shaggy, gleaming head.
“Then why have a trial at all?” demanded Tyrande. “If you knew at the outset what his sentence would be at the end of it? Were you simply toying with us?”
Yu’lon said, very gently, “Never, passionate Accuser. Your efforts were vital to the outcome of the trial. You see . . . It was not merely Garrosh Hellscream who was on trial.” For a moment, Go’el did not understand. Then comprehension dawned.
“We were too,” he said. He was surprised that he was not furious at having been manipulated, but a deeper part of him, a wiser part—the part that blended with the Spirit of Life—completely accepted it. He saw in the faces of the others—tauren, human, troll, elf, even dragon—that they did as well.