Heart of the Phoenix

 

It was morning, though as always it was difficult to tell by the perpetually shadowed skies of the valley. Though Kael found that sky unnerving at first, he'd grown somewhat accustomed to it, and watched it curiously. The distant light of Azeroth and her twin moons danced across a canvas of inky dark greens and black, and he found it beautiful in a macabre sort of way. The Broken servitor sat the tray upon the nearby table, bowing deeply, and Kael's brief reverie was interrupted. "Your tea, my Lords."



"Thank you," Illidan said, his voice rumbling in that basso-profundo tone he often took when he was brooding. His back remained turned, the wing that was broken still set and bandaged. Kael smiled cordially at the bowing servant, and dismissed him with a brief, polite gesture. This was Illidan's private sanctuary, this lush hanging garden terrace off the Den of Mortal Delights. None were permitted there on pain of death, but for the Sin'dorei botanists who maintained it under the watchful eye of the druid Freywinn, and the occasional servant. None, that is, but the Master himself, and Kael'thas Sunstrider, his right hand. It was somewhat cooler here than elsewhere on this level of the temple, the heat of hellish Shadowmoon Valley far less oppressive and sweltering here, though Kael still wore his intricately embroidered summer robes, light and sleeveless. The terrace was pleasant, an oasis of colorful flowers, a peaceful rock fountain and cool breezes. It was perfect for morning tea, a traditional daily ritual that the urbane Blood Elf still insisted upon. Illidan, for his part, seemed to enjoy it at any rate.



Kael leaned forward in his chair, and poured himself a cup from the teapot. The steam wafted the warm scent of rich, earthy spice tinged with the faintest note of mint. This was a tea peculiar to the Draenei, Akama had said, and was believed to have healing properties--largely due to the blend of dreaming glory and mana thistle, Kael deduced. Unlike most teas of that nature, however, this one actually tasted good. It seemed to be aiding in Illidan's recovery as well, at least physically. His emotional recovery...that was an entirely different matter altogether.



"Do you want some of that nectar with yours, love?" Kael asked, pouring some tea for Illidan, and reached for a small, brightly painted earthen jar on the tray. It was a bit thicker than honey, and sweeter; it reminded Kael somewhat of the delicious nectar drinks common to Dalaran, and made him a bit wistful. "The Consortium trader brought some more of it, at my request."



Illidan did not answer him, remaining at the railing to stare out at the darkened sky. He had been so distant in the days since their return from Azeroth. As if his mind were a world away. Illidan often slipped into moods like this, but this one seemed different somehow, and it troubled Kael. He hadn't spoken about what had transpired in Icecrown. He hadn't spoken much at all, really.



"Illidan?" Kael frowned, replacing the jar on the tray. "Illidan, please. Since we've come back here, you barely eat, you barely speak; you barely even look at me sometimes. If I've displeased you, I would at least like to know why, so that I can make amends."



There was a long, terrible silence, and Kael was half-afraid that he had displeased his lord, that he'd overstepped bounds in his genuine concern. Suddenly, however, Illidan broke the silence at last, and spoke. "He said that he'd claimed you."



Kael blinked. "I beg your pardon?"



"Arthas," Illidan scowled, and the acid that dripped from the word was palpable. "He knew. I don't know how, but he knew."



"Knew...? What are you talking about?"



"When we fought. I had the upper hand, I was--I had him, and then he boasted that he'd struck you down. He crowed that Frostmourne hungered, that the damned blade claimed your soul and that you were forever lost to me. I faltered, then. I..." 



Illidan's words trailed off into a kind of choked silence, and Kael sighed deeply, taking a long, soothing drink of tea. "I see," the prince said, his full lips curling into a slight frown.



"I wanted to die." The words were uttered quietly, through clenched teeth. "What did anything matter? What meaning did anything have?" Illidan continued, almost as if to answer Kael's unspoken confusion. "You were lost and I wanted to die. That was all I knew in that moment."



Impulsive to the bitter end, a raging storm of passions befitting his name. To give up so easily, to be that overwhelmed by despair...Kael didn't how to respond to such a confession; he settled for stating the obvious conclusion. "You let him strike you down." It was less an accusation than a flat statement of fact.



"Does it matter?"



"It matters to me."



"...perhaps I lost my will to fight. Perhaps I believed I had nothing left to lose. Regardless, Arthas won. He ascended the Frozen Throne, and now he himself is the Lich King. That wretched shade has claimed his body for a host."



Kael balked, and nearly choked on his tea, in an uncharacteristically flustered gesture. "He--what?" He could scarce believe his ears. Arthas Menethil was now the Lich King? That traitorous, arrogant whelp of a human prince--barely old enough to be shaving regularly, to Kael's eyes--now commanded the power of Ner'zhul?



"I saw it with my own eyes, heard it with my own ears before I lost consciousness. Arthas freed the armor and claimed it; in their own words, they are one," Illidan elaborated. He laughed then, a dark, sickly sound filled with tangible bitterness. "I failed so utterly in my assigned task that it would be laughable if the consequences weren't so dire. So, now you know. Is your curiosity satisfied? I could not stop that impudent death knight or his master, and now my life is forfeit. Return to your people, Kael, if you know what's good for you. They need you, and there is nothing left for you here."



Kael's heart sank, and he set the cup down. Was this the burden his lover had been carrying since Northrend? "With all due respect, Illidan, I'm not leaving you."



"And why should you stay?" Illidan growled. "To die a meaningless, empty death in this wasteland? The Netherstorm is rich in arcane energy, enough to feed your hunger indefinitely. Take it all and go back to Quel'Thalas, use it to rebuild your kingdom!"



"I will not."



"Why must you be so difficult?" Illidan's claws had curled into fists then, and he was shaking. "Go, Kael'thas. Leave and forget you ever met me, if you wish to live."



Kael rose to his feet and crossed the garden to where Illidan stood. He pressed tightly against him, slipping his bare arms around Illidan's waist, and rested his cheek against that powerfully muscled back between his shoulderblades, upon the space between his wings--taking care not to touch the broken one. "I'm not going anywhere, Illidan."



The choked snarl that escaped Illidan's throat in response was half-angry, half-miserable, and it only made Kael hold onto him tighter. "I do not want to lose you, dalah'surfal. I can't."



"For pity's sake, Illidan. You don't want to lose me, so you think to send me away? Perhaps Arthas struck you in the head."



"Don't jest, you fool," Illidan snapped. He sighed, and his tone was pleading then, his voice quivering. "I said I would never forsake you, and I meant that. That is why I am telling you--why I am begging you to leave. My time is done, Kael. It is over. I can't run from the Legion forever. But you, my love--you have a future. Don't throw that future away for me...I'm not worth it. Don't throw your life away for nothing!"



"A future and a life without you in it is worth less than nothing," Kael countered defiantly. What in the Nether had gotten into this man? Had he simply decided to give up again, to let fate take him as it may? What the bloody hell was wrong with Illidan? "And your time will end on your terms, not Kil'jaeden's. Isn't that why we're here? What in the hell did we cast down Magtheridon for, to lay down and die weeping like lambs to the slaughter? When did Illidan Stormrage ever give up? When were you ever such a rank coward?"



There was a second long, pointed silence that hung in the air then, one that was finally broken after what seemed like an eternity, by the sound of a bitter, choked sob.



"...when you came back for me."



Kael was suddenly shifted aside as Illidan turned to face him, his blindfold wet with tears. Illidan's hands caressed his smooth cheeks, taloned fingers brushing upwards to tangle themselves in his wealth of thick, golden hair. Kael's lips parted and he sighed, half in pleasure and half in utter bafflement. "What? I don't--"



"You could have left," Illidan rumbled, half-purring as he pulled Kael tightly against him. "It would have been such a simple thing to leave me to die there, but you didn't. In the delirium, I thought I heard your voice--"



"You did hear it," Kael sighed, closing his eyes, losing himself in the sensation of Illidan's hands in his hair. "You didn't imagine it. I was there. Vashj and I spent days searching for you."



"You told me you loved me. And I believed it with more certainty than I did when we made love in that cave."



"For Light's sake, Illidan, I wasn't lying. Neither then, nor now. Were you?"



"Of course not. You have my heart, Kael, as surely as Tyrande does. Perhaps that's why I'm so damned afraid," Illidan confessed, clinging to the smaller man. "Perhaps that's why I foundered when I fought Arthas, why I'm still doing it now. If you had left me there, everything would have been so much more simple."



"Don't be absurd, you would have died."



"Death is simple. It's living that's so wretchedly difficult."



"You don't know how to live without being a martyr," Kael accused him, though his tone was gentle, empathetic. "You truly don't, do you? That kind of pain has been a part of you for so long that you don't know how to cope without it. That someone could return your affection frightens the hell out of you, doesn't it?"



"I've been a martyr for ten-thousand years, Kael. Should I know anything different?"



"...no, I suppose you shouldn't, at that." Kael replied softly. "But have you considered that perhaps it's long past time you did? I'll remind you that you came back for me, first. You could have just as easily let me die to the frost wyrm."



Illidan sighed, then, and squeezed Kael tightly against him. "If you stay here, you stay as a fugitive from the Legion. If you return to Azeroth--"



"This, again?" Kael's tone was incredibly exasperated, now, Illidan's stubborn refusal to listen to reason irritating him beyond measure. "What remains for me in Azeroth, Illidan? My father is dead, the Sunwell is lost, and Quel'Thalas is no more. Dalaran is little more than dust in the wind. And the storied Alliance of Lordaeron? An utter failure of an institution crippled and scattered by its own shameful dishonor and hollow betrayals of its peoples and principles, much like the fallen kingdom that bears its name. Even were it to somehow rally from the dead, no Sin'dorei will ever raise arms or magic under that banner again as long as I live, not after Garithos. No, Illidan, nothing remains for me in Azeroth. My future, and that of my people, lies with you. Why do you think we followed you so willingly? You gave us the means to survive. In our darkest hour, you gave us hope and a renewed sense of purpose. And we'll build a kingdom in this world to rival anything my ancestors accomplished."



"Eloquent words, Kael, as usual. But you can't accomplish that with Kil'jaeden breathing down your neck, and that is precisely what will happen if you insist on remaining here with me. Is that what your people would want?"



It was akin to trying to hold a conversation with a wall. Well, if Illidan refused to listen to the lover that cared for him, Kael thought, then perhaps he would pay attention to the consummate military strategist that led a vastly outnumbered force to victory against the Scourge in Alterac. Perhaps it was time that Kael reminded Illidan that he wasn't merely some lovestruck schoolboy, that Kael, for decades, had been schooled in the art of military planning and tactics by the most powerful warmage his people had ever known--his own father--and was himself counted among the Kirin Tor's most powerful archmagi. Illidan needed to be reminded of Kael's worth to him, if someone to share his bed was not enough.



"Nothing you say will make me abandon you, Illidan," Kael snapped, his tone turning coldly regal. "Nothing. You mistake me for the treacherous humans of the Alliance if you think I'm going to turn my back on you when you need me most. I haven't forgotten my responsibilities to my people, by any measure, but neither have I forgotten my responsibilities to you. I pledged my loyalty to your cause, and unlike the cowardly dogs of Lordaeron, I'm a man of my word. We're going to need allies, to reinforce the troops we lost in Northrend. We'll send emissaries to the ruins at Shattrath, surely Akama's kinsmen there will aid us against the Legion, a common foe. And despite its desolation, this valley is rich in ore and minerals...I'll conduct formal negotiations with the Ethereals, perhaps we can come to an agreement, and contract their mercenaries to bolster our numbers. And we absolutely must shore the defenses here, there are any number of places that could easily be breached, like the walls surrounding the sewer ways--or have you forgotten how easy it was for own our forces to seize control of this supposedly impregnable temple--"



"Kael, your points are well taken, but--"



"Let me finish, Illidan. I didn't save you in Northrend just to let you die cowering within the walls of this temple alone. I choose to stand with you and fight. Not merely because I swore an oath of fealty to you, but because I don't want to lose you any more than you want to lose me. My love for you simply won't allow it, and neither will my pride and honor as Prince of the Sin'dorei." Kael's upturned gaze was defiant and determined, and Illidan finally had no choice but to capitulate. Kael'thas Sunstrider was perhaps the one person alive more stubborn than he, and Illidan seemed to realize it then, as the faintest hint of a smile etched its way onto the corner of his lips.



"...thank you, Kael." Illidan hunched down a bit to kiss the top of his head, conceding defeat in his own way, resting his cheek against it. "From the bottom of my heart. That means a great deal to me, more than you could ever know. Never has anyone chosen to stand by me this way. Not with so much left to lose."



Kael, tall as he was, still needed to stand on tiptoe to kiss Illidan. But kiss him Kael did, with as much passion and depth of conviction as he ever had, his lips sweet with the nectar and rich earthiness of the tea. Another deep rumble rose in Illidan's throat, one of those idle noises of pleasure he made that frequently stirred lust within Kael. His powerful arms held him tightly in a near vice-grip despite the soreness of his ribs, almost as though the demon hunter were afraid if he let go, Kael would slip right through his fingers.



"Allow me to be a comfort to you, my love," Kael whispered, his hands gently caressing Illidan's back. "If it's at all in my power, I would wipe your pain away. But I can't if you won't even let me try."



"Dalah'surfal."



"I would make you feel at peace, if you'd only let me," Kael continued, his hands sliding down Illidan's back, his long, slender fingers deftly massaging out knots as they found them.



"You are my peace, Kael," Illidan moaned softly back to him, running claws through his hair, leaning down to kiss his neck. "More than you know."



Kael's breath hitched and he slid his hands down the small of Illidan's back into his loose fitting pants, kneading taut muscles to draw more of those delicious sounds from him. As Kael sunk down to his knees, trailing soft, lazy kisses down Illidan's torso, it was obvious what they both wanted, what they craved from each other. Not the paradoxically tender roughness of their first encounter, no--Kael feared Illidan couldn't, not with the injuries he was still recovering from.



"You told me you would never forsake me. I swear the same to you, Illidan: that as long as I draw breath, you will have my magic, my blade, and my heart," Kael said, lightly tugging the cord at Illidan's waist, loosing it. His burning eyes never left Illidan's face, even as he slowly pulled down the billowing cloth to reveal dusky violet skin glistening with sweat. Illidan's lips parted, his tongue flicking across them to taste the hint of nectar from Kael's lips, and his breath became heavy. It was odd, that--even with this gesture of apparent submission, Kael was showing him just how powerful he was. How seductive he was. Hunger danced across Illidan's face--naked, raw hunger. The demon hunter was entirely at Kael's mercy, and the thought thrilled him.



Illidan absently kicked away his pants with a twitch of his hoof, and leaned back against the railing to brace himself, all the while petting Kael's golden hair. He smiled wickedly down at the sin'dorei. "Would that you swore fealty to me in this manner before."



"Perhaps I should have, if you believed sending me away was at all feasible," Kael snickered, his pouting lips smirking lasciviously. "I apparently let you think I was expendable. So, let me remove all doubt that my place is at your side...Master." The word was dripping with sardonic impishness, then.



"And on your knees--" The clever retort was caught in Illidan's throat mid-sentence, however, as his voice was quickly stolen from him in short order. All he could do was tilt his head back with a clawed fist filled with spun gold, and melt into Kael's tongue.



And Kael was agonizingly slow, deliberate in his motions, tracing the powerful muscles of Illidan's inner thighs with his fingertips, then his tongue. Warm kisses and hot breath followed, tantalizingly close...and then he pulled back. It was too easy for Kael, too amusing to feel the clawed fingers flexing in his hair, to feel Illidan trembling beneath him in growing desperation. It was amusing...and intoxicating, this kind of power Kael had over him. The Lord of Outland was like putty in his hands. At last, no longer content with merely teasing him, Kael began slipping Illidan into his mouth.



His tongue curled about him, sliding across him in softness, roughness. Even Kael, who was utterly bereft of anything resembling a gag reflex, was left nearly choking by Illidan's sheer size. Still he managed, in stages, to take him entirely into his mouth by practiced skill and sheer force of will.



Kael's lips suckled Illidan with lustful abandon, his tongue dancing and thrashing across the surface. His hands slid down, cupping Illidan from beneath to gently massage him. The sounds of unmistakable pleasure escaping Illidan's lips only served to encourage Kael's enthusiasm: a languid groan here, a sharp, low grunt there, shudders and sighs. Kael closed his eyes, letting them stroke his ears, and tried to please him that much more.



After what seemed like an eternity of blissful communion, Illidan's body finally tensed, his claws tightening fists in Kael's hair. The demon hunter arched his back, grunting and gasping for breath as he at last found release in his lover's mouth. Kael savored it, as always, and gently caressed Illidan's thighs, smiling up at him. Illidan's own smile was somewhat delirious, and it only widened when he helped Kael to his feet and held him in his arms once more.



No words needed to be exchanged between them. A simple embrace, warm with the promise of what the future held despite its uncertainty, was all they needed.



***



Later that evening, following a hectic afternoon filled with meetings and councils of war, with Broken, Naga, and his own Sin'dorei advisors, Kael was summoned to Illidan's cavernous private chambers. It had been far from the first time, naturally given the nature of their relationship, and Kael was intimately familiar with every nook and cranny of the elaborately decorated rooms. Illidan seemed to favor the decadence of Sin'dorei design much more than the rustic simplicity of his own people's aesthetic. Silk cushions were scattered across the floor on plush, soft carpets, there were crystalline hookahs blown from the finest glass, and there was a vast canopy of dark violet gauze hanging down from the ceiling over the enormous bed. But there was one thing that was different. Kael noticed it almost immediately.



A small, gilded avian perch sat in a corner surrounded by plants, by a small fountain. It was A'lar's favorite perch, the one she adored to rest upon when she was not in her customary home within Kael's heart, or soaring across the elemental planes. What's more, Kael's personal library--miraculously intact following the fall of the palace in Silvermoon, and brought to him in Outland by Rommath--had apparently been transported in its entirety here. So, too, was his mother's old vanity, filled with all manner of Kael's trinkets and jewelry, as well as the antique hairbrush, comb and mirror set that had been handed down in his family since the time of the Highborne. Truly, it seemed as though everything Kael owned was carefully placed in these rooms.



But perhaps most remarkable of all, Felo'melorn, Kael's treasured spellsword, hung in a place of distinct honor above the mantle of the fireplace, right underneath the crossed Warglaives of Azzinoth. There was no denying what this meant.



"You still have your personal rooms down the corridor, of course," Illidan said, stepping out of the shadows. "I would hate to deny you your privacy if you so choose."



Kael was simply overwhelmed by the gesture. Illidan was making a place for him, not only in his heart, but physically as well, in his own space. For once, Kael was struck speechless. Illidan wordlessly opened his arms wide, and the prince went to him; they held each other in as tight an embrace they dared.



"Thank you, Illidan."



Illidan grinned a bit wryly. "It's I who should be thanking you, Kael. It was a bit lonely in here." His expression turned serious, then. "There's one more thing I need to show you."



Kael watched in curiosity as Illidan slowly knelt, wincing a bit in soreness, but was nonetheless able to slide a large, black chest out from under the bed. It was covered in chains and all manner of strange, glowing runes; even from where Kael was standing, waves of magical energy poured from it. Whether it was emanating from the obvious bindings of protection on the chest, its mysterious contents, or both, it was clearly apparent that a great deal of power was involved. He idly wondered how he managed to miss such a pool of concentrated energy right beneath the bed, but rather wickedly remembered he'd had other things on his mind on those occasions. Illidan carefully ran his hands along the chains, muttering some manner of incantation Kael did not recognize, and they loosened beneath his grasp. After a few moments, the chest opened itself, and Illidan retrieved a much smaller, much simpler wooden box from within it. Oddly, it was no larger than the sort of box one would use to keep a deck of Darkmoon cards.



"Illidan?" Kael asked in confusion, raising a questioning eyebrow. Illidan simply clutched the box tightly, and beckoned for the prince to follow him out the door.



"Come, my love."



Obediently, Kael followed him--down the corridor a ways, back to the selfsame terrace they had spent a rather pleasant morning. However, when they arrived, Lady Vashj stood waiting for them. She idly slithered amongst to the flowers to take in their fragrance, the very picture of ancient Highborne grace and nobility despite her inhuman appearance. Kael had been rather pointedly avoiding her since the disaster in Northrend, an odd feeling of guilt sinking within him every time he saw her. He hadn't forgotten the wounded look in her eyes when Illidan addressed him with endearments, nor the words she spoke days before their departure from the temple, when she warned him that Illidan could never love anyone, that his heart still belonged to Tyrande after all these years. Kael was not a foolish elf by any means, and knew well what these things meant. Avoiding her was somewhat cowardly of him, and he was not terribly proud of it, but he needed more time to figure out how to speak to her.



"Hello, Vashj," Illidan said, smiling faintly at her as he led Kael onto the terrace.



"Lord Illidan," Vashj greeted him, with a demure incline of her head. "Prince Kael'thas. Good evening to you both."



There was a slight coldness in the way she spoke Kael's name, though she was cordial, and it made the prince feel guilty all over again. "Good evening to you as well, Lady Vashj. I hope it finds you well."



For a moment it appeared her expression softened a bit, but she returned to minding the flowers. Kael quietly sighed, but said nothing. Illidan, for his part, did not seem to notice the exchange--or, more likely, decided not to say anything about it.



"Vashj, Kael. I brought you both here because there's something I wish to say," Illidan said. 



Vashj appeared slightly startled for a moment, as though she weren't expecting such a thing, but quickly recovered. "Yes, my lord?"



Illidan's thumb caressed the etchings on the small wooden box, and he sighed. "The path before us is fraught with much danger and uncertainty. But I suppose I don't need to tell either of you that. You know as well as I that the Legion will not take my failure lightly."



"Our failure, Master," Kael gently corrected him. "It was not your burden to bear alone."



Vashj nodded in solidarity. "We will triumph together, or we will fall together."



"...I rather thought you'd feel that way." Illidan's thumb slid the latch on the box open, and suddenly Kael understood just where that overwhelming sensation of arcane energy in the bedroom emanated from. It was inside that box.



Illidan carefully, even reverently, lifted the lid, and unfolded the black silk covering the bundle inside. There lay three slender glass vials resting snuggly, with delicate silver leaves coiled about them. They were filled with water that glowed with an eerie, eldritch light; soft, and beautiful. Kael's breath was caught in his throat as he gazed upon them. The power they held washed over him like high tide across his feet on the Azurebreeze Coast, and it crept at the edges of his arcane hunger, tempting it with its quiet fury. It was like little else Kael had ever felt before. Only...



"Long ago, shortly after the world's sundering, I took three of these vials to Mount Hyjal to remake at least in some small measure the Well that was the center of our lives, that my brother so callously destroyed in his desperation. I gave yet another vial to Dath'Remar Sunstrider--the ancestor you so revere, Kael, whose blade I saw forged, and rests in your chamber. And with that vial, he crossed the seas to the eastern wilderness, and created the Sunwell that built your kingdom and sustained your people for seven thousand years," Illidan started, in a hushed tone. His fingers gently brushed the vials, and he very carefully removed one, gazing upon it enigmatically. "The price I paid for that action, for ensuring the arcane arts were not lost to the world, for saving my people's immortality and way of life, and for giving your ancestors the means to sustain their existence? For this, they cursed me as 'Betrayer' and cast me from them. For this, I endured ten-thousand years of suffering and confinement away from everything and everyone I loved."



"Lord Illidan..." Vashj gasped, unconsciously placing a hand to her mouth as she realized just what those vials were. Surely she knew, felt their energies radiating and recognized them. It suddenly occurred to Kael, then, that Vashj had seen the original Well of Eternity, had possibly even drawn from it, and he was awed. He remembered the tales he'd read, the stories he'd dismissed as so much fanciful myth until Vashj confirmed them for him. His imagination reached back into the mists of time, and it was almost as if he could see Vashj walking along the Well's shore, basking in its light. Not serpentine, but a kaldorei woman. How beautiful she must have been. And what of Illidan? No wings, no horns, simply an impetuous kaldorei youth following the passion of his convictions, no matter what the personal cost.



Had Malfurion been the one to place his own brother in shackles, he wondered? Had Tyrande been the last face he saw before he was led into the darkness? Perhaps that was why she still haunted his thoughts. The thought nearly broke Kael's heart.



Illidan, however, was undeterred by their shocked silence. "I offer a vial to you, Kael--and one to you, Vashj. Let the waters of Eternity stand as a symbol of our bonds of allegiance, and my promise to you both that I will do everything I can to see your people prosper. Our people."



Stunned, Kael accepted the vial with wide eyes; he held it in his grasp as though he were afraid it wasn't real. Vashj was no less overwhelmed when she took a second vial from his outstretched hand. The final vial was left in the box.



This was a gift that Kael would never be able to repay. This gift meant the salvation of the blood elves. Of course it would take a great deal of time and research to learn how to replicate his ancestor Dath'Remar's miracle of arcane engineering. Kael was not even certain it could be replicated; did the lore, the process, even exist anymore? It didn't matter, though, not to Kael. He would find a way, or die trying. He would build another Sunwell, just as Illidan created another Well of Eternity, and Quel'Thalas would rise from the ashes on Azeroth to even greater glory in Draenor. His people would prosper as they never had before, in their new promised land, and they would raise an army the likes of which that thrice-cursed Kil'jaeden had never seen before. The Legion would be scattered to the Nether, never to threaten Illidan again. Kael would do everything he could to see it through. That was what this gift meant to his people, to him.