"I must refuse."
Tyrande glanced sideways at the Head Maid Vashj, whose hostility was becoming impossible to conceal, and calmly closed her eyes as she rejected Azshara's proposal.
"I swore an oath in my youth to dedicate my entire life to Elune. I am sorry, but I cannot grant your request, Your Majesty."
"Insolent!"
Although Vashj harbored deep wariness toward Tyrande, her incomparable loyalty to Azshara caused her to instinctively jump forward and bark at the priestess.
"The Queen herself issued you an invitation! What makes you think you have the right to—"
Azshara pushed herself up and waved a hand in a lazy, elegant gesture. "That's enough, Vashj."
"The fun lies in the challenge. Tyrande will be staying in the palace for a long time; I believe she will change her mind sooner or later. Don't be so fierce toward your future colleague."
"...Yes, my Queen. I lost my composure."
"Hehe~ Don't worry about it. You're quite interesting when you're all bristled up like that."
Azshara playfully reached out with a slender, tapering finger and gave Vashj's chin a light stroke. The previously furious Head Maid instantly turned into a docile kitten, lowering her head with flushed cheeks.
Having handled Vashj, Azshara tried to reach out toward Tyrande as well, but a barrier of energy radiating the soft glow of moonlight kept her fingers at bay.
"Hmph~ Elune's protection, is it?"
Azshara let out a soft snort, her expression shifting slightly. "Fine then. I'll see just how long Elune can protect you."
"Vashj, let's go."
"Yes."
Before leaving, Vashj turned her back to Azshara and shot Tyrande a gaze filled with murderous intent. She sensed a threat in the Queen's attitude toward this priestess.
Clang—
Following Azshara's departure, the armed maids responsible for guarding Tyrande re-entered the room. The side hall, which had briefly seen a ripple of tension, returned to silence.
Tyrande let out an almost imperceptible sigh and looked out the window at the waning moon hanging in the night sky, a trace of sorrow appearing on her face.
Elune, I hope the rescue you spoke of arrives before the blessing fades.
...
"Achoo!"
In the outskirts of Zin-Azshari, within the central camp of the Resistance.
Andreas, who was currently shaving his beard in his tent, suddenly sneezed.
Fortunately, he pulled the razor away just in time; otherwise, his face would likely have gained a new scar.
Rubbing his nose, Andreas muttered in confusion, "A cold? Impossible. Or is someone talking about me?"
With the help of the Moon Guard, a journey that would have spanned thousands of miles had become a matter of moments.
All the Moon Guards needed to do was locate a ley line node. Together, they constructed a large-scale teleportation array, allowing the party of hundreds to arrive near the capital in succession.
During the previous counter-offensive, large swathes of the area surrounding Zin-Azshari had been occupied by the Resistance. The coordinates Andreas and the others teleported to were located at a ley line node near Black Rook Hold, deep within the Resistance's rear.
After merging with the main body of the Resistance, the addition of hundreds of Priestesses of the Moon acted as a shot of adrenaline for the weary soldiers.
Not only did it boost morale by representing the full support of the Sisterhood of Elune, but the priestesses immediately began treating the wounded upon arrival. The Resistance, which had been severely lacking in healing classes, received powerful logistical support.
The link-up process was exceptionally smooth. As the leader of the Resistance, Jarod Shadowsong integrated his sister Maiev into the high command without any obstacles.
Major Delier and the other Moon Guards had initially prepared themselves for a cold reception from the Resistance, but they were instead greeted warmly by the noble officers of the rebel army.
As the Burning Legion's atrocities became increasingly blatant, this small group of Moon Guards was certainly not the only faction of Highborne to join the Resistance.
Aside from the Shen'dralar in Eldre'Thalas following their policy of isolation, and Suramar, which had shut itself inside a magical shield.
Highborne from Shandalar in the far north and Sen'lalo in the central wilds had arrived from afar to join the Resistance, dissatisfied with the Legion's actions.
Even so, facing the overwhelming number of demons near Zin-Azshari, Commander-in-Chief Jarod still felt that his forces were spread too thin.
Andreas had expected to meet his mentor Malfurion in the camp, and had even prepared a story about his amnesia.
However, he unexpectedly learned from the Druids staying behind that the Archdruid had followed Cenarius and the other semi-gods to establish a vanguard camp at the very front lines, where they monitored the demons' movements at all times.
It's no wonder. With Tyrande captured, Malfurion must be frantic with worry by now.
For the normally mild-mannered Malfurion, he was often willing to take a step back to keep the peace, but on major issues involving the safety of the world, he knew exactly where to stand.
Aside from the safety of Azeroth and his people, the Archdruid had one ultimate "reverse scale"—Tyrande.
Once someone posed a threat to Tyrande, the gentle Malfurion would show the world the cruel side of nature.
...
Andreas had long been unable to stand his full beard. Due to the constant chain of events previously, he hadn't found a chance to settle down and groom himself.
Thanks to Maiev's efforts, Andreas had been assigned his own independent tent. Although conditions were poor given the chaos of war, he finally had some free time to attend to personal matters.
After shaving off his beard, Andreas saw his reflection clearly in the mirror.
As the source of all elven sub-races, the Night Elves were a race of handsome men and beautiful women. Aside from the strange purple skin, Andreas had yet to see a single ugly member of his race.
Evaluating himself objectively, Andreas felt his looks weren't particularly outstanding among his kin; at least, his face didn't show anything special.
But his eyes were definitely unique among the Night Elves—eyes with golden rims and black pupils. There wouldn't be a second person with eyes like his.
"Excuse me, is sir Andreas Moonshadow in?"
An inquiry from outside interrupted Andreas' thoughts.
"I'm here. Who is it?"
Lifting the tent flap to step outside, he saw a Druid wearing simple leather armor standing there.
This Druid looked quite young. As he looked at Andreas, his eyes flickered with surprise and curiosity.
Andreas' appearance differed slightly from the intelligence he had received; the man before him lacked the signature beard.
"Senior Andreas? Commander Jarod invites you to the main camp for a council."
Andreas paused, pointing at himself in surprise. "Me? A council? Are you sure there's no mistake?"
The young Druid scratched his head and said awkwardly, "At least, those were the orders I received. I'm not sure about the details myself."
A flash of confusion crossed Andreas' eyes. "Alright, I'll head over now. Thank you for the trouble. You are...?"
The little Druid rubbed his nose sheepishly. "Feron. My name is Feron Riverwind. I'm part of the second generation of Druids after your group, Senior."