The depths of the Hyjal Mountains. Day three since the creation of the second Well of Eternity.
"Brother?.." From behind the thick bars, accompanied by the clatter of a cell door snapping shut, came a voice filled with disbelief: the newly minted prisoner had doubted the reality of what was happening until the very last moment.
As soon as the door settled into its place, the complex of spells woven into the cell activated, and sparse blue flashes began to flicker between the bars with a faint crackling. The Night Elf, now stripped of his freedom, sported a bare torso and was illuminated by a green light seeping from beneath the blindfold over his eyes. In this dim blue-green radiance, an intricate web of tattoos glowed dark green, standing out strikingly against the prisoner's violet skin and harmoniously intertwining with one another.
And though this representative of the long-lived had lost his ordinary sight long ago, the ability he received in exchange—to see the flows of magic—allowed him to behold the soul-wrenching scene in all its glory. Beyond the prison bars of the spell-bound dungeon stood some of the elves closest to him: his twin brother, his beloved, and the teacher of the trio of friends—one of whom was currently separated by a veil of magic and steel.
"Forgive me, Illidan Stormrage," Malfurion Stormrage shook his head—the very Druid upon whom the green lights from the prisoner's eye sockets, hidden by the blindfold, were fixed—"but this is for your own good."
"We will not release you from stasis until you realize your transgressions," intervened the prisoner's former teacher—the Keeper of the Grove, a demigod named Cenarius, whose appearance was that of a centaur with elk antlers and the face of an elderly elf.
That last word stung Illidan Stormrage to the quick, and the deceptively calm expression immediately vanished from his face: his self-control gave way to the onslaught of rage. This surge of emotion, in fact, caused a repetition of the "discussion" from a day ago, when he had been caught on the shore of the mountain lake creating a new Source of Magic. What could be done: this elf had always stood out among his kin for his excessive impulsiveness...
"Transgressions?!" Illidan Stormrage growled frantically, twitching in the invisible bonds of the proverbial stasis that held the blind elf in the air, right in the center of the small cell. His tattoos flared, and for a moment, a deathly green light chased the shadows from the distant corners of the dungeon. However, these pathetic scraps of Mana escaping the prisoner's body were only capable of a small illumination and instantly dissipated, being absorbed by the ancient demigod's system of spells. "First, listening to you, I betrayed our Queen! Then, for the sake of my people, having sworn loyalty to Sargeras, I entered the service of demons and betrayed him as soon as I received Power! And then I betrayed my entire people, condemning us to a mortal life, when I agreed to close that cursed portal at the cost of destroying the Source of Magic! I was against it, but I agreed to close it... and I closed it! I still can't believe I let myself be talked into it..." At that moment, he turned his head toward the priestess of Elune, who was the primary and, perhaps, only reason for his consent. "I nearly sent the whole world to hell back then when I threw the Aspects' trinket into the Source of Magic! But even after that, no one said a word to me! On the contrary—they called me a Hero of war! Of course—'Demons are defeated, and the victors are not judged'! And the fact that one half of the continent is in ruins, the second is nowhere to be found, only scraps are left of our civilization, and the capital has vanished into the abyss entirely—that doesn't matter anymore?! Well, let me remind you—a Maelstrom has appeared in the Great Sea, around which dragons know what is happening, and the whole world is about to fall to pieces, but that's just—nonsense and collateral damage?!..." The prisoner broke into a scream and had to pause to recover his ragged breath, but the listeners were in no hurry to voice their opinions and waited patiently for the conclusion of the monologue. "And now, when I tried to fix part of my mistakes and return to the world the foundation that the war knocked out from under it, and to the elves—the strength and immortality that for several millennia have already become an integral part... a mortally integral part of our people—I am named a Betrayer! Do you not understand?! I gave the elves hope for rebirth by returning eternal life without the thirst for magic!"
"You should have sipped less from the Source of Magic, as if from a simple well, then there would be no thirst..." Malfurion Stormrage muttered quietly, but loud enough for everyone to hear.
The pause taken was too short for anyone to manage to comment on this barb in any way.
"Hope for what?" the Druid asked tiredly, massaging the bridge of his nose—it wasn't the first time he had tried to convince his brother of his error. "For a swift return visit from the Legion? It is better to be mortal but live in peace and tranquility, knowing that your children do not face the fate of being eaten or enslaved, than to shake with fear in the hope that they will forget about us, and then, on one 'fine' day, meet the demons and spend the rest of your vaunted 'eternity' in their bondage or in their stomachs! I don't even know which is worse..." The temperature in the Druid's instructive speech gradually rose. "For Sargeras, the Source of Magic is too tempting a morsel, and he will not give it up so easily! So you can forget about your 'immortality': Sargeras's patience is boundless, but even his will not last for such a long time!"
"If we hadn't closed the portal, we would have been dead long ago or running errands for demons! And the world... if it didn't collapse immediately, then the Aspects will not allow it now, and no lack of a Source of Magic will prevent them from stabilizing the magical flows!" the demigod echoed his student, but more emotionally.
The final participant—the lovely "young" elf—also did not remain silent, her speech matching the heat of the previous monologues:
"You did not betray Azshara—it was she who abandoned her people, allowing demons to cloud her mind with sweet talk of 'free' knowledge and 'cheap' power! And you did not betray the elves when you destroyed the demonic portal with us, ruining the Source of Magic! Had you thought otherwise, I believe you would have been the first to refuse this plan! But, in the name of Elune..." Tyrande Whisperwind, gripped by emotion, slammed her fist against the bars, causing a wave of magic to ripple through the dungeon, carrying a grain of the elf's power and thus giving off a distinct "lunar" flavor that everyone present felt, "...what were you thinking when you created the second Well of Eternity?! Has our people not paid a high enough price to ensure that such a thing never happens again?! Truly, you have betrayed both the survivors and those who died, giving their lives for this victory... a victory that you have turned into a defeat!"
"What was I thinking?" Illidan Stormrage "looked" at the girl he loved with longing, seeing only the white energy flowing through her body and the rainbow shimmer of her aura. "Certainly not about demons or the opinion of the people... I was thinking of you, Tyrande Whisperwind! How could I allow my beloved to die in just a few hundred years of life?! And why lie to myself—I wanted to become a Hero for you—the savior of the elves! I wanted to make an impression... so that you would be proud and admire me, because the creation of a Source of Magic is a far from trivial task, but for some reason, no one remembered that... So that you would finally look at me with a fraction of the tenderness and love with which you look at my brother!" The eye sockets of the crucified elf flared fiercely with green. "Everything I did was either for you, Veterok (Nickname), or by the will of duty and brotherly bonds... Even the proverbial pursuit of power was not for the sake of power itself, but for the sake of being able to do everything and even more for you! Which is, in fact, what I did... And in the end, no one appreciated it: I lost you, let down my brother, lost the trust of my teacher, couldn't even save Azshara, though I swore I would pull the Queen from the clutches of demons... Love, brotherly bonds, the respect of a teacher, duty to Azshara, and the passion for studying and possessing magic... I'm somewhat tired of all this misunderstanding. Maybe, truly, I need to be alone?" The elf's fire had reached its end. The emotions had burned out; from the famous rage in his soul, only a smoldering spark and the soot of indifference remained. The green fires almost went out, the pair of sparking emeralds replaced by two small, dim greenish sparks whose light barely pierced the blindfold.
Who knows what would have happened had he spoken these thoughts aloud: perhaps he would have been forgiven, or perhaps, on the contrary—cursed and his name consigned to oblivion. However, the Demon Hunter knew that in any case, she would never be with him again, so he preferred to keep everything inside and play the role of the tragic character, misunderstood and unaccepted by all. He replied with completely different words, which had already become an eyesore to his captors, as if begging them for his future fate; though, perhaps, that was indeed the case—his speech often diverged so much from his thoughts:
"I saved our people from the agony of the thirst for magic and returned the nearly lost immortality and the ability to use magic in all its glory," the prisoner repeated indifferently. "It is worth taking a small risk. A repeat invasion because of the Source of Magic is unlikely—after all, the new one is nowhere near as strong as the first... I am not so vain as to compete with its creators—the Titans. And even if the demons try to attack again, this time the Source of Magic will serve as a reliable defense..."
"'Small,' 'unlikely'?" the bearded lord of the forest pursed his lips, his beard shaking with genuine indignation at such an interpretation of events.
"'Reliable'?" the frowning Druid echoed him.
Tyrande Whisperwind did not comment on his words this time, continuing to gaze into the face of the second most important elf in her life in an attempt to find something there, known only to her.
"The war only began because, due to the machinations of demons, part of the power of the Well of Eternity fell under their control. It is obvious that without its support, they would not have been able to activate such a massive portal and would have been beaten soundly..."
"Who is to stop them from doing the same again? Or coming up with something else?" the twin brother standing on the other side of the bars, so unlike his imprisoned relative, noted justly.
"Forewarned is forearmed," the elf's emotions were only enough for a slight shrug, as if to say, why am I telling you obvious truths. "It is foolish to throw away a weapon just because it might be stolen and used against you. That is precisely what testifies to its value, and also that the weapon should be cherished, nurtured, well-guarded, and... applied at the first sign of danger. And besides—who told you that the demons won't find another reason for an invasion besides the Source of Magic? For revenge, for example? But this time, we will have something to answer with."
"We, with our own strength, albeit with difficulty, still won the victory when part of the power of the Source of Magic was on the side of the demons, and without the Source of Magic at all, they will not risk it..."
"Oh, ye-e-es... the victory cost us only nine-tenths of our people, half the continent, a maddened Aspect, and a global cataclysm..." Illidan Stormrage drawled with bitter mockery, cutting off his brother. "And what will you blow up then, if 'without the Source of Magic at all'? The entire planet, perhaps?"
"This is a hollow argument, my foolish student," the eldest of those present continued with a sigh. "Some are ready to trade immortality for a short but peaceful life for themselves and their children, while others, like the Highborn, are not frightened by Fel or the possibility of ending their days in the stomachs of demons—just to snatch an extra bit of knowledge or a grain of power. Some, like you, are more dependent on magic, and some—less. Therefore, everyone reasons from their own side. In such matters, there will never be complete unity... Everyone has their own truth, but for some reason, you disregarded the opinions of others, deciding everything unilaterally!"
The demigod took a short pause, but the interlocutor did not take advantage of it, and he continued:
"The victory tasted bitter: we had to sacrifice many lives for it and more... By destroying the Source of Magic, we did the right thing: we had no other choice, and there was no other way to stop the demons... and I am glad you do not dispute this fact." During the time his comrades were deciding his fate, Illidan Stormrage had grown quite tired of the same lectures from the "old goat," and this time he simply nodded, though he held a different point of view, somewhat distinct from the generally accepted one. "You don't think the decision to close the Portal in such a suicidal way was easy for us? But we took responsibility for what we did and will carry it to the end..."
"I never refused responsibility for the second Source of Magic!" the guilty one grunted gloomily, unable to restrain himself, "but you didn't even let me 'feel' it, let alone 'take it and carry it,' you immediately raised a howl to the heavens and shoved me into a cell..."
"You should not have created a new Source of Magic without at least consulting us!" Malfurion Stormrage took the floor again, his resonant voice booming through the cell.
"As if you would have allowed it..."
Tyrande Whisperwind lowered her gaze, staring at the floor, for some reason feeling an involuntary guilt for his correctness—no one would have certainly allowed him to create a new "source" of problems.
"You are, as always, too arrogant and blunt! I'm not saying your idea is that bad! Not at all, but you should have acted much more subtly... With the arrival of the demons, the world has changed—no one but them and a couple of individuals like you needs a second real Well of Eternity!" Now, to this statement about a "couple of individuals," the prisoner had something to say, but he didn't have time: his brother switched to a new topic. "Anyway, we've drifted off, because you ended up here not only because of the Source of Magic. Remember, Illidan Stormrage, what you did there, on the shore of the former lake," the elf, adjusting the cloak draped over his broad shoulders and decorated with fresh tree leaves, pointed to the ceiling, "before pouring the essence of magic into the water."
"The Patrol," the prisoner said hollowly. "I already told you—they blocked my path and provoked me when I tried to pass, and I..."
"Killed them," the Druid finished for him. "Brother, brother..." Malfurion Stormrage shook his head sadly. "Do you even believe what you're saying? A Hero of war, a skilled Mage, a significant swordsman and Demon Hunter, Illidan Stormrage, could not manage without bloodshed in a fight with less than a dozen Rangers—hardly more than yesterday's commoners compared to you? And I beg you—just don't say they provoked you!"
"I..." but the elf was interrupted again, and he didn't have time to question the fact that Rangers who had gone through a war a quarter of a millennium long could be simple commoners. Of course, they didn't compare to him, but...
"You. Lost. Control. Over. Yourself." The words of the ancient demigod bit into Illidan Stormrage's consciousness like nails being driven into nothing less than the lid of the coffin that his dungeon had effectively become. "I warned you about the danger of 'demonic free gifts,' but your obsession with magic and power exceeded all reasonable limits!"
"Perhaps it was so, and I indeed acted in the heat of the moment..." Illidan Stormrage agreed reluctantly, but immediately flared up with the remnants of his former heat: "But they attacked first! And anyway—during the breakthrough to the portal, I killed our brothers and sisters by the dozens, but for the blood of elves doing their duty to their Queen, no one for some reason asked anything of me! But for a dozen youngsters who felt like playing heroes, they set all the quillboars on me! And what does 'exceeded limits' mean? If it weren't for my new abilities, we would never have broken into the palace!" Here he remembered that had he not warned Queen Azshara at the last moment (in a moment of weakness, the fear of losing the Source of Magic prevailed over the fear of losing the war), they probably wouldn't have had to break in at all, and at this thought, he smiled bitterly, realizing that for this episode he quite deservedly received the nickname "Betrayer"—wittingly or unwittingly, he had betrayed everyone he could... and more than once, not to mention the dubiousness of the fact of receiving the achievement "First on Azeroth Destroyer of the Source of Magic."
"Maybe yes, maybe no... History is not friends with the word 'if'... I am glad you see the difference between doing your duty and a childish game of heroes, but then I understand even less how you could raise a hand against them... I have only one conclusion—you are dangerous, both to those around you and to yourself. You're liable next time to jump straight into the Source of Magic or create a couple more for backup, in case 'something happens to the first'..."
A pause formed, which Illidan Stormrage tried to take advantage of, sensing that the time for talk had come to an end and soon he would be left here alone.
"Tyrande Whisperwind, I..." the prisoner began, but cut himself off: since he hadn't said anything earlier, the words bursting from his heart now were entirely superfluous; besides, he had already said the most important thing to her a long time ago.
The green-haired priestess of Elune finally looked up from the floor and, stepping up to the enchanted bars, looked directly into the "eyes" of her friend, seemingly ignoring both the blindfold and the actual blindness.
"Illidan Stormrage, you didn't notice yourself how you've changed. Where did the cheerful elf go—that jolly storyteller who loved to tell funny stories made up on the fly? Who, stuttering over every word, declared his love to me under the canopy of stars and the light of Elune?" At these words, Malfurion Stormrage slightly raised his eyebrows in mild surprise—this moment had escaped his attention, and he had never thought that Illidan Stormrage would reveal his feelings to a girl who had already given her heart to another... "Now a demonic fire burns in your eyes, and your words are empty, as if you don't believe what you're saying yourself..."
Her last assumption hit the mark exactly, but the prisoner was in no hurry to confirm it; he was more occupied with another phrase. "She remembered after all... Only about a hundred years have passed, but it seems an entire eternity has gone by..."
"Forgive me," was all the completely deflated Illidan Stormrage could squeeze out.
For a few minutes, they were silent, each thinking their own thoughts. Finally, Cenarius realized it was time to wrap up, and by his will, a colorless oval of a Teleport opened behind the trio, covered by a transparent film, beyond which a forest glade could be seen. It was time for parting words.
"Sort yourself out, brother," Malfurion Stormrage said, stepping away from the cage and disappearing into the maw of the portal created by the teacher.
"Take up meditation, student," the old godling advised in his usual style at the end. "Take control of your emotions, tame the passions tearing you apart, untangle the knot of your desires... Make the right choice."
A dazzlingly beautiful girl remained standing before the door (and there were generally no others among elven women in the opinion of the stronger half of the elves), the halo of whose aura burned with bright colors in the Hunter's inner vision.
"Until we meet again, Illidan Stormrage. I believe you will come to your senses," she smiled sadly at him and also vanished into the portal.
For some time, the prisoner watched motionlessly as the blue sparks—what remained of the collapsed transition—scattered and gradually faded.
"Yes, I have things to think about," he slowly (where did he have to rush now?) surveyed his home for the next few years. "For starters, I can count who and how many times I've betrayed in the last twenty years..."
------------------//------------------
The colorful trio was in no hurry to leave the forest glade located near the entrance to the dungeon. They had one more piece of business left unresolved.
"Will he change his mind?" as expected, Tyrande Whisperwind began first, possessing the more sensitive and empathetic nature among them.
"You know my brother is stubborn, hot-headed, proud, and at times extremely thick-headed, but at the same time he is smart and possesses the talent of a true Mage—to penetrate the essence of things... If he follows the advice and sets a goal, he will be able to sort himself out."
"I am sure he will manage and be able to set his priorities correctly," Cenarius supported his student. "He just needs to be given time."
"How much?" the girl voiced the main question, which they had by mutual consent postponed until the last moment.
"The problem won't be solved in one go..." the Keeper of the Grove stroked his beard in thought. "Illidan Stormrage believes too fervently in his own rightness, and he is immensely stubborn. I think it would be better if we don't disturb him for at least... twenty-five years: let him cool down, and then we'll see."
"Twenty-five years?" Tyrande Whisperwind asked with doubt, and from the intonation of her voice, it was impossible to determine whether it was a lot or a little.
"Just right," Malfurion Stormrage agreed with the teacher. "A quarter of a century is not such a short time, but leaving him alone for too long is also impossible—he might think he's been forgotten or betrayed... he has a vivid imagination."
"True," the demigod nodded. "But Illidan Stormrage won't be completely alone... I will leave him a loophole for early release." In response to the questioning looks of his companions, Cenarius explained. "I have appointed Maiev Shadowsong as his jailer—the sister of one of the patrolmen he killed on Mount Hyjal. If he humbles his pride and has enough sense to realize his guilt and admit his mistake, then he will ask her for forgiveness..."
"And if he is convincing enough that Maiev Shadowsong accepts his apology, then we will release him," the elven Druid voiced the obvious conclusion.
"Yes."
"He doesn't apologize often," the elf winced, recalling Illidan's solitary "forgive me." "And he's usually short-spoken at that..."
"Everything is the will of Elune..." Cenarius replied wisely and appropriately.
Then the conversation smoothly moved on to other topics: the leaders of the remnants of the elven people who survived the war and the subsequent cataclysm had much to discuss.