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Alastor no longer knew how long he had been walking, fighting, or simply moving forward.
Had it been days?
Months?
Years?
Or worse...Centuries.
This nightmarish realm into which Khorne had thrown him was an ever-shifting amalgamation of each of the Chaos Gods' domains.
One moment, he would be fighting daemonic monstrosities upon blood-red sands.
The next, he would find himself wandering through the decadent lands of pleasure.
One moment, he struggled to shut out the maddening whispers of forbidden knowledge while traversing an endless crystal labyrinth.
The next, he found himself trudging through swamps of pestilence, rot, and plague.
And that wasn't even the worst of it.
Whenever he entered one of the four domains, its ruling god would relentlessly force its influence upon his body, mind, and soul while whispering seductive promises, urging him to surrender and finally accept their embrace.
The worst part...
He'd begun to forget.
Who was he?
What was his name?
Why was he so desperate to escape?
Who were the people in his memories?
Why couldn't he remember their names?
Why did trying to remember them hurt so much...
...and yet he refused to let them go?
Eventually, even their faces began to fade.
Until almost nothing remained.
By now, Alastor moved almost entirely on instinct.
Even when he fought, there was none of the masterful swordsmanship he had once taken pride in.
Only raw instinct.
No form, No skill.....
Only survival.
There were only a handful of directives left in his mind that stubbornly refused to disappear while everything else had either faded away or been buried beneath everything he had endured.
Do not trust the voices.
They were liars.
They were enemies.
He must never listen to them...
Much less accept what they offered.
Return home.
What was "home?"
He no longer knew.
But something deep within him insisted it was the most important place in existence.
Do not forget.
Forget...What?
He'd already lost so much.
What was he still desperately trying to hold onto?
"Your wrath and fury are wasted on sentiment. Pick up your blade, spill their blood, and claim the justice you deserve."
"You are a genius trapped within a world of fools. Bow before me, and I shall unveil the infinite secrets of the cosmos."
"The weight of the world is breaking you. Stop fighting the inevitable. Accept my gift... and never know pain again."
"They bind your desires with chains of guilt. Break free. Indulge your truest passions... and touch perfection itself."
The voices continued.
Again.
And again, And again!
They offered him Power, Knowledge, Comfort and Freedom.
All he had to do...
...was let go.
Yet he never did.
He simply kept walking.....
Because something buried deep within his soul refused to surrender.
Still...
There were times when he wanted it all to end.
Was he wrong...
...for wanting the pain to stop?
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
"From this day forward, you are Alastor Wrynn, Prince of Stormwind."
What...?
This was different.
This "voice" wasn't like the other four.
It carried no temptation nor corruption.
Instead...
It was warm.
Kind.
It reached straight into his soul.
Stormwind...
He knew that name.
He...
He knew it!
It was...
It was—
"...Home."
The word escaped his lips in a hoarse whisper, as though he hadn't spoken in countless years.
<------------------------------>
His eyes widened.
Blinking in confusion, he realized he was no longer within the pocket dimension created by the four Chaos Gods.
Instead, he found himself somewhere that felt like the complete opposite of Chaos.
He stood within an endless grassland blanketed by beautiful white flowers.
Gentle hills rolled across the landscape beneath a twilight sky illuminated by a brilliant moon and countless stars.
It was...
Peaceful, Beautiful, Comforting.
For what felt like the first time in an eternity, Alastor released a long, exhausted sigh.
Then...
He heard footsteps behind him as his body tensed instantly.
Spinning around, he instinctively adopted a guarded stance.
Standing several paces away was a blond-haired, middle-aged man.
He possessed the broad shoulders and sturdy build of a seasoned warrior, yet wore neither armor nor weapons only casual attire.
Most striking of all was the sad yet gentle smile upon his face.
"Hello, Alastor."
Alastor didn't recognize him.
Yet merely looking at the stranger filled him with overwhelming emotions.
Pain, Joy, Grief, Relief.
His eyes burned as though tears threatened to spill forth.
He immediately shook his head.
For all he knew, this was simply another trick of the "voices".
Another daemon wearing a familiar face!
Llane sighed as he took in Alastor's appearance.
The ruined armor.
The disheveled hair.
The exhausted body.
The barely restrained aggression burning within his eyes.
"You've suffered greatly, haven't you, son?"
He slowly walked toward him despite the warning growl that escaped Alastor's throat.
"...And yet..."
A quiet chuckle escaped him.
"It is at the very edge of despair that a man reveals his true nature."
Alastor clenched and unclenched his fists as the stranger stopped directly before him.
Every muscle in his body was prepared to tear the man apart the instant he showed even the slightest hint of hostility.
"And even now..."
Llane smiled proudly.
"...you are still the same, my son."
He gently reached out a hand.
Alastor was already preparing to rip his head from his shoulders.
Instead...
A warm palm rested against his cheek as he froze and his pupils dilated.
Everything returned.
Every memory.
From the moment he first opened his eyes as a newborn upon Azeroth...
To growing up within Stormwind...
To his friends.
His family.
The women he loved.
His ideals.
His dreams.
Everything.
He remembered everything!
The emotion that overwhelmed him most, however...
Was shame as his knees gave way and tears streamed freely down his face.
"Dad..."
His voice trembled.
"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry."
He'd forgotten.....
How could he have forgotten!?
"Alastor, you have nothing to apologize for. None of this is your fault—"
"IT IS!"
Alastor shouted, looking up at the man who had raised him.
The very man he'd nearly attacked only moments before!
"Everything that went wrong was MY fault!"
"If I had never landed on this world, None of this would've happened!"
"Chaos would never have taken such an interest in Azeroth!"
"So many tragedies could've been avoided!"
"We never would've been dragged into the greatest war the world has seen in millennia!"
"Stormwind wouldn't have been besieged!"
"Mom wouldn't be lying in a coma!"
"And you..."
His voice broke.
"...you wouldn't have died."
The fury drained from him.
His shoulders slumped.
Unable to bear looking at Llane any longer, Alastor lowered his head toward the ground in crushing guilt.
"Alastor... look at me."
Alastor didn't want to.
Yet, despite himself, he obeyed.
Looking up, he found Llane watching him with a gentle yet stern expression.
"My boy, I understand why you blame yourself for all of this. But there's something you need to understand."
"Just because you aren't there... doesn't mean tragedy won't happen."
Alastor opened his mouth to argue, only for Llane to raise a hand, stopping him before he could speak.
"The world... the galaxy... and even the greater cosmos are inherently indifferent, Alastor."
"Disasters, diseases, and the imbalance between the strong and the weak exist not because of malice, but because of cold reality, chance, and the natural order of things."
"They cause suffering, yes, But suffering is not always born from evil."
Llane paused, allowing his words to sink in.
"Yes, I died."
"But, Alastor, I was a king."
"Even before I ascended the throne of Stormwind, I had long accepted that one day I would die, just as countless kings and queens before me had."
"Our world has never been a stranger to conflict."
"In truth, war has shaped Azeroth's history just as much as the legends of its greatest heroes."
"Very few monarchs die peacefully in their beds."
"Most meet their end upon the battlefield, defending their kingdoms against Orks, beastkin, black mages, daemons... or even against other men and women."
Alastor stared at him in disbelief.
"Malak killed you with a cursed dagger! You wasted away like a husk, Father!"
"Aye."
Llane nodded without hesitation.
"I died defending my kingdom, my people, and my family from those who wished them harm."
"If anything, that was one of the ways I always expected to die."
He scratched the back of his head with a sheepish frown.
"I'll admit... I imagined it being a little less unpleasant."
Despite everything, Alastor almost laughed.
Almost.
Instead, he simply stared at his father, wondering if death had driven him slightly mad.
Yet...
Damn it.
His words had worked.
The storm raging inside Alastor slowly settled.
His breathing steadied.
The crushing guilt loosened its grip.
Slowly, he rose back to his feet.
He couldn't help feeling a little embarrassed that, despite everything he had accomplished—even leading the Alliance—he still found comfort in the words of his parents.
"Father..."
He looked around at the endless fields of white flowers.
"How are you here?"
"And... where is this place?"
Now that his emotions had calmed enough for him to think clearly, the questions that had been lingering in his mind finally surfaced.
Llane smiled.
"Welcome to your soulscape, Alastor."
The expression on Alastor's face became wonderfully blank.
Chuckling softly, Llane continued.
"This realm surrounding you is a manifestation of your very soul."
"I have to admit..."
He glanced across the peaceful landscape.
"You've created quite a beautiful place."
"As for why I'm here..."
He smiled knowingly.
"You have your Patron to thank for that."
"In fact, she's the one who finally managed to pull you in here."
Alastor blinked.
His confusion only deepened.
Since when had he ever had a Patron God?
"...Do you mean a mindscape?"
"And, Dad..."
"When have I ever had a Patron?"
"You of all people know that while I believed in the Holy Light, I was never particularly religious."
Seeing his son's bewilderment, Llane nodded.
"Fair enough."
"I suppose you deserve an explanation."
He folded his arms as he began speaking.
"A mindscape—the place you access through Occlumency and similar disciplines—is an internal realm composed of thoughts, memories, logic, and consciousness."
"A soulscape is something entirely different."
"It isn't nearly as easy to reach especially since It's a spiritual realm rather than a mental one."
"It reflects the deepest truths of an individual."
"Their identity, emotions and convictions in short the very essence of who they are."
Llane spread an arm toward the endless landscape.
"This.....is your soul."
Alastor looked at him suspiciously.
"Dad..."
"Were you secretly some sort of magical researcher?"
"Because I'm fairly certain you weren't an expert on the deeper mysteries of magic, much less something as advanced as the soul."
Llane burst into laughter.
"Oh, Aspects, no!"
He wiped a tear from his eye.
"I know my strengths, son."
"Magic certainly wasn't one of them."
"That was Medivh's field, not mine."
"The only reason I know any of this is because of your Patron."
"She' been very pleasant company while the others and I have been here."
Alastor frowned.
"Again with the Patron..."
Llane only chuckled before motioning for him to follow.
"Come with me."
Alastor hesitated for only a moment before following his father.
As they walked, he glanced down at himself.
His appearance was still a mess.
His armor hung in tatters, making him resemble a wandering barbarian far more than the knight he considered himself to be.
Wait...
If this really is my soulscape...
Closing his eyes, Alastor focused.
To his pleasant surprise, the battered remnants of his armor dissolved away.
In their place appeared a fitted black shirt beneath a dark blue jacket and matching trousers, all perfectly tailored to his Primarch-sized frame.
A satisfied smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Llane noticed but wisely chose not to comment.
Together, they climbed one of the tallest hills.
When they reached the summit, Llane silently gestured toward the horizon.
Alastor immediately understood what his father wanted him to see.
It wasn't exactly subtle.
Standing alone in the distance was a colossal gate of gray and white stone, nearly a hundred meters tall.
Its massive double doors stood partially open.
Beyond them...
Flames burned.
Beautiful.
Familiar.
Sacred.
Yet the gate wasn't connected to any wall or fortress.
It stood by itself, as though it existed outside the normal rules of reality.
His sacred fire.
Alastor's eyes widened.
He immediately realized he was looking at the true source of his newest power.
"Dad...?"
"You were never alone when you were brought to our world, Alastor."
Llane's gaze drifted toward the towering gate in the distance.
"Or rather... your coming here was the will of an unimaginably powerful being."
"She marked you as hers long before Anduin and I found you in Elwynn Forest."
Alastor had countless questions.
Yet the one foremost in his mind only made him scowl at the colossal gate.
"Some help she turned out to be!"
"If I'm supposedly her Champion, then a little assistance would've been appreciated!"
"Azeroth was at war!"
"Our enemies kept throwing one disaster after another at us without end!"
"And then those four damned Warp tumors tortured me for..." He clenched his fists. "...for I don't even know how long!"
His body trembled with barely restrained rage and revulsion as memories of the Chaos Gods flooded back into his mind.
Each of their realms.
Each of their temptations.
Each of their torments.
And worst of all...
The specially created pocket dimension where they had imprisoned him for what might have been centuries!
Only Alastor truly understood how close he had come to losing himself forever.
His mind had deteriorated so completely that his memories had gradually slipped away until he had become little more than a shell driven by instinct.
Although Llane didn't know every detail, he understood enough.
He knew his son had endured horrors capable of breaking even the greatest of heroes.
Wordlessly, he rested a comforting hand upon Alastor's forearm.
"Perhaps you need a little more context."
"Your Patron isn't from our dimension."
"In truth..."
"...she isn't even from our plane of reality."
Alastor blinked.
His anger momentarily gave way to confusion.
If that were true...
Then whoever this Patron was existed beyond not only the physical universe, but beyond the Warp and every other realm connected to it.
Llane nodded.
"Believe me, she is an immensely powerful being."
"But because she exists outside our reality, there are severe limits to what she can directly do."
"Even bringing your consciousness here—to your own soulscape—took an incredible amount of time."
"You were trapped within the Realm of Chaos itself."
"Their influence over you made it extraordinarily difficult for her to reach you."
"Then why bring me here?"
Llane smiled and gestured toward the distant gate.
"Isn't it obvious?"
"She wants you to meet her."
"And she wants you to understand what you truly are."
Alastor froze.
His fists slowly tightened.
"So... that's it?"
"Was everything I ever said about forging our own destinies meaningless?"
"About writing our own stories?"
"Was my life... just another script some god had already written!?"
"No."
Llane's answer came without the slightest hesitation.
"While it is true that she brought you to Azeroth..."
"And while your sacred fire was indeed a gift from her..."
"That is where her influence over your life ends."
"She never dictated your choices."
"Every day you lived...Every decision you made..."
"Every victory."
"Every failure."
"They were all yours."
Llane looked directly into his son's eyes.
He remembered the child he had raised.
The knight he had watched grow.
The leader who had united kingdoms.
The man who had willingly carried the weight of the entire world.
"I don't know where you truly came from, I don't know whose blood flows through your veins."
"But I do know this."
"You're my son."
"You are Alastor Wrynn, Prince of Stormwind and Hero of Azeroth."
"And if my words alone aren't enough..."
A gentle smile crossed Llane's face.
"...then perhaps you'll believe theirs."
The endless field of white flowers began to glow.
One by one...
Then by the hundreds...
Then by the thousands...
Spectral figures emerged across the hills until they stretched beyond the horizon.
Tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands.
Perhaps even more.
Many wore the armor and uniforms of soldiers.
Others were knights.
Paladins.
Priests.
Magi.
Humans stood beside dwarves, Elves, Gnomes and other races.
Not all of them were warriors.
Many were simple civilians.
Farmers.
Merchants.
Mothers, Fathers and Children.
Alastor stared in stunned silence at the impossible gathering.
Llane looked upon them with quiet pride.
"Every soul that perished during the war..."
"...was saved from the grasp of Chaos and undeath by your subconscious wish."
"Just as you saved me."
Alastor's eyes widened.
"What?"
"But you said your soul was saved because of my Patron!"
"I did."
Llane nodded.
"She gave you the means."
"But it was your own will that made such a miracle possible."
He looked toward the countless souls surrounding them.
"Despite every battle through every tragedy..."
"Your wish never changed."
"You wanted to protect them all."
"That unwavering wish became your greatest strength."
"It resonated with the hopes, prayers, and determination of every living soul upon Azeroth."
"It became a beacon."
"The living drew courage from it."
"And those who drew their final breath..."
Llane smiled warmly.
"...found refuge within the light of your soul."
He placed a hand upon Alastor's shoulder.
"You protected them in death..."
"...just as you protected them in life."
Alastor didn't know what to say after hearing such a revelation.
Fortunately...
He didn't have to.
One of the specters stepped forward.
Someone he recognized immediately.
David.
One of his knights and frontline commanders, the man who had marched with him from Stormwind and fought beside him at both Aerie Peak and Ironforge before ultimately falling to a Death Knight during the campaign to Hammerfall.
Yet before his death, David had managed to grievously wound the undead commander.
David saluted him in the traditional Azerothian manner before dropping to one knee.
"My Prince."
"I thank the Light that, even in death, I have been granted the honor of seeing you once more."
"Forgive me for failing to accompany you any farther."
"Sir David..."
Alastor quickly stepped forward.
"Please."
"You have nothing to apologize for."
"You were an exemplary knight and an even greater man."
A grateful smile spread across David's face.
"Then, my lord..."
"If I may be so bold..."
"May I ask one final favor of you?"
"Anything."
David lowered his head.
"Then, my Prince..."
"...please allow me, my brothers and sisters, and everyone gathered here..."
"...to witness your greatness one final time!"
It was as though a spark had ignited a sea of dry grass.
One after another...
The countless specters knelt.
Not out of fear.
Not out of obligation.
But out of genuine admiration and respect for the man who had fought harder than anyone to protect them...
...and who had continued protecting them even after death.
"My Lord!"
An Alliance soldier raised his voice.
"Let us defy the fel gods one last time!"
"You have already given us everything."
A paladin bowed his head solemnly.
"Please... allow us to repay even a fraction of that kindness by lending you whatever strength we still possess even if it's miniscule"
A gnomish engineer adjusted his oversized spectral goggles.
"You might not be a gnome..."
"...but you're someone we'd gladly follow into the deepest pits of Hell and back!"
"Dwarves NEVER abandon their comrades!"
A Bronzebeard warrior slammed a fist against his chest.
"Khuzdbâha!"
Beside him, a Wildhammer dwarf gave an equally thunderous roar of agreement.
A Night Elf Sentinel stepped forward, resting both hands upon her glaives.
"We first marched beside you because the Moon's tidings guided us, yet you proved yourself worthy."
"You proved your cause was worth dying for."
"Even in death..."
"...our blades remain yours."
It was ironic, wasn't it?
History's greatest leaders were often those who had never desired positions of power in the first place.
Yet what defined them wasn't their reluctance.
It was their willingness to step forward when they were needed.
Alastor wanted to speak.
To thank them.
To apologize.
To say...Anything.
Instead, the words caught in his throat.
For so long...
He had believed he had failed them.
Yet not a single soul before him carried resentment.
Only gratitude.
Only respect.
Slowly, he turned toward the distant gate.
He could feel it calling to him, an invisible "weight" seemed to lift from his heart.
He released a long, quiet sigh.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity...
He felt lighter.
He looked back toward Llane.
After everything he had endured...
He was no longer afraid.
"...I'm going."
Llane smiled with unmistakable pride.
Stepping forward, he clasped Alastor's forearm firmly.
"I've said it before..."
"...and I'll gladly say it again."
"I always knew you were destined for greatness."
"But more importantly..."
"...I always knew you possessed the strength of character to achieve it."
He smiled warmly.
"Now go."
"Spread your wings and soar beyond the distant skies."
"This era belongs to you."
Unable to stop himself, Alastor pulled his father into a fierce embrace.
Llane let out a surprised grunt despite being a soul himself.
"...you still hug like a bear."
The two laughed quietly before Llane returned the embrace, gently patting his son's back.
Eventually, they separated.
Alastor gave the endless gathering one final look, silently committing every face he could see to memory.
Then...
He froze.
Standing among the countless souls was a familiar figure.
A paladin.
A young blond-haired paladin.
Arthas.
Neither of them spoke.
Arthas simply offered him a warm—if slightly awkward—smile before giving a small, encouraging nod.
Alastor wanted to walk over.
He wanted to say something.
Anything.
Yet no words came.
Instead...
He placed a fist over his heart.
Giving Arthas a traditional Azerothian salute.
Their eyes met.
Arthas immediately understood.
The last traces of awkwardness disappeared from his smile, as nodded at him.
Summoning his fiery wings, Alastor soared into the sky.
From above, he admired the breathtaking beauty of his soulscape one final time before descending only a short distance from the colossal gates.
Standing before them now...
They seemed even larger than before.
He inhaled deeply.
Then slowly walked toward them.
He never looked back despite knowing they were watching him.
With every step, the connection beyond the gates grew stronger.
Warmer.
More familiar.
Soon, he stood before the immense stone doors.
Flames seeped through the narrow gap between them instead of burning him they brought him only comfort.
He closed his eyes.
Took one final deep breath.
Then opened them once more.
"...I'm not afraid anymore."
The words were spoken softly.
Not as a declaration to the world...But as a promise to himself.
Placing both hands against the colossal doors, Alastor pushed with all his strength.
The colossal gates groaned.
Slowly...
They began to open.
With one final surge of effort, he forced them wide.
Beyond them was fire.
Not ordinary fire...
But an endless realm of cosmic flame.
From within that sea of living light...
A pair of enormous golden avian eyes opened and looked directly at him.
Alastor stood motionless.
The golden-orange inferno shifted.
Its flames gathered together, taking the shape of a majestic bird so vast that it seemed to dwarf the very horizon.
A name echoed through his mind.
Not spoken...
But understood.
Like the final piece of a puzzle finally falling into place.
".....Phoenix."
The cosmic being released a magnificent cry.
Its voice echoed across time, space, and every realm beyond.
Then...
A literal tsunami of cosmic fire surged from the open gates, rushing toward Alastor.
He didn't flinch.
He didn't resist.
Instead...
He simply closed his eyes.
A profound warmth embraced his soul.
The flames wrapped around him like a comforting cosmic blanket...
And welcomed him home.
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