Satyrs perished in a flash of arcane plasma that boomed through the area around the Temple of Elune in the shattered remnants of what was once Suramar’s outskirts. Laronar had been too young to fight here back when it was whole, but now, with Elune’s blessing empowering his form if not his true body, Laronar Stormclaw could fight back against the encroaching forces of the Nightmare and the Legion.

  The Circle had come to him desperate, asking him to once more take up Ashamane’s Fangs in defense of Val’sharah. He had no choice but to accept. Yet, the Fangs felt at odds with the Stormclaw for some reason. At least in this form. Wielding both as a Moonkin had been impractical, especially when Malfurion had gathered the Archdruids in the Grove of Cenarius, and they had nominated him to retrieve the Tears of Elune.

  At some point, apparently, he’d become considered one of the fastest Archdruids. And, while they were technically right, Laronar still chafed at the menial tasks and looks of disdain some of his peers gave him. Apparently chewing out Malfurion had blown up into an epic confrontation that, of course, had conflated elements of his confrontation with Fandral. Even though Laronar had, until recently, nothing but respect for Malfurion and had long since mastered his rage thanks to the White Tiger’s teachings.

  As Laronar approached the Nightmare corrupted storage area for the Tears of Elune, apparently another vital component of Archmage Khadgar’s plan, an image of the traitor Xavius appeared, and laughed at him. “Foolish Mortal! The Tears of Elune are already mine! If Malfurion wants them back so badly, he can seek me out himself. I’ll be waiting…”

  With an irritated sigh, Laronar raised a moonbear paw towards the demon charging him from behind, venting his frustration with a blast of sparkling arcane and plasma. He shifted forms, and was back at the Grove of Cenarius in minutes on storm-powered wings.

  What he saw, did not help his mood. He’d thought they’d wait until he was back to summon Ysera, The Dreamer, Aspect of the Green Dragonflight, and one he also considered a mentor if not a friend.

  They had not.

  “The Emerald Dream is being taken over by Nightmare.” The Aspect was saying. “The Legion and the Satyr Xavius are to blame.”

  Laronar landed, shifting and sliding to a stop with more interruptive flare than he needed. The Archdruid of the Dreamgrove and Hamuul Runetotem frowned at his antics, while Broll Bearmantle chuckled lightly. Malfurion seemed to be humoring him. Everyone was going through states of emotional stress, and Laronar, as well as all the Ashen, were still grieving Thaon.

  The Dreamer smirked at him. “You have harnessed the speed of the storm, Archdruid Stormclaw. Most impressive. You could almost rival a Dragon.”

  Laronar returned the smirk. “Only in my Dreams, honored Aspect.” He bowed low, and reverent. “I am glad you are here, Ysera. Val’sharah…is falling quickly to Nightmare.”

  Malfurion interrupted, and the source of his haste was evident. Cenarius’s form, still unconscious and prone, was now red and spiky with the crimson corruption they’d come to associate with this new strain of Nightmare. “What of the Tears of Elune, Laronar?”

  Laronar sighed, frowning. “I am sorry, Shan’do. The Temple of Elune is now fully under siege…and the Satyrs have already taken the Artifact. Xavius left a magic message taunting you to go and get it. Obviously a trap.”

  The gathered Archdruids, now each armed with Artifacts of legend, had different but similar reactions to his words, then, as Malfurion turned to Cenarius again, the demigod’s form melted away into Nightmare completely. “NOOOOOOO!” Malfurion roared, slamming the ground where his teacher had been. “I’ve wasted too much time here! No more!”

  Malfurion became a mighty Storm Crow, and shot into the sky, a trail of chaotic lightning in his wake. The Archdruids shared looks as their leader departed. Laronar was also sad to lose Cenarius…but he’d come back from worse than anything the likes of Xavius could unleash.

  “He heard me say it was a trap right!?” Laronar asked, but the group seemed to ignore him.

  Ysera took charge, as the Archdruids stayed silent. “Archdruids of the Cenarion Circle, you who have been elevated among your peers to wield these Artifacts of legend... Journey with me to the base of Shaladrassil to reinforce Malfurion. He’s not of sound mind right now…and he will need the help. We cannot lose him to Nightmare.” The Archdruids nodded in unison, and then shifted into their Flight Forms as the Dragon Aspect flapped ahead of them with only two wing beats.

  “Xavius and Malfurion have a…long history.” Ysera exposited for those unaware of their drama. Laronar guessed only the new Archdruid of the Dreamgrove hadn’t heard the story. “Xavius was once an advisor to Azshara. As such, he and Malfurion clashed several times in the War of the Ancients. Malfurion killed him after their first encounter. In revenge, Xavius captured Tyrande Whisperwind right after she first became High Priestess. Their final confrontation in the past ended with Xavius being turned into a tree…inadvertently connecting him to the Dream in the process.”

  The newly ascendant Archdruid of the Dreamgrove asked what Laronar, and others, had wondered for thousands of years. “Why…did he not just kill him again? Or the Satyrs under Shaladrassil?”

  The shifted bird forms shared looks, and Ysera hummed as she flew, rapidly crossing Val’sharah as the slower Archdruids flew comfortably in her wake. “Malfurion values all life. Even that of his enemies. And since killing Xavius didn’t work the first time, he chose to make sure all Xavius could do was give life in what was supposed to be his end. Do not discount Xavius’s cleverness, either. Most beings turned into trees could not have become the Nightmare Lord. And doing so took over ten thousand years. He is nothing, if not tenacious. Ahh…there. We shall land and follow his trail by scent through these tainted groves. Stormclaw, if you would?”

  The black-blue feathered owl folded his wings in close and zoomed down to the Nightmare infested Felhole, shifting to his Cat Form. As when he’d wielded the Fangs before, it was easily larger than Thaon’s had been, and the Stormclaw seemed to actually work in conjunction with the Fangs, in this form.

  What happened next was essentially the same as every Nightmare encounter Laronar had experienced already. Some fallen druid was corrupting the land, and he ran and taunted Laronar across what felt like half the forest, while the others watched helpfully from above without launching so much as a Moonfire to assist him. It was a short, dissatisfying hunt that ended with yet another druid dead before his time and mad out of his mind. It reminded him far too much of Thaon, but, at least, he found Malfurion’s scent trail, and roared, rather than rejoining the fliers. He would live to regret that choice.

  Up above, he heard Ysera. “He has the scent! Quickly, do not lose him!”

  Laronar ran slow enough to not move from sight, which meant slashing through every corrupted piece of living foliage he passed, but his allies were able to follow. Eventually, he ran into a swarm, and without prompting, Broll Bearmantle joined the fray, while the new Archdruid and Hamuul stayed airborne with Ysera.

  In the now corrupt ruins of Andu Talah, Laronar started sprinting as he saw the root-bound form of Malfurion Stormrage screaming in silent agony, once again captured in the Nightmare Lord’s snare. With a dark grin, Xavius raised a claw at the Feral Druid, snaring him as well.

  Laronar was completely caught off guard as the Nightmare clouded his form’s eyes, and made slashing the roots difficult. His claws seemed to land, yet he struck only empty air, and became further bound by their thorny embrace. He changed tactics then, choosing instead to swipe through them with wider attacks. It took longer, but the druid was relentless.

  Unfortunately, it was not enough.

  “Look, pathetic Druids! The Mother of Dreams approaches…” Xavius grinned darkly and held up a hand. Laronar’s eyes widened as he saw the Tears of Elune, corrupted, crimson, and before he could even attempt to react, spinning through the air like a Dwarven bullet launched from the Satyr’s palm.

  “Nnnooo!” Laronar snarled, and Xavius just laughed at him as he watched his Nightmare missile streak towards Ysera. Laronar shifted back, not caring about the advantage that gave the vines ensnaring him. Thorns dug into him, but he didn’t care. Ysera was more important. As loud as he could, he shouted, “DODGE!” A vine wrapped around his mouth, and enraged, he shifted into his Bear Form, tearing it apart with ursine fangs and cacking up the remnants, as he kept the taint from entering his system. Despite his ironlike hide, the thorns dug deeper, trying to break his skin further, but his will was simply too strong for the likes of the Void-tainted nature magic.

  He’d learned long ago that Nightmare corruption relied on one’s mind weakening as well one’s body being thoroughly infected, and his mastery of the Restoration Arts kept his blood clean, even as the roots tried to pierce him. Corrupted blood expelled forcibly from his body leaked over his bear fur, but the wounds closed and then hardened like Ironbark.

  The air shimmered around Ysera as the other Archdruids tried to react to the oncoming missile, but somehow, for an instant so brief Laronar almost thought it a hallucination, their wings simply froze in place. As if time paused for them, and not the Dreamer.

  The Tears struck her heart and sank into her body, and with a draconic shriek of agony, Ysera the Dreamer plummeted from the sky, landing in a brutal crash right before a grinning Xavius. Once again, Broll peeled off to help his fellow Druid of the Claw, while the others chased after Ysera.

  But it was too late.

  Corrupted gray-green wings all too familiar to the druids rose from the crater, as two crimson claws gripped the edge and pulled the Nightmare Aspect from the site of her fall. The druids were forced back by her powerful roar, and they landed by Broll and Laronar, who was still not free of Xavius’ trap. Their spells, and even their Artifacts, were infuriatingly ineffective against the Nightmare.

  With a silent command, the ascendant Nightmare Lord had Ysera pick up Malfurion’s bound body, and they flew away. The trap spread to the other druids as they tried to help Laronar and now Broll free from the vines, but the Feral Druid didn’t stop struggling. He refused to give up on all he’d ever loved and defended, which kept Laronar from succumbing to the Nightmare. At least for the moment. As the struggle continued, he knew they would eventually tire.

  Just as corruption seemed inevitable for the Artifact wielding druids, a familiar rain of divine stars struck the vines, burning them away, and Light surged into each of them, healing their wounds and cleansing their bodies all at once. Laronar’s eyes went wide as, for the first time in his life, he actually felt the full effects of one of Elune’s healing spells cast by her most powerful follower.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  His resolve hardened, banishing the building despair as High Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind came leaping over the crimson foliage atop her Frostsaber. “No! MALFURION! Damn it! I’m too late!”

  Laronar popped a Regrowth, and regained his voice first though he was winded from the exhausting struggle. “High Priestess…Xavius…he’s corrupted the Dreamer…Ysera has fallen to Nightmare…and Shan’do Stormrage is next!”

  “Elune granted me a vision. Of Malfurion enraged, distressed, and now…beyond the sight of my mind. We must find him. Follow me, Druids! Quickly!” And without even a second of hesitation, her Frostsaber dashed further into the corrupted heart of Val’sharah. Laronar followed after her, and soon the other three were trying to catch up as well, in their Flight Forms.

  They paused as they came upon Starsong Refuge. Tyrande turned to the druids. “There is a Moonwell nearby…I could ask Elune for a vision to guide us to their destination…”

  The Archdruid of the Dreamgrove shook their head vehemently. “They’re heading to the base of Shaladrassil. To Shala’nir! We cannot waste time and stop here!”

  They didn’t. Tyrande once more took the lead, and spotted the signs of their quarry’s passage as the path split. “Feathers and blood... It is still wet! There may still be time! Quickly!”

  Shaladrassil loomed high over them now, and Laronar winced to see it like this. Twisted, corrupted, and so easily. Neither Cenarius nor Malfurion had sensed the Satyrs below it awakening. All their defenders, all their wards, all the long millennia spent tending this place…gone in the space of a few days.

  Tyrande interrupted his thoughts. “The corruption is thick here. What is that across the bridge? Stay on your guard, Druids.” The group ran closer, “Elothir!? By Elune... not you too! Have you seen my husband?”

  The now twisted and mostly corrupted Ancient of Lore groaned as he struggled to respond. “The trees…whisper his name…but their words are madness to my ears!”

  Tyrande was adamant. “You must help me find him! Is there anything I can do?”

  Elothir rumbled in response, “You may not, but perhaps... your Mother Moon can…bring me leaves…from the denizens of Ash’theran…and slay the…the Keeper. My old friend, Varethos…he would hate…what he has become. Put him…to rest.”

  Tyrande dismounted, and placed a hand on the Ancient’s corrupted bark. “I will petition Elune. The Nightmare stain cannot be removed...but perhaps we can hold it back, for a time.”

  Elothir managed a slight nod. “Long enough... to seek him out... " The Ancient of Lore groaned again. "The forest speaks...I can…almost understand…”

  Tyrande put both hands on him then, as they glowed with silver light. “Hold yourself on the edge of madness, Elothir! Mother Moon will carry you as long as she can!”

  After a brief deliberation, Broll and the newest Archdruid went to slay Varethos, while Laronar was on leaf collecting duty. Hamuul stayed with Elothir, trying to save the Ancient alongside Tyrande’s efforts, but it didn’t seem to be going well. In about five minutes, the three Archdruids returned, their tasks complete.

  In the end, Elothir just confirmed what they already knew: Malfurion was somewhere in Shala’nir. “This area is deadly…to charge in may be suicidal…but with you four with me, I feel we have a chance.” Tyrande said to them, after they took a moment to watch Elothir pass from this life. Much like Cenarius, his body disappeared, consumed by corruption.

  As they made to enter, sure enough, an image of Xavius was waiting for them. “Welcome to my "dream" home! Your beloved Malfurion awaits within. But what's this? Which Malfurion is real, and which is part of the Nightmare...?” The image cackled, and faded.

  Tyrande shouted at the fading facsimile, “I have no time for games!” She guided her mount forward, shooting Treants, Dryads, and fallen druidic novices as she went, while the druids flanked her, doing the same. “Where are you Malfurion? Answer me!”

  Malfurion Stormrage’s voice echoed all around them. “My love! I am here! Come to me!”

  “It’s a trrrick.” Laronar snarled from his Cat Form, which had since been equipped with a trinket to allow speech within the form. It wasn’t perfect, and he couldn’t give speeches, but it worked enough. “Another illusion by Xavius!”

  Tyrande was distraught, and ignored Laronar completely. “I cannot tell where his voice is coming from! Quickly, search the buildings to the east. I will scour the west for signs of him!”

  The druids shared a look, as she rode off. Broll spoke first. “I don’t think she was ignoring you, Stormclaw…I think this place is affecting her, just as much as its denizens.”

  Hamuul’s heavy Tauren brows crashed together. “But why are we spared, and not Elune’s chosen Priestess?”

  “The Artifacts.” The newest Archdruid among them said, simply. “Their magic may not be the best suited to this corruption…but it is keeping most of it from us. Else we would’ve succumbed earlier in Xavius’s trap.”

  Malfurion’s voice echoed around them again. “Hurry! I cannot fight much longer…”

  Tyrande was fully buying into the trick though. “Elune curse you, Xavius! You will pay for this charade, I swear it!”

  The Archdruid of the Dreamgrove gave them orders, then as they were technically the one in charge. “Stormclaw, guard the High Priestess. Hamuul, heal Broll and I as we cull the denizens. Malfurion must be here somewhere…”

  Laronar dashed after Tyrande, just in time for an image of Xavius to appear, casually leaning on a root that, as they looked at it, was strangling a long-dead Night Elf in a macabre position that evoked pain and helplessness. “You know, Tyrande..I have longed for this encounter for many years. Thousands. I went through all that effort to capture you, and never got to…enjoy the fruits of your capture, before your damned Druid husband turned me into a tree.”

  Laronar growled. It was starting to make sense. From what he’d heard over his lifetime, Malfurion had been utterly, dangerously, distraught after the Satyrs had captured Tyrande. To the point that his spells had hampered the Kaldorei’s efforts against the Legion. Now, Xavius was doing the same thing again, but with the roles reversed.

  “Elune shielded me from your vile Demon’s touch, Satyr!” Tyrande snarled, readying a Starbolt-infused arrow. “Not one of your ilk so much as touched me!”

  Xavius smirked, seemingly amused at the ancient failure of his peers. “Well. Now that he’s…comfortable…” Xavius gestured, conjuring an image of a probably fake Malfurion, strangled by Nightmare vines. “Your adoring husband will be joining me in the Nightmare. His was a special invitation after all. It won’t be long at all, now. And our dear Ysera!” Up above them, the titanic Nightmare Aspect roared, and then began flying south west. “Would you believe she has had a change of…heh…heart? She will aid me in my conquest of Val'sharah, starting with your precious Temple of Elune!”

  Tyrande’s eyes widened. Her arrow lost its focus. “My…NO!” She shot the now magicless arrow, but the image of Xavius just reformed over a corrupted wooden arch above a now dry Moonwell filled with black roots, lounging on it like it was a fine chalaise.

  “Such a dilemma, High Priestess! Kneel beside your beloved as he draws his final uncorrupted breath? Or watch the temple of your Goddess burn!” With another cackle, Xavius vanished in much the same way Cenarius and Elothir had.

  “To me, Druids…” Tyrande shouted, and in moments, the wielder of the Scythe of Elune, Broll Bearmantle, and Hamuul Runetotem joined them. “We must make haste to the Temple of Elune. Ysera won’t stop until the entire realm is plunged into Nightmare!”

  Tyrande began to ride, and the druids kept pace with her. “Are you sure, High Priestess?” Hamuul Runetotem rumbled from his eagle Flight Form.

  Tyrande nodded, but the tears in her eyes were visible. “Xavius is using Malfurion to bait me. To distract me from what must be done. We are the only ones who can stop Ysera!”

  Silence descended over the party, as they continued to travel. Tyrande eventually continued, apparently needing to vent. None of the Archdruids stopped her. “My Malfurion…for a hundred hundred years, he slept beneath the Moonglade… Whenever I was plagued with doubt, I would descend into his barrow. I watched over him as he slept. Even in slumber, his presence calmed me. I left my fears below the earth and emerged, ready to lead my people. When Malfurion returned to my side, we worked as one. As if he had never been away. Have you ever loved as I have?”

  She turned her gaze, of all present, to Laronar, who was keeping pace in his Cat Form. Slowly, he nodded. There had been a time, ages and ages ago, when he was utterly enamored with her own daughter. Certain their love story would be as epic and enduring as Malfurion and Tyrande’s.

  Tyrande broke his thoughts as she spoke again, her voice hardening. “Now, Xavius has me by the throat... I must abandon my beloved, and subdue the most beautiful creature I have ever known.”

  As if she’d timed it, they came into sight of the courtyard of the Temple of Elune, where the Priesthood of Elune was already battling the Nightmare Aspect. This is your end, mortals! The Dream is undone!” A wave of Nightmare energy washed over the defenders, and several fell to their knees as despair overpowered them.

  Tyrande Whisperwind began shining like a lighthouse, radiant and silver. Ysera’s power faded from those afflicted, as she and the four Archdruids took the field. Broll became the bear, resembling his patron as Laronar did, the Archdruid of the Dreamgrove drew the Scythe of Elune, as their form became incorporeal and starry. Hamuul’s eyes burned amber, as he focused healing through the Staff of G’hanir, and healed several defenders that were approaching death.

  The High Priestess raised her arms to the sky, and stars began to fall on the Nightmare Dragon and her fellow priests alike. “Not while I still draw breath! Broll, keep her distracted. Hamuul, help Lyanis, mend our wounds. Archdruid, Laronar, with me!”

  The party sprang into action. A brutal flurry of Lunar aligned spells shot from the Scythe of Elune, while Laronar broke from stealth with a brutal raking of his claws down Ysera’s scaly hide. He tried not to think about who he was tearing into, about the lessons, few though they were, the Dreamer had given him over the years.

  Tyrande grimaced, as her arrows struck Ysera’s unscaled throat and chest. She wasn’t even trying to defend herself, the wards a dragon usually had around themself, let alone an Aspect, were simply inactive. “Are you truly lost, Ysera? After all we have built? All we have done?”

  The Nightmare Aspect drew back her head, foul breath building in her maw as she answered the High Priestess. “My eyes are open at last, Priestess. I see night eternal. The Nightmare consumes all!” A torrent of corruptive death washed over the priests helping them, and Hamuul was there, a cloud of tranquil mist enveloping and healing all struck by her breath. In moments, they were fighting again.

  Tyrande Whisperwind began charging an attack of her own, as the Starfall she’d summoned was drawn in to one massive attack. “By the light of Elune, we will end this madness!” She fired, and Ysera stumbled. The defenders laid into her. Laronar’s fangs left her bleeding, while the dance between solar and lunar spells continued from the Archdruid of the Dreamgrove, hammering the Nightmare Aspect until she fell on her side.

  “Watch the wings and tail!” They called out, keeping up the pressure.

  Tyrande approached Ysera, tears streaming down her face as she readied her glaive. “I will end your torment, Dreamer. And I promise, we will avenge you…”

  Ysera’s maddened crimson eyes met Tyrande’s as the glaive cut her throat. “Forgive me, my friends… It felt... so… real…”

  And with that, the Aspect of the Green Dragonflight exhaled her last breath. But there was no celebration, no cheering, even the random adventurers who’d been helping defend the temple paused in their ceaseless quest for loot to pay their respects.

  Then, in that silence, a miracle occurred. The Moon herself eclipsed the sun above them, darkening everything for a moment in night’s embrace. Tendrils of silver reached down to Ysera, and as her eyes were purified, and then closed, her spirit was drawn up by Elune, into the sky, where it eventually faded, leaving behind a new constellation of stars in the shape of a dragon.

  As the Dreamer’s mortal body faded, the Tears of Elune rose in the waxing light of the brief eclipse, supported by growth that, Laronar realized, was the shape of Ysera’s body. The grass spread across the courtyard where she’d fallen, and by the light of the moon, the Tears of Elune were cleansed of Nightmare.

  The Archdruid of the Dreamgrove stepped forward, solemnly, to claim them. “I will take this to Dalaran…and will join you after, to free Shan’do Stormrage.” They addressed the other Artifact-wielding druids. “Cut a fresh path to Shal’anir…and find a fifth member for our party. I think the High Priestess needs a break.”

  As they departed for Dalaran, the druid’s fifth member appeared. Haggard, burned, and not doing well mentally, Vehlar Stormclaw’s voice rasped through the air. “Brother…I need…your aid…”

  He fell to a knee, and his hands, each holding a blade churning with well-fed Satyr souls, were shaking. Those within could sense their kin, sense how weak Vehlar was, and how close they were to freedom. But the Demon Hunter’s will held true. Hamuul Runetotem hit the hunter with a healing touch, and that at least got him back onto his feet.

  His macabre burning Fel orbs met his brother’s gaze, as Laronar shifted and moved towards him. “I need…help…cleansing Blackrook Hold…” He left out why, as if voicing the reason was too painful. “I help…free your Shan’do, you help me…put those souls to their final rest.”

  Laronar put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, and filled him with a regrowth spell for good measure. He’d never, in all his years, seen his brother this…distraught. Vulnerable. Something terrible must have happened. “Whatever you need, I’m here, Vehlar.”