Mount Hyjal lost over a million of its people; in the ten thousand years of history of the Night Elf race, they had never suffered such a devastating defeat.
The Night Elves were once the largest race in Azeroth, but now their strength has been reduced by more than half and their military force is severely insufficient. If those of their race who were teleported away can return, it may be able to make up for some of the losses.
Malfurion was stunned by the question. How could he possibly know where his people had gone? He could only continue to adopt the posture of a charlatan, devoutly spouting nonsense:
"All of this is the good intention of Elune. Our people will surely be properly settled. The glory and revival of the Night Elf race are just around the corner. We need to unite as one."
"Tyrande, Malfurion." Maiev parted the assembled generals, looked directly at the couple, and said solemnly:
"The Burning Legion is upon us, and could attack Nordrassil at any moment. Morale is low, and all the soldiers here have lost family members and are unwilling to fight. In addition, our forces are severely depleted. Do you have any good strategies to repel the enemy?"
Tyrande clasped her hands together, closed her eyes in devout prayer, and said, "By the great Elune, protect us Night Elf race through this difficult time. The merciful Moon Goddess will surely Mercy on us."
Seeing that Tyrande remained unchanged, only praying to the Moon Goddess and ignoring the imminent threat of the Burning Legion, the generals were all filled with rage. Maiev shook her head and waved her hand, saying:
"Alright, you two have worked hard. Go and rest. Leave this to us."
Tyrande frowned slightly. Was this an attempt to sideline her? She was the Chief Priestess, the leader of the Night Elves, Elune's most trusted advisor. How could she easily relinquish such illustrious power?
"No, I will stand with my warriors and pray to the Moon Goddess to unleash her Thunder wrath and annihilate the Burning Legion."
Maiev was both amused and exasperated. "Tyrande, this isn't the time for idle chatter. Please come with me."
Malfurion and Tyrande were bewildered, but followed Maiev out of the fortress hall, their destination the military camp not far away.
This is a fortress situated on the front lines, the gateway to Nordrassil, the World Tree, garrisoned by the most elite troops of Mount Hyjal, and possessing the most powerful Ancient of War Legions.
Along the way, the open ground of the fortress was crowded with the people of their race who had escaped from Mount Hyjal. The Night Elves, covered in dust, had lost their former elegance. Most of them were wounded and lacked medical care. The seriously wounded could only lie on the ground groaning and waiting to die.
"It's her! It's that liar, Tyrande!" A woman lunged at Tyrande, grabbing her arm and biting her. "Didn't you say the Orcs were Saviors? Why did Orcs eat my whole family? Why?"
Tyrande couldn't answer; she could only struggle desperately, and more hands reached out.
"Malfurion, you traitor to the Night Elves, you executioner, give me back my family's lives!" The wounded soldier, with only one leg left, lunged forward, ready to fight Malfurion to the death.
Maiev deliberately distracted the guards, leaving Tyrande and Malfurion surrounded by their tribesmen. The two were in a sorry state and didn't know how to explain themselves. Maiev stood by with her arms crossed, coldly observing the scene.
Seeing that the couple was about to be torn apart by their tribesmen, Maiev sent out guards to rescue them. Their clothes were torn to shreds, and their heads and faces were covered in bloody scratches.
"For ten thousand years, we have never suffered such a defeat, utterly losing the trust of our people." Maiev closed her eyes and sighed silently, "Let's go, this isn't the worst of it."
As they entered the nearby military camp, the three of them simultaneously felt a profound sense of despair.
The Heart Spring was destroyed by the Orcs, all the Ancient of War withered and turned yellow, their branches and leaves falling away. The Night Elf soldiers looked at their comrades who had accompanied them for thousands of years, silently bowing their heads in silence.
The great sorrow was silent; the atmosphere was heavy and oppressive to the extreme.
"Don't you understand? Tyrande, Malfurion, stop praying to the Moon Goddess. We're finished." Maiev's beautiful face twitched. "You should know that the flesh and blood of the Night Elves cannot stand against the Legion's soldiers. Without the Ancient of War, we are nothing. Pray to the Moon Goddess to prepare a dignified funeral for us."
Maiev slammed the door and left, followed by soft sobbing.
The Tyrande couple faced a camp of desperate soldiers, whose eyes were vacant and who paid no attention to their once high and mighty leaders.
They began to prepare, donning armor, taking up bows and Warglaive, ready to fight a final stand against the Burning Legion's soldiers.
Malfurion looked up. Above the fortress, a dark green cloud shrouded the sky—countless Evil Screechers, the Burning Legion's air force, now receiving Legion after their previous defeat.
Nordrassil's magic protects the surrounding area, while the Evil Screechers Corruption the protective shield that shrouds the sky. Once the shield breaks, the fortress will face its doom.
"Is there really no other way?" Tyrande murmured.
Everyone could see that the Night Elves were finished; the lush oak trees had turned into withered branches, awaiting their final demise.
Malfurion looked utterly desperate; he hadn't expected things to turn out so much worse than he'd imagined.
"Perhaps I should try to contact my mentor; it's not too late to join the Burning Legion."
At this most desperate moment, Fandral Staghelm and his son arrived at the fortress. Fandral Staghelm sensed the oppressive atmosphere of despair; the generals and soldiers were preparing for a final, honorable battle. Fandral Staghelm roared angrily:
"A bunch of inflexible idiots, foolish and stubborn. It's not time to give up yet. Look at you, you're truly disappointing. We still have a fighting chance."
Maiev stepped forward, forcing a smile, "Fandral Staghelm, save your breath, we're finished."
"Where is General Feathermoon? We need the Sentinels's Secret Mage Corps!" Fandral Staghelm demanded loudly.
The Secret Mage Corps, the Moon Goddess Orbital Cannon Mage Corps, is the most terrifying force of the Night Elf race. Maiev said with some regret, "After cooperating with the Orcs, General Feathermoon led the mage corps away."
Fandral Staghelm was slightly taken aback; he had been excluded from the center of power and was unaware of the arrangements within the Night Elves.
"Alright, we still have Ancient of War, Maiev. Before the Burning Legion launches its final assault, we must organize a thousand Ancient of War to defend this fortress."
Maiev shook her head and said, "The Heart Spring is destroyed, and the Ancient of War has withered and died."
Fandral Staghelm angrily brandished his fist and shouted, "Why do you still believe in the Moon Goddess at a time like this? The Heart Spring is just a small amount of water seeping from Mount Hyjal. We only need to send someone to the roots of Nordrassil to fetch some water, and our Ancient of War will be able to fight again!"
"But Elune, forbids us from using magic; it's a taboo that's been in place for millennia." Maiev blurted out, immediately regretting it. The Night Elves were about to perish; why should they care about the Moon Goddess's taboo?
Ten thousand years of faith in the Moon Goddess has created a deeply ingrained habit that makes them instinctively ignore the simplest way to solve the problem: if they could just break free from their mental constraints, the Night Elves would still be able to put up a fight.
"I'll go fetch the lake water now, Fandral Staghelm. The defense of the fortress is in your hands."
Hope ignited in Maiev's eyes as she led dozens of Watchers, riding Hippogryphs, toward the foot of the World Tree.
Shortly after Maiev left, the war drums thundered, and the Burning Legion launched its final assault.