Night Market Fate at the Street Stalls

Queen Azshara was dumbfounded. Her Majesty was restless and unable to sit still.

Azshara had secretly been delighted when Titan Sarodar had readily accepted her invitation.

Light of Lights was extremely confident in her own charm. She was not afraid that he would not take the bait; she was only afraid that he would remain unmoved and refuse to engage with her.

Now, Sarodar had finally agreed to be alone with her. How could she fail to seize such an opportunity?

The mindset of finding herself a wealthy patron from ten thousand years ago surged back into her mind. That hot-tempered brother Sargeras was hopeless, but Sarodar should not be a problem.

Thus, Azshara returned to her estate and began a lengthy, meticulous process of dressing up.

"Vashj, bring out those formal gowns I wore before. These clothes from the new era are completely beneath my standards. I must wear something worthy of a place a Titan would enjoy visiting."

Well, Azshara and Vashj seemed to have both fallen into a massive misunderstanding and could not quite turn their thoughts around.

Did a place frequented by a Titan necessarily have to be exceptionally grand and luxurious?

Especially when that Titan was Sarodar, the veteran old hooligan of the World of Azeroth.

In the end, Azshara chose an extravagant gown that she had worn to state banquets ten thousand years ago. The entire dress had been painstakingly hand-sewn from flowing silver-white spider silk, adorned with solemn yet elegant pale purple patterns. Decorative enchanted light slowly flowed through the designs.

The moment she looked into the mirror, Azshara was filled with confidence. She was still the one and only Light of Lights, still the peerless queen who had stood alone among the Night Elves for ten thousand years.

And then...

Then Azshara