Admiral Daelin

In the morning mist at Theramore Harbor, the sea breeze swept past the flagpoles laden with a salty dampness, making Kul Tiras's blue-and-gold anchor banners snap loudly. The sentry atop the watchtower suddenly widened his eyes, and the brass telescope in his hand clattered onto the wooden floor.

"Fleet! It's the Admiral's fleet!"

Jaina's fingers instantly clenched around the battlement, sending dust and stone chips trickling down. She did not need a telescope to see the steel behemoths drawing closer—a wedge formation of twelve Kul Tiras third-rate battleships, the proud Anchor Emblems on their figureheads gleaming in the morning light. At the forefront, the Sea Fury had already raised the Admiral's flag, a black banner patterned in gold and wrapped in a lightning-like red sash.

Deren looked up. "They... aren't planning to bombard the harbor, are they?"

"Father prefers to call it a 'ceremonial salute,'" Jaina said, her lips barely moving, her voice squeezed through clenched teeth. "That is, when he's in a good mood."

The sea suddenly fell silent for a moment.

Then—

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The deck guns belched flame in sequence, and the salvo from dozens of heavy naval cannons sent violent tremors through the sea. Amid the shriek of shells tearing through the air, Deren instinctively crouched down with his head covered, only to realize that the trajectories had deliberately avoided the harbor. They exploded beyond the breakwater, throwing up water columns dozens of meters high. Briny seawater poured over the docks like a rainstorm, soaking the Theramore guards standing ready for battle.

Onyxia's cold laugh came from the shadows beneath the city wall. "A childish display." Her slender fingers brushed across the battlement. The stone bricks wet with seawater immediately hissed and steamed with white mist. "Should we return the gesture?"

Nefarian had somehow appeared beside her, molten patterns flowing across his dark-red armor. "Three against forty-eight. Fair enough."

Chromie bounced out of a Portal while chewing honey bread. "Don't include me!" Sand from the Hourglass of Time still clung to her golden twin ponytails, while the hands of her pocket watch spun madly. "If I show myself so openly, the boss will definitely scold me!"

"You can say you were merely keeping watch over two unruly Black Dragons. After all, you were worried they might cause trouble," Deren said calmly.

"That's a perfect excuse," the little gnome said happily.

Before Jaina could stop them, three dragon shadows had already shot into the sky.

When Onyxia revealed her true form, every loose object in the harbor trembled at once. Her pitch-black dragon wings blotted out the morning sun, every scale gleaming with the cold sheen of elementium. Nefarian looked even more like an apocalyptic demon dragon from a classical painting, with crimson spear-like spines standing along his back. Chromie assumed her Bronze Dragon form, the flowing golden sand around her moving with a strange rhythm.

"Take aim—" Nefarian bared his dragon maw. "—Fire!"

Crimson, dark violet, and brilliant gold dragonfire intertwined into a spiraling pillar of light, ionizing the air in its path into blinding arcs of electricity. When the torrent of destruction exploded a thousand meters above the fleet, the shockwave tore the clouds into radial fractures. The sea instantly caved inward, forming a hemispherical vacuum half a mile across, only to be flooded by rushing seawater the next second, raising a five-meter ring-shaped wave.

"Hard to port!" Daelin's roar came from the Sea Fury. The warship narrowly avoided the cresting wave, while sailors on deck clung desperately to the rigging. A young officer's tricorne was swept away by the gale, spinning through the air past Jaina before smacking onto Deren's pale face.

After a long ten seconds of silence, fierce cheers erupted from the harbor. The Goblin welcoming party in particular was ecstatic. After that, the Kul Tiras fleet quietly docked at the harbor.

The wooden planks of Theramore Harbor groaned under the weight of military boots.

When Daelin Proudmoore stepped onto the dock, the clash of his iron heels against oak silenced the entire harbor. The old Admiral's white beard shook violently in the sea wind, like a battle banner declaring dominion. Every brass button on his deep-blue uniform had been polished to a gleam, while the dense rows of medals on his left breast recorded half a lifetime of campaigns.

Crack.

Jaina heard her nails digging into her palms. It had been years since they last met. The wrinkles at the corners of her father's eyes had deepened, but those hawk-like gray-blue eyes remained as sharp as ever. She instinctively adjusted the collar of her mage robes, suddenly grateful that she had chosen the formal set trimmed with silver thread that morning.

"Father, welcome—"

Her formal greeting was cut off abruptly.

Daelin's gaze passed over her and locked onto the hunched figure behind her. The old Admiral's pupils contracted sharply, and veins bulged across the back of the hand resting on his sword.

Derek Proudmoore staggered two steps forward.

At last, sunlight fully fell upon him—he wore an outdated naval uniform, with crisscrossing whip scars visible beneath his collar; his left leg was bent unnaturally, clearly from a bone that had once been broken and never fully healed; most shocking of all was his face. The right side was mostly intact, but the left was covered in dark-red burn scars that twisted his features like melted wax.

But those eyes.

Those gray-blue eyes, identical to Daelin's, were now brimming with tears.

"Rep... reporting, sir." Derek's voice rasped like sandpaper, but he still forced himself to stand at attention. "Captain Derek Proudmoore of the Third Fleet... requesting permission to return to duty."

Daelin's sword clanged onto the dock.

The old Admiral rushed forward in three strides, his arms like iron pincers as he fiercely wrapped them around his son. Jaina saw her father's back trembling—this man, who had never retreated even before an Orc charge, now clung to Derek as though grasping a lifeline, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip.

"Alive is all that matters... Alive is all that matters..." Daelin's voice was muffled against his son's shoulder, repeating only those words. For a moment, Jaina even suspected that her father was crying. But when he raised his head, his eyes were still dry and sharp, with only the faint redness around them betraying his emotions.

Scattered applause rose from the harbor, gradually joining into a single wave. The Theramore guards spontaneously stood at attention and saluted, while several old sailors even removed their hats and pressed them to their chests.

The warm bubble was suddenly shattered by a wolf's howl.

"For the Horde!"

Thrall's diplomatic party arrived at the entrance to the docks at that very moment. The green skin of the Orc infantry gleamed with oil beneath the sunlight, the dire wolves ridden by the Wolf Riders bared their white fangs, and Cairne Bloodhoof's totem pole smashed spiderweb-like cracks into the ground. Worst of all was the Troll hunter humming a war song among them—several ornaments made from human skulls hung openly from his belt.

Daelin's body instantly went rigid. Jaina watched as her father's expression froze from wild joy into ice, before turning into the deathly stillness before a storm. The old Admiral slowly bent down to pick up his sword, the scrape of metal against leather grating on the ears.

"Jaina." Daelin's voice was soft, yet it seemed to drop the harbor temperature by ten degrees. "Tell me why these green-skinned Orcs are here."

"This is perfectly normal!" Deren explained from the side. "They're business partners."

"Who are you?" Admiral Daelin demanded in a hostile tone. Onyxia appeared beside Deren in the form of a high elf, her divine eyes fixed coldly on Daelin.

"Another Black Dragon. Is this my daughter's city, or some evil lair?" Daelin did not yield, sneering.

Deren was not afraid either. He gave a salute and calmly introduced himself. "I am Deren Lawson, a farmer from Stormwind City. I am now Princess Onyxia's Agricultural Advisor. I am currently engaged in agricultural cooperation with Princess Jaina. Everything is for Azeroth's better future."

"Yes, Father. We are carrying out an unprecedented kind of cooperation, one that is making the world a better place," Jaina hurriedly affirmed.

The old Admiral silently looked over the Orcs, the Black Dragons, and the crowd of Goblins. He patted his son on the shoulder and, after a long while, let out a sigh. "Damn it, this isn't the world I knew."

Seeing that her father had not immediately flown into a rage, Jaina breathed a sigh of relief. She invited him into the city to rest and dispatched the city's merchant caravans to deliver supplies to the docked fleet.

In a quiet reception room in Theramore sat Orcs, the Goblin Prince, Black Dragons, and Deren. Seeing that the situation was turning bad, Chromie opened a Portal and slipped away first.

The old admiral's saber slammed heavily onto the long table, knocking over Thrall's teacup. Brown tea spread across the parchment map, staining Kalimdor's coastline a deep brown.

"I need an explanation. What exactly are you people doing?"

Daelin's voice was like muffled thunder before a storm, every syllable laden with suppressed fury. His gaze swept across everyone present—Thrall's composed green face, the two black dragons, Deren cowering in the corner, and finally settled on Jaina.

"Admiral, please calm down first." Deren had no choice but to step forward. Aside from Jaina, not a single one of them could really be considered a normal human.

"Fine. I'm listening. What can you, a fellow who hangs around black dragons, tell me?" Daelin stared at Deren with an expression that said, Let's see what kind of performance you can put on.

Deren steadied himself and gave a brief introduction. "My employer is Her Highness Onyxia, the Black Dragon Princess. The Swamp of Sorrows near Theramore is considered her territory, and it has existed far longer than Theramore. For certain reasons, she accepted an agreement from His Highness Prince Rivendare of Treasure Bay to jointly produce an agricultural fertilizer called fertilizer, which can increase crop yields by more than fifty percent. In some regions, yields can even more than double. This is an endeavor entirely beneficial to Azeroth. As Onyxia's neighbor, Lady Jaina decided that the two of them would jointly develop the fertilizer business. After all, as a neutral city, Theramore can play an important role. For example, one of the raw materials needed for fertilizer must be imported from the Orcs. My employer's brother, His Highness Nefarian, can provide sulfur, while Rivendare is responsible for transportation and sales. All of this is connected through Lady Jaina's Theramore."

Daelin listened with a dark expression, then turned to Jaina. "Is that true?"

"Yes, Father." A faint glow appeared at Jaina's fingertips. The tea separated itself from the map and gathered again into floating droplets. "Because of the fertilizer partnership, His Highness Nefarian, on Advisor Deren's suggestion, took the initiative to search for Kul Tiran POWs imprisoned by the Orcs. My brother was among them."

"Really?!" Daelin slammed his fist onto the table, the naval ring on his knuckle leaving an indentation in the oak. "My son was imprisoned and tortured by Orcs for so many years, and now he's sitting together with these green skins?"

Deren suddenly choked in the corner and hurriedly protested, "Don't be rash, don't be rash. Orcs are different from one another too. Don't blame the wrong people."

Onyxia's dragon tail cracked sharply against his calf.

Thrall slowly rose to his feet, Doomhammer striking the tabletop with a dull reverberation. "Lord Proudmoore, those who imprisoned your child were remnants of the Dragonmaw Clan. It had nothing to do with the Horde."

"Ha!" Daelin's white beard trembled with a cold laugh. "A green skin is a green skin!"

Thrall snorted but offered no explanation. The council chamber suddenly fell silent.

"Admiral, the current situation is that Theramore serves as the core of a fertilizer industry built on cooperation between all parties. The Horde is also one of our suppliers. Increasing food production is wholly beneficial to Azeroth—and to Kul Tiras as well. Am I wrong?" Deren interjected, defusing the tense atmosphere from moments before.

"Hmph. Do you think I don't understand the stakes involved?" Daelin said disdainfully, though his tone had softened somewhat.

Jaina saw her father's gaze shift between Deren and herself. The old admiral's Adam's apple bobbed, and the bulging veins on his forehead gradually calmed. It was a look she knew well—a calculating look. Daelin Proudmoore was weighing the pros and cons.

"Father." She seized the opportunity to persuade him. "Fertilizer can double Kul Tiras's wheat production. You can wait until the results are in before making a decision. For now, please rest. Tomorrow, I'll show you around Theramore."

"I'm not so old and weak that I need rest!" Daelin cut her off, but his tone was no longer furious. "Since it's something you've decided, I won't say any more."

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