Chromie's Doubts

The blue glow of the Portal slowly faded in Orgrimmar's Valley of Wisdom. As Deren and Jaina stepped out, the Orc guards had already raised their Battle Axes, only to slowly lower them after seeing who had arrived.

"Lady Jaina?" The guard captain frowned. "You did not notify us in advance."

"It is urgent." Jaina remained calm. "We need to see Great Chieftain Thrall immediately."

Inside the Chieftain's Hall, Thrall set down the map in his hands, his heavy brows tightly furrowed. "Jaina? Deren?" His voice was deep. "What wind blew you to Orgrimmar?"

Deren stepped forward and got straight to the point. "Great Chieftain, we need to borrow several Horde elites."

Thrall exchanged a glance with Vol'jin, who stood nearby.

"For what?" Vol'jin narrowed his eyes, his tusks trembling slightly.

Deren spoke gravely. "The High Elves are being slaughtered by the Undead. As Dalaran's ally, Theramore has decided to organize an evacuation." He was blunt. "Dalaran's Mage Corps and Kul Tiras's royal guard are already in position, but we need the Horde's specialized support."

Thrall's thick fingers tapped the armrest of his throne. "Let me get this straight—the Alliance stronghold of Dalaran is asking the Horde for help to save another Alliance race?"

"Not in the name of the Alliance," Deren corrected. "In the capacity of Theramore's mercenaries. Lady Jaina will lead the team personally."

Thrall turned his gaze toward Jaina, and she nodded lightly.

"We need witch doctors, Shamans, and Shadow Hunters," Deren continued, counting them off on his fingers.

Vol'jin suddenly let out a hoarse laugh. "Human, you know our organization rather well."

Deren smiled. "Professional matters should be left to professionals."

After thinking for a moment, Thrall suddenly asked, "Why now? Why the High Elves?"

Deren and Jaina exchanged a look. In the end, Jaina said softly, "Because if we do not save them today, tomorrow we may have to face even more resurrected Necromancers."

Silence fell over the hall. Thrall's gaze shifted back and forth between Deren and Jaina before he finally let out a slow breath.

He slowly sat back on his throne, his thick fingers rubbing the handle of Doomhammer.

"Jaina," he said, his voice carrying unusual hesitation, "the Horde has only just established itself in Kalimdor. Our northern Warsong Clan is still locked in a struggle with the Night Elves, and Theramore's garrison watches our movements at all times." He looked directly into the mage's eyes. "Why should I let my warriors risk themselves for High Elves who have never treated the Horde well?"

Jaina's robes stirred without wind. "Because every living Elf mage means one less Undead Necromancer serving the Scourge."

Vol'jin suddenly gave a rasping laugh. "The Elves have always called us 'savages,' and now they want the Horde to save them?"

"Not to save them." Deren suddenly cut in. "To save ourselves. Imagine how great a threat those Arcane-proficient Elf mages would pose to Azeroth once they become Undead."

Thrall rose and walked to the window, looking over Orgrimmar's bustling streets. He saw Orc recruits training, Troll craftsmen forging weapons, Tauren Shamans teaching young apprentices—this newborn Horde could not afford any missteps.

"The Horde has no direct conflict with the Scourge for now," he finally said. "I cannot make my warriors bleed for former enemies."

Jaina stepped forward. "What if you do not send an army? What if it is just three people, under the name of Theramore mercenaries?"

Thrall turned around, looking at her with complicated emotions. "You know what our friendship means to me, Jaina. But as Great Chieftain—"

"Only three Horde members," Jaina said softly. "The Horde will not be drawn into direct combat. I promise. I will lead the expedition myself."

The hall fell silent.

"One witch doctor," he finally relented. "His Healing Ward will be of great help to you."

Deren did not immediately respond to Thrall's concession. Unhurriedly, he pulled an exquisite bronze pocket watch from his robes, snapped open its cover, and pretended to check the time—an obvious gesture meant for Thrall.

"One witch doctor." Deren repeated thoughtfully, lightly tapping the watch's casing. "He can indeed provide excellent healing support. But, Great Chieftain, are you sure one is enough?"

Thrall narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Deren closed the pocket watch and revealed a wry smile. "The Scourge is known not only for its vast numbers, but also for its many methods of attack—plagues, poisons, curses, corruption, and more."

"So?" Thrall's voice was low.

"So we also need a Shaman." Deren raised one finger. "Not an ordinary Shaman, but an Elemental Master skilled in purification rituals. After all..." He gave a meaningful glance at the totem hanging from Thrall's waist. "Who understands better than the Horde how to cleanse evil curses?"

Vol'jin suddenly sneered. "Human, your tongue turns better than a Goblin wrench."

"Lastly, we need a Shadow Hunter," Deren said casually, as if discussing the weather. "There is no need for him to fight. He only needs to... handle a few 'diplomatic issues.'"

"What diplomatic issue requires a Shadow Hunter?" Thrall frowned.

Deren gave a sly smile. "The nobles of Silvermoon City have several traits—arrogance, stubbornness, and a particular fondness for arguing over priorities while fleeing for their lives. When the Undead burst through the gates, they will likely waste time on tedious questions like 'who gets through the Portal first.'"

Jaina suddenly understood something, her eyes widening slightly. "You are not going to—"

"Turn them into sheep?" Deren blinked innocently. "Of course. It is the most humane solution. Quiet, efficient, and it ensures fairness—after all, sheep do not argue."

Thrall and Vol'jin both fell silent. After a long while, Vol'jin suddenly burst into laughter. "This human is more cunning than a Troll!"

Thrall, however, remained serious. "If word gets out that the Horde took part in this operation—"

"Who would believe it?" Deren spread his hands. "The High Elves have always looked down on the Horde. They would not believe that you were the ones who extended a helping hand. As for the Scourge..." He sneered. "The Undead do not need witnesses."

In the end, Thrall slowly nodded. "One witch doctor, one Shaman, one Shadow Hunter—but it must be made clear that they are participating as mercenaries."

Deren bowed elegantly. "Of course, Great Chieftain. By the way..." He drew another contract from his sleeve. "I will also transfer one percent of my personal Fertilizer shares to the Horde."

Thrall raised a brow. "One percent of Fertilizer shares?" During the previous share allocation, his Horde had received only ten percent, while Deren had gained fifteen percent through his technical investment. Getting another one percent now was an unexpected windfall.

Thrall pretended to think for two seconds. "Agreed."

When the Portal lit up once more, Jaina's gaze at Deren was filled with complicated emotions. Three hunched, strangely dressed warriors vanished with them in a flash of Arcane light.

Back in Theramore, Deren and Jaina stepped out of the Arcane Rift with the three Horde elites. The evening wind carried salty sea mist, while the brightly lit square in the distance was filled with Kul Tiras elite guards inspecting and packing crate after crate of supplies.

Jaina drew a deep breath and turned to Deren. "I will arrange the royal guard's final deployment." Her gaze swept over the three Horde members—Darkspear witch doctor Zalama, Orc Shaman Regar Earthfury, and Shadow Hunter Vokaya. "They... need suitable equipment. We leave for Dalaran at dawn tomorrow."

Deren nodded. "Leave it to you, Lady Jaina."

After Jaina left, a meaningful smile appeared at the corner of Deren's lips. He turned and headed for his residence in Theramore. When he pushed open the door, the candles lit themselves—two figures had already been waiting inside.

Onyxia lounged by the window, idly playing with a gold coin between her fingers. Her Golden Vertical Pupils glimmered dangerously in the candlelight. "Deren, darling," she drawled, "do you always like summoning ladies in the middle of the night?"

Chromie sat atop a pile of books, swinging her legs with a lollipop in her mouth. "Ignore her, Deren. She is just upset that you did not take her along to see the sights of Azeroth."

Ignoring the Black Dragon's teasing, Deren directly spread out a magical map. "The operation begins tomorrow night. Onyxia, your task is—"

"—to cause a little 'disturbance' on the outskirts of Quel'Thalas and draw the Undead's attention." Onyxia lazily finished for him. "You do not need to say it twice." She suddenly narrowed her eyes. "But I do not understand. Why do I have to disguise myself as a 'lost Black Dragon'? Wouldn't simply burning down a few Necropolises be more efficient?"

Chromie suddenly became serious. "Because the Dragon Aspects Council has ordered all dragons not to intervene in the Scourge war." Her little face scrunched up. "Even Nozdormu has forbidden the Bronze Dragons from interfering with the Timeline. That is very abnormal."

Deren lightly tapped the tabletop with his fingers. "So we need an 'accident.' A young and impulsive Black Dragon who happened to fly in the wrong direction and was drawn by the Sunwell's energy—"

Onyxia suddenly laughed. "Ah, I understand." "A playful Princess acting on a whim"—I am very good at this role." She rose gracefully, her black robes flowing like a living thing. "However, Deren..." Her voice suddenly became dangerous. "If I find out that you have concealed something about a human Princess—"

"You still do not trust me?" Deren responded calmly. "Tell me, between a Princess who owns a city and a Black Dragon with only one human pet, who lives the more carefree life?"

Onyxia covered her mouth and laughed. Chromie jumped down from the pile of books, her expression unusually grave. "Deren, the Timeline is becoming... chaotic. I have seen countless possible futures, all affected by the current operation. What exactly are you planning?"

Deren said calmly, "You do not understand why we are going to Silvermoon City either?"

"I do not." Chromie's voice was so soft it was nearly inaudible. "It is not just the Quel'Thalas evacuation operation, is it? What else is there?" She looked up, the time power unique to Bronze Dragons flowing through her eyes. "The strangest part is that, in every Timeline, the Aspect Dragons are deliberately avoiding this war."

Deren was silent for a moment. "What do you think they are afraid of?"

"Or..." Chromie licked her lollipop, and her voice suddenly became light. "What if they were ordered not to interfere?"

The two looked at each other, both thinking of that forbidden name.

"What are you talking about?" Onyxia asked strangely.

"Nothing, nothing!" Deren covered it up.

Onyxia's Golden Vertical Pupils contracted slightly. She slowly approached Deren, her black robes winding around her body like living things. The room's candle flames swayed, and the shadows twisted.

"Deren." Her voice was low and dangerous, carrying the distinctive hiss of the Dragon Race. "You had better explain clearly—why are you so interested in Silvermoon City?"

Deren's expression did not change, but Chromie noticed that the rhythm of his fingers tapping the tabletop had changed—this was his habit whenever he was considering how to brush someone off.

"I only want to save as many High Elves as possible," Deren answered calmly. "Every Necromancer prevented means one less threat in the future."

Onyxia sneered. "Do not try to fool me like one of those stupid human nobles. You never make a losing deal." At some point, her nails had become sharp, and they lightly slid across Deren's collar. "Tell me the truth, or else—"

Chromie suddenly jumped down from the pile of books, her lollipop dropping to the floor with a clatter. Her eyes widened as bronze time power flowed through her pupils.

"Wait." She muttered to herself. "Could it be that you want to save her?"

The air in the room suddenly froze.

Deren's breathing hitched almost imperceptibly.

Onyxia narrowed her eyes. "Save whom?"

Chromie's voice was barely audible. "...Sylvanas Windrunner."

The candle flames shook violently, as if suppressed by an invisible force, and the room fell briefly into darkness. When the light returned, Deren's expression remained calm, but Onyxia's eyes were already burning with icy anger.

"Which Female Elf?" the Black Dragon Princess ground out between her teeth. "What is so special about her?"

Chromie's little face scrunched up. "Deren... are you going to change the Timeline again?"

Deren finally sighed and raised a hand to rub his brow. "Not change it. I am... correcting it toward a better Timeline."

"Correcting?" Onyxia repeated mockingly. "You mean it would be better if she lived?"

"It would save us a great deal of trouble, and we could have more time for barbecues later," Deren said with a smile.

"Fine!" The Black Dragon pouted.

I got a contract yesterday—so happy. New author, new book; people suggest maintaining momentum for the first two hundred thousand words. So there will be two updates every day, one chapter at eight in the morning and one at eight at night. Time to stockpile more chapters. If this can get published, thank you, brothers and family, for your support! Please keep sending votes, adding it to your collections, and following along!