Malfurion the Archdruid

The windblown sands of Cenarion Hold seemed to temporarily settle at his arrival.

Archdruid Malfurion Stormrage set foot upon this scorched land. His elegant Druid robes and slightly weary yet still imposing face stood in stark contrast to the desolation of Silithus. He had not come alone. Behind him followed a group of fervent Night Elf Druids—personally "selected" by Tyrande and sent to Mount Hyjal, where they had pleaded with the Archdruid day after day to emerge and save the world. Their every word implied that only he could turn the tide and restore the prestige damaged by the war in Ashenvale.

In the end, Malfurion could no longer remain asleep within the Dream. The crisis of An'qiraj was both a threat and an opportunity.

"Teacher! You've finally arrived!" Fandral Staghelm hurried forward, his voice filled with barely concealed excitement and relief. Facing the increasingly surging insect swarms of An'qiraj alone, along with the subtle pressure from Tyrande behind him, had left him exhausted in body and mind. His teacher's arrival felt like finding a pillar to lean on.

Malfurion nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping across the fortress weathered by wind and sand. His tone was steady, yet carried unquestionable authority. "Now that I am here, nature's will shall be upheld. Arrange lodging for my followers, Fandral. We must immediately discuss how to deal with this insect plague."

"Yes, Teacher!" Fandral answered at once, but a troubled look soon appeared on his face. "It's just... the fortress's supplies were already stretched thin. With so many more people arriving at once, our food may not last long. Should we urgently request additional provisions from Ashenvale?"

Malfurion's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. Asking Tyrande for help... was not what he wanted. Ever since he had led the Druid forces to defeat in Ashenvale