The closer they came to the Dragon Isles, the more violent the weather became.
Deren stood at the edge of the deck, watching towering waves crash against the hull like enraged beasts, only to be fiercely repelled by the magical barrier Ragnaros had erected, shattering into jade-like spray that scattered through the air.
The sea wind carried the salty tang of magic, lashing his cheeks until they stung.
"Get back inside! The magical power here is too strong!" Ragnaros turned and shouted at him, his voice nearly torn apart by the wind and waves.
Deren immediately retreated into the cabin. Though he only knew basic spells like activating a Communication Crystal, he could still clearly sense it now:
The entire sea seemed to be soaked in a boiling ocean of magic. The air crackled, and even breathing brought a faint prickling pain.
He pondered silently. Magic could not exist out of nowhere, much less operate endlessly for twenty thousand years. Unless—
Either the Titans had left behind some kind of "perpetual motion core."
The gaunt face of that perpetual-motion immortal, Huang Wei, flashed through his mind.
Or this power was being continuously drawn from deep within Azeroth's leylines. If so, the Magic Array in this sea was basically constantly bleeding Azeroth dry.
"Lord Deren, would you like some lunch today?" Jerry's voice interrupted his thoughts. "There's fish stew with potatoes, fried cod, or salted meat soup."
Ever since Deren had been too seasick to eat for several days, Jerry had developed the habit of personally asking before every meal—after all, this was the man the Black Dragon Princess treasured in the palm of her hand.
"Sure." Deren nodded. By now, he had mostly adapted to life at sea.
Since resupplying in Northrend, the ship's provisions had remained fairly plentiful, but