Amid the rolling Black Mist, a strangely shaped giant dragon finally emerged, walking as she muttered dreamily, "Do you hear it? The elements are singing. They foretell the coming of a new age."
When she reached the Tauren Shaman, she turned to look at him.
"Have you found... my kin?" A low, hoarse female voice spoke in Draconic, like countless bolts of thunder rumbling and gathering deep within the clouds.
The voice was not especially loud, yet it carried a strange penetrating force. It pierced directly into Deren's mind from nearby, making even his soul tremble.
"G-great Mother of Thunder, sovereign of storms!" The Tauren High Shaman's voice brimmed with absolute fanaticism and reverence. "According to the ancient prophecies and rites, we have identified the locations where the other exalted lords are imprisoned! Once you recover all your strength, you can lead us to complete this great undertaking, O Lightning-Devouring Dragon!"
"Very good... Ten thousand years... At last, the time for vengeance has come. Soon, they will break free of their shackles." The dragon's voice carried bone-deep hatred and the savage delight of an imminent eruption.
Suddenly, she seemed to notice Ragnaros lying nearby. "Hm... And who is this? This little one... carries Neltharion's blood scent? So faint and... immature? Is he one of his descendants?"
Heavy footsteps moved several paces toward where Ragnaros had fallen.
Deren struggled to turn his head. Through the gaps in the grass, he vaguely saw the outline of a dragon so enormous it defied imagination, covered in blue, white, and black scales. Countless radially spreading crystals like sea urchin spines grew from her head, while crackling arcs of electricity coiled around her body.
She lowered her head and examined Ragnaros, who had crashed to the ground and was struggling to rise, though his injuries