"Vashj!" A shrill cry shattered the tranquility of the Queen's bedchamber.
"I'm here, Your Majesty. What are your orders?"
"Where did the Prince's cloak go?"
"How could that be? I saw you put it in the cabinet last night. Shall I help you look for it?"
"Find it, now! If you can't, I'll skin every last one of you!"
Where had the cloak gone? It was on Azar's back. He had taken it. As the "thief," the young man was hiding smugly in a corner, watching the scene unfold before him. It had all begun the previous night. Azar had originally been sleeping within the Well of Eternity in his alternate account. Ever since his pleasant conversation with the World Soul of Azeroth, he had been subjected to inhuman treatment. Arcane energy had once again begun reshaping his body, nearly turning him into something half flesh and half Arcane. He had been afraid. He had wanted the transformation to stop. He feared becoming a completely Arcane being, feared losing the ability to perform as a man. He regretted it—regretted trying to be clever in front of the World Soul. The World Soul of Azeroth had not lied; she really had come to help him. But this was not the kind of help Azar wanted. He wanted to cry, but had no tears. He called to heaven, but heaven did not answer; he called to earth, but earth did not respond. Just as he was about to give up, everything stopped. No more Arcane energy flowed into his body. It withdrew a little, then flowed back in a little, as if maintaining a balance of energy within him. He opened his eyes and instinctively stood up. "I actually stood up! Wasn't I in water?" He was baffled. Looking around, he realized