White Tiger Temple

"At last, the day had come," Belorell Windrunner murmured. He, Regent Alleria, and Ranger-General Vareesa were resting at a Hozen tea stall outside the gates of the Temple of the White Tiger.

"Yes, but not everyone was willing to come." Vareesa kept her eyes fixed on her sister, Alleria. "You did not have to face all this, Sister. You should have stayed in Silvermoon City with Belorell."

Her sister's advice was precisely the reason for Alleria's present struggle. Not long after Garrosh's defeat, the Horde had suddenly received word from the Pandaren a week ago: the final trial of that warmonger was about to begin. The Celestials wished for as many people as possible who had suffered under Garrosh Hellscream to witness this moment. As the Pandaren messenger was about to leave, Alleria had stopped him to ask one more question: Who else would be coming?

Everyone!

Alleria had expected that answer, but she had still clung to a faint, laughable hope. Everyone meant that, besides the Horde and the Alliance, the third force that had appeared during the Siege of Orgrimmar would also be there.

"Mother?"

The Female Elf looked up at her child and found him looking back at her with the same gaze. "Your clothes are too thin," she said, changing the subject.

"I'm not cold." Belorell gave his mother a reassuring smile, then brought the subject back to where it had begun. "Mother, will I see Father today?"

The atmosphere instantly froze. Alleria could not blame her son for asking such a question. Even her own heart was now filled with conflict and guilt. Nathanos Maris was her husband and Belorell's father. Now he existed as an Undead, called himself the Dark Lord, commanded an army of Undead, occupied Lordaeron's Capital City, and had only days