Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This story takes place before the siege on Wyrmrest Temple by the forces of the old gods.

+++++

Liquid gold. That's what it felt like. The ecstatic power of the Sunwell seared through phantom veins, filling him with stolen vitality. It was easy to see how the elves could become hopeless addicts. To draw upon it was to hold magic in its most primal form. Taming it was almost unthinkable and unleashing it was something else entirely. But the Sunwell's power was not meant for mortal designs.

Especially not a dead thing like him. There had to be a price.

Channeling that much mana was always risky, the chance for backfire or miscasts rose dramatically the more power was funneled into a spell. It was necessary, he told himself. Most mages just bragged about the idea of doing what he did. There wouldn’t be a backlash he told himself- and if there was he would weather it.

Kel’Thuzad groaned. He was dying.

Again.

With every climax came a terrible clarity. He was undead, as if his flirtation with the Sunwell’s magic wouldn’t hammer that home. It wasn’t fair. What was the point of having this kind of power within him if the resulting backlash was so debilitating?

Kel’Thuzad’s body rebelled, fever burned away any echoes of life channeling the magic might have instilled. It left him reeling. His bones felt hot and clammy as his marrow froze, the joints knocking together when he shivered. Every sound was the thunder of drums in his skull, and lances of pain shot through his tusks as they picked up every magical signature in a five mile area–including his own. Magical weaves spasmed, flexing and contracting at random.

At least when Arthas killed him the first time it was fast. This was like being ravaged by fel poisoning all over again.

Kel’Thuzad lay in his bed. He still had one of those. Being undead might have freed him from the need to sleep every day, but it was still necessary to rest. It had other uses as well, unfortunately. He felt feminine claws run across his ribs and sternum, heard the click and dry rasp of bone on bone.

He and Cassandra had snuck away from the victory celebration for a little mischief. It was a night of poor choices fueled by a mountain of arcane dust. It only buoyed him for a moment and now he was dealing with two kinds of hangovers.

The other lich sighed basking in post-coital bliss. Her head rested on his shoulder, their limbs tangled together. She tapped his foot with hers, testing the waters for round two.

No. Just no.

Even if he was in the mood he doubted he was in any shape to perform. He felt nauseous every time Cassy shifted. Just gently moving the mattress was like being pitched about on the high seas. Kel’Thuzad really did not want to find out how his body translated ‘nausea’ into ‘vomit’.

Kel'Thuzad stared at the ceiling. If he could drill a hole through the citadel with his eyes then maybe, just maybe the room would stop spinning.

"You're quiet." Cassandra said after failing to raise his interest. Her voice was soft with a slight reverberation common to the undead. It was probably the closest it came to her codename, Deathwhisper.

Kel'Thuzad grunted. Cassandra pulled herself on top of him and his red eyes met her blue ones. Like other liches she was completely fleshless, but where he was severe and sharp, Cassy was less so. She was from elvish stock, with more gracile features and a pair of thin backswept horns sprouting from her thick, dark red hair. They mirrored her ears in life.

One of them had snapped in half and Kel'Thuzad ran a clawed finger over it.

"Is something bothering you?" she asked.

"Just thinking," he lied. Cassy laced her fingers with his and smoothed over his thumb. They clicked together. A random surge traveled down his arm and Kel’Thuzad watched his claws involuntarily clench hers in a deathgrip.

She shook herself loose, “Thinking about what?”

“Sorry,” Kel’Thuzad grunted. The rest of his arm seized to match and the lich tried to rub the ‘pins and needles’ sensation out of his shoulder, “It’s nothing, just a little channel-through.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, “Do you want more powder?”

Nooo he closed his eyes and managed to shake his head once. Even thinking about snorting more of that stuff made him want to throw up. Arcane dusts and powders might be basic enchanting materials, but they interact in peculiar ways with a lich’s spellwrought body to amplify sensation and instill a sense of euphoria. But with his earlier giddiness faded Kel’Thuzad worried it would have… ill effects.

He sensed Cassy lean in close as his tusks picked up something cool. Her signature wafted over him carrying the scent of fruity incense. Shadow magic. Kel’Thuzad felt her rub against his tusks, the growths were sensitive to touch as well as magic. A warm, bubbly feeling filled his chest as the mists flitted about pulling forth a low rumbling sound, like an involuntary purr.

Maybe he was up to the task after all?

He pulled Cassy closer so that their fog could mingle together more easily and leaned up to ‘kiss’ her-

“Kelly,” she said, voice sickly sweet, “remember, eyes open.”

The warmth evaporated. Kel’Thuzad laid back. He opened his eyes and stared at the space next to her horn. Closed eyes left his sockets dark, making his face look more like a skull.

When Cassandra reached out he moved his head up and away. “What?” she asked.

“Nothing, more channel-through,” he lied, again, “Let’s just relax.”

She hummed something to herself and settled down beside him. “Wasn’t the party splendid? Your speech was so rousing, it reminded me of the old days.”

Kel’Thuzad grunted, who would want to go back to that?

“And, you were right about the ritual,” she said breathlessly, her eyes glowing with a feverish light, “was it as exhilarating to channel as it was to watch?”

Cassandra shifted so that she could prop herself up, jostling the mattress again. Kel’Thuzad closed his eyes, the archlich didn’t trust himself to speak or even grunt a reply until he felt the bed settle.

“The forsaken will surely think twice about attacking after what you did to Venomspite,” Cassandra concluded.

Venomspite. Kel'Thuzad shuddered and turned away, facing the wall completely. Behind him Cassandra trailed a hand down his arm and lingered for a moment. She leaned down to peck him on the cheekbone before he felt her slide away and the bed rise. Cassandra dressed and left in silence.

How could Cassandra want to return to the old times?

Ten years. Ten years of enslavement. Ten years of the voice in the back of his head whispering, watching. Ten years of that voice in his mind drowning out his own thoughts, stripping him of doubt and driving him forward, ever forward.

Ten years in a fever dream, though calling it a dream was charitable.

The loss of control came in waves. When Kel’Thuzad was still alive it was difficult for Ner'zhul to physically manipulate him. Living things have too many variables to account for and too much noise bouncing around in their brains. Guidance had to work in more ‘subtle’ means. The spirit could steer thoughts or sink its claws in to trigger punishing migraines and seizures, but not much else.

After the Sunwell the fever dream became a nightmare. Now undead he lost all control over his body. Each action dictated, each reaction automatically determined. Terrible commands spilled forth from his mouth, in his voice. Kel’Thuzad could only watch their march towards Dalaran while his own laughter rang in his ears.

Somewhere along the line, he went numb to it all. Everything became routine, the horrors his hands produced no more dreadful than reading the same copper-store novelist repeating some contrived formula. And all the while, the lich king’s voice whispered in the back of his head, like a friend with terrible taste insisting, No, this latest novel is going to be good.

Everything can start anew, we only need to defeat Archimonde- quell this rebellion- conquer the world. Only then will you truly be rewarded.

All the time wasted in those awful books will have meant something. It will have all been worth it.

There were moments of lucidity. Some that lasted for months or years before unreality would take him again. But even when he had some amount of control over himself, Kel’Thuzad still played the part he had been trained to perform. The lich king’s lapdog.

Kel’Thuzad’s claws were hidden beside his head, tucked under the pillow. Out of sight.

Was he still playing that role? The lich king was gone, yet he still acted as though it would retake control at any moment.

The lich king would have praised him for Venomspite.

The lich curled up on his side as a fresh wave of nausea took him. He shivered under a blanket that could never warm him. He would have never dreamed of doing- of being capable of doing what he did.

Kel'Thuzad closed his eyes. But the truth was: he had no one to blame but himself.

He lost track of time as he lay there lost in the past, sorting through his memories and parsing what he remembered doing, what he knew he did and what his friends wouldn’t tell him.

++++

The slump of precariously stacked papers hitting the ground pulled him back to reality. He rolled to find his cat on his desk sniffing an empty glass.

The long furred black and tan had survived a lot over the years by evading mercenary incursions into Caer Darrow and Naxxramas. Kel'Thuzad watched as he continued to explore his desk. Knocking things over. Making a mess...

“Biggy,” he called, trying to get the cat's attention. Mr. Bigglesworth turned to stare so the lich reached out and scratched at the bedding hoping to lure him away.

It worked. The cat lined himself up to jump, but the papers created unsure footing. Instead of leaping, Bigglesworth slipped and fell to the ground in an uncoordinated heap, knocking off another stack of papers and the box they were stacked on. Now fully roused, the lich sat up only to find the cat slink away into the other room, tail held low.

Kel'Thuzad sighed and swung his feet over the edge of his bed. The bones made a clicking noise against the chilly stone as he stood and stretched. He reached for the ceiling and popped the joints in his back with a satisfied grunt. The lich's malaise had been beaten back for now, after all he had some work to do.

He knelt to clean up the pile. A red folder caught his eye. He flipped it over. A report from Eastweald? Some mechanism clicked into motion as he thumbed through its pages.

Crop yield statistics, population numbers and relevant meeting minutes from other regions began to populate his thoughts creating a coherent projection for harvest needs through the end of the year.

Everything pointed to a surplus, meaning they could reallocate resources to- Kel’Thuzad tore his eyes away and threw the report across the room for good measure.

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets while he waited for the arcane routine to run its course. It didn’t take long, without fresh information to input the spell petered out. Kel’Thuzad let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and stared at his desk.

One of Ner'zhul's gifts.

It was part of a suite of spells that had been grafted into him when he resurrected. A living person’s brain would melt if the spells were used on them, but a lich? A lich could use them to more effectively administer the Scourge. However, like everything it had a cost and the magic worked a little too well. Kel’Thuzad couldn’t control when the spells activated. If he wasn’t careful he could get pulled into a work spiral.

He hated it.

Without looking he gathered up the rest of the reports and set them aside before turning his attention to the smashed box.

It was an old thing which had sat undisturbed on his desk since before Naxxramas returned to the north. The bottom broke when it fell, spilling what looked like shards of wood across the floor. He picked one up and felt a faint trace of arcane power.

Why would I keep this, he thought as he traced his canine with the tip of a claw. He looked back at the pile and frowned as best he could, which was to say, not at all. He didn’t have much face left to frown with- a fact which made him want to frown even more. Kel'Thuzad gathered up the splinters and went to replace them, when he paused. There were old papers in there. He dumped the contents onto his bed and shifted through them.

He picked through a few yellowing note cards. Most of them were old, the handwriting was too cramped for his current form to replicate. One caught his eye, slightly newer than the rest, "Shards of Atiesh (40), need base."

The lich looked back over his shoulder, searching for something on his desk. It took a few passes, the damn thing had become invisible through familiarity- Kel’Thuzad had been using it as a paperweight. There between a troll’s skull and his purple drinky bird perched a carved raven, its glassy eyes staring back at him.

The head of Atiesh.

How could he have forgotten about the greatstaff? Hell, the first thing he did when he regained a sliver of independence was to use an army to ransack Dalaran and find all the pieces! And he did find them! The sense of triumph he felt when all the shards were returned was downright insufferable- according to some accounts.

He’d felt vindicated in a way. Antonidas kept the guardian’s effects away from his fellow council members for ‘safety reasons’- whatever that meant. Now they all belonged to him. With the Book of Medivh and Atiesh, he could throw wide the gates of Karazhan and finally plumb the secrets of that great tower.

There was a slight issue however: the base was never located.

Kel’Thuzad worried at the root of a tusk while he thought, scraping away the oily resin that built up on them whenever he got ‘excited’, which smelled, strangely, of citrus.

Brann Bronzebeard was the last person to have the base in his possession according to the rumor mill, but the dwarf was elusive at the best of times.

Kel’Thuzad glanced at the resin scraped onto his claws and sucked his teeth in irritation. Now everything he touched was going to smell like lemons.

It had been so busy too, trying to balance the needs of the scourge and run a successful campaign against the horde and alliance. The staff just fell off his lists of priorities.

But…now?

He sat up, absently wiping the sticky stuff on his shorts while he searched for something blank to write on. Maybe he’d been going about this all wrong. Maybe he didn’t need the original base at all! Between himself and the cadre of skilled craftsmen at his disposal, who was to say they couldn’t recreate the base?

He flipped over a few more cramped notecards before finding a blank one. But as he pulled it out he realized it was a narrow piece of heavy cardstock. Kel’Thuzad cocked his head and paused. What was this doing in here? If it were in the box that meant it was important and probably not blank. He brought it closer for inspection, looking for a hint that it might be enchanted.

The smell hit him.

Mageroyal, mana lily, arcane magic- her perfume. A flood of memories carried him away in a wave of nostalgia: their compelling debates, her warm embrace and feathery laugh. Sweet memories of another life that suddenly went cold.

Another memory pushed all others aside. Within the cold halls of Naxxramas, a man and his sick wife wept, pleading for his help. They knew what awaited her. Anub'arak’s claw speared through her chest. Death was instantaneous, but terribly temporary. Those sounds: the wet splatter, the ripping, the wretched mewling.

Kel’Thuzad dropped the card like it had burned him. He looked back at the contents of the box, to the stack of letters bound together with twine. The mists in his chest wound tightly. The whole room shrank around him. Crushing him. Suffocating him.

He teleported.

Kel'Thuzad reappeared in the drafty hallway outside the apartment. He leaned against the door and tried to clear his thoughts, to focus on his breathing, anything. Nothing seemed to work.

Footsteps echoed from down the hall, "Hey, Banana, what's up?"

Kel'Thuzad looked up to find one of his oldest friends (and the only person who called him Banana), Titus Rivendare, walking towards him. Titus had come up with the nickname when he was still a child and his father, Julian, was the lich's patron.

It was a child’s impeccable logic: Kel'Thuzad looked like he was from Tel'Abim; bananas came from Tel'Abim; therefore Kel’Thuzad was a banana. It just stuck.

The Death Knight was dapper as usual: his embroidered mageweave and velvet tunic showed no signs of wear, nor did his regal features show any signs of disfigurement from undeath. The only things that gave it away was the blue glint in his eyes and stark white hair. Kel'Thuzad had done exemplary work when he initially raised him, but the credit for his ongoing 'health' went to more…specialized folk.

Titus stopped before him and noted his disheveled appearance, "What are you doing?"

What was he doing out here? He couldn't tell him he was having a panic attack. Thinking quickly, Kel'Thuzad forced himself into a more relaxed posture and cleared his throat. "Nothing, I thought I heard something in the hallway so I came to investigate."

"You're not wearing anything."

The lich glanced down at himself, he wasn't quite naked, he still had on a pair of dark tundra-cotton boxers, with an unfortunate lemony stain down the front.

"It's the fashion of the fleshless," he said with a short wave, "it's all the rage!"

Perfect.

Titus grunted, one eyebrow arched skeptically. Kel'Thuzad had always been a bad liar, for some reason he didn't get any better at it when he became a lich. He projected an anxious energy that tipped his hand. "It doesn't suit you," Titus replied, "Why don't you get dressed and come with me to the stables? I need to pick up the babies."

Kel’Thuzad tilted his head, confused. What? Babies?

“For tonight's socialization," the death knight explained, obviously.

Socialization? Blech. Kel'Thuzad shook his head, he would never be caught dead in one of those meetings! In any case, he didn't feel quite like being social at the moment. "I'm a bit busy with operations, another time perhaps."

"Sorry Banana, it's not a request," The death knight produced an envelope from his coat pocket and held it out.

Kel'Thuzad took it. He scored the wax with one of his sharper claws and cracked it down the middle, hoping for a clean break. To his disappointment there was a tiny ragged edge, next time.

The letter within was a printed summons with the variable information neatly written into the blank fields. He skimmed it, the most important parts jumped out immediately.

"Kel'Thuzad…Mandatory Socialization-- Delinquencies in duties!" Kel'Thuzad cried indignantly, "What is the meaning of this?"

Mandatory Socialization? But that was for the lunatic fringe and other malcontents who never left their work stations- not him! He was normal and well adjusted!

Those ghouls on the Party Planning Committee developed a torture regime of ‘party games’ and ‘group sharing' to ‘encourage’ a ‘sense of belonging’. The lich shuddered, disgusting.

Titus shrugged, "Seems pretty clear to me. When was the last time you left your apartment?"

"I was at the victory party yesterday!" Kel’Thuzad said. He wasn't being derelict in his duties, Cassy must be angry with him for how he ran her out after last night.

"Light,” Titus exclaimed, “that was almost two weeks ago!"

"Two weeks?" Kel'Thuzad said. The letter fell out of his grasp, "Impossible-"

Titus cocked his head, giving the lich’s rib cage a pointed look.

Kel'Thuzad followed his gaze, angling his head so that he could see down into his chest. He sucked in a breath and looked away sharply. There was a giant cobweb in his ribs.

He suppressed a shudder as he reached into the cavity to break it up. "I thought socialization was required after three months, why am I being summoned now?"

"It's a month for liches and even less for The Archlich. You're lucky I found you first. A few more hours and the PPC would have sent a squad of mage-hunters," Titus said.

"That seems excessive," Kel'Thuzad grumbled. He turned to unlock his door and entered the apartment, Titus close behind.

"Well your little bath in the Sunwell begs to differ. What if you did go crazy?" Titus asked as he followed the lich through the parlor and into his bedroom. He took in the sight of the lich's quarters, noting the splinters of Atiesh strewn about the unmade bed and the half snorted pile of arcane powder on the desk, "What exactly have you been doing in here?"

"Nothing interesting."

"What's all of this then?" Titus asked, motioning to the splinters, "Is it a sex thing? I smell lemon."

"What? No. How would that even work?" Kel’Thuzad asked, “and you know thats not just a sex thing. I can’t control when my tusks get all...goopy.”

"How should I know? I'm not a lich."

Kel'Thuzad ignored him. With a huff he opened his wardrobe and looked at his choices. Black, black and red, or purple?

"Has anyone told you you're annoying when you're high on powder?" Titus asked.

"Yes, you've mentioned it," he replied evenly, "several times in fact."

"A bit handsy. Remember what happened at the fire festival."

Light, would he ever live that down? "The powder was for Cassandra, she likes it."

Titus grumbled something under his breath, then, "So how do these shard-things factor into this party?"

Kel'Thuzad rolled his eyes, "The cat knocked over the box they were in. I was organizing it before I went outside."

He couldn't believe he hadn't put on anything for a whole month. He felt like a slob. "Do I really have to…'socialize'?"

"Yes."

"I just feel like, you know, my position should-"

"Your position is exactly why you have to,” Titus interrupted, “No one is above the rules, especially not you.”

Sigh.

"Of course not."

The lich quickly threw on a pair of pants and a set of dark robes before examining himself in the small mirror on the door. He'd need to reincarnate soon, his body was starting to look a little worse for wear. One of his tusks had been split by a forsaken warrior at Venomspite. Now it was being held together by a gold band. He did a quick spot check to make sure there were no spider webs hiding in the hollow parts of his skull. It was clear and so were his teeth. He sighed, blue mist blew out of his nasal cavity fogging up the glass.

His eyes wandered to the picture taped to the mirror of a middle aged man sitting behind a desk surrounded by flowers, wearing a broad smile. It was one of his better photos from when he was alive. Well, the best one he had at least. Kel’Thuzad had ripped it out of Better Botanicals, the herbalism book he had written about five years before his banishment.

It was the reference for his glamor.

Peacebloom can grow anywhere, even your windowsill!

It took Kel'Thuzad about a year to get used to seeing his new reflection. He did not like to admit it, but sometimes it still took him a moment to recognize himself. The only thing he retained from his life was his hair. Still gray, still thick, still down past his chin.

Except now it was a flat, matted mess from staying in bed for so long. He resolved to wash it later, for now he would just hook his cloak's hood over his horns.

"Wow, are all of these like this?"

Kel'Thuzad turned to find the bundle of letters untied and Titus reading one. Panic shot through him. "W-what are you doing?"

"Nothing.”

"Titus!"

Titus shot him a grin and affected a woman's voice, "I miss you. I miss hearing your voice and teasing Drenden. Most of all, I miss your co-”

"Stop it!" He didn't want to hear anymore. He turned away to hide the mists in his chest which had condensed into a tight ball.

"I had no idea Modera was so saucy," said Titus, "So, did you give her a good rogering after that one? Kel?"

The lich focused on his hands. They were shaking. He tried to hide it by fidgeting with his mantle, but it didn't work. He flinched when he felt Titus's hand on his back.

"What's the matter?" Titus asked, "Are you angry?"

"No, I'm not angry," Kel'Thuzad mumbled.

"Well, what is it?" He asked, "You're shaking. I'm not going to give up until you tell me." Kel’Thuzad could feel Titus frowning at his back, "Do you miss Modera?"

Did he miss her? He had very deliberately not thought about her for almost a decade. Hearing her name now, though, made something ache in his soul. He glanced at the mirror.

"No," he said firmly. It was a lie but one that he desperately wanted to believe. Kel'Thuzad paused and rubbed the back of his neck, the nubs in his spine clicked against his fingers. He cleared his throat, "I'm still not used to having my… my thoughts to myself."

"But you are thinking about her."

"No," this time it wasn't a lie, not really at least, "it was just a little nostalgia."

He turned to find Titus regarding him skeptically. "You could do more than think about her, you know. You could reach out to her."

When Kel'Thuzad's only response was an incredulous stare, the death knight added, "You have free will now. Who knows, you might be surprised, maybe she misses you too."

Modera, miss him? Kel'Thuzad laughed, he had never heard a more preposterous idea! The only way she would be happy to see him were if he was clapped in irons inside the Violet Citadel. He closed the wardrobe with the back of his heel and swept out of the room, Titus in tow.

The death knight had to double time it to catch up with the lich's long strides. "From your reaction I take it you like my idea."

"Oh yes, marvelous idea Titus," Kel'Thuzad said as he fitted his horns through the holes in his hood, "'Hello dear, yes- I know I've become a monster and I've caused untold chaos and destruction in your life recently, but what do you say- all water under the bridge?'"

Titus sighed. He could feel the Death Knight's disappointment. "If people thought you were a monster they wouldn't follow you. They wouldn’t continue to join our cause.”

Kel’Thuzad grunted and looked away. Recruitment has been up lately, but that had nothing to do with him. Rather it was the hard work of the Alliance to resettle Hearthglen and its surrounding holdings. If you're a newly transplanted sharecropper it's pretty easy to choose between starving to death or accepting rations from the cult.

“Maybe,” Kel’Thuzad said even if he didn’t believe it.

“I know I’m right,” said Titus, “Now cheer up and make us a portal. We have work to do.”

Chapter Text

"Pay attention," Titus said under his breath. He nudged the lich hard in the ribs bringing him back to reality. Kel’Thuzad hissed something under his breath, letting out a plume of mist and drawing the attention of more than a few attendees. Titus waved the cloud away with a glare.

They were at socialization and it was even more grating than Kel’Thuzad could have ever dreamed. Group. Sharing. And that was just the first planned activity!

For his part Kel’Thuzad ignored the death knight. He slouched forward on the hard bench, set his tusks in his hands and pouted. Though no one would know, his face always looked like it was plastered with a grin. What if people thought he was enjoying himself? A chilling thought. How could he enjoy listening to Meriam Cobblepot talk about her feelings?

He stared. She was a gnomish alchemist. No, he corrected himself- a Gnome alchemist. Those were two different things and technically there was no school of gnomish alchemy. Not like engineering where one could be a gnomish engineer and a gnome.

He liked gnomes, but he was always sort of afraid he might trip on one-

"Kel'Thuzad, what did you think of Meriam’s story?" Cassandra asked. She was out of her robes for once. Instead she wore a tailored outfit with a long pencil-skirt and embroidered blouse that made her look like a school principal.

He froze. All eyes were on him, expecting an answer. What had she been talking about? "Uh…” he half straightened out of his slouch and glanced around the room trying to gauge the general atmosphere of the room, “I thought it was good- good story.”

Titus leaned over, “Her son died."

"Sad story, very sad." Damn it.

Cassandra was not impressed. She tapped a manicured claw on the clipboard and waited for him to elaborate. When all he gave her was a half hearted shrug she began to scribble.

The atmosphere in the room shifted. Kel’Thuzad had the impression this was bad.

She completed writing her thoughts with forceful punctuation and moved onto her next victim. "Heigan, Jeremy was your student, how have you been processing everything?”

Heigan the Unclean glared at her. He was outside of his slime and crap filled dance studio for once. The engineer was soaking wet. His normally wild and bushy hair was plastered to his head. Heigan’s attendance was also mandatory. Unfortunately for Heigan, he didn’t have a Titus. He ignored his summons and was dragged in by the mage hunters. Apparently they needed a rain barrel to pacify his smell.

“You don’t have to be so distant, we’re all here to listen,” she said, motioning for him to continue with her glasses. Heigan crossed his arms, his mouth made the smallest, thinnest line possible. No words could possibly escape. He’d thrown away the key.

Cassandra scribbled a note.

“Reminder,” Cassandra coaxed with saccharine sweetness, “Everyone must meaningfully participate if the group wants to play with the griffon cubs later,” Cassandra was convincing. Kel’Thuzad would have bought it- if it weren’t for the poisonous glare she'd shot his way. “Let’s take a break, there are refreshments in the back.”

There was a minor commotion as most of the attendees made a dash for the punchbowl. Kel'Thuzad considered joining them when a foul breeze wafted over him. Wet corpse and patchouli.

It was Heigan.

Great.

The engineer looked displeased. The archlich crossed his arms. “I hope you don’t think I had anything to do with this,” Kel’Thuzad said, “I’m not exactly here for my health.”

"I know that," Heigan replied, his voice had a sing-songy quality to it. He made a sweeping gesture, "You're here for all of their health." Kel’Thuzad blinked and followed the gesture before realizing the engineer was pointing out the door to the village, away from those who gathered around the punch bowl. He scowled up at the other man, but Heigan either couldn't tell or ignored his displeasure.

Heigan leaned forward with a wide grin, showing off all his blackened teeth, "As for me, I'm practically a permanent attendee. Poor hygiene."

"Why don't you take a shower then?"

"This is more efficient."

Kel'Thuzad grunted. He felt it was neither faster nor more efficient to be publicly dunked into a rain barrel.

"My new teleporter has gone missing," Heigan said in an offhanded, but still accusatory way, "You wouldn't know anything about that would you?"

Kel’Thuzad narrowed his eyes, "Why would I know anything about your missing teleporter?" Sure, the lich liked to ‘borrow’ Heigans tools occasionally. But he almost always asked. Except for the jumper cables that one time, but Kel’Thuzad was certain he returned those. Unlike the gnomish mind-control cap- he wanted to see how it compared with his own abilities. It… didn’t survive the experiment.

Regardless, he did not recall getting his claws on any teleporter.

Now it was Heigan's turn to grunt noncommittally. Kel'Thuzad shot up, instantly tangling his horns in the hall's decorations. The ceiling was festooned with wildflowers and strings of mage-light baubles that hung dangerously low for someone who was almost eight feet tall. "What are you implying?" He gritted out as he wrestled with the decorations.

“That you shouldn’t use it,” Heigan replied, “I made it based on Sapphiron’s specs for the Focusing Iris. It’s not tested.”

He watched Kel’Thuzad struggle to untangle his hair from the light-strings for a moment before continuing, “So use it outside of Naxxramas in case it blows up."

Kel’Thuzad stopped and glared at him. The Focusing Iris? If he replicated that thing Heigan would be able to wield immense amounts of arcane power. And he was using it on a teleporter? "Why would you make such a thing?" Kel'Thuzad asked. With an audible rip the lich finally tore the string of flowers out of his hair.

Heigan shrugged, "Because I could."

That motto might as well be chiseled above Naxxramas's entrance.

Finally free of the decorations meant Kel'Thuzad was no longer captive to this conversation. He slouched his way over to the refreshment table, fretting over his hair on the way. It grew but didn’t grow back unless he regenerated. Whoever hung these lights deserved to be throttled for bruising his already fragile vanity.

The small crowd dispersed as he approached leaving behind two liches. Cassandra and Araj stood near a bright red punchbowl engaged in a hushed argument.

"Just step away from the punchbowl and take your seat, Araj." Cassandra said. Her voice had the quality of someone who had lost their patience three pithy remarks ago.

"I'm allowed to have a drink," Araj hissed.

"Yes, one. You've had six! I watched you."

"Well I hope you liked what you saw," Araj said, sticking his blue tongue out at her.

Kel'Thuzad cleared his throat, the other two turned to look at him, neither particularly happy to see him. Cassy, he could understand. Araj, he suspected, had also been required to attend tonight's meeting.

Araj looked a little worn out. The other lich was less lustrus, the mists in his chest were dim and flowed sluggishly. Plus he smelled strongly of alcohol. He crossed his arms and blew a limp strand of dark hair off his face.

"Hello you two, how is everything?" Kel'Thuzad asked.

"Everything is fine, Archlich," Cassandra said smoothly. She shot a hard glare at Araj and the other lich wilted.

"Araj, why don't you sit with me and Titus?" he said, gesturing towards the death knight who was talking to the mage hunters. "I need to speak with Cassandra for a moment."

Araj sighed then shuffled off, empty handed. Kel'Thuzad turned back to Cassy to find her looking at him with a rather pointed expression.

"Who decorated the hall?" he asked.

Cassandra blew a small puff of mist from between her teeth and looked away. "Me. I bought the lights last time the goblins came to port."

"Great job,” Kel’Thuzad said, privately put out that there would be no throttling after all, “Very cheery."

She relaxed a bit at the compliment and played with the lace fringe at the end of her sleeves. Her clothes were…interesting. The whole ensamblé was tailored to suggest a curvaceous female body might be present underneath. Her blouse was buttoned into a high collar, covering her ribs completely- necessary for the illusion.

Kel’Thuzad followed the pattern of embroidery, looking for a clue which would tell him if she was annoyed that he hadn't paid attention in group. To Cassandra it looked like the archlich was admiring her ‘breasts.’

He realized this when Cassandra started to sway her hips slightly. It was a little awkward. “I like your outfit,” Kel’Thuzad said.

“This old thing?” Cassandra ran a claw over her broken horn coquettishly, “I thought it might be fun to dress up a little.”

For socialization? Wait, was she flirting with him?!

“Yes- well, um,” That was all he could muster. Still, her mood brightened considerably and she wrapped him in a tight embrace.

Cassandra was shorter than him. The perfect height to rub her horns against his tusks, sending a blip of heat down his spine. Kel’Thuzad made a little noise, something like an involuntary purr.
He returned the hug, it was almost nice- that is until he smelled lemon.

Damn it, not now, Kel’Thuzad thought as the fog in his head fanned out of his jaw, analogous to blushing. He pulled his head away, now even more embarrassed than before.

"Why is Araj here?" he asked, hoping to talk about literally anything else, "Did he join the PPC?"

The Party Planning Committee or PPC was in charge of Socialization and the scheduling of major cult gatherings. The committee acted like a sort of 'welcome wagon' for new members.

Bloody terrorists, the lot of them.

They had an uncanny ability to know which citizens were in good standing and who was shirking in their duties. Kel'Thuzad firmly believed that the Cult of the Damned had the best intelligence network on Azeroth and the PPC put even them to shame.

Cassy shook her head, "No, he has a drinking problem."

“A...what?” Was such a thing even possible? Liches could drink, in a roundabout sort of way. They use the fog in their chests to absorb the liquid in question. Most alcohols weren’t strong enough to get them more than a little tipsy so it's typically fortified with mana, arcane powders or other illicit substances. If one of their own has developed a dependency it might be worth studying.

“He hasn’t been sober since Rottie’s resurrection.”

“Maybe he is trying to out-drink his hangover,” Kel’Thuzad replied. That party was about three months ago now. If what she said was true then, well, Araj might have a problem.

“Maybe, but it has to get under control. Can you help me?” she asked. Cassandra let her hand trail down his arm. He cocked his head. Something about it set off alarm bells. When he did not answer right away she clarified, “He listens to you. That’s why I wanted you to come tonight.”

Kel’Thuzad crossed his arms, he saw right through her (literally, if she hadn't worn a shirt). She was lying. He wondered if this manipulation would have worked better if they were both still flesh and blood. “Then why did the summons say I’ve been delinquent?”

Cassandra waved away his question, “They all say that.”

Another lie. He grunted and turned to the punch bowl. There were two choices: blue for the living and red for the undead or anyone who wanted to test their tolerance. “So, will you speak with him?” she asked as he filled two cups with the red stuff.

“What should I tell people if they ask me why I am here? Do I tell them this was all some ploy?"

Cassandra narrowed her eyes, "Why don't you tell them you missed all of your meetings because you were moping in your apartment."

How did she-! "I wasn't moping," he said, "I was working on very sensitive materials."

"Such as?"

Kel'Thuzad brought a drink up to his mouth and mumbled something into the cup about tissue revivification. That was at least technically true. It was a side project he worked on to utilize necromancy to repair living flesh. There were minor breakthroughs: he could mend bone, but it was not the revolutionary school he had envisioned.

"I didn't catch tha-"

"I'll talk to Araj."

Cassandra parted her jaws in a sort of lich-y smile. "Thank you, Kelly," she said, all sugar now that she got her way, "how generous."

He dismissed himself, it took all his will power not to roll his eyes. Kel'Thuzad tried to keep a neutral expression, an easy feat when you don't have a face, while he stewed on Cassandra's actions. He handed a drink to Titus and Araj. The other lich perked up at the offer, but still glanced over his shoulder at the directrix before taking it.

"I don't suppose you are here to see the griffon cubs, I know how you hate those damn buzzards," Kel’Thuzad said.

“Listen, I already know what you want to talk about,” Araj grumbled, “And no. I have not been drinking for three months,” He gestured at Cassandra with his cup, sloshing punch over his bones. “I don’t know why Cassandra has been telling everybody that. Gossipy harpy.”

“Let’s try not to get too sore with her, we are immortal after all. She's our comrade," Kel’Thuzad said, he was plenty annoyed with her as it was but he didn’t want to get pulled into a bitch-fest, “I’m here to talk to you, what's up?”

Araj stared down his punch for a quiet moment. Without looking up he said, “My family never liked this whole business, then after my whole- well you know,” Araj brought his hand up through his ribcage and out the collar. Kel'Thuzad turned a shudder into a nod, “They weren’t a scourge priority. Anyway, my kids are having kids now. I want to see them but they still don’t want anything to do with me.”

Araj rested his chin on his hand and looked down. His claws idly smoothed against his clavicle with a soft rasp. "Guess it’s just starting to hit me.”

Kel’Thuzad looked down at his hands laced together on his lap. After the forsaken broke away and Arthas ascended, it was impossible for Kel’Thuzad to resurrect anyone with their will intact. He couldn't remember raising Araj. There was no telling what manner of compulsions he was given. If the lich king directed him to administer Anderhal then he might have never stopped to think of his family.

Or maybe Araj purposefully forgot, like he had.

“I’m sorry Araj, I hope they come 'round,” Kel’Thuzad said, for his own sake. He placed a hand on the other lich’s shoulder and gave him a little shake, “At least you reached out to them. I think that takes a lot of courage.”

People were beginning to take their seats around them, the meeting was almost ready to resume.

“Do you have any children?” Araj asked.

Kel’Thuzad almost answered that he had Ghastly, but stopped himself. Blighterghast was a dragon, and that was clearly not what Araj meant.

“No,” Kel’Thuzad replied. The other lich shook his head.

“That’s too bad,” Araj said wistfully, “I think you would have liked it.”

They fell silent while Cassandra began her introduction, Kel’Thuzad was only half listening dwelling on Titus’s suggestion. At least Araj reached out to his family- Kel’Thuzad couldn’t even entertain the idea without having a panic attack. How could she ever accept him after what he’d done? He felt the mists tighten in his chest. Modera would just see what he saw in the mirror.

He slumped forward and looked down at his hands–no, his claws. I can’t hold her with these.

Decisiveness was a luxury of enthrallment. Without the lich king’s unreal haze clouding his thoughts, he found himself returning to that same hesitant, self-doubting old fool he was in Dalaran. The fool he was in life.

The last thing he needed right now was the rejection of someone he had loved.

Titus leaned over and nudged Kel’Thuzad in the side. "What is going on with Cassy’s outfit?" he asked under his breath.

It took a second for Kel’Thuzad to return to the present. “She told me she wanted to ‘dress up’,” Kel'Thuzad replied, air quotes and all.

Titus sat back and took the full stock of her, tilted his head, then frowned. He turned back to Kel’Thuzad. “Let me ask you a serious question,” he gestured to Cassandra, “Does that do anything for you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean, does that outfit make you think, ‘Gee, I’d sure love to rattle her bones.’”

Kel'Thuzad became acutely aware of the smell of lemons, “Is that what you think?” he demanded even as the bluish mist fanned out again in a blush.

Titus leaned in and sniffed loudly before the lich shooed him away in an attempt to disperse the fog. The other attendees were starting to stare.

“Are you asking if I would have sex with a skeleton? You’re the one already doing it,” Titus said, “Is she filled out under there at all or…?”

Right then the only question Kel’Thuzad was trying to answer was whether it was too late for him to make a new best friend. Everyone else was dead or hated him…so the answer was yes.

“Wait,” Titus whispered, eyes wide with revelation, “could I?”

Kel’Thuzad glanced from Cassandra back to Titus, “Are you asking my permission or if it's possible?”

Titus thought for a second, “...Yes?”

The sound of scribbling grew steadily louder.

Was it possible? Kel’Thuzad wasn’t sure. He knew he could have sex with corporeal people, but he had no idea how it worked. Only that everything seemed to work out when he needed it to. “I don’t know, I think so.”

“Wait, how do you not know, you’re like the king of liches.”

“Well, I don’t go around asking female liches about their sex habits.”

"Gentleman!" Cassandra barked.

Kel’Thuzad froze, uh oh.

Unfortunately, he hadn't noticed the room had grown completely quiet before he opened his mouth. Now everyone was staring at them. Someone in the crowd snickered.

Cassandra glared at them. Titus smirked, “Yes, teacher?” the death knight asked sweetly.

She ignored him, instead focusing her ire upon the archlich, “Kel'Thuzad, please refrain from speaking when it's not your turn. We were just listening to Malachi tell us how he feels like no one listens to his ideas.”

“Oh, what are they?” Kel’Thuzad asked her.

Cassy narrowed her eyes, but didn’t respond. Kel’Thuzad wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t want to dignify him with an answer or because she had also not been paying attention. Instead she shifted her attention to Araj.

The other lich was in the process of taking a 'sip' of punch. “Araj!” she turned and pointed a clawed finger at the archlich, "Kel- take that away from him."

They'd been had. Kel'Thuzad mumbled an apology as the other lich handed over his cup.

"Now drink it," commanded Cassandra.

He looked down at the bright red liquid and hesitated. It smelled like someone dumped a sack of sugar into a demolisher's engine then lit it on fire. That meant they used the good stuff which was strong enough to knock him on his ass. "I don't really want any."

"You are holding up the meeting." Cassandra said.

Titus leaned over and took the cup out of his hands. "Here," he said as he poured the remainder into his own glass, "I'll drink it."

"Fine," Cassandra said with a huff. She turned away signaling that the group should continue when the death knight interrupted her.

"Actually, I'm not all that thirsty either," Titus declared, "Araj, mate, do you want my drink?"

"Alright- that's enough!" Cassandra said. She was so agitated Kel'Thuzad could see the fog swirl up through her collar. With a violent swipe she vanished the drink out of Titus's hand, to some protest from the death knight. She turned her baleful glare towards the other lich, "Araj, I think it's your turn to share with the group why you are here."

The summoner hissed at her before crossing his arms and looking away petulantly, turning his head so quickly Araj banged a tusk into his shoulder. He remained silent. Titus raised his hand tall and waived it until Cassandra rolled her eyes and motioned for him to speak.

"Kel'Thuzad wants to share," Titus said.

Kel’Thuzad sucked in a breath, this was news to him. He didn't want to share! What kind of person wants to share? He shot Titus a withering look, but the death knight just grinned.

Cassandra looked like she was trying to center herself. "Very well. Kel'Thuzad. Tell the group what led to your attendance," she said evenly.

He didn't quite know where to start. He couldn't tell these people he just laid in bed and moped in his underwear. They looked to him as a leader. If he told them he was unhappy it could cast doubts on their new society. Most of the other stories he half listened to seemed to be work related at least. "I didn't leave my apartment for a few weeks," he said, "I, er, lost track of time?"

Cassandra scribbled a quick note on her notepad before looking up. "What did you do that whole time?"

"I was reading intelligence reports regarding Anderhal. The new governor levied a tax on whiskey and the region's harvests were predictably dismal," Kel'Thuzad lied. He had only skimmed those this afternoon. "Our comrades from Scholomance's outreach to the new settlers may pay off sooner than later."

The other attendees rumbled their approval, but Cassandra was not convinced.

She jotted down another note and watched him over the rim of her glasses.

"And that took you a few weeks?"

"Er, well no. I also organized my notes for an upcoming research project on using necromantic techniques to repair living tissue," he replied, "as I said I lost track of time."

She grunted.

More notes, the scribbling only seemed to get louder.

Finally she looked up to address the group. "Many of our undead colleagues report losing track of time during their work. A trait seen as highly valuable to the Scourge. However, we no longer serve the Scourge.

"With our new society, we expect our members to work hard, but it is more important to live as well. So please, remember to take a break."

+++++++++++

The cultists crowded around the pen, jostling for a better view. Skeletal and fleshy hands reached in, vying for attention. There were five cubs: three griffons and two shaggy wyverns- all heart-meltingly adorable.

Kel'Thuzad hung back and watched. The undead who had been required to attend had looked so dour at the start. Now everyone was smiling and chatting. A great feeling of comradery permeated the air. Even he felt his spirits rise a little. The program was working!

"What do you think of ‘Socialization'?" Titus asked, the air quotes were implied. The death knight’s hands were full with one of the bearded cubs. The griffon was content to sit in his arms. It had a soft, dark-gray pelt and fluffy looking down feathers. The plumage on its head would turn pink or orange in adulthood.

“I think I could have done without the compliment circle," Kel'Thuzad said. Some of the compliments he received didn’t feel very…complimentary. "But, everyone seems happy.”

Well, almost everyone, Araj was still a mess. The other lich sat alone staring at nothing.

“You got off easy, the next one is a ‘no-magic talent show’,” Titus said, "Would you like to hold the baby?"

"Oh, um, I'm not sure. It looks comfortable."

"Don't be that way. Just take it."

Kel'Thuzad accepted the cub. He couldn’t quite feel the downy fuzz, it was too fine for his muted sense of touch. But the fur was soft and warm. The baby smelled like a puppy- Kel’Thuzad wanted to hug it forever. The little griffon did not seem very interested in the lich lord. Instead it opened its beak and yawned, sticking its pink tongue out before resting its head on his ribs.

"They are very cute," He cooed. He carefully scratched at its cheek until the cub purred. There was a misconception that being undead meant hating the living. Kel'Thuzad looked out at the crowd. The living and the undead mingled happily. Not only that, but there were people of almost all races participating in their society. Even goblins! The issues which drove the factions to war held no sawy here because they were united in a goal of making a better next week for each other.

Maybe a better world was still possible.

"Are you alright?" Titus asked, "you look like you want to eat that thing."

The lich was abruptly brought back down to earth. He scoffed, blue mist blew out from between his teeth. "I can't help it, that's just how my face looks," He said, "I was just thinking. I want to reform Atiesh."

Titus raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Why."

The lich shifted the griffon into one arm so he could gesture with his other hand. "Look around, the people are so happy here. Our vision for a new kind of society is working! With Karazhan unlocked-"

The death knight swore under his breath and rolled his eyes, "You're back on that? If anyone from the Kirin Tor even hears the words ‘Kel’Thuzad’ and ‘Atiesh,’ possibly 'Karazhan' in the same sentence they’re going to be all over you in a heartbeat."

"How would they even find out? Think about it. Medivh was the Guardian of Tirisfal, who knows what kind of knowledge he had in his tower. Right now it does nothing for anyone, but in our hands?" He trailed off vaguely.

Titus was not convinced. "Don't tell me you have staff envy. What about that wand of yours?"

"I do not have 'staff envy’," he protested. The lich held the cub tighter, lifting it so he could hide his face behind its fluff. Among the magical community there were two types of people: staff people and sword people. Kel'Thuzad had always been a sword person owing to his more offensive casting style and the fact that he wasn't a complete freak who was obsessed with the size of his 'staff.'

"Besides, that wand was stolen when Naxxramas was stormed the first time," he added. Poor Doomfinger. It was probably rotting away in some dreary pawn shop.

"I think you are just trying to distract yourself from doing something you actually want to do." Titus said.

"And what would that be?"

“Oh, let me think,” Titus said as he made a loud thinking sound and tapped his chin for good measure, “I don’t know, maybe try reaching out to Modera?"

The mists in his chests shot up in surprise. The griffon noticed and began pawing at his ribs. It jammed its beak in between the gaps, causing the lich to squeak in an undignified manner. Kel’Thuzad untangled himself and pushed the cub back into Titus's arms. "Why do you say that?"

The death knight adjusted the griffon, a little harder now that it was excited. "I just know how you get. You can be a bit...you know."

"A bit what." Everyone was beating around the bush today. Or maybe they did that everyday and he was just accustomed to their deference.

"You know. You can do what you want now, why not do something that might make you happy?"

Kel'Thuzad crossed his arms. This was starting to feel very confrontational. "You know, if I were to reform the staff there's a chance that I could use it to turn into a bird- which would be exciting."

"Oh, well, a bird that settles it," Titus said sarcastically. "If I’d known that, I’d never have suggested forming a meaningful human relationship.”

“If I could turn into a bird I’d fly away from this conversation,” Kel’Thuzad said petulantly.

“You really wouldn't try? What's the worst that could happen."

Kel'Thuzad pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Titus propped the griffon up onto its haunches and waved a paw at him. "What if you gave her a cute wittle baby?"

The lich chuckled. "Yes, I'm sure she would love it. Probably as much as she would love to see me clapped in irons and hanging in the Violet Hold."

They made their way back to the makeshift enclosure and Titus gently lowered the cub back into the pen. They watched for a moment as it took a few unsteady steps before tackling an unsuspecting wyvern. The crowd aww’d.

"Do you really think she would do that?" Titus asked under his breath.

"Of course, wouldn't you?" Kel"Thuzad drifted away from the group, Titus close behind. "Why are you so interested in this anyway?"

"You were a complete mess earlier. I just think it might be good for you, if it works out."

Kel'Thuzad tightened his grip on his arms. Araj's story weighed heavily on him. "There's no way I could make her happy like this."

"Undeath becomes you."

"Funny."

"Are you afraid?"

Kel'Thuzad stopped and regarded Titus. He didn't sense any malice from the death knight, who could be more churlish than charming when teasing. He was trying to strike a nerve. It was sort of working.

Still the lich shrugged, there was no use in trying to deny it. "A little bit, maybe. You and Araj have both been rejected by people you love. I'm not eager to experience it."

Titus let out a mirthless laugh. "Aurius is a good boy, but we never saw eye to eye. He was more like the son my father never had. And Araj is a drunkard, who knows what his family situation was like," he said as they stepped out into the snow. Spring was approaching in the north, but the cold was ever present. The temperature did not hinder the men, but their breath still steamed like the living.

Titus continued, "You might be immortal, but Modera isn't. Have you considered the possibility of spending eternity wondering what could have happened?”

The wind kicked up, blowing a fresh dusting of powder along with it. Kel’Thuzad felt the cold for only a moment before it faded back into nothing. He had not considered that.

"What do you want?" Titus asked.

He wanted to do something, anything, to bring some semblance of normalcy to their lives. To not read reports about his school being attacked, or expelling mercenaries from Naxxramas, or being attacked when he went out to gather herbs. That was supposed to be his special time! If he could do something to show the world their organization was a legitimate institution then maybe they could find acceptance and peace.

“I want for everyone-

“No!” Titus interrupted. He rounded on the lich, finger pointed at his face, "Forget all of this. Banana, what do you want?"

Kel’Thuzad flinched and looked away, tightening the grip on his arms. He was tired of being vilified. He wanted his old life back, which was impossible. But, maybe he could skirt close enough to it. A facsimile fit for a thing like him.

"I want to reforge the staff."

"Why, so you can turn into a bird?"

"Yes! Well, not exactly. Although that would be a plus," Kel'Thuzad said. Titus crossed his arms and waited for the lich to continue, eyebrows raised skeptically. It didn't look like he was going to be able to wiggle his way out of this conversation. He let out a cloudy sigh and forced himself to relax. Or at least tried too. The claws on his left hand had punched through his sleeve.

"Having Atiesh would be like regaining a piece of myself." He said as he shook his hand loose.

"That thing belonged to Medivh though," Titus said with a frown.

"I think you underestimate the amount of 'information gathering' I conducted on Medivh," Kel'Thuzad replied, "and I'm the Archlich. I should have something impressive to go along with my title- besides the Book. And a floating fortress…and the awesome power of the Sunwell."

"Alright I get the point," Titus said, "plus the bird thing."

"Indeed, what fun," Kel'Thuzad said with a chuckle, "How could Modera be anything but impressed with my new staff? It's bigger!"

"Oh, no. You're becoming a staff guy already."

They shared a laugh as they walked down the path towards the teleporter pad. The cobble stones were covered in the salt and grit left by the melted snow and made a rough sound under their boots.

"Do you have all the pieces?" Titus asked.

Kel'Thuzad shook his head, "I'm missing the base, we never located it when Dalaran fell. According to the book it's made of elementium."

Titus whistled. "Sounds like a problem. Do I need to talk to some fences?"

"No need, I have a plan."

Chapter Text

"I thought you were in a hurry," Titus said as Kel'Thuzad exited the tailors.

They were in Ironforge purchasing the elementium for the base of the staff. The lich had decided to duck inside a clothing store to get a souvenir while Titus stood in line for a food cart. He had hoped to tarry long enough for Titus to order and eat his lunch. Kel’Thuzad hated watching people eat- not because it was gross, but because it made him hungry.

And that gave him a headache.

Unfortunately, his plan didn’t work. The death knight was eating some sort of greasy street-meat gyro that smelled heavenly. Kel’Thuzad hadn't eaten anything in about seven years and if he tried now it would just rupture his glamor. Turning back into a lich in the middle of Ironforge would be a little awkward. Currently he looked like himself before he followed the voice of the lich king north: reddish-tan, purple eyes and gray hair that hung past his chin, framing a narrow face that always looked like it was thinking about something.

Right now it was thinking about food.

"I just need to be back this evening," Kel'Thuzad replied as they set off towards the caverns. Titus wanted to visit a pawn shop in the district before they returned north.

"Whaddya get?" Titus asked through a mouthful of grilled peppers and onions.

"It's a scarf for Ghastly," Kel'Thuzad replied, trying not to stare too much, "he thinks the fortress is too cold."

Titus rolled his eyes. He crammed the rest of the gyro into his mouth, crumpled up the wrapper and tossed it aside. "You spoil ‘im too much."

"I do not, he's a baby," Kel'Thuzad said. With a wave Titus's litter burst into a ball of flame, turning it into a small pile of ash that blew away, scattered by their footsteps.

"He's a dragon."

“A baby dragon.”

Titus grumbled something disparaging under his breath.

"He's my responsibility,” Kel’Thuzad said as he crossed his arms, “I want him to have everything he needs to succeed, just like any parent would."

"What he needs is to toughen up. You can't keep intervening when Pythax's broodlings ostracise him," Titus said, "he needs to fight for himself."

"He just isn't used to having other living dragons around. Ghastly is smart, he'll figure it out."

Titus smirked to himself. "What's so funny?" Kel'Thuzad asked.

"Nothing really, I think it's funny watching you dote."

Kel'Thuzad shot him a sour look and let the conversation die. He did not 'dote.' He just brought Ghastly presents and looked after his well being and dropped whatever he was doing whenever the drake wanted to play.

Alright, maybe he doted a little- but that didn’t mean he had to give Titus the satisfaction of being right.

Gruff faces stared out from their stoops or below awnings, watching as the two humans entered the cavern district. Deathcharger's hooves echoed strangely off hidden stalactites, the cavern was more natural and claustrophobic the deeper they went. The light dimmed too. Dark, but not dark enough for the lich's night vision to kick in automatically, leaving him a perpetual twilight.

Titus led the way, following red lanterns down a series of narrow side streets and alleys. It was easy to get lost here. The deeper in they went, the stronger the smell of stale beer and piss. The city's sanitation workers did not stray far from the main boulevard, leaving trash and other debris to pile up in the gutters.

The death knight stopped in front of a stone walk up, the dark green paint on the door chipped with age. On the porch an old dwarven woman sat knitting next to a sign for Karloff's Kuriosities,.

"I need to talk to Junior," Titus said as he unnecessarily hitched Deathcharger to a post. "Wait here."

"Outside with the horse?" Kel'Thuzad protested.

"You're always asking questions and touching things- it's a big time sink."

"I do not," Kel'Thuzad said petulantly. He crossed his arms and pouted.

"Last time I took you to that place in Stormwind you talked that poor clerk’s ear off for three hours about a necklace,” to emphasize Titus held up three fingers, “Three! You didn't even buy it!"

“Oh, right, Stormrage's talisman. You know, Arthas gave that to me after he fought Illidan, snatched it right off his neck,” Kel’Thuzad said, he rested his chin on his knuckles and recalled a second hand memory from the fight. The look on Illidain’s face when it happened, the rage, the desperation- priceless!

“Unfortunately, it was stolen from Naxxramas during the first raid, which was a real shame because I’ve always wanted to meet his brother, Malfurion-”

“I know all that,” Titus interrupted. The death knight raked a hand through his hair, exasperated, “I was there for three hours of it, remember?”

“It was just too expensive.”

"Ten gold?"

Kel’Thuzad rolled his eyes with a huff and accidentally expelled a plume of mist. Oops. "How long is this going to take?" he asked as he quickly waved away the offending cloud. Titus was being cagey about whatever he was doing. And that made him snippier than usual. Kel’Thuzad wondered if it had something to do with his son, Aurius.

"Not that long. Just chill out."

~~~~~~~~~

Ten minutes later Titus was still inside and Kel'Thuzad was bored. Which was not good. He had a tendency to get into trouble when he was bored. He doubted he would be bored if he were in the pawn shop, but Titus made it perfectly clear he was not invited.

Kel'Thuzad slumped, he was more than a little put out. He was not a time sink. The lich cast about for something to occupy his attention, but the choices were all unappealing. There was the old lady, but she was knitting. It would be rude to bother her. He could take a look at Deathcharger, but the horse only let Titus adjust her spellwork. Finally, Kel'Thuzad considered checking in on Naxxramas. There were always tedious chores to do and useless thralls which needed constant direction…

Before the Kel’Thuzad could make a decision there was a tremor. He froze. It was as if a door had suddenly been thrown open, changing the air pressure around him. Magic. His glamor-masked tusks picked up the coarse static, but as he angled his head he found that he could not pinpoint the casters location. The magic was everywhere!

All the nearby windows were dark, where could they be?

With a growl he let some of his power bleed out from behind his mask, hoping to intimidate whoever was watching him. The temperature dropped until he could feel hoarfrost sticking to the insides of his ribs. It worked. The presence retreated quickly, taking the strange magic with it.

The hell was that! Kel’Thuzad rubbed his tingling cheeks. A scrying spell maybe? But what sort of magic smelled like… like a sun-baked rock?

Kel’Thuzad took a deep, centering breath and reached out with his magic, searching the area for the culprit. Images played across his mind's eye, showing the location of the living and the undead around him. In the curio shop he could see warm torches- the living customers and the bright bundles of spells that made up Titus's body. Behind him the old dwarf was knitting; across the street more dwarves sat in their houses eating lunch; beside him a girl stood looking at the horse. But who was responsible for that spell?

Wait.

He did a double take. There on the other side of that ornery pile of bones was a little girl. She examined the horse, her eyes were filled with the all-too familiar glimmer of fascination.

Kel’Thuzad craned his neck to get a better look at her. She was human, maybe ten, with messy, dark hair and clothing that was too fine for a refugee. Kel’Thuzad hadn’t sensed any other humans in the slum, so what the hell was she doing here? He narrowed his eyes. Was she the source of that magic?

Kel’Thuzad watched the girl reach out to pet the horse, only to pull away when Deathcharger snorted a plume of mist. "Careful with that thing," he warned.

The girl jumped as though noticing him for the first time, face flushed. She’d been caught red- handed. “It bites,” he said.

She took a step back and pointed to Deathcharger, "Is this your horse?"

"No, it's my friend's. He's in the pawn shop."

"Where did he get it? Is he a death knight?"

This is why he hated bringing Deathcharger along, but no, Titus couldn't do anything without his precious horse. "He is," Kel'Thuzad replied, although he wasn't sure where Titus got her. The lich was pretty sure the death knight didn't raise it himself considering he was a terrible, terrible necromancer. "I think he stole it."

He contemplated Deathcharger for a moment. It wasn’t everyday someone this far south saw a skeletal warhorse. He could hardly blame her for being a little curious. Kel'Thuzad looked back at the girl. She didn’t look like a trap. “What’s your name?” he asked.

She pressed her lips together into a thin line and studied him for a moment. "Vael," she said finally, "it means fire in the titan language. What’s yours?"

“My name is Kel’T–” the lich froze. Shit. “Thomasin,” he finished after a second-long pause.

“Kelt Thomasin?” she asked, giving him a look.

“Yes,” he said, trying not to look at the Thomasin’s Imports sign hanging in front of the shop behind her, “Kelt Thomasin.”

He wanted to kick himself. Instead the lich offered his hand and watched her take it. He gave Vael’s hand a little squeeze and felt a pool of latent magic below the surface. It was untouched by any particular school, meaning she likely had not started any formal training. She was not the wielder of that strange magic.

They were still out there... possibly nearby.

Which left the other question.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked.

"I'm on my way to the library.”

"Library?” The Explorers League Museum and Research Library was two districts over from the caves which were tucked away and not frequented by normal traffic. And they were even further away from main street. “How did you end up here?"

“I walked,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Walked,” Kel’Thuzad repeated. He crossed his arms as well and glanced to the end of the street where a second hand alchemy shop turned into a tenement block. In other words, a dead end. The lich looked back down at Vael. She was trying to look cool. Keyword trying. He tilted his head and gave her the sort of look a teacher might give a student who 'lost' their homework. "Do you normally go this way to get to the library?”

“...Yes."

Little liar, "I shouldn’t keep you then. Off you go.”

Vael hesitated, she looked like she wanted to protest. After a moment she turned and sulked towards the end of the cul-de-sac.

He watched her meander near the front of the second hand alchemy shop. Occasionally Vael would glance over her shoulder at him before looking away quickly. After a few minutes she swallowed her pride and trudged back.

“Back so soon?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Okay, I’m lost,” Vale admitted, “I followed you, I wanted to ask you about your horse.”

Damn Titus always insisted on bringing that beast everywhere. It was going to blow their cover someday. But, the girl was harmless. What was the worst a ten year old could do?

Kel'Thuzad grabbed Deathcharger's mane, avoiding her snapping teeth. He waved his hand over her neck, calming her with a low pulse of necromantic energy. “Well," he motioned towards the horse, "Come have a look then.”

Vael’s eyes went wide, she looked so excited as she ran a hand over its smooth muzzle. Kel’Thuzad couldn’t help but smile too. "I know all about the scourge," Vael said proudly, "I even met a death knight once. He came to my house, actually."

Kel'Thuzad raised an eyebrow. A death knight making house calls? Maybe a defector looking for his family? "That must have been scary, having a death knight at the door."

“He wasn’t scary. The Forsaken were scary. They were coming to Hillsbrad and he told us we needed to run away.”

"Is that where you’re from?" All the towns in Hillsbrad, from Ambermill to Arathi had been razed by the Forsaken shortly after Deathwing's resurgence. He remembered the horsemen rode out to conduct some last minute evacuations. A few of the refugee families even resettled in Stratholme afterward. She was lucky.

"Southshore, mostly. Redridge now. My mother says it's too dangerous to live with her in Dalaran," Vael explained, “So I live with my aunt and uncle.”

He made a non-committal sound. With all the fighting the Horde and Alliance did in Hillsbrad, Dalaran would have been the safest place in the region, before it went north. Now that it was gone there was nothing stopping the Forsaken's march south.

“You came all the way to Ironforge from Redridge to go to the library? Why not Stormwind or Everstill?" Kel'Thuzad asked. Even a portal to Dalaran for the day might be more convenient.

"Mother works there. I can go on the top floor and everything.”

Interesting. If she could get into the third floor at the Explorer's League library, it meant her parents were probably influential. He tried to run his thumb along a tusk that was not there and settled for his jaw. Children made excellent spies and this one might know something of note. And, there was still the mysterious stranger lurking about. Kel'Thuzad couldn't sense anything out of the ordinary, but that didn't mean it might not come back. It wouldn't be safe to leave her alone in the slums with it running around.

“I have some business to attend to at the Tram,” Kel'Thuzad lied, "Would you like some company on the way to the library?"

Vael's face lit up for a moment before turning to hesitation. She glanced at the pawn shop. "What about your friend?"

Titus left him in the alleyway. Kel'Thuzad waved off her concern, "He'll be fine."

So it was agreed, they set off together through the caverns.

"I found a rare plant this morning," Vael said, "Do you want to see it?"

"A rare plant?" Kel'Thuzad said. He loved plants! He'd even written a book on horticulture years ago. “From Redridge?” He tried to predict what it might be as she shifted a few things around in her pack. Maybe a cinderbloom or silversage blown down from the pass? Or perhaps the kudzu vine had finally jumped the river from Duskwood.

She produced a small white box. Kel’Thuzad could feel a familiar power radiating off of it as he accepted it. It wasn’t much but it still made him pause before opening the lid. Inside was a black flower, the petals were laced with a poisonous green-sheen that threw off a sickly glow. It smelled sweet, like an over ripe fruit. Like rot.

“A fel lotus?” Kel’Thuzad asked. He trailed a finger over one of the waxy petals. It was naturally warm to him, but it wasn’t a comfortable heat. “Did you go to Outland to find this?”

“No, I found it growing along the lakeshore.”

“Maybe the seeds blew away from a warlock’s garden,” Kel’Thuzad replied. Outland plants did blow through the dark portal, but it would be a bit far to expect one to travel up from the blasted lands. “What are you going to do with it?”

“I don’t know. That’s one of the things I wanted to read about today. Have you ever worked with them?” Vael said.

Kel’Thuzad returned the box. They had made their way back to the main drag. The lich thought for a moment, as he watched a gnome wade into the dark waters of the underground lake.

“A few times,” he replied, gesturing to the box, “They’re a bit unstable. Good if you want a potion that will give you a punch in the arm.”

It was just as dangerous to work with fel radiation now that he was undead, it could eat his spell weaves if he wasn’t careful, “I prefer other lotus varieties, unfortunately they’re almost impossible to cultivate. I’ve tried.”

“Oh! You have a garden? I’m trying to grow one but the soil isn’t so good.”

“Have you tried Peacebloom? It can grow anywhere-”

“Even a windowsill?”

“Er, yes,” Kel’Thuzad said. That was from Better Botanicals. He thought of the page taped next to his mirror and felt oddly exposed. Perhaps a change of topic was in order.

Kel’Thuzad glanced at Vael, he could see her properly now that they were in the light of the main road. She had the look of a Tel, but her complexion was maybe a few shades lighter than his. He noticed her eyes were purple, a common color for people with a magical heritage.

“What sort of work do your parents do?” he asked.

Vael hesitated for a moment, smile fading only slightly, “My parents?”

“They don’t let just anyone up on the top floor," he coaxed.

“I don’t really know, my mother doesn’t tell me much about her projects,” Vael said. She thought for a moment before her face lit up, “But I know she was involved with Ulduar- you know, the giant titan city in Northrend?”

Kel’Thuzad made a non-committal sound and nodded. The Kirin Tor were crawling all over that site. They might have hired a few mercenary guilds to ‘pacify’ the titan constructs, but it was no project for an apprentice.

“She got me a souvenir. I think it's a dorsal scale from a giant iron proto-drake,” Veal said proudly, “I like to collect that sort of stuff.”

“Dorsal scales?” he asked with a wry smile, “do you also collect dorsal fins?”

“N-no.”

“What about ventral scales?” Kel’Thuzad asked. She frowned up at him, the disguised lich’s grin widened, “Those are on the belly.”

“That’s not- !” Vael made a frustrated face. Her lips pressed together in a thin line and she puffed out her cheeks before letting the air out in a little annoyed burst. She took a moment to collect herself and search for the right words, “stuff from big adventures- trinkets and jewelry, that sort of thing. The Explorers League keeps these huge ledgers of booty from mercenary campaigns. Did you know that?”

"I did not," he replied. He wondered what that entailed besides bullion. From his experience, mercenaries often left books and research material unmolested prefering to strip corpses for armor and weapons.

Finally, they had exited the caves. Here the walls of the canals were lined with cafes and taverns packed with tourists and museum workers. Among the crowd were a few kitted-out adventurers. Everything on them must have been enchanted because it woke up his tusks magical detection. Strong ones too. Instead of the usual 'pins-and-needles' sensation the lich felt like he'd bitten into something sour. Kel'Thuzad's lips drew back in a grimace showing off his larger than normal canines. His glamor was good, but it couldn't hide all the aspects of his true form.

He rubbed his cheeks and found the culprit: a druid exiting a cafe. Kel'Thuzad watched the night elf walk by. Little embers in his armor left a smokey trail in his wake. Could that presence earlier have been a mercenary on some mad quest?

“...Do you want to hear about them?” Vael asked.

Kel’Thuzad blinked, Vael was watching him expectantly. He’d been staring off into space holding his face for a little too long. “The ledgers? How do they factor into your collecting?”

“Sometimes I’ll find something really neat. The ledger lists guild affiliation, so I use the library to look up their halls, then I write letters to the owner to see if they still want it. Sometimes they write back- sometimes it’s just to tell me to 'piss off,'" Kel’Thuzad frowned, that wasn’t a very nice thing to say to a little girl. Vael quickly added, "That only happened a few times. They usually send me what I asked about if they write back at all.”

“How fun, you sound pretty resourceful,” Kel’Thuzad said, “Your parents must be proud to have such a good little researcher.”

She looked down, but Kel’Thuzad could see a small, pleased smile. “Mother says it's a good talent for mages.”

He could see why a child might find such a book interesting. It offered a glimpse into a grand adventure. “What’s your favorite piece in your collection?”

"Oh! It's really cool,” A sly look came over her, like she was trying to suppress a grin, “but I probably shouldn't tell you."

"Why not?" Kel'Thuzad asked, "It's not like I'm going to steal it or anything."

"You might tell."

"Who would I tell? Your parents?"

"Well-," Vael crossed her arms and looked away sharply, "I just don't want you to be too jealous."

Kel'Thuzad chuckled. All this secrecy was certainly making him curious. What could it be? "I promise I’ll only be a little jealous."

"Okay. It used to belong to an important lich," he doubted that. The liches he knew were just self-important, "named Kel'Thuzad."

Kel'Thuzad blinked. She had something of his? He rested his chin on his knuckles and racked his brains trying to remember just what exactly had been stolen over the years.

"...have you heard of him?" Vael asked.

"Oh, yes. I hear he's a bit of a nogoodnik," he said lightly, "what sort of thing could you have from that old monster?"

"His wand, Doomfinger-"

Kel'Thuzad gasped. He couldn’t help it, it was surprising.

"-I think it has a silly name."

Kel'Thuzad gasped again. Silly!? "How did you get that?"

"I guess the priest who owned it found a better one," she said with a shrug, "he didn't want it anymore. I think the wand was too sassy for him."

“It’s sassy?” he asked, scandalized. No one had ever called him sassy.

“Only when it’s bored. Then it’s really talkative.”

“Wait, it talks?” Kel’Thuzad had heard that sometimes mages could imbue a bit of themselves into their things. For a long time Doomfinger was his crowning achievement, the pinnacle of alchemy and enchanting. A powerful shooter, it served him well through the second war and into lichdom. Maybe it wasn’t so unusual that it developed a personality.

Apparently a sassy one.

“Mostly it just tells me how to aim better,” Vael explained, “I like to practice down by the river.”

Apparently all he needed to do to get his things back was ask nicely. She made it sound so easy.

The lich raised an eyebrow. It was probably too dangerous for a kid to have... "You know, Kel'Thuzad would probably pay you a nice sum to get it back," said Kel’Thuzad.

"I'm not going to sell it! If he wanted it he should have tracked it down himself," Vael said. She crossed her arms and shot him a withering look, “You said you weren’t going to get jealous.”

He scoffed, he was not jealous. "It's not a toy you know. Does your mother know you have it?"

"No,” Vael said, her smile wilting. She uncrossed, then re-crossed her arms before looking down, “She thinks I spend too much time thinking about the Scourge."

"It is a bit of a morbid topic," he replied. But again he could see the appeal it could have for a kid. It was the same for him when he discovered he could wield magic. The Kaldorei taboo was that much more enticing to him at her age.

"Well, it's just," she stopped herself, still staring hard at the ground. Kel'Thuzad frowned but stayed quiet. In his experiences as a teacher it was best to let young children speak at their own pace when they were upset. "Sometimes I feel like I'm invisible."

"Invisible?"

"My mother never has time for me. I just want to live with her in Dalaran, but she says it's too dangerous,” Vael said, “I think she’s just worried about her position.”

"Maybe she's just trying to protect you. What if you fell off the edge of the city?”

She shook her head, blinking hard. Kel’Thuzad felt his insides drop. He didn’t mean to make her cry! He knelt down so that he was at her eye level and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Hey now, what about your aunt and uncle?” he offered, “Don’t you think they notice when you're gone?”

“I know how they talk about me when they don’t think I’m there,” Vale said, “They think I’m a burden and call me a lichling!”

Vael's eyes widened and she clapped her hand over her mouth as if to try to catch the offending word.

Kel’Thuzad drew back a bit in surprise. Lichling? That's a... rather specific thing to call someone. “Why would they say something like that?” he asked.

“Because my father, he’s - he’s undead.”

Kel’Thuzad raised an eyebrow, then two when realization hit him- her father was a lich? He was in the Scourge! He thought of Araj's disastrous attempt to contact his children, maybe this was a similar situation. "Is that so bad? Lots of people have undeath in their family."

“It's why I can’t go to Dalaran,” Vael said so quietly it was almost a whisper, “I just embarrass her.”

“Oh no, don’t say that!” Kel’Thuzad didn’t possess a physical heart, but he wasn’t heartless. He still felt a pain in the hole where it once was. He pulled her into a hug that she tentatively returned. They might be strangers, but she was still a child who needed consoling.

After a moment he pulled away. Vael wiped her eyes with the back of a sleeve and mumbled a thank you.

“Don’t take it to heart,” he said, "how could anyone be embarrassed to have you?"

She nodded and stuffed her hands into her pockets. He frowned, she didn’t look much happier. “You know I heard a rumor that you might be interested in,” he said. Vael looked up, “I heard when the Lich King was defeated, lots of people in the Scourge regained their free will.”

Her face lit up, “Really?”

“That's what I heard at least,” he said, “maybe I could help you?”

She made a strange face, something like a mix between exasperation and doubt. "How would you do that?"

Of course, to her he was just a member of the Kirin Tor. He stood and waved away her concern. "My friend is a death knight. He might know a guy who…knows a guy. You know, that sort of thing."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

“Have you thought about writing a letter?” He asked as they crossed the threshold into the Hall of Explorers, “They have the post in Northrend.”

Vael made a thinking sound and looked away. It didn't sound like she was going to divulge any more information about her family situation. Kel'Thuzad wondered about her parentage as they rounded the corner near an alchemy shop.

There weren't many Tels in the cult and he was the only man that was a lich- so the Tel’Abim heritage must be on her mother's side. There was a sizable contingent of the islanders in the Kirin Tor, she could be anyone.

“Do they really have free will?” asked Vael. He glanced down at her, the girl was watching him intently.

“Yes, I think so. The sapient ones at least.”

“Everyone, everyone?”

“Well, I think there are some death knights that have some sort of arrangement with the new lich king-” Kel’Thuzad stopped himself. Bolvar wasn’t public knowledge and there was no reason for Kelt Thomasin to know that there was still a lich king. He cleared his throat, “But, yes, for the most part.”

This answer seemed to please her, putting a new spring in her step. To his surprise she grabbed his hand. It was more crowded here, maybe she didn't want to get separated. Her hand was small and warm in his. The glamor didn't produce any heat leaving his skin cold. Being a lich made it colder still. But Vael didn't comment on it. Still, it filled him with a small sadness. Was he giving her a false hope?

The museum district was a popular destination for all Alliance peoples, thus the area was immaculately kept. The shops and stands were bustling with activity as people came through to use the Deeprun Tram nearby. Kel'Thuzad even saw a familiar face in the crowd.

"I wonder what happened to Bronzebeard," he mused aloud. The dwarven explorer looked like his last adventure was one for the books. His head was wrapped in a bandage and his arm was set in a sling. Even his beard was a little singed.

Vael craned her neck to catch a glimpse at the dwarf, standing up on her tiptoes. "He got in a fight with some of Deathwing's goons in Uldum," she said, "he told me Harrison Jones is too reckless on adventures."

That was a complaint he had heard many times. Modera used to rant endlessly about how he smashed all the pottery in the western wing of Ulduman with a giant rock and another time about how she had to prevent him from entering a chamber with a scale model of a city in it.

Kel'Thuzad furrowed his brow, "You know Brann Bronzebeard?"

She hesitated, then nodded. He crooked a finger under his chin and thought for a moment. The Kirin Tor and Explorers League had a long standing partnership. They joint-coordinated expeditions all the time, including Vael’s mother’s recent expedition into Ulduar. He had an idea!

"I'm working on a project and I could use Brann's input. Do you think you can ask him something on my behalf?"

Vael pressed her lips into a thin line again as she thought. "I don't know, why can't you ask him?"

"It would be awkward, it’s such a trivial thing, I’d be embarrassed to waste his time," he lied, the dwarf would definitely recognize him considering he was one of Modera’s good friends, "In fact, you’d given me the brilliant idea to write Mr. Bronzebeard and ask, but with him here and you two being friends and all…”

“What do you want to ask him?” She looked doubtful, unsure. Maybe he’d overestimated the nature of their friendship?

The disguised lich got down on one knee so that they were at eye level, he leaned forward, “I heard a rumor that Brann had the base of Atiesh and wanted to know if this was still the case,” he said conspiratorially.

Vael frowned and glanced over her shoulder at the dwarven explorer, “Why do you want it so bad?”

Indeed. Kel’Thuzad couldn’t tell her about accessing Karazhan. He couldn’t even tell her about the bird thing. If Vael was really as knowledgeable about the Scourge as she said, then she might know that dastardly lich, Kel’Thuzad, had all the other pieces. Damn him!

Kel’Thuzad fidgeted with the sleeve of his robe. There was another reason, one he’d even kept from Titus. Light knows if the death knight knew it would just fuel his misguided attempt at matchmaking. But, he suspected this might be of interest to her. Wasn’t this the grandest adventure of all?

“This is a secret, okay?”

Vael nodded.

“I used to study the fallout from Karazhan and the Dark Portal with someone dear to me,” he said. Kel’Thuzad looked down to find one hand holding his wrist in a deathgrip. He forced himself to relax and continued, “It reminds me of her.”

He heard a gasp and looked up to find Vael watching him wide eyed, hands clasped in front of her chest, “Really?”

“Yes, I suppose it's a bit silly,” Kel’Thuzad said with a chuckle. He hadn’t expected that strong of a response. He watched as Vael thought over his plight, her face quickly cycling through several emotions: trepidation, excitement, hope then deadly serious.

“I’ll help you,” she said, crossing her arms, “but not for free.”

Kel’Thuzad recognized he was entering negotiations from a position of weakness, but this was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up, “Name your price-”

“I want ice cream.”

Unlimited cosmic power for the price of an ice cream? “Deal.”

Vael’s smile was so bright, Kel’Thuzad couldn’t help but return it. He watched her run/skip through the crowd over to Brann. For his part Kel'Thuzad tried to look inconspicuous by pretending to read his spellbook. He spied on them over the top of the pages imagining their conversation:

Hi Brann! What happened, are you alright?

Ach, lass, it was a terrific adventure. Twins they were!

Twins?

Oh yes, you have to watch yer back in the Grim Guzzler.

Oh, Brann!

Kel'Thuzad saw them laugh and Vael glance over at him before he ducked behind the book. Damn girl, of course how could she know Brann might recognise him. It was possible she was telling the dwarf about him. He stared at the equation for the ideal mana draw for a void zone. She wouldn't, would she? He peeked back over his book.

They were still talking. Brann wore a thoughtful expression and he still seemed in good spirits. The dwarf had always struck Kel'Thuzad as being rather guileless, so he doubted he suspected anything.

But, even as he watched the two, Kel’Thuzad couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. A gnawing unease had settled in his gut (metaphorically speaking). Something about this girl wasn’t adding up. Vael didn’t even bat an eye when he said there was a new lich king. Someone who claimed to be interested in the Sourge would have leapt at that detail…unless she already knew.

Did her mother tell her? If so, how high up in the Kirin Tor could she possibly be?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the two parted ways. Kel'Thuzad watched as Brann walked towards a tavern down the street from the museum. Never too early in the day for a dwarf to drink. Vael meandered towards him as he made his way to the ice cream stand.

Kel'Thuzad paid for her order and watched her dig into the fudgy treat. He still felt a sense of unease. The mists in his chest had spun into a tight ball.

"Why didn't you get one?" She asked in between mouthfuls.

"I can't eat- dairy, that is," he said. Maybe he could, ice cream was a kind of liquid, right? But the lich did not want to test the integrity of his glamor here in the crowded district. An exciting idea but with the potential for an awkward outcome. "Is it good?"

She nodded and thanked him.

"So, what did Brann say?" Kel'Thuzad asked as they made their way back to the library steps.

"He said he had it, but he lost it at Ahn'keera?"

"Ahn'qiraj?"

"Yes, that! Where is that?"

"Far away- southern Kalimdore," Kel'Thuzad said with a slight frown. He had grown up hearing stories about the Aqir and their wars with the Kaldorei. They had been almost cataclysmic in their scale. Even the Dragons needed to step in to halt the servants of the old gods. If the base was down there…

"Does that mean you'll go down there? Like an expedition! I got to go on one once, in the Badlands. It was fun, but it was just a lot of pottery."

"You were expecting something more?"

Vael shrugged. Kel'Thuzad chuckled, he had also gone to the Badlands once for an archeological adventure. The reality of the digs were much less sexy than how Harrison Jones tells it.

"I'd have to do some digging to see if it is still down there," he said, "Silithus is a bit far and not much of a vacacion destination. Not like the Badlands."

Their journey together was reaching its end. Vael scurried off to throw her garbage away in the nearby bin while the lich looked up at the building's facade.

The last time he was here it was to visit Modera. He had stolen a kiss from her and a little more behind the display for Tyranistraz's skull. Kel'Thuzad wondered if the dragon queen knew the dwarves had stolen her lover's remains. From his experience they didn't like that- even if they were more useful patrolling the skies near Naxxramas than sitting buried in the ice.

Vael made her way back, he watched as she took the steps two at a time. Her smile lost a little bit of its light the closer she got. "Thank you for walking with me, I hope it wasn't too much trouble."

"It was my pleasure. I even learned something new."

Vael smiled then caught a glimpse of something over his shoulder and gasped, the color draining out of her face in an instant. Kel'Thuzad turned into a facefull of horse-mist as Deathcharger let out an annoyed huff.

"What are you doing all the way out here?" Titus asked from atop his steed. He leaned over in his saddle to get a glimpse of the girl. "Who's your friend?"

Kel'Thuzad waved away the question and the mist. "This is Vael. She got turned around in the caverns, I was just escorting her to the museum."

He looked over his shoulder to find Vael hiding behind his robes. She had not struck him as the shy type. "This is Titus, you can ask him where he got his horse if you like."

She avoided looking up at the rider and stayed quiet. Titus looked over the girl but said nothing. The lich cleared his throat, catching the death knight's attention.

"I made it," Titus said curtly, "Kel, let's go."

Kel'Thuzad opened his mouth as if to say something then furrowed his brow. Titus only used his name when there was a serious problem. "Alright."

He turned to say goodbye to Vael, but she was already gone. He scanned the crowd for a moment but couldn't find her. It was just as well. They needed to get back north anyway. The lich looked back up to find Titus scowling at him before turning his horse towards the main drag. Kel'Thuzad started after him.

Maybe his deal in the pawnshop didn't go as planned? “What’s the matter?”

“I can’t bring you anywhere, I turn around for ten minutes and you're off getting into trouble.”

Kel’Thuzad balked. “Trouble? What are you talking about? I was getting some seriously good intel.”

“Like what?”

"Did you know the Explorer's League keeps track of all the plunder that comes out of places like Naxrammas and Blackrock Mountain?"

"Is that what you talked about?" Titus said without looking back, “I wouldn’t exactly call that good intel.”

“It’s worthwhile knowledge. If you want hot gossip she told me her father is-” he paused for dramatic effect, Titus turned to watch him with a frown, “a lich!”

Silence.

"Her father's a lich," Kel'Thuzad repeated.

"I heard you, you idiot," Titus snapped, "She say a name?"

"No. I suppose it's a bit of a mystery."

"...Yeah?"

Not quite the reaction he had hoped for. Granted, many in the cult tended to be more libertine when it came to sex, it was still noteable that someone had reached such high status and left the item undisclosed. "Do you think it's possible one of our liches could be a spy?"

"A spy? No. I think it's probably something more mundane and sordid."

Chapter Text

It was a lovely day in Ironforge. The exterior vents were clear in the great forge, routing the smoke upwards and out of the mountain, keeping the air inside clear of smog. Outside it was windy, bringing a cool breeze to the normally stuffy city. It even had that hot oil smell that Modera had come to associate with discovery.

Poring over Explorers League documents for days with no leads on the Twilight’s Hammer Cult could be discouraging. But today the smell of the city was invigorating. She knew it meant a breakthrough was in her future.

Modera needed to sneak away from Dalaran and her Ironforge office was the perfect refuge. It was quiet, isolated and hard for apprentices to gain access to. Things moved slower here in the dwarven capital. It was easier to take stock of everything. Plus, her office was in a library. People had to be quiet.

As a member of both the Kirin Tor and the Explorer’s League, Modera was granted an exclusive office on the third floor. The area was only for top researchers. And it was out of the way and inconvenient to get to. No apprentices could burst in to ask for recommendation letters or aid on projects. There was certainly no Karlain blustering about Stormwind aid. The only people barging into her office here wanted her opinion on titan artifacts.

No one in Dalaran wanted her opinion on artifacts.

Any day where she didn't have to listen to Rhonin and Anserim trying to shout each other down was bound to be a good one. Plus Ironforge was the last place Aethas and his sad puppy dog eyes would follow her around. He hated the smell of the forge. The mage sighed. The war in the north might be over, but there was little peace in the magic city.

The Council of Six were always at each other’s throats.

Modera sat back and sipped her coffee, watching the foot traffic on Canal Way. Tourists were easy to spot, always head and shoulders above the natives. A Night Elf druid wandered by, smoke trailing off the little embers in the brambles of his armor. Modera wondered what enchantments kept the embers lit.

Mercenaries were the most industrious people she knew, though their lack of focus always bothered her. Had he come up with the spell himself or did he pay someone with a knack for cosmetic enchanting to spice up his gear?

Night Elves were rare in these parts, Modera wondered what sort of business a druid could have in the mountains. Maybe he was just on vacation, taking a break from the conflict on Kalimdor, leaving one smoking hole for another.

Modera raised an eyebrow and swirled the spoon in her coffee. Perhaps he was here to plunder Blackwing’s Lair. Once, the dwarven capital was home to many mercenary guilds who expeditioned in Blackrock Mountain. The spoils flowed in, making the dwarves fabulously wealthy. But, when the Dark Portal reopened the river of gold dried up, leaving the city to rot.

She took a sip of coffee. That was the nature of the mercenaries. They went where the fight was, and the fight had been far away from Dun Morogh for a long time.

Dalaran had largely divested itself of fairweather adventurers. They had their uses- the city coffers would be fat enough to pay off their war debts thanks to them- but Modera was not sad to see them go. Though the Council could have employed a few veteran guilds to help protect Hillsbrad.

Modera placed the cup down a little harder than she meant to. The table wobbled, splashing coffee everywhere. She glared as the spilt coffee raced down the uneven surface. What a mess. At least this one was easy to clean up.

She reached for a napkin and her thoughts turned to a different mess. One she didn’t know how to clean.

Dalaran welcomed the Horde. They fought and bled together in the war against the Lich King. There was little indication of any diplomatic tensions between Dalaran and the forces of the Undercity. Aethas… fought so hard for the elves and free undead to be welcomed back. He argued they had a right to the city as Lorderaenians. And Silvermoon’s historic membership couldn’t easily be ignored.

The Alliance of old could reunite!

Mordera agreed with him at the time. Aethas could be persuasive. They’d grown close over the years. First maintaining the bubble around Dalaran, then piloting the city up to Northrend. She was the first vote he sought out for his proposal to let the Blood Elves back into the city and Modera was optimistic for what this partnership with the Horde would hold. They’d spent too long cloistered in their bubble.

But this aggression! The people of Hillsbrad fell under Dalaran’s protection! To attack while the world was focused on Deathwing- and when the bulk of the city’s forces were still securing Icecrown was disgusting.

The Forsaken struck like lightning, leaving no time to muster a defense. Even if they had, the local militias were exhausted from years of skirmishing with Horde thugs. The farmers and miners were little more than bumps in the road. Ansirem had to fall back to Ambermill in the west to evacuate civilians while the Cult of the Damned - bloody, bohemian psychos- evacuated people from Southshore.

Including her own daughter.

Those boho charlatans and their coterie of witless goons were up to something. She knew the cult was benefiting from Stormwind's misadventures in Andorhal. No doubt they profited off of this little PR stunt too.

What Modera couldn't puzzle out was why the cult let her daughter go. Didn't they know who she was? Why aid Southshore otherwise? The mage pressed her lips together in a thin line; she almost wished they ransomed her back.

At least it would have been normal.

She rested her chin on the tops of her knuckles, eyes tracking a gnomish woman with a tall, pink beehive hairdo that bounced with every step. How long did that poor woman spend every morning to look so ridiculous?

Modera was at Ulduar cataloging the inner sanctum of the titan complex at the time of the attack. She had to hear everything second-hand when she returned to Dalaran a month later. Apparently it never occurred to her esteemed colleagues to send a familiar to tell her any sooner.

Ansirem she could understand. He went straight to Stormwind to waive the bloody shirt with Karlan, whipping support for a counter attack.

But Aethas? Aethas’s silence hurt the most. Modera fiddled with the napkin on her lap, twirling it around her finger then back. He was supposed to be her partner. He knew her family lived in Southshore. Knew her daughter lived there.

The only indication that her family was alright was a neatly written letter stating they had taken a portal from Stratholme to Stormwind and a squished package containing a Redridge hearthstone.

And neither of those came from Aethas.

Modera’s coffee stopped steaming some time ago. The mug cooled in her hand as the drink turned lukewarm.

Her arrival at the old farmhouse wasn't met with the usual excitement. No bounding hug. No breathless explanation of a new trinket in her collection. When Modera found Vael frowning at a meager flower patch she was greeted with a small, sad sort of disappointment.

It broke Modera’s heart.

She failed as a Councilor to protect Dalaran’s citizens. Worse she failed as a mother. Vael had been left to stew for a whole month without a word from her. The mage looked down at the napkin, it was ruined. No wonder she’d been so distant.

There was a way to make it up to her, the one thing Vael asked for every time she came to visit. It couldn’t just be something easy like a pony or a new set of dresses- although, Modera would probably say no to the pony.

Vael only wanted to live with her in Dalaran. Everytime she asked, it was harder for Modera to say no.

The war being over only lessened one avenue of danger, it did nothing to protect Vael from threats within Dalaran. It might never be safe for her in the magic city.

Modera took a sip of coffee. The pink beehive ducked around a corner out of her line of sight.

The mage scanned the crowd before settling on two humans, Tel'Abims from the look of them. A father and daughter taking in the sight of the city on the way to the museum. The girl pointed at the sign for Lops An’ Goras, a shop selling Ironforge’s favorite pet: rabbits. The mage sighed. She and Vael always went to see the bunnies after getting tea and crumpets.

Vael had asked about getting a pet recently and Modera knew she had been reading about griffins. Maybe she was old enough for one? Though, there was the cost of flight training for both of them, not to mention the housing and upkeep. Mei had purchased a litter of exotic cubs recently, perhaps she would be willing to give her a discount. Vael’s birthday was in a few days, it would be the perfect present.

Of course, she would have to clear it with her sister first, but…

The man turned to grin down at the girl. Modera’s brows knitted together. He looked impossibly familiar. Impossible because no one would ever disguise themselves as themselves. It was too idiotic. And it was impossible because the Scourge was pacified. Fordring had all but confirmed the undead in Icecrown were practically catatonic.

It must be another Tel.

“What are you implying, Moody? All Tels look alike?” Modera scoffed and chased the teasing ghost out of her head before taking another sip. She was just being silly.

The coffee was officially cold now, a signal it was time to go back to work. The mage stood and dug through a pocket for a few coins to leave as a tip. Although… it was still early enough in the afternoon. Maybe it would be better to take a surprise trip to Redridge and spend the rest of the day with her daughter.

Modera looked up and found the two Tels again. The girl's face was towards her, looking at something over Modera's head. She looked just like-

Vael?

Modera’s blood ran cold as everything around her seemed to slow. She could feel her heart pounding in her ears as a terrifying realization set in. That man, it couldn't be!

Recognition bolted through Modera as he turned his wolfish grin at her daughter.

Everything crystalized in that perfect, terrifying instant.

How- she had been so careful! Modera clutched the front of her robes. What sort of dirty dealings did Kel’Thuzad have to conduct to get this information? Were Scourge spies closer than the council believed?

Or…did someone close to him reveal this secret? If so, why would Kel'Thuzad wait until now to reach out? Unless Hillsbrad--

"Ma'am, are you alright?"

A small hand tug at her sleeve.

Modera blinked and glanced at the table. She’d dropped her coins, scattering them on the stone pavers.

“Excuse me,” she said absently. Without thinking she teleported to a gap in the crowd twenty feet behind them. The crowd flinched at her sudden appearance. The dwarves muttered angrily about rude foreigners, but Modera paid them no mind.

The humans were like islands in a river of dwarves and gnomes. The short folk streamed around the slower longshanks. Modera stalked them, her eyes never leaving the back of Kel'Thuzad's head. She was too far away to hear what they were saying, but from the corner of her eye she could tell Vael was very animated.

What was he planning? What was he doing? Magic surged unbidden along her arms, arcane power danced along her fingertips, begging to be sent flying.

Kel'Thuzad stopped suddenly, lips pulled back in a snarl. Even from here Modera could see there was something wrong with his teeth, like he was a monster wearing human skin. She froze when he tilted his head as if listening for something. No, Modera realized, throttling back on the flow of mana. He turned, but not fast enough to catch her slip behind a stone arch.

Could he sense her draw?

She peeked out from behind the pillar. Kel’Thuzad’s attention was on the druid and his fiery armor.

Kel'Thuzad had been reborn as a lich in the Sunwell, but Modera had no idea what that might entail beyond the obvious influx of power. She had never fought a lich before. She’d never even seen one in person. The literature said liches could cast harder and faster than a mortal mage. Not only that but they weren't affected by pain- theirs or their companions.

Kel’Thuzad used to be such a vexing sparring partner. He was resourceful and unpredictable in a duel. More troubling, there was something about how he drew magic which allowed him to outlast anyone else on the council except Krasus.

Modera worried the inside of her lip and watched. She couldn't attack him. Not with Vael present. She couldn't even confront him. What if he took their daughter hostage?

Right now all Modera could do was observe them while she thought of a plan. If she could separate them somehow, she could get Vael to safety.

They were moving again, Modera followed. With every step the knot in her stomach grew tighter.

Vael was talking his ear off about something. The lich seemed to be listening intently. Modera narrowed her eyes and wondered what could have captured his interest. The two mirrored each other, each matching and reacting to the other’s energy. They looked so…normal. Like there was nothing suspicious or dangerous or insane about them being together. To the casual observer they would just look like a father taking his daughter to see the city.

Because that’s what they were, the unwelcome thought rose from the recesses of her mind. She took after him so much, inheriting his boundless curiosity and his awful lying tells. Vael even had Kel’s eyes. The mage let out a long sigh. Eyes Modera often found difficult to meet.

Modera looked up and frowned, their conversation had suddenly shifted. Something was wrong. Vael was crying! The mage hurried towards her daughter, for a moment forgetting the lich. Only remembering his presence when Kel’Thuzad knelt down and pulled Vael into a hug.

Modera froze in her tracks. Why would he do…that? All the reports she’d read and accounts she had heard said he wasn’t capable of even the smallest kindness.

His voice brought her back to reality.

“How could anyone be embarrassed to have you?"

Modera gasped. The pounding in her ears deafened any responses. Did Vael think she was embarrassed of her? The mage covered her mouth, she wanted to scream. Couldn’t Vael understand- the reason they couldn't live together was because of him!

Had Hillsbrad pushed her over the edge? Was Vael the one who reached out to him?

Modera was fixed in place as Kel’Thuzad led her daughter away. He was trying to cheer her up, and Vael hung onto his every word. They were even holding hands. Modera’s stomach churned, her face felt hot even as she broke out in a cold sweat. This was a monster of her own creation. She had only visited her daughter a handful of times since the incident.

Kel’Thuzad was the one who mustered the rescue effort. Why wouldn’t Vael reach out to him?

She drifted after them as they crossed into the Hall proper. The space was more open and busy than the arterial arms. But extra space meant that humans and elves were even more conspicuous so Modera stayed close to the walls. She observed Vael and Kel'Thuzad as they made their way towards the museum.

Everytime Vael beamed up at him it was like a knife stabbing into Modera's heart and when he smiled it froze the blood in her veins.

They must be talking about her, Modera thought desperately. What else could they be so conspiratorial about? Whatever it was, it was making Vael think.

Not for long though.

Modera watched her scamper away while Kel'Thuzad slunk off to a bench near an ice cream cart. He pulled out his spellbook but it was clear to the mage that he was still watching her daughter.

Why did he always do that? Modera glared. Didn't he learn his lesson after Drenden punched him with his own book?

Her expression softened at the memory. Kel was irate. Modera even brought him a lemon tart but it did little to soothe his spirits. He never told her why he was spying on their fellow counsel member.

She stared as he ducked behind the pages of his book when a different thought occurred to her- why did he still do that? Surely the lich king wouldn't command him to act this way. Which left two possibilities: either there was an echo of him in there- some shred of his personality informing these little instances. Or he was wholly present and acting deliberately.

Modera wasn’t sure which was worse, if he was trapped or…if the man she used to love was this monster.

She screwed her eyes shut, unwilling to think about either possibility. It was easier to think of him as the enemy. As Kel'Thuzad the lich.

Not her Kelly.

When she opened her eyes again she saw the lich had peeked back over his book. Modera followed his eyeline and sucked in a breath.

Brann!

Vael was talking to her colleague. The mage allowed herself to feel a twinge of hope. Surely he would recognize Kel’Thuzad and alert the authorities! They were far enough away, maybe that would be enough distance to ferry her daughter to safety?

The dwarf looked deep in thought. Not quite the expression Modera was expecting. Just what were they talking about? Vael didn’t look distressed- in fact it didn’t look like she was asking for help at all!

Modera watched their conversation end amicably and her gut sank when Vael walked back towards Kel’Thuzad.

Meanwhile Brann was going to a tavern!

"Modera! Hai!" A shrill high elf bounced into her personal space and promptly pulled her into a hug. Felicia Featherbottom, one of Harison's Rising Stars. She was perky, bubbly and a top grade archeologist, but she was absolutely the last person Modera wanted to see at this moment. "Where have you been hiding?"

“I’ve- I’m not hiding,” she said, pushing Felicia out at arms length, “I’ve been decrypting Twilight texts from Ulduar and cataloging expedition findings.”

“That expedition was forever ago! Don’t tell me you’ve been cooped up this whole time?”

“My duties in Dalaran pull me away from my research as it is,” Modera replied. She tried to sidestep the elf to keep an eye on Kel’Thuzad, but Felicia moved to stay in Modera’s eye line.

She wasn’t going to let her go that easily.

“We must catch up,” Felicia said, grabbing the mage’s sleeve, “I have so much to tell you about Uldum. Let’s get lunch! Have you been to Gertie’s recently? I heard they changed the menu-”

Modera shook the elf off and peeked around her, Vael had rejoined him at the ice cream cart, “Yes, yes, catch up.”

Felicia turned, following Modera’s eyeline. Her ears perked up when she spotted the disguised lich. “Are you watching that man?”

“No. I was looking for Brann,” Modera said, now she needed Felicia to look this way so she wouldn’t see Vael.

“Are you sure? He’s handsome. I’m pretty sure,” Felicia said, “I’m not really into human men. They're too… rugged.”

Kel’Thuzad, rugged? Modera cocked an eyebrow and glanced at the disguised lich. By the looks of his glamor, or whatever he used to disguise himself, Kel hadn’t aged a day since she’d last seen him. He looked like the same soft, skinny mage who wore his hair a little too long.

Modera scowled. She didn’t have time for this!

“Er, that isn’t to say rugged is bad,” Felicia said quickly as she tried to walk back her statement. Why else would the archmage be glowering at her? “Harrison for example- now that’s a man-”

Modera wasn’t sure what she did in her life to deserve this.

Then out of nowhere a death knight rides up out of the crowd on a skeletal warhorse- Titus Rivendare! What was this, a Scourge convention? Kel’Thuzad and his lackey were here!

Meanwhile Felicia was babbling about Harrison Jones- “Don’t you think he’s handsome?”

Modera bobbed and weaved around the elf trying to gauge just what was going on on the steps. The two men were talking- Vael darted away into the library- then--

Modera sucked in a breath, they were coming this way!

“What?” Felicia asked, she turned to see the warhorse walking their way, “Oh, a Death Knight. How exciting! You don’t see those everyday.”

She waved.

"Indeed," Modera gritted out as she grabbed Felicia's waving arm and forced it down. No doubt Titus would tell his master if he saw her. The mage cleared her throat, hoping to change the subject, "You were on Harrison’s expedition then?”

Felicia looked like she would never ask, "Of course! Uldum was marvelous- nothing like Ulduar, blah! Too cold. You would never believe it, but Harrison was attacked by a group of pygmies on day one! His shirt--”

“Oh no, not his shirt,” Modera said dryly. He went through about five of those a week.

She waited for the two to pass into the tunnel to Tinkertown all the while Felicia babbled on about Harison’s upcoming seminar, “You’ll be there, right? Oh Modera you have to come, it will be marvelous!” The mage strained her senses, tracking Kel’Thuzad’s muted wrongness until it suddenly disappeared. They’d portalled out. Modera narrowed her eyes and looked back towards the museum.

The immediate danger had passed. Modera felt a small tinge of relief. But, that didn't mean Vael was completely in the clear. She was definitely in trouble.

The questions remained: how had they contacted each other and just how did Brann factor into their little scheme?

Modera excused herself abruptly and brushed past Felicia, weaving through the crowd until she reached the Burnt Barrel, Brann's favorite lunch tavern. The mage burst in with little acknowledgement from the bar’s denizens.

The Barrel was dimly lit and full of acrid smoke from dwarven pipes. After a quick, squinty scan, Modera found Brann sitting at a booth in the corner.

He looked up from the stein he was nursing when she slid into the booth. “There you are, I checked your office before I left,” Brann said, “I thought we were getting lunch today.”

Modera was about to bite his head off when she reigned herself in. Brann didn’t know what she'd seen. As far as he knew, she’d asked him to lunch and now she was late.

“I got held up by Featherbottom,” Modera explained, technically the truth, “she just had to tell me how Harrison lost his shirt.”

“Which one?”

Modera sniffed a laugh and looked at her hands folded on the table.

The dwarf took another sip. He looked over his shoulder and leaned out of the booth, “Where’s Vael?”

“Museum I imagine, you know how she is.”

“Aye, an explorer in the making! Just like her mother,” Brann said with a cheerful wink.

Modera’s eyes flicked to the greasy window towards the library. Indeed. “Brann, has Vael asked you to send any sort of letters for her?”

Brann frowned and slowly shook his head. Modera pressed her lips together in a thin line and thought for a moment. Was he involved with this funny business? “What’s on yer mind?”

“Nothing. I thought- with that business in Hillsbrad-,” she thought what? Brann had always just tolerated Kel (barely). Why would he go out of his way to shield him? Modera laid her hands in her lap and cleared her throat, “It’s nothing. What were you and Vael talking about?”

“A little of this, a little of that. She's working on a research project, so I gave her a nudge in the right direction.”

“Oh, what is it on? Ulduar?” Vael had shown a lot of interest in the titan complex lately. It came as a relief to the mage, anything to pull her attention away from the Scourge.

The dwarven explorer picked up his stein and shook his head, “An old artifact, a piece of Atiesh.”

“Brann!” she cried, causing the dwarf to choke on his beer. The mage caught herself and looked around, at least she hadn’t turned any heads.

“Brann,” she hissed, “what the hell did you tell her?”

“What?” he asked as he wiped the beer off his beard, “I just told her I lost it in Silithus.”

Modera buried her face in her hands and screamed, the sound only barely muffled. How could Vael-- how could Kel’Thuzad have done that? What the hell was the matter with him! She glared out between her fingers. When I get my hands on that bastard-!

~~~~~~~~~~

The weather outside Naxxramas was miserable: overcast, raining, and intolerably windy. Perfect weather for a crafts project!

Kel’Thuzad had a spring in his step the moment he came in through the portal. The new base for the staff was already being fabricated and his schedule was light, meaning he could devote all his energies to putting it back together.

Having a project was fun, especially one with such stupendous consequences! What sort of secrets were hidden in Karazhan’s library? Perhaps Aegwynn left a copy of the Meitre Scrolls stashed away there. Dalaran’s copies had either been lost or destroyed generations before Kel’Thuzad’s tenure. It would be interesting to compare his understanding of magic with those of the ancients.

Of course there was, as Titus called it, ‘the bird thing.’ Obviously, that had to be the first thing to try once the staff was set. Kel’Thuzad crossed through Sapphiron’s frigid chamber and wondered what he might become. Medivh could transform into a raven, would that be the case for him as well?

Kel’Thuzad reached the stairs to the upper level suites and began to climb. He frowned, what if the magic didn’t work on his stupid body?

Yes, it was a marvel of magical engineering and yes, it allowed him the ability to channel unimaginable power. However, it was highly resistant to polymorphic spells. Most mages weren’t able to compensate for the required weave compression.

Of course, he could polymorph himself…even if the casting cost for his glamor was prohibitive.

But, Kel’Thuzad forced a grin, being a bird was just the icing on the cake. The real prize would be the tower and its infinite possibilities!

His grin faded as he made his way towards his quarters. The typical bubbly giddiness that came with a new project wasn’t really there, as though something in his ‘stomach’ was gnawing away at his enthusiasm. The fact that he didn’t have a stomach only made the sensation more uncomfortable.

The lich angled his head so he could look down at the fog-ball in his ribs. He was excited about Atiesh. So why were the mists in his chest still spooled? Ironforge was a success, they had everything they needed to complete the staff- assuming the fabricated base would work. He told Titus this was what he wanted.

Kel'Thuzad reached into the cavity to try to break up the fog, shuddering at the displacing sensation. Now that felt like a pit in his stomach. Interfering with his parasomatic sensory system was…uncomfortable.

The ball reformed as soon as he removed his hand.

It had been like this since the library, but Kel’Thuzad didn’t know why. Was it that girl? Her father was a lich and Kel’Thuzad had considered compiling a list of suspects…

His train of thought was quickly derailed when he walked face first into his front door.

He heard and felt his tusk crack open. Stabbing pain shot from his broken tooth all the way down his leg.

“Fucking hell!” The lich doubled over and clutched his face. Kel’Thuzad didn’t feel pain often, but when he did it seemed to hurt more than it used to. Especially when he hurt important sensory instruments.

He looked up at the door and growled.

The apartment was supposed to open automagically for him. Kel'Thuzad jiggled the handle then threw his weight into the door. It did nothing, but he did get a little zap from his own security measures. The lich rubbed his smarting shoulder and glared. If he were to push it any harder it would do more than a little zap.

It would be a big zap.

The kind that hurts. The kind that makes bones explode.

A lot.

Titus has a spare key, he'd just pop in and--

The door was locked.

Kel’Thuzad huffed and threw his back against the wall. The other spare key was in his office above the Construct Quarter. He ran his claws down his cracked tusk in an attempt to sooth the pain. It didn’t work, the tooth only throbbed in response. And he flinched when he nicked a nerve.

He turned and marched back down the hall. Stupid security system. Why couldn’t it just sense that it was him? He had a very specific magical signature! Who designed this thing anyway?

His tusk throbbed. Kel’Thuzad rubbed his face again and pouted. Of course, he was the one who designed it.

While it was only two teleporter jumps away he still didn't want to have to go through the trouble. There was so much walking! He wanted to take a little nap before he fetched Ghastly. He’d never fall asleep with this broken tooth!

At least he had the staff to look forward to, the lich thought as he stepped onto the teleporter pad and...waited.

The pad was supposed to work instantaneously. Kel'Thuzad's scowl deepened. What on earth was going on? He jumped up and down a few times to try to boot it up when suddenly the pad flashed red and-

The floor rushed to meet him, and it met him hard.

Tusk first on a dirty steel grate.

Kel’Thuzad’s vision went white from the pain and let out a moan like a dying animal. He lay in a heap, clutching his throbbing tusk for a moment while the room faded back into view.

What the hell just happened? Why didn’t the teleporter bring him to central?

A shadow fell over him.

Followed by a glob of some unspeakable substance.

Kel’Thuzad jumped to his feet with a disgusted sound and tried to scrape the goo off of his chest when he was tackled from behind.

A booming bark from above let him know he was in Gluth's chamber. The giant undead hound ate the fortress' leftover zombies and also apparently those who did not have proper teleporter clearance.

And he wanted to play.

Kel’Thuzad’s claws scraped against the grate as he tried to scramble away, “Gluthy, off! Off!”

The dog ignored the command, instead it bent down and licked him.

Five minutes later, Kel’Thuzad burst out of the chamber, barring the door behind him. The lich was a mess. His clothes were torn, his bones were chewed, he was covered in slobber and he had an unfortunate cow-lick. Well, more of a dog-lick.

He took a second to catch his breath, that is to say take stock of the situation. His door wouldn't open for him and the seals on the teleporters did not respond properly either.

Did that mean-?

Kel’Thuzad rushed to his office, fussing with his hair as he went. The lich ignored the students and other tradesmen that packed the cramped halls as he cut through Spare-Parts. At least they still had the presence of mind to get out of his way. He hopped over the green slime river that snaked through the quarter before taking the stone steps to the third floor two at a time.

The western corridor housed offices for the Department of Technical Necromancy. Despite the exciting sounding subject matter, it was just as stuffy and quiet as any other academic institution.

However, things tended to perk up when he was around. Ambitious apprentices were always looking for a way to suck up, cornering him in his office was one of their favorite tactics. Which was why he paused to scrawl ‘Office Hours: Closed,' on the small chalkboard hanging on his door.

It wouldn’t be enough to forestall the pushiest ones, but it should give him some time to himself.

Kel'Thuzad cleared a spot on his desk and turned out his pockets. There was a watch on a chain, a handkerchief, some hard candies (not sure how long those had been there), a wand, a roll of silvers and some crumpled up receipts…but no scourgestone. He shifted around some dried bits of tigerlily and goldclover until he found something that didn't belong.

He held it between the tips of his claws. A gray stone with a blue rune etched onto it. A hearthstone.

…he didn't use a hearthstone.

"That little thief!"

That girl must have swapped them out! Kel'Thuzad let it fall into his palm then clenched his fist with a growl. The first chain of the homeward spell activated. If he were to let it cast to completion it would bring him someplace in Redridge. Possibly her home. He unclenched his fist and stared at the stone. Possibly into a trap.

That could imply she knew who he was.

He shoved the hearthstone back into his pocket, ignoring the gnawing in his chest. Should he tell someone? It could be a major security breach. Not that he was worried about the kind of unsupervised havok a ten year old girl might wreak if she broke in. Kel’Thuzad ran a claw along his broken tusk and thought. It wasn’t exactly safe in there. She could get hurt.

How had she managed to pick his pocket anyway? Was he losing his touch? Or was his actual sense of touch just that bad now? Kel’Thuzad glanced at his hand next to his head. He did have an issue feeling the griffon cub’s feathers at socialization…

He stared into nothing, claws dancing along his tusk.

Vael had Doomfinger.

And it talked to her apparently.

But…what was it talking about? Did it suggest that she might be able to pick his pocket?

That was certainly cheeky of them.

He made a thinking sound. Curious that she would approach knowing his identity. Curious still that she would help him with his little project too.

Unless…Doomfinger knew something he didn't know? What sort of secrets might she be privy to?

Kel’Thuzad felt another stab of nerve pain from his tusk and crossed his arms to keep from touching his face. As long as there were no distractions when he was assembling the staff then it wasn’t an issue.

He could pop down to Redridge and satisfy his curiosity when he was done. It would probably be prudent to retrieve Doomfinger as well.

So it was decided, there was no need to tell anyone about his missing scourgestone. For now at least.

Kel'Thuzad got to work gathering reagents and instruments he thought might come in handy for the reconstruction. Before long he had amassed quite the pile on his desk. He stared at it, wondering how he would get it back to his room in one trip. As he stood the gnawing in his ribs grew. The lich didn’t need to look down to know the fogball had returned.

He forced his thoughts onto the task at hand. It made more sense to bring the shards of the staff here to put them together.There was enough space in his office to spread out and he wouldn’t need to slog back and forth transporting materials.

Having the key only solved one of his problems. Without a proper scourgestone Kel'Thuzad still wouldn't be able to access the teleporter network within Naxxramas. Worse yet, the wardings and attunement enchantments on the citadel made interrange personal-teleportation dangerous. Which meant he needed to walk everywhere.

Kel'Thuzad considered the positives of the situation as he trekked back to his apartment. It forced him to be social and it gave him the opportunity to see parts of the citadel he did not normally visit. Let’s see Cassy put him in Socialization this time!

Once back in his quarters, Kel'Thuzad fished out the hearthstone and placed it on his desk, pinning it with one finger.

Could that girl really have known who he was?

He scanned his desk until he found the book’s dusty green and gold spine. Vael had an interest in the Scourge. Maybe as part of her research she looked up what he used to look like. Better Botanicals was still a popular book for herbalists, it would have been easy to find.

Especially with Doomfinger's help.

Kel’Thuzad crossed his arms as he paced back through the parlor.

He hadn’t sensed it on her person earlier, but maybe she’d learned about him from communing with it. It might be able to tell her all sorts of personal information about him, what his personality was really like- none of that Argent Dawn pablum.

Perhaps that was why she felt comfortable enough to approach him?

He didn’t know much about imbuing items with personal essence beyond the creation of a phylactery. He glanced over his shoulder at his. The blue urn sat on top of his wardrobe, covered in two years worth of dust.

Once it had held the ashes of King Menethil, now a portion of his soul was bound to it. Of course, Ner’zhul performed the ritual posthumously for him, tightening the bonds of his not-so eternal servitude. The lich doubted if he would ever know the extent to which that malicious spirit had tampered with his being. It wasn’t something he liked to dwell on, even skirting it now caused him to tighten his grip on his arms.

But, phylactery creation was very targeted. This sort of ‘seasoned artifact’ was something that happened over the course of years. Just when exactly did his personality imprint onto Doomfinger, and who was Vael communing with?

+++++

“Does that hurt?” Ghastly asked. Kel’Thuzad glanced up and saw the boy staring at his face.

The lich touched the tusk gingerly, his encounters with Gluth and the door cracked the growth so badly it exposed the pulp within. It still hurt, but the pain was nothing compared to when he pulled off the gold band to wrap it with a splint...and then replaced the band. “It’s nothing. I'm due to regenerate soon anyway."

Ghastly frowned a bit, that wasn’t a very definite answer. He held out the last piece of Atiesh which Kel’Thuzad accepted with the tips of his claws. They were in the lich’s office completing the final stages of the frame’s reconstruction. They had a good process going, Ghastly would hand Kel’Thuzad the next part of the sequence and the lich would apply the glue, a solution of mageroyal and lotus extract (and glue), and fit it to the constructed haft. Once this piece dried he could apply the lacquer.

Kel’Thuzad watched the young drake peel the skin off a large piece of lotus root with a spoon. Blighterghast, or Ghastly, was shapeshifted into his human form and looked just like Kel’Thuzad had when he was ten. His skin tone was lighter due to his underlying scale pigment and his hair was white, but otherwise it was a good likeness.

Except, his left arm was tied up in a sling. Ghastly had been out of sorts since the hunting trip with the other dragons and he wouldn't tell him how he had been injured. Kel'Thuzad suspected they were bullying him, poor thing.

Kel’Thuzad carefully ran a claw down the side of his injured tusk to scrape off some excess oil. The damned thing hadn’t stopped producing resin since he aggravated it, making the tooth extra sensitive. But, it only focused on his own icy-hot signature, which was distracting.

He was fully aware of what and where he was.

The tusks acted as a sort of antenna which facilitated this new sense of his. As far as he could tell, the oil was the medium that turned magic into something more tangible, rich in flavor and texture.

Most mortals could only guess at the edges of ambient magic. Even after years of careful study, as a living man Kel’Thuzad could only perceive raw mana if he was standing on intersecting ley-lines or in the presence of a powerful artifact. Now he understood what druids and dragons meant when they discussed the pulse of the earth.

He absently traced the fissure with a claw tip while he thought. He spent a long time trying to perceive the world the way they did. Now that he could he found himself lacking the tools to interpret what he felt.

The lich’s hand slipped and his claw stabbed into the soft pulp. Kel’Thuzad grabbed his tusk and sucked in a pained breath.

Ghastly looked up from his roots with a concerned frown.

“It’s nothing,” Kel’Thuzad said, the tusk throbbed at his lie. He watched the drake's frown deepen and forced a smile. A thought occurred to him. He may not have the vocabulary to interpret these new sensations but Ghastly might.

“I encountered some unfamiliar magic on my trip to Ironforge."

“Really? What did it feel like?”

Kel'Thuzad searched for the right words, tracing one of his long canines with the tip of a claw, the same claw which was coated in resin. The mist in his mouth registered the taste as bitter and unpleasant. "Hot, but not dry like a fire-spell. Remember when we went to the shore over the summer?" Ghastly nodded and watched as the lich tried to wipe his teeth off with the sleeve of his robe, "it was sort of like standing on the breakers at low tide. That was my impression at least. Sand and hot rocks."

"Hot rocks…" Now it was Ghastly's turn to think.

Kel'Thuzad gave up on cleaning his face. He hadn’t realized just how much had been dripping off the bow of his tusk until he looked down. The stuff was everywhere! Oil had soaked through the bandages and oozed out from under the band. The left side of his robes and his shoulder were spotted with greasy stains and drips of it had actually hardened in between three of his ribs. Disgusting!

Maybe he needed to see a specialist after all. Resurrection Day was still five months away. He liked having a fresh body for the holiday and there wasn’t enough time in between for two regenerations.

Dottie Winters did all of Titus’s work, but she was away at the Scholomance teaching reconstruction until the summer session began. Worse yet he heard the only way to deal with severe tusk damage was to have the nerves drilled out.

Kel’Thuzad touched the growth again. That would amount to a giant root canal.

And there was no novocaine for the undead.

Damn it all. At least this batch of glue was nearing the end of its shelf life. The lich stirred the compound more forcefully than necessary, making sure the ingredients were still incorporated properly. They would need it to attach the head. He felt it heat in his claws as the lotus extract began to react. It would set within the hour, at that point he could excuse himself to change his clothes.

"I flew close to the bronze shrine once, it's kind of like that!"

"Really?"

"Yes!"

The bronze dragonshrine meant bronze dragons. And bronze dragons meant time magic. A troubling thought to say the least. If someone tried to use time magic on him back in Ironforge, he might need to be careful. The lich had virtually no experience with the school. It made him go cross-eyed when he thought about it.

But why would the bronze dragons want anything to do with him? To his knowledge the Scourge left them alone.

Kel’Thuzad was about to mention that fact when a thought occurred to him. The lich narrowed his eyes at the drake.The bronze shrine was located on the western flank of the mountain that shielded Naxxramas. It was much too far for Ghastly to go by himself. “Why were you all the way over there?”

Ghastly shrugged.

“Were you trying to meet other dragons?” he asked, hoping the answer was ‘yes.’

“No,” Ghastly said sheepishly, much to Kel’Thuzad’s disappointment, “I was just stretching my wings.”

The lich grunted. The fighting might have moved to southern theaters, but that didn't mean it was safe to range away from cult territory. Blighterghast was the last plague dragon, if any wayward mercenaries saw him they might attack. But, Kel'Thuzad wanted Ghastly to do normal draconic activities. If he didn't need to throw the boy off Naxxramas to make him practice flying, then he considered it a positive development.

"As long as you were safe. At this rate you'll be giving me flying lessons by the weekend," Kel'Thuzad said brightly.

Ghastly cracked a smile, "Do you really think it will work?"

"I don't see why not but then who knows," the lich slowly pulled a hand away from the staff, ready to reapply pressure if the glue had not cured enough. He waited a few seconds before relaxing. The frame was whole again!

Kel’Thuzad held it up for the drake to see. "You know the kaldorei would mix powdered metal into the glue to fix broken pottery. Imagine this with gold veining."

"...Pretty," Ghastly said absently. The drake was staring at his tusk again. Kel’Thuzad turned his head slightly, obscuring it from view. Ghastly, now caught, looked anywhere but the lich’s face. "Um, wouldn't it interfere with channeling though?"

"Oh, well yes. You've been paying attention it seems."

"Of course, I want to be a great sorcerer too."

Kel'Thuzad chuckled and reached over to tussle his hair, "You will, I'm sure of it."

Ghastly beamed, proud of his little factoid. “I heard Karazhan’s library was so big I could fly in it.”

“I don’t know if it’s that big,” Kel’Thuzad said, the lich had never been inside of the tower, but he had heard rumors of its unnatural proportions. “Would it be hard to fly in there? There's no breeze.”

“I can fly when it's calm,” Ghastly said defensively, he crossed his arms then winced when he tweaked his elbow.

Kel’Thuzad inclined his head and ran a claw over his other tusk. He didn’t want to get pulled into that discussion again. Instead the lich motioned to the drake’s arm, “How was your little camping trip anyway? You didn’t tell me how you got your sprain, did you take a hard landing?”

Ghastly huffed and looked away, “No.”

“That’s good, right?”

“No! I got in a fight with Karthok.”

Oh no, not good, “What happened? I thought you two were friends.”

“We’re not friends! Those black drakes are so mean- all they did was call me a mongrel half-breed and a pet and then Karthok wouldn't let me share their kills because he said I'd make everyone sick."

The room became noticeably chilly, "That's very serious, I've half a mind to march down to Pythax right now and complain about her little ill tempered brood." The old egg tender from the ebon shrine sought refuge in Winterguard from the little prince’s assassins. Apparently her children did not share her sense of gratitude.

Ghastly jumped out of his seat, "No- please don't. It'll just make things worse."

Kel’Thuzad crossed his arms but didn’t respond, he was still thinking about the nerve of those dragons. Ghastly shifted nervously from one foot to the other, “Baba…”

Maybe it would just cause more issues if he complained. The lich sighed, letting out a plume of mist, “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing! I hate doing dragon stuff!” Ghastly said, pouting.

“But, you are a dragon. I don’t want you to miss out on anything,” Kel’Thuzad said gently, “Maybe you just need a new friend- maybe a blue? They like magic,” Ghastly raised a doubtful eyebrow, “Or perhaps a red? They’re supposed to be friendly…ish.”

“I already have friends and because I was gone for two weeks now they’re all probably way ahead of me in points!” Ghastly threw his hand up in exasperation.

Kel’Thuzad resisted rolling his eyes. ‘Citizen points’ were awarded to children as a way to encourage them to volunteer and learn how society functions. On Resurrection Day the child with the most points was awarded the title of First Citizen for the year. It was supposed to be a cute program that kept kids out of trouble. Except now a cadre of little over achievers (and their parents) had begun vying for the prize.

Competition was fierce.

“I think you might be able to get some points for dragon activities.”

“For what, sleeping outside? Naked? My mane is still matted with burrs!” Ghastly protested, “I bet Farah Blightsong doesn’t have to do elven heritage stuff- she just--,”

Kel’Thuzad watched the little dragon rant about Miss Farahlon Brightsong for two minutes uninterrupted, occasionally nodding or grunting an affirmative. He’d heard all this before. To Ghastly’s chagrin she won the last two competitions and he’d just come in second.

“And she wants to be one of the four horsemen,” Ghastly said, as if this fact was somehow a piece of damning evidence, “what do you think of that?”

“I think you talk about Farah a lot,” Kel’Thuzad said with a shrug, "why don't you ask her to brush out your mane?"

Ghastly’s cheeks turned bright red at the suggestion. He buried his hands in his hair, “I don’t want her to brush my mane!”

He definitely wanted her to brush his mane. This was one of the times Kel’Thuzad wished he could raise an eyebrow, instead he clasped his hands together and parted his jaws a little in a lich-y grin, “What's this, does my little drakie like a girl?”

“A girl?”

They looked up to find Titus leaning in the doorway. The death knight grinned as he sauntered into the office.

"How was the trip, Gas?" Titus asked, “Catch anything big?”

“We killed a magnataur on day five. It wasn’t very good though, kind of oily,” the drake said sticking out his tongue.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Titus replied, “So what's this about a crush? Is it Dresna? She's… very handsome.”

The drake scrunched up his nose at her name. No doubt Dresna was one of the black drakes who tormented Ghastly on his trip. “I don’t have a crush, Baba is just making fun.”

Titus looked to Kel’Thuzad for more information, “Farah Brightsong,” he said in a loud whisper.

“I do not!” The drake fisted his hands in his hair, “I just think she’s cute and funny and really smart. Her ears even bounce when she laughs!”

“Have you thought about kissing her?” Titus asked.

“N-no!” Ghastly said, stricken.

“Well, report back to us when you do,” Titus replied, ‘Although, it sounds like you’re already a hopeless elf-lover like your Da. Unfortunately I have more bad news for him,” The death knight produced an envelope from his breast pocket then did a double-take when he got a look at the lich and his leaking tusk. "Light, what the hell happened to you?"

"Lich problems," Kel'Thuzad said with a sigh. Why explain it and open himself up to more ridicule.

Titus looked like he wanted to say more, instead he burst out laughing then flicked the letter at the lich. It bounced off his sternum and landed on his lap. “This is from Yuri.”

Kel’Thuzad opened the letter. “Insufficient materials?”

“He needs the other kind of elementium, the expensive kind with Arcanite infused into it.”

The lich crumpled up the letter and rubbed his face, the joints of his fingers clicked softly against the bone. Then, something occurred to him. He snapped back up, "Are you telling me, he wanted twenty bars of enchanted elementium just to fuck around with? And he wanted lotus extract? Do I look like I'm made of money?"

“If you liked that you're going to love this: He doesn't think it will work. Yuri looked over the diagram and said the replacement part would need the same entrenched pathway. Or something- I stopped paying attention.”

“So we need the original base,” Kel’Thuzad said. He grinned up at the death knight, “I think I know where we can find it.”

Titus raised an eyebrow, “That’s a lot of 'we's' being tossed around.”

Kel'Thuzad continued, “It might be in Silithus.”

“I’m not going to Silithus.”

“I said ‘might.’ I would need to do a little research first. Brann Bronzebeard said he lost it down there during the Ten-Hour War.”

“Brann Bronzebeard told you that?” Titus said, crossing his arms.

“No, he told that girl from Ironforge. Remember Vael? She told me she was friends with him. So I asked her to ask him on my behalf.”

Titus sucked a sharp breath between his teeth, “Why did you do that! Light- what's wrong with you?”

“I- what, I was just curious,” Kel’Thuzad said with a shrug. What was the problem? They did this sort of thing all the time. Children were good spies- even better when they didn’t know they were spies.

“Curious? Your curiosity is going to really bite you in the ass someday!”

“Someday?” the lich said lightly.

Titus buried his face in his hands, screamed, then raked his fingers through his hair. When he looked back at the lich it was with an expression of strained calm, “Okay, do you know anyone who is really good friends with Brann?”

“Er, Modera I suppose,” What the hell was he getting at? Kel’Thuzad crossed his arms. “Are you saying he’s going to tell her what- some kid asked about the staff?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying- she’s not some kid, Kel’Thuzad! I don’t know if you can’t or wouldn’t see it.”

The lich opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. He shot Titus a pointed look before turning to Ghastly, “Will you get the staff head out of my apartment?”

Ghastly tensed for a moment, he’d been caught. The drake had been nervously listening as the conversation grew more private. He nodded then quickly left, closing the door behind him.

Titus rubbed the back of his neck and looked to the side while he searched for the right words. Kel'Thuzad watched with a slight frown as he absently picked at the crack in his tusk. There was a certain satisfaction from digging his claw into it and hitting the spongy interior. When he didn't prick a nerve at least.

"I want you to tell me everything you know about that girl," Titus said finally.

Kel'Thuzad regarded him skeptically. Titus wasn't the sort to deal in this sort of sordid information. What was he playing at? "Why?"

"Humor me for a minute."

So Kel'Thuzad told him what he knew: she lived with her aunt and uncle; her mother was a member of the Kirin Tor of some rank; one of her parents was Tel'Abim; she liked to read about herbalism, the Explorers League and the Scourge; her father might be a lich- definitely undead and, "Also, she happened to track down my old wand, Doomfinger. Isn’t that interesting?"

"Yeah," Titus said flatly, "Okay, I think I've solved it."

"Really? You have?"

"Yes, in fact, I think he's in this very room."

Kel'Thuzad narrowed his eyes and laced his hands together, resting his chin on the tips of two claws. There were two men in the room and only one of them went whoring regularly. He pointed to Titus, “Is it… you?”

"No, it's not me, you idiot!" Titus exclaimed, "did you even hear what you just said? Her father is a Tel lich! Last I checked, which I did by the way, that's you."

Titus pointed a finger at him to punctuate the point, though it felt more like a sword being leveled at his chest. He raised his hands in defense, "Now- hold on! I never said her father was Tel. I thought it was her mother."

The death knight looked at Kel'Thuzad like he had just grown two heads, "Why would you assume it was her mother?"

"Because," but he had no follow up, only the beginning of a sinking feeling.

Titus was quick to fill the silence, "Because it's so obviously you?"

"No, it is not ‘so obviously’ me!" Kel'Thuzad snapped, “We don't know her age, we don't know who her mother is. I don't even know if I was able to sire children."

Not for lack of trying though. Mages were notoriously infertile. Arcane radiation worked wonders on the body, elongating lifespans and preserving youthful vigor but it was murder on the sperm count. Which made children between the upper echelon of Dalaran society a relatively uncommon sight.

"And before I went to Icecrown I was only seeing Modera."

Titus let out a long, long sigh and stared at the lich. Kel'Thuzad didn't like the concern he saw in the death knight’s eyes. He crossed his arms and looked away sharply, he’d seen it enough when he was enthralled.

What was Titus even saying? Didn’t he think Kel’Thuzad would know if Modera had a child? They’d tried for so long without even a scare he’d given up believing it would ever happen. The lich let out a derisive snort, hell Modera even said she would finally marry him if she ever got pregnant.

A joke… that he never laughed at.

He glanced back at the death knight, his expression hadn’t changed, “Why are you looking at me like that?” Kel'Thuzad asked.

“She looks just like Modera,” Titus said gently.

Kel’Thuzad’s narrowed his eyes. Titus really thought he was Vael’s father? Preposterous! But, the mists in his chest spooled so tight it hurt. She was just interested in the Scourge, it had nothing to do with him.

Vael’s infectious smile popped into his head. She looked so excited when he told her about Atiesh, but if she thought he was her father, she would have known he was talking about Modera. And when he tried to cheer her up by telling her the Scourge leaders had regained their free will- did she think he was talking about himself? And when she was upset, it was because her relatives had called her a lichling- because of him!

No, it wasn't possible. It couldn't be! A chill crept up his spine as the memory of that doomed couple invaded his thoughts again, only this time it was the man who ripped apart his wife.

He looked down at his hands fisted in his lap. What if Bolvar woke and this lucidity was fleeting? Could the new lich king force him back into slavery? Would he make him throw Vael into a cage in the plague quarter as some sick form of retribution? Kel’Thuzad hid his face in his hands, what if he was made numb to it? Reduced again to some copper-dreadful villain.

It didn't matter how part of him desperately wanted it to be true. He couldn’t be the girl's father if he was a danger to her.

“I can’t, Titus.”

“Kel, it’s alright, you can talk to me.” Titus said. The death knight took a step closer and hesitated when he saw the lich flinch away, face still covered.

Kel’Thuzad flexed his fingers, his claws scraped against his skull.

He couldn’t have a family. Not…now.

So, he wouldn't.

He relaxed, letting his hands slide away from his face, his fingers laced together on his lap, “I’m sorry, Titus, but I think you’re mistaken.”

Titus' expression curdled into sour frustration for a moment before relaxing too. He spun on his heel and made for the door but paused before leaving. Without looking back the death knight warned, “Brann would know you have all the pieces of Atiesh. I’d be careful if I were you.”

Chapter Text

Kel’Thuzad paced the length of his apartment, replaying Titus’s words over and over again in his head. Titus was unyielding on the matter. He really thought he was that girl’s father!

He looked down at the small hearthstone he was holding and started the homeward spell. Then stopped it. Again. He’d been doing it for the better part of an hour.

Was it possible that he and Modera had a child? He didn't spy on her as much as he spied on the other members of Dalaran’s ruling class. Over the years he trained himself to skip over mentions of her name in reports. While enslaved, the only time Kel’Thuzad thought about Modera was to offer insight to Arthas about how Dalaran might act in a given situation.

The rest of his memories had been off limits, hidden in a box on his desk.

The things Vael told him were revealing, even if she didn’t realize it. Only people high up within the Kirin Tor had access to the third floor of the library and Brann Bronzebeard was one of Modera’s good friends. He should have put those points together. It would have made a compelling case were it possible.

Which it was not, he continued to tell himself.

It wasn't that he didn't want a child. He liked children. They were like rays of sunshine, eager to learn. But, to be a father, now? People’s fathers can’t blow up a town on their own. They don’t manipulate their children into doing their dirty work.

He couldn’t blame the lich king for that. Those were his decisions. He was the one still operating as he had for the last ten years. As he had been trained to.

Kel’Thuzad looked up at the urn on top of his wardrobe. What if all of the good parts of himself were locked away? What if he was stuck like this forever? Stuck operating as if he was being watched.

The lich king would have expected him to kidnap Vael. It wouldn’t have asked.

He rubbed his injured tusk against his shoulder, the last thought stuck on repeat. The lich king might have spared Kel'Thuzad the misery of converting his old lover, but he doubted the courtesy would have been extended if it knew he had a child.

The children of mages are valuable, if nothing else for their advanced understanding of magical processes. Growing up surrounded by discussions of magic gave them an edge over their peers.

He would have stolen her away. The thought made his chest tighten.

What if it still had that power over him?

He had felt like this before. During the Scourge’s civil war, Kel’Thuzad believed he regained his will. The lucidity lasted almost a year. Then the haze crept in as Arthas grew stronger. Maybe he could have fought back and truly regained his independence, but his friendship with the prince made him short sighted.

Kel’Thuzad caught a glimpse of his reflection and approached the mirror cautiously. His broken tusk made him look more gruesome than usual. This thing he’d become was really only fit to be a villain in a copper-dreadful. Archlich Kel’Thuzad would do all of those things.

He looked down at his claws fidgeting with the wrapping on his palms and felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. It would be better for her if he wasn’t...her father. Safer.

Kel’Thuzad let out a shaky sigh, fogging the mirror, leaving only the photo visible. His eyes flicked to it before he summoned up a bit of magic. The air shimmed as his glamor took shape.

Now he looked like he felt: sad, unsure and small. Kel’Thuzad glanced at his eyes. Before they were only a white pupil hovering in a red mist. Almost impossible to read. For him at least. Titus always seemed to know what he was thinking.

Vael’s eyes, he saw now, had been the same shade of purple as his. More of a violet compared to Modera’s plum.

He remembered how hopeful they looked at him when he told her the liches had their will.

Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut?

Kel’Thuzad traced the hearth-rune with a thumb and frowned at himself.

Vael swapped their stones for a reason. What if he asked her why? He let the homeward spell channel for a second.

Then five.

Eight.

At ten he canceled.

Titus would warn against it.

“What should I do?” Kel’Thuzad asked, turning to Atiesh.

The staff was mostly assembled. The head was now affixed to the frame. Kel’Thuzad hoped it would awaken the staff’s inner ‘spirit’ but without the base the artifact was still dormant.

Items of sufficient age and power could sometimes adopt their own personalities. Frostmourne, for example, had an inner voice that sometimes guided Arthas when the Lich King could not. The prince used to complain of the sword’s hunger and penchant for bad jokes.

Doomfinger had a voice…

He heard a whisper and looked up, it was coming from the top shelf in his wardrobe. The lich hesitated before moving a stack of lumpy sweaters out of the way, revealing a heavy tome bound in indigo leather- the hide of an unlucky blue dragon.

The Book of Medivh.

He eyed it while his fingers danced over the cover. This item did have an inner voice and it was one Kel’Thuzad was certain was evil. The book could get restless at times and craved mischief but, well… he was seeking guidance from the Guardian, “What say you, book?”

Images flashed in his mind's eye as the book communicated with him. His face in the mirror, a dejected Araj and Titus saying ‘distraction’ followed by the staff.

“Yes, yes, but what about the other thing?”

The book’s only response was to repeat ‘distraction’ and ‘staff’. Apparently it thought the lich needed a distraction.

Kel’Thuzad reached for a tusk that was not there before resting his chin on his fist. It would be a shame to stop now. He had done all the work to assemble the staff so far. If all he needed was the base... he should try to see it through.

And he knew just how to find it.

+++

Kel'Thuzad wasted no time sneaking off to Ironforge, spurning Titus's warning. Vael was not his daughter and the Kirin Tor could not suspect he was hunting for the base. There was nothing the death knight could say to change his mind on the matter.

So what if Brann might get an idea in his head?

He continued to repeat this mantra as he took the steps up to the museum two at a time.

The Explorers League headquarters was a gigantic three story building carved out of basalt, much like the rest of Ironforge. The first floor held the museum, which was open to the public. Here the league divided its findings into two wings: one dedicated to artifacts recovered from Titan ruins; the other was the natural history wing.

The second floor held the explorers library and the third was the restricted section and research offices.

Kel’Thuzad felt an uncomfortable pressure as he entered the museum. Dampening wards. The lich absently brought a hand up to touch the collar he wore under his glamor. The jewelry prevented him from diffusing if he entered a totally warded area. So far he'd never had an occasion to test it.

Luckily the library only nullified a few schools: fire and ice to protect the books and transportation spells to prevent theft. Hearthstones were rendered inoperable to ensure mages actually checked the books out properly. Not that it mattered at the moment, considering he did not have one.

But, this was a stealth mission. He just needed to find the ledger and leave. There should be no reason for him to need to use magic or make a quick getaway.

The museum was packed. Kel’Thuzad had never seen so many young women in one place at a time. He suspected it had something to do with the giant banners of Harrison Jones hanging from every available space on the ceiling.

Kel'Thuzad stopped to read one of the many advertisements for, "The Origins of Origination?” he read aloud, “One Man's Travels Into the Heart of Uldum?" The lich made a derisive noise. That must be how Brann broke his arm.

Though Harrison’s lecture was the star event, there were still banners for the museum’s seasonal exhibits. The dinosaurs of Un’goro were sharing their hall with the new exhibit showing off the flora and fauna of Mt. Hyjal.

Kel’Thuzad perked up. He’d grown up on the slopes of Hyjal, but it was still an exotic place for most people. Come to think of it, Ghastly might enjoy a trip to the museum. Not only was it a good place to study the anatomy of exotic animals, but Kel’Thuzad could share something about his childhood with the drake. It would be a quality bonding experience!

Although, the lich looked over his shoulder, Ghastly might enjoy the other wing a little more- given how often the drake lurked in Heigan’s workshop.

The Titan wing was featuring machines from Ulduar. The lich had never been very interested in Titanology. That was Modera’s forte. Anything he knew about Ulduar was gathered by spies and adventurers the scourge paid.

He ran a thumb along his jaw while he thought at the banner. Did she curate this exhibit? Modera was the expedition lead afterall. Kel’Thuzad’s mood deflated, the fog coalesced in his chest.

Vael’s mother was involved with Ulduar.

My name means ‘fire’ in the titan language.

The lich stood rooted in place as he cycled through his encounter with the girl. He supposed there could be lots of children who would be interested in both the Explorer’s League and the Scourge. One was gross and ghoulish. The other bagged exotic animals and ancient relics.

But, how many of them could also quote Better Botanicals? How many of them had a Tel lich for a father?

None, Kel’Thuzad reminded himself.

Kel’Thuzad pulled himself back to the present. He was on a mission. He just needed to focus on the task at hand.

Once Karazhan was unlocked, he could prove Titus wrong.

The disguised lich wove through the giggling crowd as he made his way up the grand stairs and to the library’s directory. The book was massive and arranged at dwarf- height. Lucky for him, it was unattended. Kel’Thuzad felt his fog-ball unspool a bit as he began his search for the ledger.

He was sneaking around- which was fun. But he was so close to achieving his goal that he couldn’t help but be a little excited. Of course, most of his plans for the staff involved turning into a raven and lording it over the Kirin Tor. Kel’Thuzad grinned at the mental image.

But, wouldn’t it be grand to throw open the doors to Karazhan and declare the tower open?

The search took longer than he expected and it was one of the few times Kel’Thuzad was glad to be undead. Were he alive his back would be cramped from being bent over at such an awkward angle. His first few guesses turned up nothing- Ledger, Spoils, and Booty all came up lacking. Well, booty did have some…interesting listings- he made note of those for later. It was in the Ahn'Qiraj section that Kel’Thuzad finally struck paydirt.

He jotted down WX-933, on a scrap of paper and made for the west wing.

WX must be a new addition, he thought as he walked down the seemingly endless hallway of shelves. By the time Kel’Thuzad hit J there were less couples canoodling and more researchers fanning themselves. Even he noticed it was hot. Very hot. The lich’s body registered the increase in temperature but it didn’t slide back into white noise like it usually did.

It lingered.

Moisture was a constant issue throughout the dwarven city and the library was no exception. In order to protect the books and other sensitive materials the dwarves installed heat runes to dry out the building.

If he closed his eyes he could feel how the magic rose and fell within the room, like the currents in an oven.

Kel’Thuzad fanned himself as he walked through a sitting area separating M from N and paused when something turned his head. On the far wall was a mural of a blacksmith hammering out a red-hot breastplate. His tusks woke as he drew closer, prickling at the influx of magic in the air. The lich angled his head as if listening for something hidden.

Kiln fire, dust, leather an unusual bouquet for a fire spell. Kel’Thuzad ran a hand over the sparks and felt the subtle electric pulse of the runes hidden behind the paint. It doesn’t feel warm, he thought as he rubbed his thumb over the tips of his fingers.

He frowned. So why was he so hot?

While an interesting diversion, he had a long way to go if he wanted to get to WX and after what felt like an eternity of walking he arrived.

The information on Ahn’Qiraj was shockingly barren. Only a row and a half made up all the history for the hidden city.

It was a little depressing.

One would think two giant wars and the destruction of an old god would warrant more published works. Perhaps the victory was overshadowed by the Scourge's decision to move Naxxramas to the Plaguelands?

Kel’Thuzad examined the dull tan spines, each item relating to the fallen city was marked with a burnt-orange stripe.

930- Musings on the Brood of Nozdormu
931- Draconic for Dummies v3
932- Desert Desserts: Cooking Delights from Silithus
934- Twilight’s Hammer: Observations
372- Length Differential of Troll Perineums in the Gurubashi Archipelago

It was real!- Kel'Thuzad grabbed the last one. He'd heard a rumor this existed. Cassandra mentioned a colleague from her academy days that had an…interest in these sorts of things.

With a title like that it had to be from the Stormwind Royal Academy of Magic & Science!

He opened the front cover: Dr. Eugenia Molluka, MD. This had to be her. Kel’Thuzad flipped to a random page then snapped the book shut.

It was illustrated.

Light! How did one persuade a troll to bend over like that for so long? Now he knew why the treaties had been hidden all the way out here. Kel'Thuzad tucked it under his arm, Cassy might get a kick out of seeing it in the flesh.

The strange dissertation was amusing, but there was still a problem: there was no ledger.

He frowned at the shelf. In fact there were several conspicuously blank spots. Perhaps someone else was doing research? He did take the idea from Vael… maybe she took it?

No, he mustn't think that.

Kel’Thuzad’s felt something roll down his back. He frowned and rubbed his neck when he made an unpleasant discovery. His hand came away wet. He was sweating?

What did that mean?

He huffed in an attempt to fog his breath-

Nothing.

Kel’Thuzad had half a mind to dispel his glamor right there and see just what was happening with his body. The library’s wardings were affecting him somehow. They shut off ice magic, which did play a critical role in how his weaves were structured. So… what happened when they were disabled?

Kel'Thuzad practically ran off back to the hub. He had an idea, but he needed to hurry.

He didn’t want to find out what would happen if he stayed.

The central research area contained rows of tables and lecterns for people to use while they read or transcribed the library's materials. He could casually examine what was being worked on and, depending on who had the ledger, he could ask to borrow it. Or steal it. With so many people distracted by the celebrity lecture it should be easy to take without anyone noticing.

By the time Kel'Thuzad reached the hub he had sweat through his undershirt and his shirt. And, to his displeasure, it did not smell lemony fresh.

He pretended to read the book as he scoped the wing. Chagrined at his choice the lich at least opened it up to an unillustrated section. He slid next to two elvish girls wearing the purple of Dalaran and caught snatches of their conversation while he examined the books in their arms.

“I heard Harrison swung around an underground chamber and brought down a room full of gigantic statues,” the red head said.

“Well, I heard he faced Deathwing with nothing but a camel and a belt!” said the blond.

And people had the gall to call him a grifter? The lich rolled his eyes. At least when he promised to give people eternal life he actually gave it to them.

So far, Kel’Thuzad’s quest had not borne out. From what he could see, most books in the area had a lime green or vibrant blue stripe. Most likely pertaining to whatever the 'Halls of Origination' were. But he was not to be deterred. There was still another place it could be…

He glanced over his shoulder at the roped off stairwell.

The third floor was only for league leadership and Kirin Tor visitors. Civilians were not allowed. Kel'Thuzad grinned to himself, he still had his research credentials; they were never revoked when he was expelled.

All he had to do was flash the card to the dwarf who monitored the stairwell and act like he belonged. There was the possibility that the other people who could access the floor would also be able to recognise him. But, Kel’Thuzad doubted there would be much research going on with the lecture scheduled.

The book was as good as his!

Kel'Thuzad took the stairs two at a time, grin on his face, until he reached the third landing.

The lich froze.

It was Brann Bronzebeard!

Shit! If there was anyone of Modera's comrades that knew about their relationship it was Brann! The dwarf would recognise him for sure! Kel'Thuzad panicked and stuffed his face into the Troll treatise before forcing himself to march upwards.

He could feel his fog tighten as the dwarf passed him without a second glance. It was everything he could to not let out a sigh of relief when-

"Oi- lad, do I know you from somewhere?"

Kel'Thuzad froze, again. Possible escape routes played in his mind as he slowly turned to face the dwarf.

"Me?" Kel’Thuzad asked innocently, "I don't think so."

Brann tugged his beard and made a thinking sound as he gave the disguised lich a good once over. Kel’Thuzad did his best to relax and look like he belonged. It wasn't as if he didn’t belong, he was researching something!

“What are you reading?”

“Oh- this?” Kel’Thuzad glanced down at the treaties. In retrospect it probably wasn't the kind of thing he should be running around with. “I’m looking into the Academy's recent publications. There's rumors going around regarding the misappropriation of funds on boondoggles like this.”

Brann blew past his excuse, “So you need to be alone with the book?”

“I- no!” Kel’Thuzad replied. He cleared his throat, there had to be a way to end this conversation quickly. And what was the best way to clear a room? In a flash of brilliance he channeled his inner Cassandra, “It’s too loud down there- I can hardly get any research done! This is a library not a circus. Someone should really do something!”

Kel’Thuzad stepped forward, gesturing at Brann with the book, “And I can’t be reading down there with this anyways, spare a thought for public decency!”

The lich went stock still, realizing he’d exposed his face in his effort to nag his way out of the conversation.

Brann grunted and narrowed his eyes. He took his leave of the lich without another word.

Kel’Thuzad felt a wave of relief wash over him as the dwarf’s footsteps grew fainter. Brann must have hit his head pretty hard in Uldum if he didn’t recognize him after all that! Titus was wrong. No one knew he was looking for Atiesh!

Kel’Thuzad resumed climbing the stairs with renewed urgency until he reached the third floor when he felt there was something amiss.

The lich paused at the threshold. The place was empty, but the air was practically humming with magic! Unlike the stacks, where the magical currents felt more fluid, this was static. Frozen in place.

Kel'Thuzad winced and rubbed his cheek. There was so much it aggravated his injured tusk. Heat, dust, sand, leather, something ancient and oily. He could barely parse out what was what! Though he had been a lich for almost a decade, Kel'Thuzad was still learning how to interpret this new sense.

He followed his tusks and crept into the room, driven to investigate these new signatures.

The whole third floor was part of a natural cavern with a high, rough stone ceiling. The center of the room was made up of an open research area with private offices situated on the wings.

Kel’Thuzad spotted another heat-mural; this time on the ceiling. The runes were hidden within the spiraling rays of the sun. Magic sparkled off it, causing the lich to rub his face again. The closer he drew to the mural the more the other signatures grew and he noticed something odd.

Under the sun, some of the stone tables had become pitted, the iron fixtures so rusted they were rotting away. Kel’Thuzad ran a hand over one of the chairs. The normally dark cherry was bleached and hollow under the lacquer. Anyone who sat there would be in for a rude surprise. Stranger still, the strongest signature here was not the mural. It almost felt like the coarse, sandy magic from the other day.

Had a bronze been here recently? he wondered. Before the lich could investigate further he tasted something bitter.

The cracked tusk was draining into his mouth.

Kel’Thuzad backed away from the center of the room, wiping his mouth out with his sleeve as he went. Swallowing the stuff might rupture his glamor, but worse still he could taste with the fog in his chest. He bumped into a door with a solid thunk and turned around.

Modera’s office.

It was empty. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been here. Kel’Thuzad swallowed the resin and checked the doorknob.

It was unlocked…

Kel’Thuzad worried the inside of his lip. It couldn't hurt to take a peek, after all, the lecture downstairs was bound to start soon. No one even knew he was up here! Fog gnawed at his spine. And…he would be close to her for a little bit.

He slipped in, closing the door quietly behind him.

Modera’s perfume hung in the air. The mageroyal and mana lily were more potent than the sample he had back in his room and his hidden tusks itched at the arcane residue in the air. It was fresh, she must be in the building.

Kel’Thuzad rubbed his aching face, finding oil seeping out of the corner of his mouth. He pulled his hand away with disgust. Why did this have to happen here of all places?

He shouldn’t be here, Modera was probably just down stairs supporting the lecture. What if she caught him? Kel’Thuzad worried the sleeve of his robe. He wasn’t ready to face her. But, he also didn’t want to leave just yet, even if it was making his chest hurt.

Kel’Thuzad forced himself to move, to look at the things on her bookshelf. Broken titan artifacts filled most of the space; their identifying tags were smudged and yellow with age. He examined the gadgets, absently rubbing a tag for some sort of blinky control module between two fingers. The paper was rough enough for him to feel. When he pulled his hand away he sucked in a breath. The oil left a greasy streak, smearing the ink.

Hopefully that wasn’t too important. Kel’Thuzad stuffed his hands in his pockets. The temptation to touch everything was too great.

Modera was a bit of a photographer in her free time as such there were several framed photos through the office. One of Meriam, her sister, riding a horse; a snow griffon cub; her old lemon tree from Dalaran. One in particular caught his eye.

There hiding in the way back…it was them!

Kel'Thuzad flexed his hands in his pockets and stood staring at the picture for what felt like an eternity battling with himself. After a minute he gave in and picked up the photograph despite his better judgment.

He remembered that day, Modera tripped on a log and twisted her ankle on the hike back. But before all that they were sitting on a log near their secret pond in Hillsbrad. Modera’s head on his shoulder, his arm around her waist. He kissed her hair as she smiled at the camera. They looked…happy.

If he had a heart it would be in his throat. She kept this?

Kel’Thuzad reluctantly returned the picture to its place on the shelf.

Should he listen to Titus? Reach out to her? His hands fidgeted with the sleeve of his robe. Maybe he could write a letter explaining that he was himself again?

Well, mostly himself.

That was probably a better in person discussion to have. What if he arranged a situation where they could run into each other?

He grunted and shook his head. And then what- kidnap her? That would go well!

More bad ideas came and went as Kel’Thuzad’s eyes wandered around her office, noting the bowl of hard candy sitting on her desk. He rustled through it picking out all the gooey, strawberry filled ones then hesitated before putting them into his pocket. As a lich, he couldn’t really eat them- he could chew on them sure, but it was a bit of an ordeal.

Was he just taking these out of habit? Was he…haunting the candy dish?

Kel’Thuzad made a derisive sound, of course not. He was just getting them for Ghastly. And, maybe a few for Titus. Even if the death knight liked the disgusting sassafras ones.

Candy acquired, Kel’Thuzad felt he had spent enough time in Modera’s office. Especially since he had left his mark on enough things that she would for sure know someone had been inside. He felt a drip of oil slide down the left side of his chin. The lich was too slow to catch it and it landed on the polished blackwood of Modera’s desk.

He tried to buff it out with his sleeve but it only smeared the resin into a slick film. Kel’Thuzad tried to put a little more elbow grease into it when he lost his grip and lurched forward into a stack of books she had piled up on the desk.

Drab tan books with burnt orange stripes on their spines.

The spooling in his chest slowly came to a halt.

Kel’Thuzad hesitated. Ahn’qiraj: Record of Spoils was right there.

Sitting on her desk.

Just because Modera had the book he was looking for- it didn’t mean anything.

Why would she suspect him of exploiting their daughter's connections to get information?

Light, that was terrible when he thought of it that way. He didn't actually do that… did he?

Yes. Kel'Thuzad took a deep, centering breath and cleared his mind. He set thoughts about Vael aside for a moment and looked at the situation rationally.

Because, all other possibilities were perfectly irrational.

Uldum and Silithus were right next to each other- only separated by an impenetrable mountain range. Both regions were crawling with the servants of the old gods. Ulduar too had been infested with Twilight's Hammer Cultists and Modera was expedition lead. It stood to reason that she was offering insight to the broader Alliance coalition.

And not thinking about him at all, actually.

Kel'Thuzad reached for the book.

Modera tabbed certain sections with stickies. He felt a familiar click as he opened to the first flag. Kel’Thuzad read, absorbing information on the heroes of the desert city.

To Daxie - Armaments of the Twin Emperors; (27) gold
To Orcain - (3) Onyx Statues; (1) Stamped-Elementium Cylinder; (20) gold
To Zhylaw - Skin of the Great Worm; (1) Ivory Scepter; (15) gold

To the next book, SI-7’s observations from Orgrimmar-

Mercenary Company Wor’Dabu disbanded after allocation disputes resulted in Mak’gora…botched Thunderfury forging led to need for additional elementium…splinter group to form new HQ in Gadgetzan.

The next was the record of the Gadgetzan Gazette from King’s Calendar 614 to 619-

Drunken sell swords attack merchant cartel clients. Orcain, raider of Zul'Farrak, sentenced to hang by the neck until dead, three days hence.

Kel’Thuzad was only able to pull himself out of the work loop when he got to an orcish dictionary.

He might have been stuck for hours reading that.

Kel’Thuzad stared at the ceiling. Heat crept up his neck while the spell petered out. Everything Modera flagged mentioned an elementium cylinder- but that still wasn’t evidence that she was researching it because of him. It was barely evidence that it was part of Atiesh.

More importantly, it wasn't evidence of a child.

It was only evidence that a child had asked about it in passing and Brann happened to mention it. Even that wasn’t a certainty.

Perhaps Modera was acting on prudence? Better the Kirin Tor have the base than anyone else.

One book remained. It looked out of place compared to the other more substantial books, almost like it was an old journal someone had donated to the library. The cover was scuffed dark leather embossed with the flaking golden seal of the Argent Dawn. Kel'Thuzad didn't linger on the symbol for long.

He opened the journal and sucked in a breath when he saw what Modera flagged.

"3rd of Midwinter,
Thus far no Scourge-liches have been captured for study. It is fortuitous then that our allies in the Ebon Blade have donated one of their trainers, Amal'Thazad, for testing. With his cooperation we will be able to discern how the Scourge creates these monsters and how to effectively neutralize them.

9th of Midwinter,
Kirin Tor mages present to perform draining spell. They assure Endless Hunger is lethal to magic practitioners. The subject became violent once the procedure was explained, luckily the restraints nullified all spell casting. Once cast, black whips assailed the creature for twenty minutes until its expiration--”

Modera wanted to kill him?

The journal slid out of Kel'Thuzad’s hands as his fog froze. Flensed alive and drained of all magic. Modera meant to inflict Eternal Hunger on him! But- that was serious dark magic! And illegal!

He braced himself on her desk. Kel’Thuzad’s neck and back felt clammy and he labored to breath as panic set in. The room was as tight as the ball in his chest.

The only way she would be willing to cast something like that was if-

A loud crack and a shock of pain in his hand brought him back to the present. Kel’Thuzad looked down, he’d been gripping the edge of the desk so hard it caused a partial glamor failure. Part of his claw snapped off in the wood.

The lich watched the air warp around his hand as the illusion reasserted itself. It wouldn’t do to have her find that. He gave the claw a hard tug and jostled the desk, knocking over one of her pictures. Kel’Thuzad went to fix it when he felt everything stop.

“Oh no.”

Kel'Thuzad grabbed the photo and rushed to the mirror hanging on the wall. He held up the picture and compared it to his reflection. What he saw made the fog-ball in his chest feel like a solid chunk of ice.

Modera's nose and smile.

"Light," he choked.

His skin, his hair, his eyes.

++++++++++++

“And that’s how Harrison woo’d Princess Troggina and saved the expedition,” Modera said to a round of thunderous applause.

She suppressed a shudder at the memory of Harrison slobbering all over that trogg. He didn’t even have the decency to pretend like he didn’t enjoy it! Instead, Modera forced a smile as she shuffled her note cards around. Harrison asked her to include ‘hot, sexy-action’ in her speech- for the fans.

Who was she to deny the public?

“Psst!”

Modera glanced over her shoulder at Brann. The dwarf was in the wings trying to get her attention. She furrowed her brow as he made the ‘wrap it up’ signal. What on earth did he want?

Couldn’t he see she was going as quick as she could!

The mage cleared her throat and continued, “Er, which is why I always say, you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, it might just save your life someday!”

“Hurry up!” Brann hissed.

“Without further ado, I’d like to introduce our main speaker for the evening,” Modera said as she read the card Felicia had written for Harrison’s introduction. “From Uldum to Uldaman he’s-” she squinted, the man of my dreams and yours- light. “My colleague, Harrison Jones!”

Modera stepped back and clapped as Harrison made his triumphant appearance. After a bit of theatrics, including an awkward, stiff embrace with Modera, he made his way to the microphone, allowing the mage to slip away.

“Archeology is the search for facts, not truth…” Harrison began.

“I said wrap it up!” Brann hissed as he rushed Modera through the backstage area, "didn't you see the signal?"

“I tried, you saw how Harrison was,” Modera said, it took almost three minutes for her to sneak away, “What’s going on? Why the rush?”

Brann stopped and looked around, checking for eavesdroppers. The stage hands were all getting ready for Harrison’s act and not paying attention to the two archeologists. He leaned forward, “Your boyfriend is here.”

Modera drew back with a sharp frown, “Aethas?" Was he finally here to apologize? It was a bad time, she was stuck working at the event for another few hours. Of course by then he could leave. Then Aethas would tell her she's the one being unreasonable-

"No, not that prissy elf!" Brann said hurriedly, "the other one."

Modera blinked. What other boyfriend?

Brann sighed, "You know, tall, dark, undead?"

Modera's frown deepened. He didn't mean-

"Kel-"

"I got it," Modera snapped. She glanced over her shoulder and steered Brann into a dark corner, "what do you mean he's here?" she hissed.

"I ran into him on the stairs up to the third floor," Brann said, "it's definitely him, I would recognize him anywhere."

Modera chewed the inside of her lip and thought while Brann relayed the encounter.

Two trips to Ironforge in one week? Not to see Vael- the girl was in lockdown at her sister's. She wouldn't have a moment of freetime to sneak away anytime soon.

Modera steepled her fingers. What could that lich be doing here? She was about to ask as much when, "Wait, go back. He was hiding behind a book?"

"Aye, that weird one about Troll's arses- you know-"

"Yes. I know."

Brann thumbed his nose, "thought he could sneak past me by pretending to read it."

Kel'Thuzad's favorite trick. He thought it made him inconspicuous, never realizing that a man walking around- or standing someplace with his face in a book was very noticeable. People find that sort of thing odd in the extreme. Unfortunately for Kel’Thuzad, he was just a conspicuous person and it seemed to carry over into undeath.

Still, if he was using the book trick, that meant he was looking for someone. Or something. The Troll Paper, she remembered seeing recently hiding in the Silithus section. Its bright green spine stood out among the browns, wait was that a double entendre--

Modera’s eyes widened, "The staff!”

They hurried through the lecture hall to the stairwell for the third floor. Modera would have continued running up if Brann hadn’t grabbed the back of her shirt. “Wait, we can’t just barge up there.”

Modera frowned at the stairwell before turning to the posted guard. He stood at attention when he felt the mage’s glower. He was a dwarf with a short, brown beard, probably just someone's nephew working here for the season. “Has anyone come down recently?” she asked.

“N-no one since Brann, Ma’am.”

This was the only entrance to the third floor. Kel was trapped!

A wicked grin spread across her face as she pulled Brann aside. “Do I want to know what you are thinking?” he asked.

“He can’t use magic and he can’t get out,” Modera said.

“You can’t use magic either, Modera,” Brann replied.

“I don’t need it,” she looked up at one of the security golems, “I just need these.”

+++

Modera climbed the steps with a grim determination. Kel’Thuzad would never be more vulnerable than now, it was the perfect time to capture him. With the lich locked away in the Violet Hold, she would be able to ensure her daughter's future. All Modera needed to do was lure him down to the great hall and survive long enough for the golems to subdue him.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up as soon as she reached the top of the staircase.

Modera froze.

Something was wrong.

The air was thick with magic but...that was impossible!

Was this the work of Kel'Thuzad? His aura didn’t feel anything like this the other day. She held her breath and listened, straining her senese for a sign of something.

The only thing she could hear was her heart pounding in her ears.

Maybe she underestimated him. What if the lich wasn’t affected by the library's wards? It wasn't too late for her to retreat and get help.

Modera clenched her fists. This might be the last opportunity for her to confront him.

Modera let out a shaky breath and took a step into the foyer. She kept to the edges of the room as she crept towards her office. The door was ajar. Her research materials were in there!

She steeled her nerves. Modera could feel the same muted wrongness she felt when she last encountered the lich. He was close. Modera could see the tremor in her hand as she pushed the door open-

The room was empty.

The mage slipped in. Kel’Thuzad had definitely been in here, Modera never encountered anyone who used the same ‘cologne’. Her office smelled like black lotus extract, floral and musky. She walked to her bureau and tried to push the memories out of her head. Memories of being held and talking about new discoveries long into the night.

That man is gone, Modera reminded herself as she trailed her fingers over the shard of bone embedded in the blackwood.

Her desk was a mess. By the looks of things Kel’Thuzad touched and moved everything. Cretinous bastard. The mage bent to retrieve the journal she pulled off the ground.

She hoped the Argents would have a novel way of restraining the undead. Something that perhaps Kel’Thuzad would not be prepared for. Instead there were only pages on how to dismantle and kill them in the most painful ways possible.

Modera sighed and tossed the book back onto the pile. She didn’t need some bloodless inquisitor to tell her how to do that. In any case it was useless information. She did not have his phylactery. Killing Kel’Thuzad would be a pointless exercise, if maybe a little cathartic.

The mage surveyed her desk, blowing a flyaway off her face before glaring at the bone again.

Two inches long and gray. It looked like a broken claw. She’d read liches had those, maybe Kel did as well.

But how did it break, and why did he leave it behind?

Was it a warning?

Or, Modera thought as she looked back at the journal, had something made him angry?

Angry enough to slam his hands down on the desk and knock everything over? Modera rested her chin on her knuckles, her lips pressed into a thin line as she thought.

If he was angry, why stand the photos back up?

Then Modera saw there wasn’t something out of place.

There was something missing.

She lurched forward and turned the pictures around.

“Vael!”

Modera burst out of the office like a cat with its tail on fire. Damn those sentries! They were too big to fit up the stairs. She needed to get Brann now, there was only a matter of time before-

Modera collided with something. Or someone. She heard a surprised yelp before they fell to the ground. Brann was supposed to keep people down stairs, who the hell- she blinked.

Kel’Thuzad loomed over her. Modera’s gut turned to ice. It was the same face she was once accustomed to seeing in her bed every morning, so terribly familiar, so close to her heart.

But it was wrong. The eyes weren’t right, the subtle rings under his eyes smoothed away like a doll. And the nose didn’t angle at the bridge right, the sort of mistake made by someone who’d only ever seen themselves through a mirror.

The whole face was too smooth, unblemished, like it was reconstructed from the low resolution of a photograph.

The wild look in his eye froze her in place, as did his prodigious weight. Modera didn’t remember him being this heavy. Was it the result of his transformation?

Her heart pounded in her chest as she watched his lips twisted into a snarl. She couldn't look away from his teeth. They'd become mutated, unrecognizable as human. His canines had lengthened into fangs and the teeth behind them looked like they were for slicing flesh.

His jaws parted and Modera watched in horror as a thick, viscous ectoplasm poured forth from his maw.

And landed square on her chest.

It was…a lot.

At first all she could do was stare. Then the smell- rancid fruit with an ammonia chaser.

Modera did the only thing that felt right in this situation: she screamed.

++++++++++++

Kel’Thuzad also wanted to scream.

The mist burned under his glamor, turning his face bright red. He only wanted to say something to break the silence. Something witty like, 'come here often?,' not a mouthful of tusk oil. That he definitely had not meant to do.

Modera thrashed under him as he tried to restrain her. She didn’t know they weren’t alone up here!

Kel'Thuzad didn't exactly know what was in that office across the hall. It was big, smelled terrible and was currently deconstructing the arcane barrier he threw over the door.

One minute he was hiding, waiting for Modera to leave her office and go back downstairs. Next there was a burst of strange magic, the wood of the door frame began to rot away- and it had nothing to do with him. Couple that with a loud snarl and Kel’Thuzad didn’t wait to find out what it was.

Just because he was a lich it didn't mean he was going to stand there and get mauled.

“Stop! I’m not-” Kel’Thuzad felt an electric surge through his chest. His jaw snapped shut as the weaves forming his body seized. Beneath him Modera hit him with a some sort of amalgamated silencing and damping spell.

With a disgusted snarl she shoved Kel’Thuzad off of her and sprang to her feet. “What the hell was that!”

Kel’Thuzad fell onto his side curled up like a bug. Thankfully the spell’s paralyzing effect died when they broke contact. He pushed himself into a sitting position and wiped the spittle off his face watching as Modera sniffed her hand. “Er, that’s not poisonous,” he said. Or was it? “...I think.”

“I smell like floor cleaner!”

Modera stalked forward, her eyes sparkled with the promise of violence. Kel’Thuzad scrambled away, desperate to diffuse the situation. There were still those things to consider. That bronzy signature was growing stronger by the second. “Now, I can explain- incidentally how familiar are you with lich physiology?”

“Why were you in my office!”

“Your office?” Kel’Thuzad asked with a little laugh. His back bumped against the door he had sealed the creatures inside. He pushed himself up, “I wasn’t in your office, why would you say such a thing?”

Modera narrowed her eyes at his lie. Kel’Thuzad laughed nervously and grinned, showing a little too many teeth. His smile faltered when he saw her eyes focus on his fangs. “I know you were in there because it reeks of death-magic!”

Kel’Thuzad gasped, appalled. He looked down at himself and covertly sniffed his shirt. “I-” the smell wasn’t good, but it wasn’t death magic. “No I don’t!”

It was true. A lich’s body is basically a dense concentration of arcane and necromantic spells. Most mortals would be able to smell the magic and report something sour or musty. But Kel’Thuzad wasn’t like most liches, because his resurrection was facilitated by the Sunwell.

By all accounts Kel’Thuzad had a pleasant, vaguely summer-y sort of smell.

Besides, he had cologne on. And he knew Modera liked it.

Unless, he almost gasped at the thought- had she been lying to him for all those years?

She stopped before him, very close. In fact, she was basically in his face. “What are you doing here?"

He shrugged as best he could. Something was scratching at the barrier. "I saw Harrison Jones was hosting a lecture and I thought to myself ‘Wow, what are the origins of origination anyway?’"

Modera stepped even closer somehow, Kel'Thuzad couldn't shy away, he was already pressed against the door. Her voice was deadly serious, "I don't know what you think you saw-"

"Modera, I-"

"-I swear by the light I'll-"

"Listen there's-"

"-Ashbringer so far up your ass!"

A loud cracking noise, not unlike a glass breaking, interrupted his reply and Modera’s rant.

The barrier!

She paused and looked over his shoulder, "What are you hiding in there?"

He shoved Modera back and dove away as a large blade broke through the door where his head had just been.

Finally, Modera realized he wasn’t the only threat on the third floor.

Two dragonkin burst into the hallway.

Slate scales covered slabs of muscle while electric blue lightning crackled between the spines on their backs. A foul amalgamation of dragon and human, dragonspawn had the noble qualities of neither. They had the low slung body, splayed legs and heads of lizards and the torsos of men. One was a female with a staff; the other was a bloated warrior with a pouchy, toady throat.

Kel'Thuzad tilted his head a bit confused. Weren't bronze dragons supposed to be… bronze? Their magic smelled just like hot rocks.

As they prowled into the room the air around the dragonspawn shimmered and warped the chairs they bumped into. The lich watched the cherry-wood chairs wither and bleach before cracking like driftwood. It was like they were rotting.

Or were they aging?

Kel'Thuzad put himself between the dragonspawn and Modera and let some of his power bleed out from behind his glamor. This aura of theirs might not hurt his body, but it could be lethal to her.

The wyrmkin paused and chuckled at his display. Their raspy voices echoed in the chamber, surrounding the mages.

“The servants of Teradormi do not scare easily little lich,” the warrior croaked. His toad voice matched his toadlike body and his toad breath, “She has calculated to the second the moment of your demise. Now submit magi and accept your fates.”

“Wait,” Modera ordered, she stepped up to stand next to Kel’Thuzad, “I understand why you might want him,” she said motioning to the lich, “But, why me? I’ve been nothing but a friend to the Bronze flight.”

Kel’Thuzad made a sour face, so much for sticking together.

“Bronzes!” The female thumped her staff on the floor, “We of the Infinite Dragonflight correct the mistakes the Bronzes would let flourish. Your existence clouds the Master’s future. All those who have struck blows against him must be eliminated.”

Infinite Dragonflight? Master? Were these dragonkin working for Deathwing? Kel’Thuzad clenched his fist and shared a worried glance with Modera. Eighteen years ago they, along with the rest of the council, faced and defeated Deathwing off the Arathi coast.

They were the last living members from that time.

Only… Kel'Thuzad really hadn't even considered fighting Deathwing again. His record was a solid 1-0, why mess with perfection? Not many people could say they've defeated the aspect of death. Besides he- gasped, suddenly struck by brilliance.

Of course! Why didn't he think of this before?

"I should fight Deathwing!" he blurted out. Kel'Thuzad glanced at Modera, noting her perplexed expression. "For…Azeroth."

He'd be a hero if he could pull it off.

Modera wasn't buying it, "Did you just get that idea from these dragons?"

"No, of course not," Kel'Thuzad lied, "and, I hardly see how that's relevant. Why else have these dragons been watching me for the last few days?”

He turned his attention back to the dragons, "If you want revenge I'm afraid you and your master will be left dissatisfied. Killing me doesn't seem to stick."

The female chuckled, "We don't need to kill you, little lich." A bright blue energy danced along her claws, "We just want to put you into a little…time out."

Time out? He did not like the sound of that. Neither did Modera apparently as the energy humming along the wyrmkin was cut short by the mage's well timed counterspell.

The lich shot her a surprised look and watched Modera ready another spell. With a burst of light the dragonkin slowed mid charge, their eyes bulging with malice.

"Why are you just standing there!" Modera yelled, "I can't hold them all day!"

She wanted his help? Kel'Thuzad could feel the mist practically shoot up out of his ribcage. He was surprised it didn't come out of his collar.

"Kel'Thuzad!"

He snapped out of it. Modera's face was already red, she wouldn't be able to hold them for long. He thought quickly, any offensive spell he could cast would be too weak, just like her snare. It would only annoy the wyrmkin. The necklace he wore seemed to only be able to counteract so much. Kel'Thuzad glanced around the room looking for any source of inspiration when he saw it: the mural.

The heat runes!

Kel'Thuzad reached out with a little magic to examine the runes. They were perfect- all he needed to do was juice them. Beside him Modera stumbled and the wyrmkin snarled in real time. He needed to act now.

Kel'Thuzad pumped power into the runes, supercharging their output. But, instead of expelling jets of flame the runes turned a haunting blue. The air around the dragonspawn screamed and shimmered like a desert mirage. The lich watched as the dragons stumbled, their dark scutes cracking under the force of the magic. Their screams quickly turned to parched rasps as they clawed at their own throats. When their milky eyes bulged he grabbed Modera and turned away, shielding her from whatever force he’d unleashed.

Behind them the dragonkin thrashed, helpless. The runes popped in quick succession, the spell died.

Their magic was spent.

Kel’Thuzad turned and gasped at the gruesome site before them. In the place of the dragonspawn were two desiccated husks. The skin of their bellies was pulled drum-tight over ribs. Their hollow-eyed faces were frozen in a rictus scream.

“…I thought those were heat runes,” Kel’Thuzad said lamely, his voice regaining its soft reverberation.

“They’re drying runes,” Modera replied dryly, “for the humidity.”

“Oh… drying,” Kel’Thuzad rubbed the back of his neck, the nubs of his spine clicked against his fingers, “I suppose that makes sense- don’t know why I never realized that.”

Kel’Thuzad turned and shrugged, vaguely embarrassed that he never connected the dots, when he saw Modera pale.

He felt his fog freeze. His glamor!

He used too much magic!

Kel’Thuzad looked at his hand and yelped. His bones- there was something wrong. Normally they threw off a silvery sheen. Now they were a dull, pitted gray. Worse, they were covered in a filmy layer of slime. Was this why he had been sweating so much?

Panic shot through him. He'd never seen Modera since becoming a lich. And now he was a horrible, slimy mess!

Everything felt wrong. Congested. Tight. Like his weaves were stretched thin or dried out. Kel’Thuzad glanced at the now dead drying runes. Did he get hit by the blast?

Did Modera get hit? He stole a glance at the archmage. She looked fine, which was a relief, though she was staring at something on his chest.

He followed her gaze and yelped.

Two horrors. The lesser one confirmed yes, he had been caught in the withering blast. His clothes were practically disintegrating! The front of his indigo robes had bleached to a powder blue and the fabric was brittle and fraying. He pulled at one of his now papery sleeves and watched it turn into ribbons.Kel’Thuzad feared the wrappings that bound the bones of his hand together were not long for this world.

Worse still, the mists that usually floated freely within his rib cage congealed and were now stuck to his bones. No wonder he felt plugged up. If it had happened to another lich, or perhaps at another time, Kel’Thuzad would be interested in studying the phenomenon. But being practically indecent in front of one’s old lover puts a damper on academic curiosity.

He felt a tickle in his throat, he tried to clear it but tasted something vile and gagged. The lich coughed- really coughed, not the fake one he did out of social habit, until his voice cracked. He felt something dislodge from his chest and spat a glob of the jelly into his claws.

It wiggled.

What’s happening to me?

Light, he could only imagine what his hair looked like. This was not the controlled reveal Kel'Thuzad had envisioned- which usually involved candles. Or softer lighting. In all the scenarios he daydreamed none of them involved melting. They certainly didn’t involve drooling all over Modera either!

There had to be a way to regain control of the situation. He did just save them from the dragonspawn, that had to count for something!

"Modera, I didn't come here to hurt anyone-" a loud, ill-timed hiss of air escaping from the dragonspawn punctuated that thought, "not you and certainly not-"

Another wave of time magic went through the room, throwing a layer of dust up into the air. Kel’Thuzad ignored the pain in his tusk, his attention was focused on Modera. And her attention had shifted away from him.

“I saw your photos, I met her, Modera.”

The mage ignored him. She was looking for something in the other room. Kel’Thuzad reached out and hesitated, pulling his hand back when he saw her shiver. “Wouldn't you even talk to me?”

Now he had her full attention. Modera rounded on him, just as furious as she was when she found him earlier. “Light- what the hell is the matter with you?” she demanded. Kel’Thuzad flinched at her tone, surprised at the level of vitriol she’d summoned.

“I’m trying to talk to you!”

“I know that!” she snapped, causing Kel’Thuzad to reel, “Can’t you see this isn’t the time? There's more of these things coming to kill us!”

What? Kel’Thuzad looked up to find a massive dragonkin exiting a new swirling portal. Unlike the other two, this one was bipedal. It was so tall that it had to stoop to look at them. Blue lightning crackled between its black scales and it bristled with bony growths and sharp horns. Even its teeth seemed…toothier than normal. It held a long twin bladed glaive in a meaty fist, the other hand was tipped with deadly claws.

Kel’Thuzad had read about these things before. 'Drakonoids.’ Awful name, did not roll off the tongue. It gestured towards the exit and a filmy barrier flared to life.

“There wouldn’t happen to be any secret exits that you might know about?” Kel’Thuzad asked as they began to back-peddle away from the dragonspawn, “Could come in handy.”

“The only way out is through that barrier.”

Only one way out? Seems like a fire hazard…

“I don’t think my little trick with the runes will work again,” Kel’Thuzad said. He didn’t need to check with his magic, the runes were burned up. Modera stepped forward and he felt a surge of magic from her then saw the spell fizzle in his hands.

Modera couldn’t really cast anything here. If he could save her it would prove to her he was himself again.

Well, almost- but she would definitely have to talk to him!

Kel’Thuzad glanced at the door, the filmy purple barrier shimmered, blocking their path. But… it was giving him a crazy idea.

Kel’Thuzad grabbed Modera’s arm, “Do you trust me?”

“No.”

“Too bad,” with a mighty roar the drakonoid charged. Kel’Thuzad jerked Modera closer, wrapping an arm around her waist as a thin purple flame traced a circle around them. “Just hold your breath.”

“Kel- what are-" she started before they phased through the floor.

Chapter Text

Void zones worked by infusing the floor with shadow magic, causing varying degrees of insubstantiation. This was particularly useful in Naxxramas's throne room which was situated above a reservoir of acidic slime. Usually one just needed to know what was under the floor.

Such as a forty foot high ceiling.

Gobs of jelly slapped against the top of his ribcage as they fell through the floor and into the darkened lecture hall. Modera’s scream blocked out the drakonid’s roar of frustration as the stage rushed to meet them.

The lich reacted. A flash of purple magic leapt from his hand and the spell's lattice wrapped around the chandelier. They came to a violent and sudden halt fifteen feet above the ground. Too violent for Kel'Thuzad's slime-coated hands.

"Kel!" Modera cried out as she slipped out of his grasp.

Some tech had the presence of mind to shine a spotlight on the two as they hung in the air. The crowd was treated to the sight of Archmage Modera scrambling to hold onto the lich by his pelvis.

The bones were made slick by the congealed mists. Worse, Kel’Thuzad could feel the jelly squishing between her warm fingers. The sensation sat squarely on the border of pain and pleasure. Everytime Modera shifted her grip it created a… confusing mix of stimuli.

“Looks like Modera found her own Princess Troggina! Or should I say Prince Troggulous?” Harrison Jones said, much to the delight of the crowd.

That cretin! Kel’Thuzad’s growl turned to a squeak at the intrusion in his abdomen.

“Do you have any feathers?" Kel’Thuzad gritted out as he concentrated on maintaining his hold on the leashing spell. With the reagent Modera could at least slow her fall.

"Do I look like I have any feathers you-" Modera grabbed the base of his spine for a stronger hold. Kel’Thuzad yelped at the sudden pressure and kneed Modera in the side. The mage lost her hold on him and fell, hitting the hardwood stage badly. The sound of crunching bone carried over the gasp of the crowd.

"Are you alright?" Kel’Thuzad called down.

"You fucking jackass!"

She was fine.

Kel'Thuzad dangled, twisting in the air as he tried to concoct a plan. He wanted to drop down onto the stage but he couldn’t tell where Modera and Harrison were. Not that he would have minded landing on Jones.

If Harrison got to Modera he would take her deeper into the museum where the dragonkin could exploit her limited magical arsenal. Their only chance at survival was to stick together.

They needed to get out of the building!

A roar from above shifted the energy in the room. The lich squinted up through the beam of light, blind to the threat above them. The drakonid was tired of being forgotten. Swinging below the lich hissed at his own forgetfulness. Though, he did not expect the dragonspawn to try to breach the gap. No matter.

He killed the spell.

The void zone synched shut with a wet rip. Kel'Thuzad stared up at the spot. They’ve never made that noise before.

Kel’Thuzad squinted up through the light. A shadow grew.

The collision was brutal.

The silver glow of the dragonkin’s eyes faded, but the infinite soldier mustered enough energy for its final act. He punched his meaty fist through the lich's pelvic girdle.

Kel'Thuzad howled. The shock, the pain & the sense of utter wrongness broke the leash. Together they fell to the ground, landing in a heap on top of the lecture podium, shattering it.

The lights of the theater went up, revealing a grizzly sight. Half the drakonid lay sprawled out, guts and viscera trailed behind in a green train. Kel'Thuzad lay stunned under the enormous weight of the dragonspawn, “Ow.”

He didn’t want to look. There was something wrong.

Kel’Thuzad couldn’t push the dragon man off of him if his life depended on it. Which it did at this moment. Worse every time he managed to shift some of the weight it drug at his hips, bringing the lich into a more compromising position.

Worse, Harrison was dragging Modera towards one of the wings.

There had to be something he could do to get this thing off of him- fast! Batching two arcane explosions together wouldn’t work, the wards would make the spell too weak. Plus if it did work it might rip his legs off.

And he needed those.

Think, Kel think!

Vibrant green wyrmkin blood pooled next to him.

It was dead!

The lich laughed. Why didn’t he think of this sooner?

Dark magic surged down his arms and into the drakonid’s chest. Kel’Thuzad could feel the power racing through what was left of the corpse, first forming the rudimentary scaffolding and then the movement weaves to attach to it. Seconds later the beast twitched. Then it shifted and Kel’Thuzad realized his mistake.

Finally, the crowd started to scream.

The drakonid tried to push itself up with the lich still attached to its wrist. It pulled him along, Kel’Thuzad hollered for it to stop while his claws scraped against iron scales. And stop it did, putting all its weight on the lich’s sacrum. He clamped his jaws shut to keep from screaming. It felt like the bones of his lower spine and pelvis were being pulled apart.

He didn’t watch the zombie wrench its arm out, but he felt every twist and yank and snap until he was freed. Cracking an eye open he saw a glimmer in the zombie’s eyes. Self-satisfaction at another bit of revenge.

With a growl the lich ripped out the spell work with a violent swipe and watched the zombie fall away.

The crowd was in an uproar. Students and attendants fled for the exit.

Kel’Thuzad wasted no time leaping to his feet and taking off after Harrison and Modera. His hips creaked and wobbled with every step, it felt as if his legs might give out at any moment. But he couldn’t let that stop him now. A shiver of magic went up, heralding another wave of infinite soldiers. As Kel’Thuzad thundered down the rickety steps he couldn’t help but wonder if they were being corralled.

The backstage was crammed full of props for children’s holiday pageants and replica displays of artifacts. He spotted a bad rendition of Harrison on a camel fighting Deathwing and snorted. There was no way he would ever allow himself to be outwitted by that jerk!

Humans and small folk alike were bullied in the lich’s chase. Some scrambled out of his way. Those who tried to impede him were bowled over. Unless they were gnomes, those he just leapt past.

They couldn’t have gone far with Modera’s ankle. Her trail was still fresh enough for his tusks to pick up, but her magical signature criss crossed the whole of the area. Did they know he could track them?

Kel’Thuzad slowed. She worked here.

The whole place smelled like arcane magic and mana lilies!

He swore to himself and rubbed his tusks, one hand coming away slick. The dry static in the air was making them itch. How was he going to find her in this maze?

The congealed mists in his chest tried to spool together to match his anxiety. Instead the jelly wiggled against his spine, creating a tickling sensation. He doubled over and hacked up another mouthful of the foul stuff.

Kel’Thuzad spat it onto the floor. Panting, he stared through his slime-thick hair at the jiggling mass. How much longer could he even stay in this place before…

He saw something out of the corner of his eye.

There ten feet away was another blue glob.

Kel’Thuzad tilted his head- was that? He looked back down at the jelly and laughed. Modera was covered in the stuff!

He only needed to follow his own trail!

His own signature was easy enough to pick out among the crowd, leading him to a heavy stage door. The exit! Kel’Thuzad pushed through it into the bright light of the central research area.

A girl shrieked at the sight of the lich. Lecture goers were still swarming for the great staircase and his reappearance was sending them into a panicked frenzy. Kel’Thuzad pulled himself onto a nearby table to get a better view over the throng.

The air buzzed with so much time magic it made his broken tusk ache. Along the walls the stone warped in weird ways, like a heat mirage shimmering in the desert.

The dragons were coming.

He cupped his hands against his mouth, “Modera!”

A few heads turned, but two in particular.

Kel’Thuzad barked a triumphant laugh- found her. He had to levitate between the tables, closing the gap until he landed close to Modera and a shirtless Harrison Jones.

“I see you managed to take your shirt off, Jones,” Kel’Thuzad said.

“Dad always told me the big ones hit the hardest,” Harrison replied. The archeologist let go of Modera and put up his dukes, “But they’re slow-”

To emphasize Harrison leapt onto the table and danced inside Kel’Thuzad’s reach. The lich watched. For a moment he was utterly baffled. He turned to Modera, “I can’t believe you work with this person.”

“I used to work with you.”

“I know- what a downgrade,” Kel’Thuzad watched Harrison hit him with a haymaker in the chest. It didn’t hurt. The archeologist was a far cry from the R.O.I.D.ed out freaks that used to attack Naxxramas. He clenched his fists, the desire to punch Harrison was very strong. The Prince Trogulous comment was still fresh in his mind.

Instead, he opted for a less violent solution. Once again the purple lattice shot out and snaked around Harrison’s chest. With a jerk Kel’Thuzad tossed the offending archeologist across the room.

“Glad that's over,” he turned to Modera, “Finally we can-”

Bang!

Kel’Thuzad felt something jerk him back. He clutched his chest, panicked by the burning sensation in his ribs. Modera screamed.

“What happened? Are you-?” he looked up to find her furiously wiping globs of blue goo off her face. Modera was fine. Though something about the scene tickled him. He chuckled, dislodging more of the jelly and turning his laugh into a wracking cough. This time something rattled as it came up.

There in the jiggling blue goop was a thorium slug.

Kel’Thuzad picked it out with two claws, “Someone shot me!”

That explained the pain. He glanced down at his chest- there was a smoking hole in his robes.

Who the hell- but the lich didn’t need to seethe for long. The culprit was clear.

Brann.

The dwarven prince stood at the top of the stairs, flanked by three large marble golems, furiously reloading his weapon. Worse, he was blocking their escape.

Kel'Thuzad poked two of his fingers through the hole in his robes and waggled at the explorer, "Haven't you heard? I don't have a heart."

"Ach, the next one is going in your head, bastard!"

The lich wasn't sure if one shot could kill him. And the golems…better not risk it. Situations like this called for drastic measures. Dastardly measures that only some who called themselves ‘archlich’ could pull off.

So he would make them not relish the thought of fighting him.

Kel’Thuzad pulled Modera up by the back of her shirt. A human shield. Though he was careful not to let any of her weight rest on her injured leg.

"My head, eh?" he stooped until he was at the mage’s height. Modera squirmed, but he tightened his grip. Not enough for his claws to bite into flesh, but enough for her to feel them. With his free hand he held her face in place and grinned at Brann, "How good is your aim?"

"Kel, put me down, you're embarrassing yourself."

He tapped the side of Modera’s face, silencing her, "That's enough, thank you."

Brann was similarly unconvinced by Kel'Thuzad's gambit. The dwarf holstered his gun. With a grin he motioned to the golems, "Get 'em boys!"

Kel'Thuzad took half a step back as their stone eyes took stock of him. "Now- Brann, you wouldn't want to do anything too hasty," he said quickly.

"Dwarves never do anything hasty."

"You value the life of your colleague so little?"

Brann shrugged, he had an evil glint in his eyes, "Do it. Kill her."

"What!"

"You heard me, do it you stupid twat!"

Goddamn it, this hostage situation wasn't working at all like he had envisioned! With any other person this probably would have succeeded. Was it because he knew Brann? Brann probably knew about his relationship with Modera.

Hell, the dwarf probably knew about Vael.

Damn it, Brann knew everything!

Any threats Kel’Thuzad could make were toothless.

Crack!

Sand rained to the floor as the portals blazed to life. Behind him the dragonkin breached the library. Low slung wyrmkin and their bi-pedal cousins stalked into the grand hall, their silver eyes fixed on Kel’Thuzad and Modera.

The lich took another step back, hovering in midair between the row of tables. There was something about their chrono-magic that let them bypass the building's security measures. Kel’Thuzad never had much of an interest in time magic, but now he was beginning to see its usefulness.

Even if it was unfortunately being used against him.

Damn Brann! Didn’t he understand the danger they were all in?

The power gems in the golem’s eyes flashed red.

“Warning. Intruder Alert,” came an uncharacteristically pleasant and feminine voice, “Unauthorized presence detected: Infinite Dragonkin.”

Kel’Thuzad barked a laugh. His luck was starting to turn! With Brann’s sentries occupying the dragonkin they could finally make their escape. Kel’Thuzad threw Modera over his shoulder and slipped past the golems, giving Brann a little wave goodbye.

Light, he realized, I am kidnapping her!

Modera fought against him every step of the way. She beat at his back and pulled at his horns. It didn't hurt, but he did cry out when she grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked.

"Cut that out!"

"Let go of me you brute!" she said, finally having unraveled his silencing spell.

The top of the atrium steps was a mess. Kel’Thuzad blinked hard to clear his vision. Trash, loose papers and Harrison themed paraphernalia blurred together. However, there were no people to stop him- he was home free!

Almost.

Modera was not to be ignored. "Put me down! What are you thinking, Kel'Thuzad!"

Truthfully, he didn’t exactly have a plan. He'd been forced to improvise ever since he let himself into her office. “I thought we could go to Naxxramas. We have healers, I'll get you some dinner- you'll be back in the Violet Citadel by nightfall, what do you say?"

"Are you insane?” Modera pulled out more of his hair, no doubt because it got a reaction out of the lich the first time. It didn’t hurt, but that didn’t mean he wanted her to do that. Kel’Thuzad adjusted her into a more forward position and glared.

“You can’t leave Brann and Harrison back there!” she said.

“Brann will be fine, I’ve seen him survive much worse. These dragons want to fight us here because of the spell dampeners. If we can get out of the museum, I doubt they will follow and if they do…” he trailed off as they slid down the brass banister.

Modera scowled at him, “What about Harrison.”

What about Harrison! “Didn’t he just fight off Deathwing with a shoe or something? I think he’ll be okay.”

If Modera had a witty rejoinder, Kel'Thuzad missed it. The smell of chrono magic was sudden and overwhelming. It sent a sharp wave of pain through the lich's tusk like a rusty nail driving through a dry sinus.

The lich skid to an uncoordinated halt. He shook his head and tried to scrape the excess resin off his tusk, hoping to dull the sense.

“Amazing!” Modera said, “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“What is it?” Kel’Thuzad asked. He blinked hard again, trying to clear his vision. Since the dragonkin’s reappearance everything had begun to cloud over, like his vision was smudged.

Or like the mists in his eye sockets were starting to congeal.

“Don’t touch it,” Modera snapped, “It’s- I don’t know, a bubble,”

He grunted and leaned his head forward, blindly using his tusks to suss out what it might be. He could vaguely make out some sort of filmy gray barrier. Beyond that he could sense the little flames of the living- where they stood, unmoving. The lich tried to get closer but the power radiating away from the bubble spell overrode his natural curiosity. It smelled like danger.

“I think those dragons wanted to corral us into this,” he said.

Modera dug her fingers into the slats between his ribs, making Kel’Thuzad squeak, as she tried to get a better view, “Those people, are they-?”

“Alive.”

She looked up at him, “You can tell?”

Kel’Thuzad nodded. The people who fled the lecture were alive, but frozen in place. “Do you know anything about time magic?”

Modera shook her head. They couldn’t dispel it.

There had to be another exit.

Modera grabbed one of his tusks and pushed his head, turning it to the right. The only thing he could make out was a large smudged purpley-greeny thing. A portal, though what was on the other side troubled him.

It smelled like death.

Kel’Thuzad took off in the opposite direction into the natural history wing.

The empty sockets of long dead creatures watched as they made their way deeper into the building. The lich could barely see the exotic animals as they ran- really only recognizing the devilsaur skeleton because it was so large. It could be nothing else. Everything else he just sensed as a corpse: something big that could fly, lots of little furry things, something big with horns.

And something with sharp edges arranged at shin height.

Kel’Thuzad swore as he bumped into it.

He stumbled, almost falling. The lich caught himself on the edge of another display that wobbled threateningly. For a moment he stood, bent at an awkward angle, as he got his bearings. Modera was forced to cling to his shoulders lest she fall.

Being cut off from frost magic had taken its toll on his body. Kel’Thuzad felt drained, feverish. His clothes were soaked and heavy. The congealed fog in his chest and head labored his breathing. He could barely see his hand in front of his face. Even his thoughts were beginning to feel sluggish and disconnected.

But he couldn’t stop. Kel’Thuzad pushed himself up. Vael’s face burned bright in his mind as he staggered onwards.

If he failed or Modera died, he would leave their daughter an orphan.

The titanic skull of Tyranistraz loomed over the two mages. The dragon queen’s old consort had been a fierce and noble dragon in life. In death he served as an oddity for children and students to gawk at or for researchers to snog behind.

The display was as extravagant as Kel’Thuzad remembered.

“What are we doing over here?” Modera hissed as they slipped behind the display.

Kel’Thuzad deposited Modera before sliding to the floor, his back leaving a greasy streak on the particle board. Now sitting, he worried he might not be able to stand again.

“I thought you might fancy a bit of necking,” Kel’Thuzad closed his eyes, hoping to clear his vision while he listened for sounds of fighting. Instead he only heard Modera's deafening glare. He cracked an eye, "Maybe another time?"

“Be serious.”

He grunted a reply. The smudging only slightly improved. If his vision went out, he didn’t want to think about what would fail next. There wasn't much of him left.

"I have two plans,” he said, “First, how is your leg?"

"Broken."

He pushed himself to his knees and grabbed Modera’s injured leg. The mage recoiled at his chill touch, but Kel’Thuzad held her firm. He pulled off her boot and sock, careful not to jostle her ankle too much and made a thinking sound. Already he could see an angry bruise marring her pale flesh.

"I think I can fix this," Kel'Thuzad said as he probed the area, getting the feel for the shape of the fractures in his mind's eye. If she pulled any tendons he couldn’t tell, which he interpreted as a good sign.

“You think?”

“Well… the theory is sound.”

Kel’Thuzad had not tested any of the experimental healing spells. On paper they operate similarly to how field repairs worked for the undead. The lattice should bind the broken bone together and accelerate the body's natural healing process. He was mostly confident it wouldn’t lead to any side effects. “It might hurt though, it needs to be set.”

"Theory? Kel, I’m not going to be your-!" Modera’s protest was cut off by his quick silencing spell. He gave her ankle a swift jerk. Modera tried to pull away but his grip was like cold iron. Kel’Thuzad grimaced at her silent screaming, her face wrought with pain and anger. He felt a little guilty, but it wouldn't have worked as well if she was able to stew and tense up.

Dark magic danced along his claws as he guided the spell over her leg. He watched the lattice sink into her flesh and begin to mend the injury. "It's working!"

He looked up, delighted, in time to see Modera’s other foot lash out. He tried to lurch away but Modera still managed to make contact with his injured tusk. Enough contact to snap it off.

The lich made an inhuman shriek of pain. Black spots filled his vision as he clutched his face, a futile attempt to sooth the pain. She kicked him!

Freed from his grasp the mage scuttled away to examine her ankle, watching as the spell cycled to completion. The injury was healed. Any lingering magic was just reinforcing the bone. "It still hurts," she said bitterly.

"I'm not a healer," he replied, matching her tone. Kel’Thuzad gingerly felt his face and glared. His head was already starting to feel off kilter. Now he was really going to need to reincarnate. “You didn’t need to kick me like that, it hurt.”

Her lip curled up in a smile that looked more like a satisfied snarl, “Good.”

He let out a huff, but instead of blowing a cloud of mist into her face the congealed fog merely bubbled. Not the intimidating or rude response he wanted.

A crash from the atrium brought their attention back to the task at hand.

"What's this plan you mentioned?" Modera asked.

Kel'Thuzad gestured vaguely to himself and the surrounding dead things. "I thought that part might be obvious."

++++++

Modera limped as quickly as she could back towards the atrium, following the hanging flock of pterrordax out like she had done hundreds of times. While her break had healed, the surrounding tissue was still swollen and sore. A real healer would have been able to take down the inflammation.

But Kel'Thuzad was not a healer, Modera reminded herself. A necromancer was as far away from a healer as possible. Though, she supposed she was lucky. If any other mage were here she would still be unable to walk.

Although, any other mage would not be in the crosshairs of these dragons.

She swore under her breath. What in light's name could the scourge have done to piss these things off?

Being on the bad side of one dragonflight was one thing. But to be on the shit list for the dragons that specialized in time magic was literally every other thing, simultaneously.

There was something ahead. The squeal of stone being ripped apart made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

Modera slid behind the display of a huge iceshard bear close to the entrance of the natural history section. From here she could get a gauge on what was going on in the atrium. She peeked around the taxidermy and felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.

A mountain of muscle dominated the atrium. Scales ranging from bronze, to a patinated teal, to dark slate glittered with each shuddering breath. Claws the size of trowels scraped against the marble, leaving ruts in the once pristine floor. Every movement of its wings no matter how slight kicked up a cloud of dust and debris from the fleeing lecture goers.

A long, sinuous tail whipped about behind the beast, the blade of bone at the end dancing as though by its own malevolent intelligence. Modera trained on the bladed tip as it weaved about, searching for its window to strike at a golem. When the dragon struck out with its forepaw to smash one of the defenders its tail sliced back, cleaving the massive ice bear in two.

Modera covered her mouth and quickly slid back behind what was left of the display.

She held onto each shallow breath for as long as she could but her heart pounded in her ears. So loud she worried it might betray her position to the dragon.

How the hell were they going to take on a dragon without magic? She couldn’t fight and when she left him, Kel’Thuzad looked like he was about to die. Again.

Kel’Thuzad had asked her to scout the entrance and report back- which she had only agreed to do on the off chance that Brann and Harrison might have fought off all the dragonspawn. She never expected to find a dragon in the atrium.

The lich was vague on details. Modera understood it involved necromancy. Only, there really wasn’t any material for him to work with. The big exhibits, such as the devilsaur, were plaster replicas. Everything else was a freeze-dried taxidermy like what was left of this bear.

She peeked around the taxidermy again, the dragon was still occupied with the golems.

The dragon was smaller than others she had faced, a fact that Modera took little comfort in. It was still a dragon, it just meant it would have an easier time maneuvering in the cramped quarters of the museum. Even from this far away she could feel the coarse power bleeding off of it. It wasn’t like standing near Kel’Thuzad. A chill ran down her spine at the thought of being near him again. But he couldn’t compare to the overwhelming vastness of a dragon.

The corrupted bronze did not look like the blue or red dragons the archmage had fought in the past. It was thin and lean, adapted for life in a desert and slipping through the sands of time. Each of its movements was light, deliberate and calculated. Like a cat's.

Like a cat, this dragon liked to play with its food, batting around a golem before shearing its head clean off.

Modera only just saw its tail twitch before the dragon struck, burying the bladed tip into the chest of another golem with a loud crack.

Modera ducked. A cold bead of sweat traveled down her back, His plan wasn’t going to work.

Unless, Modera glanced at the statues near the entrance, alpha securitrons. To the undiscerning eye, they just looked like statues of hooded titan keepers. But they were actually advanced security golems, enhanced with designs stolen from Blackwing’s Lair.

Maybe these could distract the dragon for long enough for…for them to come up with a better plan. Hopefully that damned lich had something more clever than ‘raise the museum’ up his sleeve.

The activation panel was close by, thankfully. It could activate both of the alphas. Unfortunately, it was hidden in the pillar right next to the dragon.

Modera glanced between at the dragon’s twitchy tail and the control panel. It wasn’t far, she could-

“All alone, Archmage?”

Modera screwed her eyes shut. Facing Kel’Thuzad was one thing. At least he used to be human.

A dragon was something arrogant, so wholly other.

“I smell you there,” the dragon called. Her voice was deep, fitting for such a large creature, but it had an ancient quality to it, beyond the dragon’s actual years. Like a breath from an unsealed tomb.

It wanted to talk- a good sign. Modera exhaled slowly and stood. All the blue dragons she encountered during the Nexus War droned on and on about the strength of their convictions and how mortals were abusing magic, clearly more concerned with the sounds of their own voices than the greater conflict. Modera wasn’t a gambler, but she would wager that this ‘infinite’ dragon might fall into the same category.

More importantly, it wasn’t killing her, “Teradormi I presume?"

The dragon sniffed at her. Her tail was curled up over her back like a scorpion’s, ready to strike. Black machine blood dripped off the blade onto the marble floor. She watched her with a predator's laziness from over the remains of the bear.

“I can’t allow you to continue attacking these people,” Modera said.

“I’m not attacking these people, you are,” the dragon replied. Teradormi lowered her head so she was at eye level with the mage and snaked her long neck around the display. Modera steeled herself and took a step back, closer to the control panel, “The decisions you make on this day will ripple outwards, filling the world with strife for years to come. The bronzes might be content to sit on their laurels, but we are not.”

Modera balked, her? Strife? “Are you sure you don’t mean Kel’Thuzad?” she asked, “the lich lord trying to reform Atiesh?”

“Atiesh, how quaint,” Teradormi said, as she prowled closer. Her wings flexed, knocking over the bear’s ass and taking out an Aqir obelisk with it. The obsidian monument wobbled on its dias before falling to the ground, exploding into jagged chunks and forcing Modera to jump back.

But, at least now she was almost within striking distance of the control panel, “Quaint! Who knows what Kel’Thuzad will do with the knowledge in Karazhan- he-”

Teradormi interrupted her with a laugh that sounded like sand grating against a boulder, “Kel’Thuzad does not control his own destiny. He hasn’t since he first traveled to Northrend.”

Modera watched the dragon’s face as it seemed to shift in and out of possibility. Phased shadow; injured her maw bloodied and snout covered in deep slashes; in another she appeared undead, face gaunt and eyes sunken pits.

“The lich king,” Modera said, brow furrowed. He was still enthralled.

Another laugh, the dragon's face settled, solid and whole. “Still so short sighted,” Teradormi bared her teeth, showing off a mouth of glittering black knives beneath a pair of unmistakably hungry eyes. The dragon tensed.

Modera lifted her arms, covering her face, expecting a killing blow. Until she heard something that, as a curator, concerned her: the metallic twang of cables snapping.

A haunting green light illuminated the dragon's face. Teradormi turned, snaking her long neck up, eyes fixed on something at the other end of the hall. From the back of the wing an unearthly roar challenged the infinite.

Her fears were realized by the clatter and crack of rocks hitting the ground. Soon the air was full of animal shrieks. Movement above Teradormi's head caught Modera’s attention.

The pterrordax fossil moved.

Her eyes widened- Kel’Thuzad was really bringing the museum to life!

Modera dove for the control panel as the now living pterrordax landed on the dragon's back. She flipped the cage and slapped the red activation button.

Nothing.

She hit it again. And again.

Teradormi's bulk slammed into the pillar, knocking Modera off balance. Undead pterradaxes mobbed the dragon like a flock of crows.

They beat their fossilized wings against her face as they tried to claw at her eyes. Others attacked with their beaks, most were repelled by the dragon’s hard scales but a few sank deep into the softer flesh of her neck, drawing bright, green blood. Teradormi reared, catching one of the offending fliers in her powerful jaws and crunched, killing the spells reanimating it. The ones pecking at her wings she pulverized against another display, shattering them.

Modera knew how many pterrordax were on display, they weren't going to last forever.

The mage scrambled back to the control panel. Why didn't it work, it was brand new! She was about to pull herself up when- under the console. The wires! She pulled, they came away without any resistance.

They weren’t terminated.

She swore, she knew letting Harrison oversee the new security installations was a mistake!

It was fixable at least. She took the end of one wire and, with a little effort, stripped the jacket with her teeth.

Teradormi caught another pterradax in her jaws, “Paltry!” she roared before whipping her head down and slamming the fossil into the floor.

“Paltry?” came a scoff from on high. Atop the broken base of the obelisk, mounted on the spine of a great skeletal ram, Kel’Thuzad gazed down with imperious contempt. “I am the Archlich of Naxxramas, master and founder of the Cult of the Damned, you impudent wyrm.”

In response to Kel’Thuzad’s words another pterradax collided with the dragon’s face, as though the great beast had been slapped by a mighty hand.

He said he was only going to cause a little damage to the exhibits, not completely ruin one installation and cavort around on Toothgnasher- he was a priceless specimen!

Teradormi tossed her head, throwing the offending fossil aside, “These pathetic creations can’t harm me.”

“They weren’t meant to," Kel’Thuzad replied. He motioned to the devilsaur's display to his right, black magic gathered along his arms. He shot the spell at the devilsaur skeleton and…waited. Modera paused to watch him, perplexed. Did he…?

The lich muttered something to himself before attempting to reanimate it again. The dragon, meanwhile, watched, bemused as the Archlich of Naxxramas waved his hands about ineffectually.

Same result.

“It’s plaster you boob,” Modera said.

Kel’Thuzad did a double take and squinted at the devilsaur skeleton, “What?”

“Plaster! It’s plaster!”

“Yeah, that doesn’t work with what I do,” he looked back at the dragon who now seemed to loom over him, “Why would you display plaster?”

Modera pointed to the broken obelisk, “Because of this!”

Kel’Thuzad opened his mouth to respond, the crash of heavy stone colliding with the marble floor cut him off. That was the other obelisk.

Modera turned to assess that damage, and gasped. The giant skull of Tyranistraz was flying, no- charging through the air towards them!

And it was knocking over all the displays!

The Red Dragon’s skull was massive enough to fit Teradormi's head in its jaws. Teradormi looked up from the pterrordax she had pinned just in time to rear up onto her haunches. Using her long tail and wings for balance the slate-scaled dragon channeled a spell at the skull, freezing it in its tracks. She chuckled with some effort, “Is this all the power the Scourge can muster?”

“Oh, you wanted more?” Kel’Thuzad lifted a hand high into the air. Poisonous green magic radiated outward, sinking into every taxidermy in the front of the museum.

Light, she realized, he really was bringing the museum to life.

For a moment there was a horrible stillness, the only sounds came from the dragon shifting her weight. Even Modera was frozen, kneeling in place holding the two stripped wires waiting for something to happen.

Then came the chattering cacophony. Every chipmunk, squirrel and fisher; every pheasant, quail and eagle. Every animal from the slopes of Hyjal and even half the bear bayed for dragon blood.

The little woodland zombies swarmed. The rodents scurried up Teradormi's tail, nibbling as they went. Her scales were too tough for their gnawing teeth, but the soft spots between the webbing of her wings were easy enough to pierce. Even the bear dragged itself over to attack the dragon’s feet.

And in the center of it all Kel'Thuzad cackled like a madman, his clawed hands raised in self-adulation.

Every bite and scratch whittled away at the Dragon’s concentration and the skull of Tyranistraz inched closer. Teradormi tried to flap her wings to shake the creatures off but the hall was too narrow for her to extend them properly. She gnashed her teeth at the lich, if she did anything more she would be caught in Tyranistraz’s gaping jaws.

Still Modera knew his little impromptu army would only last for so long. What they needed was a closer. The wires were ready. As soon as they touched the lights of the control panel blinked to life.

Finally, Modera slammed the activation button.

Arcane power thrummed deep within the pillars. Stone grated on stone as the golems took a step forward off the dais, their feet crashing to the floor. The red power gems in their eyes flared to life, flashing as its head turned to the rodent-harried wyrm thrashing about the hall.

Without a moment’s hesitation, a golem approached the dragon from behind and, rather unceremoniously, brought both its fists down on the beast’s hip with a terrible, wet crack.

Teradormi bellowed, losing her balance and her grip on the spell. The skull was loose.

Kel’Thuzad kicked Toothgnasher into motion, scooping up Modera so they could gallop away towards the exit before things got ugly.

“Bloody brilliant! Did you see that, Moody? We did it!” Kel’Thuzad cheered.

Modera expected Kel to be pleased with himself, she didn’t expect him to press his teeth into her cheek. He was like ice against her flesh but her skin burned. Not from the cold, but from the raw magic contained within his body. The contact only lasted a moment before he pulled away, dragging his tusk against the nape of her neck.

“That was quick thinking with the golems,” he said.

Modera mumbled a thanks as she rubbed whatever goo he was secreting off her face. Over his shoulder she could see the dragon struggle to fend off the securitrons and the skull. Even a few tenacious taxidermies still harassed the poor creature.

Green blood painted the pillars and floor from the wounds in her back and neck. Any hope of saving the other displays were soon dashed as the battling horrors smashed everything in their path. With a roar of frustration Teradormi locked eyes with the mage before phasing away.

Her plans were thwarted, this time.

"I, er, think some of the displays are still salvageable."

Modera turned her attention to her other problem.

"What part?" Modera was certain the whole natural history wing would be shut down for months after today.

"The devilsaur-" he cut himself off when he saw her stony expression, “what I meant to say is, maybe I could help you fix it?”

She gaped at him and looked away, eyes casting about for something that could even be salvaged. With the enchantment lifted the people trapped within the bubble were allowed to leave the library. There was nothing but trash, rubble and tattered, mangled taxidermies left in the atrium. “Are you going to put all the little squirrels back together?”

“That might be a lot of work to do by myself, but maybe it's a project for the three of us?”

Modera blinked. The three of them? He…wanted to see them? Suddenly it all clicked into place. The lecture, her office- was he ever after the staff? A hard lump formed in her throat, Modera didn’t trust herself to look back at him. Light, please, let him be in there.

“Is that why you came today?” she asked as they rode through the entrance.

She was answered by a hollow thunk.

Toothgnasher’s legs gave, its body held together by wire and its display supports as the magic animating it died. Modera had to grab onto his giant horns before she toppled over the ram. Had her question caught Kel off guard?

Or was he writhing on the ground back at the entrance.

"Kel!" Modera slid off the skeletal ram, tweaking her ankle on the dismount. The mage limped over and felt the pressure of the dampening wards restrict her magic again.

The lich contorted in silent agony, his hands flexed into claws, his back arched so much it didn't touch the ground. Even his eyes seem to blindly fix on a point someplace over her head. The library around him was reacting too, lights flickering with the influx of power.

Modera grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled him back until his feet cleared the entrance. Only then did his body go limp. Modera slumped next to him, still holding onto his robes. The acrid smell of burned mana filled the air as blue sparks arced between his ribs.

She looked back at the entrance and saw the barrier flicker again as it reached equilibrium.

The barrier.

It prevented people from leaving the building without first checking out their books. Normally a magic user might feel the sting of a small mana drain if they walked into it. But a lich’s body was made entirely of magic.

She looked down to find herself absently petting his hair. It was as thick and silky as she remembered it being, even if it was slicked with slime. After a moment’s hesitation she continued. “Oh, Kelly, what were you thinking?”

About northrend? About today? She watched his chest rise and fall as he drew shallow, sobbing breaths. Modera closed her eyes for a moment and tried to avoid the question she asked herself for the last ten years. The answers wouldn't be revealed here.

Besides, there was a more immediate question to distract her: what was he trying to steal?

Modera reached into his pack and rummaged around for a moment, pulling out a handful of strawberry candies- from her office? She set those aside for the moment. Finally her fingers found something more substantial, a book. Length Differential of Troll Perineums-- the troll paper? That troll paper?

Modera choked a laugh. Then another. Soon she couldn’t stop.

Modera, Archmage of the Kirin Tor, Liason to the Explorers League and Member of the Council of Six was sitting on the ground struck with a sudden spell of the giggles. She let the book slide out of her hands as she tried to stifle her laughter. There was something so absurd about the situation she found herself in, the mage didn’t know exactly how to process it.

Kel’Thuzad mustered what little strength he had to grab Modera’s wrist. His hand was warm from his encounter with the barrier. The lich rasped a little laugh of his own. “Don’t worry,” she said, fighting through the giggles, “we’ll have plenty of time to catch up when you’re in the Violet Hold."

The lich moaned a response as Modera patted his hand. The Violet Hold was Dalaran's extra secure prison for dangerous demons, wizards and anyone who embarrassed the Kirin Tor. Kel’Thuzad basically checked all three boxes. Nothing would make the magic city happier than seeing him locked up for the rest of eternity.

And, it would give her time to figure out what his intentions were.

“Modera! I’m coming to save you!” Harrison yelled from the top of the lobby.

The mage turned, “Harrison?”

Harrison Jones, still shirtless, raced towards them holding what looked like the head of a granite statue. What's that for?

Harrison skid to a halt before them and didn't ask any questions. With a roar he lifted the stone, and Modera looked on in stunned silence as Kel’Thuzad’s face was violently replaced with a grimacing Gurubashi totem.

Chapter Text

Twelve Years Ago

Modera woke to fog kissing her face. She reached out, eyes still closed, but found only empty air. She was alone.

Modera was visiting Kel’Thuzad, her friend and fellow council member, up at his retreat in the high country. Well, he was a little more than her friend. She smoothed a hand over his side of the bed. Cold.

Where did he get off to?

She slid out of bed and into a satin robe, leaving her hair unmade for now. She could do it in a bit. For now she was curious. Modera padded down the rough wooden floor of the hallway to the kitchen. Each step made her wish she had just waited in bed. Her legs were sore from yesterday's hike, and their evening was just as vigorous.

The kitchen was plain and crowded. The shelves were cluttered with knick knacks and drying plants. Kel’Thuzad was not present, but he had been there recently. The kettle was heating over a low fire, and on the table was a bowl of strawberries freshly picked from the garden.

The mage helped herself to a few. The strawberries were smaller than the ones down south, but redder and packed with more flavor. She absently ate a handful, craning her neck to see if she could spot him out the window.

“Kel?” she called, as she made her way to the back door.

The fog this morning was thick and showed no signs of burning off soon. It cast a contemplative quiet over the dell that swallowed her voice. Maybe he hadn’t heard her.

Kel’Thuzad maintained a small garden on the property. It was mostly roses, hardier vegetables and herbs that didn’t require constant fussing over. Modera carefully stepped out onto the damp flagstones and made her way through it.

Still nowhere to be seen. And she had come to the end of the flagstones. Modera looked beyond the garden at the old barn that loomed at the edge of the property. The door was ajar and she could see a light coming from the inside.

Playing with that foul creature. Modera frowned to herself and stepped out onto the wet grass, heedless of her bare feet.

“Kel,” she called again, “Are you in there?”

"Yes- come in,” came the reply, “In the back.”

Modera peeked her head in. The barn was well lit by a string of mage lights. Unlike the kitchen it was mostly clutter free, only consisting of four stalls and a hay loft. Two stalls were occupied. One by Kel’Thuzad’s horse, Blossom, and the other by his current research subject.

Modera entered. Now she regretted not wearing shoes as she stepped gingerly over the rough dirt and decomposed granite floor of the barn.

Kel’Thuzad did not turn. Instead he was frowning at something in the stall in front of him. The other mage must have been up for some time, he looked well rested. He wore his gray hair long, maybe too long as it fell almost below his shoulders. His brows were knitted together in deep thought.

She sidled up next to him and frowned as well. There in the stall chained to the wall and surrounded by a warding seal was a ghoul. The creature ignored them as it greedily chewed through a hard loaf of conjured bread.

It was impossible to think it had once been a living person. Its skin had completely rotted off its face, leaving a hole where its nose had been and exposing the bone and gray muscle beneath. Its teeth and hands were mutated almost to the point that they’re only use was for the ripping and tearing of flesh. The thing’s muscles had atrophied in death. It couldn’t stand up straight and it could only shuffle about on its knuckles like an ape.

“I thought you were getting rid of this thing,” Modera said as she watched it tear another piece of bread off with its mouth.

“His name is Robbie,” Kel’Thuzad corrected, “and I am. Soon. There’s a few more tests I want to run first.”

Modera sighed, “We aren’t supposed to work this week.”

“I’m not. Not really.”

“Why are you out here then?”

“I forgot to pick a lemon after I came in from the garden, then I thought I should feed Robbie while you were still in bed. That way I wouldn’t have to do it later,” Kel’Thuzad finally took his eyes off the ghoul. He raised an eyebrow at Modera’s robe and bare feet, “What are you doing out here?”

“You weren’t there when I woke up,” Modera said as she slid her arms around his waist.

Kel’Thuzad turned into her embrace and murmured an apology. He was a head taller than her and bent to kiss Modera so she wouldn't have to stretch up onto her toes. She let him deepen the kiss and melted into his arms, forgetting for a moment what was watching them.

A gurgle from the stable soon brought them back to reality. Kel'Thuzad pulled away with a little chuckle, "Those were supposed to be a surprise."

"The strawberries?"

"I was going to bring you breakfast. Maybe I lost track of time," Kel'Thuzad said with a glance over at his ghoul, "let's get you back inside."

Kel’Thuzad swept her off her feet, carrying Modera like a bride. She blushed, “Kelly, don’t, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Nonsense, you’re light as a feather!” Kel’Thuzad said with a strained grin.

Modera didn’t really want to protest too much. Truthfully, she liked when he held her. Even after years of dating it made her heart skip a beat. She rested her head on his shoulder and looked up at his face. He was more red than tan as they reached the barn door. “Let’s walk together, the grass is soft,” Mordera suggested.

Kel’Thuzad grunted and let her slide down while he tended to the door. With it closed it was almost easy to forget about the monster that lurked inside.

By the looks of things the fog wasn’t going to burn off any time soon, and the clouds Modera could see were dark.

“How do you feel?” he asked as they made their way back towards the house.

“Just a little sore,” Modera said. She grabbed his hand and twined her fingers with his. He gave hers a little squeeze.

“That’s good, I was worried you would be too worn out after… that hike.”

Modera let out a small laugh, “How can I be worn out when you’ve already done half a day's worth of chores? What more do you have to do to that thing anyway?”

They’d reached the house. "My spell map is only about half done," Kel’Thuzad stopped at the door to step out of his boots before entering. He was wearing old socks, Modera noted, two of his toes poked out through holes. “But I did make an interesting discovery."

Modera frowned at the back of his head, "How can you tell? That thing looks like it would chew your hand off if you tried to touch it."

"He's not that bad if you feed him first," Kel'Thuzad replied, "there's no fel influence in any of the spellwork, which is mostly good. Now this is just a thought, but I have a feeling that if we encounter Orcish Necromancy again we can probably break the spellwork animating the corpses, because that does use a fel foundation."

“How useful is that discovery now though?” Modera asked. Back in the kitchen the kettle had still not come to a boil. She suspected the flames were magically triggered to stay low unless Kel’Thuzad was in the room. “The Dark Portal is closed and the orcs pacified.”

“It could always open again,” Kel’Thuzad said as he opened the larder, “and there are orcs all over, not confined to internment camps. Just picture it- a warlock has summoned some sort of very scary bone giant. I show up, see there's too many inverted triangles in its construction and- boom! No more giant.”

Modera took her seat with a smile, “Sounds dramatic.”

He gave her a look over the door of the cupboard, “Drama has its place on the battlefield.”

Suppose that was true, though he would know more than her. The worst she had to deal with were Troggs and the occasional highwayman.

“What are you staring at in there?” she asked, he had been rummaging in the larder for an unreasonable amount of time.

Glass clinked together as he rearranged something. Finally, "Would you rather have ham or bacon?”

“Bacon,” Modera replied, as she nibbled on another strawberry, “Extra crispy, please”

“Have I ever not made it extra crispy?”

“No,” she said as she took a bite, “but I wanted to make sure you knew that’s how I want it.”

“Yes, dear.”

Modera watched as he prepped the bacon, taking care to slice it thin so that it would crip nicely. She reached for another strawberry. The damn things were addictive, “Why is it good that your little monster isn’t tainted with fel magic?”

"Well, it tells us there is no fel magic leaking out of Karazhan," Kel'Thuzad replied, busing himself again with the larder as he replaced the unused bacon, "which is good. Unfortunately it means those reports coming out of Raven Hill are most likely accurate."

“You don’t mean those cranks are actually on to something do you?”

Kel’Thuzad made a thinking sound as he pulled a skillet down from the rack.

Mana fallout from Karazhan was a serious risk in the southlands. It poisoned the lands in the pass and to the west, turning Brightwood into the foreboding Duskwood. But reports with The Dead Rise!, emblazoned on their covers didn’t exactly spur the serious to action. If anything it had the opposite effect. Most treated it like a sideshow or some other sensational story from The Violet Express. As if it belonged sandwiched between baseless rumors and tawdry gossip.

“They are a bit crank-ish, but they are right about one thing: the fallout is spreading, because Robbie was captured in Moonbrook, not Raven Hill,” Kel’Thuzad replied.

But… that was almost a hundred miles away from Brightwood, and even further from Karazhan.

The savory smell and sizzle of bacon frying in its own fat filled the kitchen.

“Antonidas needs to fight harder for us to study there,” Kel’Thuzad said, “It’s the Kirin Tor's duty to investigate magical phenomena, not those cranks as you say.”

"It's not so easy to make a case when you're up here acting like a crank yourself," Modera teased.

Kel'Thuzad scoffed and shot her a look from over his shoulder, "I have a permit for that thing. The Lord's seal should stop any sheriff or paladin’s snooping."

"The fact Rivendare is letting you do this is concerning enough. What does Julian want in exchange?"

“Nothing, he’s just funding research,” he said lightly, “is it so hard to believe that he would want to help the southerners?”

“Yes, when dark magic is involved,” Modera said, more serious now, “You’ll turn to necromancy.”

"Staring at a ghoul hardly qualifies me to be a necromancer."

“For anyone else maybe. If you stare at that thing long enough you might become a master.”

“If you’re trying to get extra bacon, it’s working,” Kel’Thuzad said with a sly smile, “Although, to be a master I might need to take it apart too.”

"Poor Robbie," Modera replied. She looked down at the strawberries again, "it's about appearances though. I do worry about you, sometimes."

The kettle whistled, swallowing Kel’s reply. The conversation died down as Kel’Thuzad prepped the rest of the meal.

Modera made a small pile of strawberry stems. She knew what he was trying to do. Robbie was just an excuse to fund another expedition to Deadwind Pass. But the truth of the matter was, even if she supported his proposition it was a doomed one. The situation with the other Alliance member states had deteriorated so much that no one would be granted access to the ruined tower.

Even if they did have a way in, Antonidas would never let the book or the staff out of the vault again. And Kel’Thuzad certainly wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near it if he was expelled first.

She looked up in time to find him fishing for the grease jar he kept on a shelf next to the fire. “Wait, don’t drain the pan into that.”

“But,” he looked from her to the jar, “I always put it in there.”

“Yes, but, that's old,” Modera said, “If you put it in a new one I’ll use it to make those potatoes you like later.”

That put a spring in his step. Kel’Thuzad found a new jar to pour in the liquid gold. “So, this trip to Ulduman, are you sure Harrison can’t handle it?”

Modera scoffed, “Of course not, if we let him loose in there he would probably destroy the site.”

After the fiasco Harrison caused at Ironband's site, Modera feared she might be stuck with him.

“I just worry, Muradin’s exposition in Northrend went dark,” he said, “The badlands are lousy with wild orcs and dragons. It’s dangerous out there.”

For a moment Modera was silent and picked the leaves off a few strawberry stems. “How did you hear about Muradin?” Modera asked. That situation was a bit hush hush with the explorers league.

“Goldstone told me Roth’s twins, Heigan and Gotrick, went as consultants,” Kel’Thuzad said as he finished plating.

Modera frowned, “You were at your lawyers?”

“I needed legal advice,” Kel’Thuzad said. He waved a hand over the kettle and determined it had cooled off enough for tea. He poured two cups and dropped in bags to steep. “I needed to know what my exposure would be if I became a necromancer.”

Modera sniffed with derision and accepted the cup of tea. “Did you really?”

“No, of course not,” Kel’Thuzad finally sat at the table. He glanced at the bowl of strawberries and saw that it had been reduced down to a meager handful. His brows knit together as he spooned a few for himself, “We were discussing my estate.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“Not as exciting as your trip,” he said, taking a bite of bacon, “how long will you be away this time?”

“A year.”

Kel’Thuzad’s chewing slowed. He swallowed, “A… year?”

Modera nodded, “We’ve breached the main chamber- there’s so much to catalog.”

Kel’Thuzad nodded and lowered his gaze. Modera watched him swirl the spoon in his tea, “Kelly, what's wrong?”

"I- nothing," he said, "would you believe I forgot the lemon twice? Can’t have tea without lemon."

Modera frowned at his back as he excused himself. She took a sip of tea and waited for him to return. A minute passed.

Then another.

Then five.

She got up and made for the garden.

Modera found Kel’Thuzad near his lemon tree. He didn’t turn, even when she placed her hand on his back, “Kel…?”

When he didn’t respond Modera felt her stomach drop. For a moment she was paralyzed. Then, “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Sometimes…I don’t think we want the same things.”

“What do you mean, of course we do,” Modera said, “We’re trying to start a family.”

“Are we? How can we do that if you go away for a year? How can we be together if I can't even hold your hand in public?”

“But the other counselors-”

“Who cares about what those old fools think?” Kel’Thuzad turned, his normally clear, violet eyes ruddy, “I would gladly quit my seat if it meant we could be together.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Modera said, looking down, away from his eyes.

“You’re not asking me to do anything. That's how much you mean to me,” Kel’Thuzad said, "I love you."

Modera’s cheeks burned. She blinked hard, staring at his knees. The silence stretched and the window for an answer closed.

Gently, Kel’Thuzad titled her face up. “Mages don't get old. They become decrepit. How long will I be able to do what we did yesterday? To teach? To play?”

“Knowing you? Forever,” Modera replied. She took his hand in both hers. His fingers were cold. “Is that what this is all about? I said we could marry if I got pregnant.”

Kel’Thuzad looked down for a moment and let out a nasal sigh before pulling his hand out of hers. “If I asked you to marry me right now, what would you say?”

“No.”

“Why.”

“The timing just isn’t right.”

“Because of this dig? Modera, you’re already on the council- hell you’re probably better positioned than anyone to be the next head after Antonidas,” Kel’Thuzad said, “What career benefit could this possibly give you.”

“It’s not about that,” Modera turned to look at the low branch next to her. Kel had a secret way with plants. The leaves were vibrant green and waxy to the touch. Even the lemons seemed more substantial than the ones at the fruit stand. She picked one and offered it to him.

He accepted it, brow raised with an unspoken question. “You of all people should understand. It’s the same reason you have that thing-”

“Robbie.”

Modera rolled her eyes, “Exactly. It’s the same reason you’re up here ruining your career. It’s about the pursuit of knowledge.”

At that Kel’Thuzad scoffed and she could feel the atmosphere shift, “My career is already over. Antonidas and Drenden are never going to allow me to have quality apprentices. Going out in a blaze of infamy is probably all I can hope for at this point.”

Modera wrapped her arms around him. After a moment he did the same.

“We might never conceive,” he murmured into her hair.

“I’ll still marry you,” she said, “just not today.”

He grunted noncommittally and Modera looked up in time to catch the tail end of an eye roll. “You know, the Badlands site is only a day’s trip from Ironforge. I could give you a tour.”

Another grunt, this one was more of a maybe. She stretched up to press her lips into his, “Maybe a few tours?” she murmured against him. Modera waited for him to kiss her back before pulling away.

“Fine," he leaned down and kissed her forehead, “I suppose I can visit.”

The knot in her stomach loosened, “Should we go finish our breakfast?”

“You go ahead,” he said as she slid away, “There's something I need to look at- should only take a minute.”

Modera gave him a shaky nod before trudging back to the house. At the door she turned, Kel was looking at his tree again, though his posture slumped. The words died in her throat and she slipped inside.

+++    +++   +++

Present Day

Why?

Modera frowned at the lilac orb, Kel'Thuzad's corpse. Its strange, semi-solid surface roiled as mana burned into the air. The Explorers League cordoned it off with rope and delineators to prevent civilians from touching it.

The question plagued her.

Worse, Kel'Thuzad didn't demand or threaten.

He asked.

Why would the Lich King allow him to ask?

"Ouch!" Hot pain stabbed up her leg. Modera pulled her ankle out of the priest’s hands and tried to rub the sensation away.

“Sorry, Counselor,” Torgan said gruffly. The dwarf had just returned from his expedition in the Storm Peaks. He rested his chin on his knuckles, twinning his fingers in his wiry, black beard and gave her ankle a hard look. It was as if Modera’s leg had become a puzzle and he was missing several pieces. “How did Kel’Thuzad do this?”

“I don’t know,” they didn’t exactly have time to go over a spell diagram, “Is there something wrong?”

“Er, no. I just wish I knew how he did it.”

That made two of them. Healing spells had always eluded even the most talented mages. Until very recently it was thought to be purely within the purview of the light. With the introduction of the Night Elves and Draenie into the Alliance came a broadening of that horizon. And, Kel’Thuzad did have a shaman in his head for all those years. Maybe he picked something up?

“Is it earth magic?” Modera asked.

Torgan shook his head, “Arcane mostly, as far as I can tell.”

She grunted and turned her attention back to the orb. He didn't have to fix her leg. Kel'Thuzad could have left her at the mercy of the dragons. If he had, then the lich could have taken Vael.

Maybe it's a project for the three of us?

“Dr. Jones! Dr. Jones!”

Modera narrowed her eyes at the commotion. One of Harrison’s admirers, a Draenei girl with long silvery braids, pointed at something sticking out of the statue's head. The archeologist bent to retrieve it, his eyes curious at first, then lit up with discovery.

“Magni’s beard!” Harrison exclaimed, “can it be?”

Felicia Featherbottom jostled to his side. She huddled over Harrison’s still bare shoulder at the parchment scroll. “Those don’t look like Gurubashi pictographs at all.”

“That’s because they aren’t,” Harrison said, straightening. Felicia took the scroll and examined it carefully, Harrison leaned over her shoulder and pointed, “You see? These are Farraki glyphs. That mad merchant- he wasn’t mad at all!”

“Harrison, what are you saying?”

“The Gurubashi, the Farraki, they’re all related,” Harrison wrapped up the scroll, “'We watch the mountains that hold back the sand,’ The Eyes of the Colossus! They’re in Feralas!”

Featherbottom gasped, “Harrison! You’re brilliant! You’re-”

“An utter moron!”

Modera pushed past Torgan despite the healer's protests. The pain in her leg was nothing compared to the burning rage directed at her colleagues. “Don’t you understand the cost of this little discovery?”

With a scoff Harrison motioned to the broken statue, “A priceless relic to be sure, but the Eyes-”

“No! I had him, Harrison!” The crowd around them grew quiet as people began to stare. Modera didn’t care, she was practically apoplectic, “The Kirin Tor’s greatest enemy, here- powerless! Helpless! And you! You-” She was jerked off balance by a hand around her waist.

“Saved my dear colleague’s life,” came a warm, buttery voice.

Aethas Sunreaver. Tall, thin, flowing auburn hair and fel-green eyes. The only things sharper than his chin and cheek bones were his tongue and the way he dressed. Aethas Sunreaver was the very picture of a Blood Elf. “And for that, I am in your debt.”

She might have preferred it if Kel’Thuzad reappeared.

"Mom!"

Modera's stomach dropped. On second thought, Kel’Thuzad reappearing would be very bad.

Vael pushed through the crowd to reach her mother. The girl was filthy. Her boots caked with mud and her pants were stained and wet halfway up her calf. Almost as if she had been plucked from the riverside which she was not supposed to play by.

Vael rushed over to give her a hug. "Aethas said you were attacked, are you okay?"

"Everything's fine," Modera replied. The mage shifted so she could shield Kel'Thuzad's corpse from view, "I'm fine."

"How did Toothgnasher-"

"Vael, listen to me," Modera's voice was hushed as she tightened her grip on the girl's shoulders, "don't say anything. We'll talk about it later."

"But-"

The look Modera gave was enough to shut down any questions. Vael wilted.

Why did he bring her? Modera clenched her jaw. The dragons might be gone, but that didn't mean the danger had passed. The mage glanced back at the orb. Was he still here watching?

Aethas pulled Modera tight to his side, throwing off her balance. She caught herself on the lapels of his robes.

“Quick action is a heroic trait,” Aethas said with a glance at the destruction inside the natural history wing before throwing a grin Harrison's way, “but, try to step in earlier next time?”

The tension from Modera’s earlier outburst diffused as the crowd tittered their amusement. Even Harrison sported a good natured grin. The women who usually pined after Harrison were beginning to set their sights on the elven magister. Modera wanted to scream, but she knew if she even rolled her eyes Aethas would know. And she was in no mood to be chided for causing a scene.

Worse, Harrison’s hair-brained stunt may cost her everything and now he was being rewarded with an adventure. A fabulous adventure! To top it all off, Modera just knew she was going to be stuck cleaning up this mess in the museum by herself.

Aethas’s thumb rubbed against her arm, but it did little to melt the ice that was settling in her gut.

Harrison was the least of her issues.

It might be time to come clean about Vael’s father. With Kel’Thuzad actively seeking out Vael and her habit of sneaking away, it was clear that the girl would need tighter supervision. Which meant it was time for her to come live in Dalaran. And-

Where was Vael?

Modera pushed herself out of Aethas’ embrace and scanned the crowd for her daughter. She told her to stay put, right?

She did, mostly. Vael had crept over to the cordoned off area to examine Kel’s corpse. Which she was now poking with a stick. Modera sucked a breath through her teeth, “Vael! Don’t play with that.”

“What is it?” Vael looked up as her mother approached, “It’s really sticky.”

She gave it one more hard poke before the orb rolled away, pulling the stick out of her hands. It picked up every hair and spec of dust on the marble floor, dulling its surface.

Words failed.

That’s your father dear, now say goodbye.

Aethas leaned over Modera’s shoulder to get a look at the seething mass, "That is a lich's corpse, if I'm not mistaken."

Vael went ashen, “A w-what?”

“I know, it seems like an oxymoron,” Aethas’s grin faded when he saw the serious look on their faces. He cleared his throat, “Odd for one to be this far south. You fought this off by yourself?”

“Not exactly,” Modera replied. She could feel Vael squirm and tightened her grip on her daughter’s shoulders.

Vael’s breathing was erratic. Was Kel’Thuzad here because of their little adventure in Ironforge?

Maybe. Vael certainly thought so.

But, it wasn’t her fault they were attacked by dragons. With a sigh, Modera rubbed her daughter’s back hoping to comfort her. “The lich was the least of my issues, really. We can talk in my office.”

She limped off for the grand staircase without another word. Behind her she could feel the eyes of the crowd on her back as she tried to ignore the lump in her stomach.

Aethas caught up with a few effortless strides and offered Modera his elbow, “You’re limping.”

She took it. "Did you see Ansirem's response to my proposal?” Aethas asked, “I don't understand what his problem is."

"Which proposal?" Modera asked as she carefully stepped over a golem's shattered arm.

"The one about shoring up our defenses."

He wanted to talk about that? Now? Shoring up defenses was one way to describe it. The verbiage of the proposal actually described pulling forces out of Ambermill, which was on the border of the Forsaken's invasion of Gilneas. He failed to mention the town's frequent encounters with the Forsaken. Or that removing their defenders would spell doom for the city.

In other words, it was bullshit.

"I did recall there being some… logistical issues with it,” Modera replied.

“Logistical, how?" Aethas stepped in front of Modera and crossed his arms, "Were you one of the anonymous dissenters?"

She was. "Aethas-"

"Well-fire!" He interrupted. Aethas grabbed her arm and pointed to something behind the counselor, “What happened there?”

A handful of mercenaries were attempting to subdue Kel’Thuzad’s creations. Some were better at it than others. Two druids seemed to get into the spirit of the thing by mauling any undead critter they could sink their teeth into. While others were utterly out of their element chasing after squirrels and skunks that could scamper through the debris.

Vael tightened her grip on Modera’s sleeve at the sight of Tyranistraz’s still animate skull. Green dragon blood dripped off its teeth as blue witch-fire burned in its eye sockets. The adventurers, perhaps wisely, kept their distance. Hopefully the magic animating it would run out, but Modera had the feeling it was something Kel’Thuzad himself would need to deal with.

“We were attacked by a dragon," Modera explained, “A very angry bronze.”

“You were attacked by a bronze dragon?” Vael asked. She looked relieved, then confused, “That’s weird.”

“Well, she said she was from the infinite dragonflight- the point being she was some sort of time dragon.”

Aethas crossed his arms again and gave Modera a pointed look, “Why were you and a lich attacked by a time dragon?”

The way he asked it made it sound like an accusation. Modera crossed her arms in response, “How should I know, they can see into the future,” she snapped, “I imagine it has something to do with Deathwing since I seem to be a thorn in his side.”

“Arathi,” Aethas scoffed, “Honestly, did you think he would have forgotten about that little incident?”

Modera hesitated, “It’s been over twenty years.”

“Sunshine, he’s ancient. It might as well have happened yesterday.”

There was that elvish charm again with a subtle undercurrent of condescension. It didn’t help that he was for all intents and purposes, correct. Modera sighed through her nose. Elves were long-lived too. She doubted Aethas would forget this anytime soon.

“I don’t think this was simple revenge,” Modera said, “Teradormi, the dragon, only spoke of the future.”

A shift came over Aethas, one that Modera was not expecting. He pouted. It was a full body affair, shoulders slumping and even his long ears drooped a bit. Was he seriously upset he wasn’t included on some dragon’s hit list?

“But, the exhibits were smashed because of the dragon right?” Vael asked. She stood up on her tiptoes to get a look at the destruction deeper in.

Who do you think brought the exhibits to life? Modera glared.

As for Aethas, Modera didn’t dignify him or her own speculation with an acknowledgement and brushed past him.

There was enough to do without this distraction especially if she wanted to make it to Redridge by nightfall. Vael needed to start packing. Modera watched her from the corner of her eye, her daughter’s attention was firmly focused on the aftermath of the lich’s destruction.

Perhaps next time she would think twice about seeking him out.

“Modera!” Brann called as he ran down the stairs towards her. The dwarf practically tackled her into a hug, knocking the mage off balance. If Aethas hadn’t been there to steady her they would have all tumbled down.

“Look out! Next time you’ll get us all killed!” Aethas cried.

Brann didn't spare the magister a glance, “I'm sorry lass, I know when I saw Kel’Thuzad I should have tried to stop him. Did he hurt you?"

“Everythings alright Brann, I’m fi-”

Aethas gasped, “You didn’t tell me that was Kel’Thuzad! You just said it was a lich.”

“Aethas we were right next to his corpse,” Modera said, “We don’t know if he is still here listening to us.”

The elven magister sniffed, “You could have mentioned something.”

If he wasn’t more interested in working the crowd she might have. Modera let out a short sigh through her nose. Why was everything so difficult today? “Would it really make a difference if I said who it was?”

“He fought Deathwing too, right?” Vael asked. She did not look surprised at all, in fact she looked excited, much to the mage’s chagrin. Modera gave her a curt nod. “Does that mean you two will fight him again?”

Fight Deathwing? With Kel’Thuzad? Modera frowned. It was hard to imagine the Kirin Tor siding with the Scourge in any capacity. Even if the future of Azeroth might depend on it. Besides, she knew what Vael was angling at, and Modera found that scenario even bleaker than any theoretical team up.

Unfortunately, Aethas didn’t quite see it the same way. He grabbed Modera’s shoulders, eyes very serious, “Before you and Kel’Thuzad might have fought Deathwing, but together you and I will finish the job.”

Xxxxx

If there was one thing Modera was grateful for, it was having at least one reliable man in her life. Brann volunteered to take Vael while she and Aethas departed to discuss matters privately.

The trek back to her office was uneventful, although neither she nor Aethas were prepared for the Draknoid’s severed ass bleeding all over the carpet.

The third floor was a mess, and that was before the dead wyrmkin were taken into consideration. Scorch marks marred the stone walls; the once pristine cherry-wood chairs had disintegrated into hollow sticks. Metal fixtures and door hinges had rusted from their exposure to the time magic making everything creak in place.

Worse was the mural of the sun.

It wasn’t ruined, actually the painting was as cheery as ever. Morbidly so. Now that Modera had seen its power unleashed she preferred not to go near it- or the desiccated dragonkin. Aethas stopped to gawk at the destruction before being herded into the office.

“Modera,” Aethas started. The door closed behind him with a smart snap as Modera crossed to her desk. She looked up at him as she sat, waiting for him to continue but the elf was sniffing around for something. “Your office smells amazing.”

What was he on? It smelled like rancid ammonia. Since Kel’Thuzad drooled all over her it was the only thing she could smell.

“Is it a new perfume?" Aethas asked as he pulled up the rickety chair. It was his favorite, even though the thing could fall apart at any moment.

Modera shook her head.

"Well it smells good," Aethas replied. He leaned back in his chair, pulling a dry creak from it before sitting back up, "like a summer breeze."

Modera made a non committal sound. She didn't have the heart to tell him where it came from. Right now she needed to process everything.

Her desk was a mess. Everywhere she looked held evidence of Kel'Thuzad's touch. A milky smear of oil on her desk led to the jumbled stack of books. Next to those the gray claw remained embedded in the wood near where her photo of Vael should be. Her insides clenched again at the thought of him roaming free with that knowledge.

Kel'Thuzad was dead, for now. There was still time to prepare. Afterall, how long did it take for liches to regenerate? Modera reached for Sir Eligor’s journal. The Dawn killed that poor Instructor a dozen times or more, surely they recorded how often he-

“Modera, what is this?” Aethas asked, interrupting her train of thought. Modera looked up, he was attempting to pull the claw out of her desk.

“Kel’Thuzad broke in, I don’t know why,” Modera half lied as she placed the journal in a drawer for later.

After a few tugs Aethas yanked it out, “Incredible,” the magister said as he examined the spellwork, “It’s hard to imagine such a thing could be possible."

"What?"

"All this magic completely wasted" Aethas said, handing her the claw, "on him! I'm certain he was the reason I didn't get on the council earlier."

"I think that had more to do with Prince Sunstrider," and Aethas's dismal duel performances.

"He set my career back. I'll never forgive him for that."

"And the Sunwell?"

"...That was bad too."

Modera sniffed, though it did little to soothe her nerves. Her hands were tingling and it was beginning to travel up her arms. It was the claw, she realized.

As mages grow and train they expand the amount of mana they can call upon. These latent pools can be felt by more seasoned practitioners. Even separated from the main body this little bit of him held so much potential.

She placed it on her desk.

It was time.

“Aethas, I have to tell you something,” Modera spoke to the claw, her insides writhed. It was a miracle she didn’t throw up, “It’s about Kel’Thuzad and Vael.”

The magister was quiet, which was unfortunate because Modera’s mouth felt suddenly dry. She continued, “He came to my office-”

“Yes, I know that,” Aethas said.

“Right, well,” she met his eyes, the elf’s brow was slightly furrowed, “he stole my photo of Vael.”

“Oh,” Aethas leaned back in the chair, pulling another creak from it, “Is that why you’ve been so agitated?”

“...Agitated?”

“You didn’t laugh at my joke earlier, you didn’t notice my new cloak and you didn’t thank me for bringing Vael here.”

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. For some reason the mage was caught completely off guard at his response. Any tension Modera felt evaporated in an instant.

She wasn’t going to tell him after all.

“I don’t like thinking about that monster targeting my daughter,” Modera replied, “So I’ve decided it's time for her to come live with me in Dalaran.”

This made Aethas sit up, “Really? Now? But I thought you were going back to Ulduar next month.”

More of the Titan city was being discovered monthly, it was a gold mine of knowledge. Modera’s hands fisted in her lap. A mine she wanted to plumb herself. “I’m not going.”

The words had a surprising sense of finality to them.

“It’s time for me to take a back seat,” Modera forced her hands to relax, “Featherbottom can handle it herself, she’s proven capable.”

“I never thought I would see the day that Archmage Modera would stay home from a dig,” Aethas said. He reached a hand out over her desk and Modera hesitated before taking it. He was warm.

Alive.

She gave his hand a squeeze. Part of her felt lighter. The last expedition ended on such a sour note, with the destruction of Hillsbrad. At least now she would be closer to the Citadel. And it would be nice to spend more time with her daughter. Modera smiled to herself, already making a list of the best places to go in the city for tea and cakes.

“It’ll be nice having you in meetings more often, even if you are opposing my proposal,” Aethas said with a grin.

Modera sniffed derisively. The more she thought about it- forgoing the expedition, bringing Vael to Dalaran, the more she knew she was making the correct decision.

Chapter Text

Kel'Thuzad experienced death and rebirth more frequently than most liches. It wasn't something anyone should have to get used to and yet here he was speeding up the process.

To go from feeling nothing to feeling everything was jarring. Worse was the pull and the pressure of arcane gravity condensing plaits of magic around his consciousness, shoving his soul into a shape it didn't match.

Then came the welding heat of reincarnation. The fusing of the arcane and ineffable into a physical vessel. At the end it was impossible to tell where the magic ended and his essence began. It was all him.

And then Kel'Thuzad was alive. Well, more or less.

He collapsed back onto his bed. For the moment doing nothing, willfully thinking about nothing while pain stabbed through his skull.

Everything was fine.

Modera looked horrified when she saw him.

He was fine.

His own daughter was disgusted by him.

Kel’Thuzad’s claws dug into his bedding as he stared at the ceiling. He was fine. Pressure built up in his chest until he let out a shaky breath.

What could possibly be wrong with him? He'd just come back to life after having his head smashed in- perfectly normal. What sort of human didn't do that?

He looked at his hand. The bones were unwrapped and his claws were fresh and sharp as they'd ever be.

Humans shouldn't have claws.

They came with a steep learning curve- how to grip things; how to grab without hurting; how to write (legibly). The world felt different. He traced a knuckle with a claw, feeling neither. Because he didn't need to feel it.

He wished he never traveled to Northrend. If he had just listened back then, maybe now he would have been in Dalaran, having jammy toast for breakfast and teaching Vael. Kel'Thuzad let his hand fall back.

None of that was possible now.

…Besides the fact that he could no longer eat.

Why would Modera ever let him near them? Could he prove to her his will was his own? Would it even matter if he could? Kel'Thuzad deflated. He couldn't even prove that to himself.

A chill crept into his chest, fog forming little ice crystals that stuck to his ribs.

Bolvar still lurked out there. Kel'Thuzad never told Titus, but he could still hear him sometimes in the back of his mind. Nothing directed towards him. No commands. But stray thoughts and snatches of emotion the lich knew were not his own.

Kel'Thuzad sat up, growling, his phylactery the target of his ire. Just how bound was he? Was his mirror so black he couldn't see the monster lurking within?

If he destroyed the urn- remade his phylactery- could he truly free himself?

Those old cages in the plague quarter loomed large in his mind. Though Bolvar might want something closer to home. And there were many rooms in Icecrown where unspeakable things happened.

His claws flexed, digging into his bedding.

That would never happen.

He couldn't sit with these thoughts any more, he needed a distraction.

Kel'Thuzad considered his immediate situation. He was mostly naked, having resurrected in his boxers and jewelry. Great. The lich slumped. Maybe it was too much to hope those robes would have refreshed with him. They must have been too damaged from the drying runes. Now he was going to have to explain what happened to Cassy.

They were a Winter Veil gift, and she wasn't going to be happy.

At least he had a halfway decent story to go with it. As far as deaths go, this one was definitely unique. Kel’Thuzad had never been torn up by a library before. Having his head smashed by Harrison Jones was just a formality. While embarrassing it did save him from a trip to the Violet Hold. Loathe as he was to admit it, he owed Harrison a debt.

With a gruff sigh he opened his satchel more forcefully than he intended. Unfortunately the resurrection process left his belongings vulnerable to thieving. It was how he lost some of his favorite knick-knacks and weapons- like Doomfinger, which was why he tried to limit what was on his actual person when he left Cult territory.

The stupid Troll book was gone. Good riddance- it was probably what killed him! The lich grumbled as he pulled out a handful of what looked to be… strawberry candies? How long had those been in there? He shrugged and replaced them.

Maybe he could see if Ghastly wanted any?

He shifted around blindly until he felt something unfamiliar. It was hard to grip, his claws could only slide ineffectually over the smooth surface. With a triumphant laugh he finally found purchase and pulled it out. Though the sense of victory was fleeting.

It was the framed photo of Vael.

The mists in his chest drooped. He must have accidentally stolen it from Modera's desk.

She had Modera's smile.

Kel'Thuzad smoothed his thumb over the photo, his claw made a faint clicking sound on the glass. Vael worried Modera was embarrassed of her. The red glow from his eyes reflected off the shiny surface. He wished he could tell her that wasn't true. That it was him Modera had to keep away, not her.

A knock at the door pulled Kel'Thuzad to the present. He looked up but didn't move, not feeling particularly social or presentable at the moment.

Maybe they would go away if he ignored them.

The knocking grew more persistent and then turned to pounding (which was equally persistent).

They weren't going away.

"You know, it's rude to bother the recently resurrected," Kel'Thuzad called out.

"If you don't let me in I'm getting the key!"

Titus. Well, he actually wouldn't mind talking to him.

"Er," Kel'Thuzad looked down at his state of dress and glanced at his wardrobe.

"Kel!"

"Alright, alright!" No time. Kel'Thuzad hurried through the parlor. The space was small but well appointed with things one might expect to find in a sitting room: a couch with two matching armchairs; a coffee table presenting the newest journals coming out of Dalaran and the Scholomance; a few bookshelves and a curio cabinet.

Ghastly's room and the washroom branched off from here, though no apartments with Naxxramas had kitchens. Residents were expected to eat in the cafeteria above the Military Quarter.

By the time Kel'Thuzad reached the entrance the pounding was beginning to shake the door on its hinges, he feared it might break. But, when he reached for the knob, he realized still had the photo in his hand. Damn it. There was no place to hide it.

He just had to hope that Titus wouldn't notice.

The death knight wore a deep scowl as the door closed behind him, noting the lich's state of undress with a raised eyebrow, "Have a nice regeneration?"

"I had to rush it. Is that why you tried to knock down my door?"

Titus gave him a short, hollow laugh. "No, I came about this," he said as he offered the lich a folded newspaper.

Kel'Thuzad took it and opened it up with a shake. It was a copy of the morning's Violet Herald, Dalaran's daily rag.

Great.

It was the same two photos the Kirin Tor used when covering Kel'Thuzad since the fall of Lordaeron: a photo of some random orc lich, followed by him stuffing his face with pie at the Noblegarden Charity Auction.

At this point it had to be on purpose.

The by-line read Scourge Plot in Ironforge Foiled by Jones.

"Ex-Warchief Thrall still missing, Deathwing's agents suspected of foul play. Continued, Page 4." Kel'Thuzad said lightly.

"Not that," Titus snapped. He ripped the paper out of the lich's hands, rolled it up and smacked him in the face with it.

"What’s the problem?" Kel’Thuzad asked as he rubbed his face. Obviously it didn’t hurt- physically. It still bruised his ego. “It was below the fold! No one reads anything below the fold, unless it's about sports or something on page six. Everyone knows that.”

"It says you ‘terrorized lecture attendees’ and ‘brought half the exhibits to life.’"

"I didn't terrorize anyone!" Kel'Thuzad snapped, "I was just there. It's not my fault people react negatively to my appearance."

"And the exhibits, those just happened to come to life?"

"I was being attacked by a dragon."

"Was this dragon also prejudiced against liches?"

"Who's to say what lurks in her heart,” Kel'Thuzad paced to his armchair. The blue velvet had a light dusting of cat hair on it. He ran his claws over it, the rough-and-smooth texture broke through his normally deadened sense of touch. "All I know is that mad Bronze wanted to eliminate Modera and myself."

Titus's eyebrows shot up, "That explains the kidnapping."

“What-?” Kel'Thuzad snatched the paper back and skimmed the story.

It’s not clear what the lich’s motivations were during yesterday’s attack. Local heroes were able to subdued Kel’Thuzad’s abominations in the process, preventing further damage to priceless exhibits.
“I apprehended the fiend before he could abscond with the councilwoman,’ said Jones. Harrison Jones, famed archeologist, blah blah blah, he skipped down “I was forced into action!”

Counselor Modera and Brann Bronzebeard were unavailable for comment.

“Well here's the problem, Jones was their only source!" The article didn't mention anything about the dragon attack at all!

"What is that?" Titus asked.

"What's what?" Kel'Thuzad peeked over the paper, trying to see what Titus was talking about.

"In your hand," Titus reached for the photo, "Let me see it."

"I- no," Kel'Thuzad recoiled, bringing it higher and lifting the paper up to cover his face, "it's just a picture."

This was a mistake because it left him blind to whatever Titus was doing below and the death knight had a dirty trick up his sleeve.

Titus lunged forward and grabbed the lich's spine, "Give it up!"

Even if he couldn't see it, the sudden intrusion into his abdomen was enough to make him queasy. Kel'Thuzad yelped, doubling over. He maintained his grip on his picture, but Titus was crafty, forcing his hands into the lich's rib cage.

Kel'Thuzad dropped everything. He couldn't fight against the reflexive need to protect his chest allowing Titus to snatch up his prize.

"Bastard!" He hissed, clutching his chest.

Titus just grinned, flipping the frame picture up. His eyes widened, "Oh my, what do we have here?”

Kel’Thuzad looked away pointedly, ego bruised by his body’s betrayal. Still hunched, his claws dug between the slats of his ribs provoking another twinge of discomfort.

“I wouldn't say I told you so, but,” Titus said with a self-satisfied grin. Kel’Thuzad remained silent and straightened, watching as Titus made his way to the couch. He sat and looked up at the lich, “She looks like you.”

A noncommittal grunt was his only reply. Of course, he hadn’t looked like himself since he traveled north. Kel’Thuzad rested his hands on the back of the chair, partially to steady himself, partially to keep himself from fidgeting.

“Well, you know what I mean,” Titus added. After a brief silence he cleared his throat, “This is exciting, right?”

“Exciting?” If only. Somewhere another finger curled on a monkey’s paw.

Kel'Thuzad's gaze found its way back towards his hands on the chair. Bits of blue velvet could be seen between the gaps in the bones. He spread his fingers over the fabric and noted they could not lay flat. The claws at the end forced them to jut up at an angle.

Humans shouldn't have claws.

The thought replayed in his head as he propped his chin up with the palm of one hand, claws idly ticking away at the root of his tusk. Another thing humans shouldn't have. His teeth mutated along with him. Too long, too sharp. His misty semi-solid tongue probed a jagged dog-tooth, something that wasn't there in life. Now they sharpened his canines.

But even among other liches Kel'Thuzad was unique. Archlich went beyond just the title, it was his physical reality. He was more powerful, more durable. He was more lich-y. But in this becoming, did he become less?

Kel’Thuzad stared past Titus at the painting hanging above the couch. A pastoral piece of a grove in Brightwood before the land was poisoned. After the Second War he really believed he and the council could do something to help those people. Of course, politics got in the way of all that. And the Duskwood darkened. And he went north. It felt like so long ago that he'd embarked on this journey.

He wanted to be able to show his children a better world was possible.

Now he had a daughter but nothing to show her.

"I think… I failed," Kel'Thuzad said finally.

Titus sat up, his brow furrowed, "Failed? What do you mean?"

"The only thing I've done since leaving Dalaran is bring fear and destruction to their lives," Kel'Thuzad said, the fog in his chest hovered somewhere near the top of his rib cage in a tight ball. It felt like a chunk of ice had lodged itself in his throat, "I never wanted this."

"I know Banana, I know. But you have to look at what's in front of you. The past is set but the future isn't."

"She's probably spent her whole life worried I would take her away. I'm a bogeyman, the monster outside her window."

And she would be right-

"No! Stop that right now," Titus jumped to his feet, finger pointed at the lich's face, "Whatever you're thinking- it's wrong."

Kel'Thuzad scoffed, mist blowing between the gaps in his teeth, "Are you the Lich King now? Can you hear my thoughts?"

"Were you thinking something like, I don't know, 'I'm a monster?'" When Kel'Thuzad crossed his arms and looked away, Titus chuckled, the sound grated on the lich's nerves. "I don’t have to read your mind, you're an open book. It’s why you always lose at cards."

Damn him. "Am I really wrong though? I'm barely even human at this point."

“Stop it,” Titus, stepped around the coffee table. He reached for one of Kel'Thuzad's hands and had to wrestle it free before he could press the photo into the lich's palm, “Look.”

Kel’Thuzad resisted, he didn’t want to look just because Titus told him to- even if he wanted to. Unfortunately, it was also clear that the death knight wasn’t going to continue until he complied. So he gave in. “Would you tell her that?” Titus asked.

He didn’t have to. The shock and fear he saw on her face in the library told him enough. Kel’Thuzad shut his eyes, “You don’t know what I know.”

“Well- you don’t know what I know!” Titus snapped, his tone caught Kel’Thuzad off guard. “Vael thinks the world of you. She thinks you’re the one who sent me to Southshore to rescue her.”

Kel’Thuzad blinked, “How do you know that?”

Titus took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Because I told her.”

“What do you mean you told her? I don’t-” Kel’Thuzad shook his head. Titus told her? Told her what? “I don’t understand.”

Titus opened his mouth but didn’t respond right away. That day in Ironforge, Vael ran away when Titus arrived. She knew who they were- she knew who he was. Kel’Thuzad ran his claws through his hair. He’d already suspected as much, but he never considered Titus. But-

He looked up. Titus was the one who suggested the evacuation in the first place!

“You knew about her,” Kel’Thuzad said quietly. His voice was steady, though it took what precious little strength he had to keep it that way. When Titus nodded the mists in his chest constricted. “How long…?”

Titus met his gaze, holding it for a moment before his eyes trailed down to address his teeth or the hole in his face where his nose might be, “The whole time. Since your expedition,” he fidgeted with one of the buttons on his shirt and finally looked away, “I ran into Modera maybe a month before you returned. She was showing. She asked about you, your letters… stopped suddenly.”

Because he reached Icecrown. Mists tightened around his throat while frost crept through his chest.

The whole time!?

+++++++ 

“Are there chickens in Dalaran?” Vael asked. She turned holding her favorite bird, a fat gray hen with feathered legs. To the outside observer, she might appear alone. But it was easy to miss the wand propped up against the fence.

It was an old thing, whittled down from a gnarly piece of Cyprus. The grain of old whorls and knobs could still be seen through the dull resin and hand-grease polish. The strips of dragonhide that wrapped the handle were now so faded and worn, Vael wasn’t sure what color it was supposed to be. The butt was set with a dull cap of lead and at the fore was a skeletal fist carved from the same piece of wood as the handle. Only its index finger was extended, pointing forward like a judgmental god: the eponymous Doomfinger.

Vael had done her best to clean it but the grime of ages was stubborn.

It seemed stubbier than when she first got it, though it wasn't uncommon for magical items to shift to suit their wielders. On the bright side it was easier for Vael to fit into her boot when she wanted to sneak it out of her room.

“I don’t know, I've never been,” she could hear Doomfinger's voice in the back of her head. Like it was talking over her shoulder.

"But you used to live there," Vael replied.

“That was before the city was in the sky."

"What about Naxxramas?"

“Yes, there are chickens there. And no, they were not undead. That would be silly.”

Vael pressed her lips together, how did it know she was going to ask that?

She gave her chicken one last hug before setting her down. It was going to be weird not seeing them every day.

“You’re quiet.”

Vael crossed her arms, she was not. “I’m excited.”

Even if her stomach hurt.

The last few days had been quite eventful for her. First, she snuck off to Ironforge to use the library. Now, she wasn't supposed to do this. Vael was supposed to mind the house when her aunt and uncle were away.

But that almost never stopped her.

Her plan was to research what to do with fel lotuses and possibly read about the scourge on the third floor. But those plans were derailed when she saw that skeletal horse.

Vael frowned down at Doomfinger. It wasn't just the horse though, she recognized the two men with it. One of them was a death knight named Rivendare. He was the one who evacuated them from Hillsbrad earlier this year. The other was… her father.

He was wearing a disguise that looked just like the photos! She had seen him buried in her mother's old albums and in the few books of his that she was able to find. Like her Herbalism one. 

Vael hadn't planned on talking to him. It was an accident. She was just curious. She didn't even really realize she was following them until they turned down that alleyway with the broken bottles. By then she was hopelessly lost. If anything she was grateful when Kel’Thuzad offered to walk with her to the library, otherwise she might still be in Ironforge.

She just wanted to see what he was like. Was that so bad?

"Are you sure he doesn't know about me?" Vael asked.

"If he did you’d be a little scourgling right now."

"But that death knight said he did," Vael said, "how could he know if my father didn't?"

"The earliest death knights were created wholly apart from Ner'zhul's control," Doomfinger explained, "They were tests to get the nobles to join the cause. Barov, Blackpool, Titus, if anyone in the Scourge could keep a secret from the master, it's them."

The wand’s answer made her feel worse than she should, the pit in her stomach grew deeper. But, she suspected it might be wrong. After all, why would her mother decide to miss a big expedition? Especially after Kel'Thuzad's appearance at the library.

Veal worried the inside of her cheek. Her mother wouldn't talk about what happened at the museum at all. And she seemed mad. Or scared.

But, there was no way Modera could know that Vael met him. Right?

"Why do you think he went to the library?" Vael retrieved the wand from its perch and waited for its answer. Doomfinger was warm, the chemical heat of arcane power made her fingers tingle. Vael wasn't really disciplined or powerful enough to wield it properly. Half the time it refused to even fire for her.

She hoped it wasn't tired… or ignoring her.

Night was falling and Vael didn't want to be late. She knew her mother wanted to leave tonight. Still, as she closed up the coup she knew her opportunities to talk with Doomfinger would be limited in the near future. "Do you think he figured out I took his hearthstone-thingy?"

"Probably. I wish you hadn't given him yours," the wand chided, “that was reckless.”

Vael blanched and rolled up her pant leg, “I didn’t want him to notice his pocket felt lighter. That's what The Maestro always does in the books."

“Are you The Maestro?” Vael frowned at the wand, but didn’t dignify it with a response. Its pointing finger seemed to chide her, “Duckling, that bag of bones has a terrible sense of touch. You could have taken his shirt and he wouldn’t be any the wiser.”

“Could he have gone there to look for it?” Vael asked, “Maybe he was just retracing his steps.”

"The research library is full of rare books, it's possible he was just doing that- research."

That seemed like a less exciting answer. Vael frowned as she made her way back towards the house. But maybe it was the case. He had mentioned he was working on a project. "About Atiesh?"

It didn’t respond. Now it was tired. Vael sighed and finished hiding it in her boot. It was just as well she needed to get inside.

The old farm house used to belong to her grandfather, at least that’s what Aunt Meriam said. She and Modera used to come here in the summers while their parents worked and traded in the city. Redridge was nice. Even if Uncle Charles said it was full of hilljacks and orcs. Vael hadn’t seen any at least.

From what she heard it used to be much wilder. An orc warlord used to control the ruined barracks although he was killed about two years ago. Gnolls prowled the highway, ready to waylay unsuspecting travelers until they were driven off. Even black dragons used these lands to rear their whelps- or at least they used to before adventurers came and wiped them out.

Vael turned to look out at the forest for one last time. The sun was going down, and the red leaves were beginning to blend into the twilight sky. She wouldn’t see real trees like this for some time. The forest below Dalaran had turned to crystal in some magical accident thousands of years ago. The wind didn’t rustle any leaves. Instead it tinkled through frozen crystalline branches. Or so she read.

Everything in Northrend was going to be new. Dalaran. The cold. The aurora in the sky. Even the plants! Vael didn’t know anything about the plants up north. There hadn’t been any time to read about them- what with the packing and all.

She grinned to herself. Maybe she could write her own book- Betterer Botanicals. Or something like that, the title could come later.

“Modera!” Vael jumped. Aunt Meriam's voice traveled easily through the old house’s walls, “That's unacceptable!”

Uh oh. Ice shot through her stomach. The adults were fighting.

Any response was muffled but was countered by the bang of a fist on a table.

Vael opened the door as quietly as she could and crept closer. Unfortunately she had to go through the kitchen to get to her room, and that's where they were arguing. She peeked around the door.

Her aunt and uncle had their backs turned, but Vael’s eyes widened when she saw her mother. Modera stood undeterred. Clad in her battle raiment she looked like an Archmage. Which she was, of course. But, when all her adventures revolved around setting up grid lines and figuring out the best place to put a tent, it was easy to forget that her mother was a powerful mage in her own right.

Mana bled off enchantments and swirled within the gems on her shoulder armor, practically making the air in the kitchen buzz. Embroidered eyes glowed subtly and seemed to glare imperiously at her aunt and uncle. How dare they question a sitting counselor?

How could anyone?

Vael was reminded of the photos of adventurers from the ledgers. The kind that defeated dragons and old gods. And liches. Her mother could do that too.

“I told you the situation is under control,” Modera said, her voice was calm but it had an edge to it that Vael had heard before.

“How do you know that? What assurances have you really given us?” Charles demanded, “I told you when we moved here it was only a matter of time-”

“Charle-” Modera's interruption was shouted down.

“What's stopping him from sending that thug Rivendare back here- or worse coming himself!” the back of Charles' neck was purple, Vael could only imagine the color of his face.

Modera glared at Charles. She looked like she wanted to bite his head off but restrained herself, instead she softened her expression and turned to her sister, "Mimi, the fact that you're all here is proof enough against that.”

“It doesn’t prove anything. He attacked you!” Meriam shouted, “Why wouldn't he attack us? What if Vael contacts him again?"

Vael’s eyes widened- they thought she contacted Kel’Thuzad? How? Her heart pounded in her chest. She just happened to see him at the library! She didn’t know why the death knights came to Southshore!

“I told you she never contacted him,” Modera’s voice was deadly serious. Vael’s heart soared, “and I told you that story is completely overblown. Kel’Thuzad didn’t attack me- we were being attacked by a dragon.”

“I don’t care what happened, Modera, we want protection from the Kirin Tor,” Charles said, “Too much has happened. It’s too dangerous.”

Modera’s face turned beet red. Before she could say anything Meriam stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on her sleeve, “I know you want to believe that he’s still in there-”

With a snarl, Modera knocked her sister's hand away. Vael frowned. Her mother almost never talked about her father. She certainly never said anything nice about him. Did she-

"Vael," Modera's voice cut through the silence, bringing her back to the present, "let's make sure you're packed."

Caught.

Vael hurried through the kitchen. Her aunt and uncle's eyes bored into her back, making her neck hot and clammy. She slunk past her mother into her room.

Vael’s room- well, old room now, was almost all packed up. There were still a few knick knacks she needed to organize into her backpack, as well as her father’s hearthstone she had hidden under her mattress.

It looked barren now without bedding or any of her books to absorb sound which was why she jumped when she heard the ominous click of the door closing.

Vael turned. In the kitchen Modera looked like she could take on any challenge and win. Now, it was like she had weathered a thousand battles. She wanted to hug her, but there was something in her mother’s small frown that made her pause.

“Vael, have you ever reached out to Kel’Thuzad?” Modera asked, her voice was quiet, it lost the edge from the confrontation in the kitchen.

Vael shook her head and Modera’s frown sharpened. “I need you to tell the truth.”

“I-I am!” Vael said, “You told Aunt Mimi-”

“I’m your mother. I have to defend you, but in Dalaran I can’t do that if you lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” Vael grabbed her mother’s hand, “I don’t know why the death knights came to Southshore, I-”

“You are lying, Vael!” Modera pulled her hand away, “I saw you two together in Ironforge!”

Uh oh. Vael felt the color drain out of her face, she was caught.

"But- I didn't! I got lost!” Vael blurted out, every word running over itself, “I never meant to.”

“Don’t you understand how dangerous that was? What if he recognized you?”

Vael opened her mouth, she didn’t know what to say.

“What if he took you away?” Modera demanded.

Vael flinched and looked down. A creeping shame made her face feel hot. That wasn’t what she wanted.

“Did he make you ask Brann about Atiesh?” Modera asked.

Vael’s stomach plummeted as she stared at her mother’s boots. She knew about that too? Oh, light!

“Look at me,” Vael hesitated, she was afraid, she had never seen her mother so angry. But, she swallowed and looked up. “Why did you help him? Did he threaten you?”

Vael shook her head. He never threatened- he was nice. Kel’Thuzad listened to her. He gave her a hug when she cried and tried to make her feel better. He offered to help find her father, though he did not really explain how some mage named Kelt Thomasin could do that. But, he didn’t have to do any of those things.

When he asked for her help, Vael knew she should say no. But, she didn’t expect him to tell her why he wanted it. If he still loved her mother, how could she say no?

“He said it reminded him of someone he loved,” Vael said, her cheeks were turning red, “I thought-”

“Kel’Thuzad can’t love anyone!" Modera interrupted. She tightened her grip on her staff and for a brief second the gems crusting the head glowed with a foreboding blue light. "You might be related to him, but he can’t be your father- he’s a monster!”

The words hit her like a thunderbolt, stealing her breath. Any response Vael might have had died in her throat. Fat tears welled up in her eyes until her vision blurred. Only then could she take a shuddering gasp.

Vael turned away. If her mother tried to comfort her, she didn't know. All she heard was the door shut behind her.

++++++

The door shut behind Modera, maybe a little louder than she meant.

Her heart sat somewhere in her stomach. She'd been a little harsher than she meant. But it was something Vael had to understand sooner or later.

In Dalaran she couldn't be so trusting, so naïve. Such things were how careers were ruined. It was how good mages were led astray. How Kel’Thuzad was led astray.

Modera's free hand covered her heart before clenching into a fist. She wouldn't let her daughter go down that same path.

This time she would put a stop to anything that even dipped a toe into the unorthodox.

Modera returned to the kitchen, the atmosphere was as tense as before. Mimi and Charles did not look any happier. She sighed through her nose. Maybe there was a way to get them the security they wanted without revealing her secret to the other councelors. Redridge was not as tame as Elwyn or Southshore had been. The imperial presence in the frontier had certainly relaxed since the Second War.

Modera opened her mouth. Before she could say anything there was a deafening crash that shook the whole house. And a scream. A girl’s scream.

“Vael!”

Modera rushed back to Vael’s room and threw the door open. Before her was something out of her worst nightmares.

The wall was gone.

The bed smashed.

Vael was nowhere to be seen.

Modera’s eyes fixed on something glinting out of the pulverized timber. Dropping her staff Modera fell to her knees and started pushing the debris away until she found it.

A little gold skull embedded in a hard, violet enamel. It was a hearthstone, she could sense its arcane make-up.

A hearthstone set to Naxxramas.

Chapter Text

Once again the powder was a mistake.

Kel'Thuzad stood next to his desk, eyeing the pile of dream dust.

It was supposed to calm his nerves and help him fall asleep. But so far nothing. Just a minty-tingling sensation at the base of his tusks. Maybe he just wasn't doing enough of it?

Recently resurrected liches were not supposed to sleep, in theory they should have enough energy to work. Even if the act of resurrecting made one physically ill for at least a day. Maybe that's why the dust was having so little effect?

Which was why he had the brilliant idea to arrange the small mountain of the stuff on the back of the Book of Medivh!

If only Antonidas could see him now. He would have a veritable fit. Misuse of magical artifacts, improper contact with a foreign consciousness- PHEH!

Antonidas lacked vision.

So did the Book. It could not appreciate Kel'Thuzad's 'vision' either. He could feel its little black tendrils trying to dig into the back of his mind. Its goal: to prevent this indignation.

Kel’Thuzad chose to ignore the consternation rippling through the book’s pages.

He was surrounded by doubters!

First Antonidas and the council doubted his theories about the fallout from Karazhan, and now he could see that they had been laughing at him the whole time with their lying eyes! Even Modera doubted his orcish studies- among other things.

You know what other things, Titus! Don’t think I don’t know you know!

Kel'Thuzad looked at his bedroom door. Well more like out his door. The thing had been ripped in half. It still shut, but it was more like half a door now. He growled, his grip tightening on the book as his claws bit into the leather.

The rest of his apartment had not fared much better.

Scorch marks marred the walls. Deep slashes tore stuffing out of one of his armchairs, the fluff was scattered around the room like a snow flurry. A thick spear of ice stabbed up through his coffee table, translucent and green, summoned from the heart of Icecrown’s glacier. Now it was melting and audibly dripping onto the rug.

A strange sound hit his ear, deep and animal. It took Kel'Thuzad a moment to realize he was growling. He bit it off with a hiss. All of Titus's empty platitudes about his humanity rang in his mind.

If Titus lied about Modera, what else could he be lying about?

What the hell did he know anyway?

Titus wasn't a lich. He never had his soul ripped to ribbons. He didn't know what the other liches were like when they were all gathered together- never saw how they cavorted like beasts under the full moons.

Worse, even! Beasts didn’t have such fragile egos, Fredrick!

A cloudy breath escaped between his teeth. For a moment his vision was obscured by blue fog.

Titus doubted him. Doubted his very sense of self! If he'd known-- if Titus had told him about Modera when he was still alive-!

They would be damned too.

Kel'Thuzad shook the thought out of his head. There was no way to know that. How did Titus know it wouldn't give him the strength to break free?

Kel'Thuzad ground his tusks into the pile of fluorescent blue dust and massaged at the fine granules until they dissolved in the thin layer of oil. A chill ran through him and settled at the back of his neck. He shook his head already feeling the soothing haze blunting his indignation. Finally it was taking effect.

He was certainly in control of himself now!

Titus was wrong, he was not going to 'wallow' in 'self-indulgent hair-shirtery.'

“I’m in control!”

He was going to just take a little nap-

An electric pop came from the sitting room. It sounded arcane…maybe an inert artifact sparked from the residual energy of his spells. Someone should check that out, Kel’Thuzad thought as he stared out into his own apartment.

He cocked his head, because something was different. He didn’t call for anything to be brought to him, but someone had put something in his living room, and it looked an awful lot like Modera.

A very angry Modera, scowling at everything in there. Judging the way he lived.

He would never ask for something like that to be sent to him. That would be terrible.

He watched her scurry around the parlor. Modera's apparition was dressed for war in the council's latest regalia. Even in this drug fueled haze he imagined her as someone who wanted to kill him. Depressing. The worst people see themselves as the hero in their own stories. So why did he have to be the villain in his?

Occasionally Modera would leave his field of vision before reappearing, muttering about 'cats' or 'plumbing’. At least that's what he thought she was saying. Dream dust tended to dull the senses.

Why was he seeing her anyways?

Kel'Thuzad glanced down at the book, now smeared with dust and resin. It was blue, the correct color. As far as he knew dream dust did not have any hallucinogenic properties. Was he already asleep?

"Kel!"

His head snapped up. Oh light, she was talking to him. Kel'Thuzad's mouth opened, but he didn't know what to say.

It was an unusual situation. He was standing in his underwear- high as the Storm Peaks and now an image of his ex-girlfriend was badgering him.

"What is wrong with you!" she barked at him.

Kel’Thuzad, Archlich of the Scourge, former member of the Council of Six, famed orator and alleged blowhard brought the full faculties of his incredible rhetorical skill to bear.

“...Uh.”

Modera glared at him with a fury to melt thorium. She opened her mouth a few times, but no words came out. She cast her eyes about the apartment a few more times before throwing up her hands and stomping towards the door. She fiddled with the lock for a moment and-

CRACK! The air split with arcs of lightning that sent her flying back into one of the ruined armchairs.

Of course Modera couldn’t leave through the door. Hallucinations can’t open doors. It’s like when you dream and try to light a lantern, it just doesn’t work.

Also the door was booby-trapped.

Modera swore loudly, writhing in pain and clutching her hand. She definitely wasn't here right? He had to be asleep, right? How would that even happen? The security measures in his room had never failed him before so how-

"Is this vision dust?" he asked himself, again the pile was blue, not teal. Right? He squinted, suddenly unsure.

Modera righted herself and stormed his way, face like thunder. Kel'Thuzad took a step back as Modera toggled the door knob before reaching over and unlocking it from his side. She kicked the door open, furious, and marched up to him.

Maybe he was already dreaming-

Without missing a beat she slapped the Book of Medivh out of his hands.

He gasped and watched it slam into the wall. A fine dusting of powder settled over his desk in its wake.

The Book was really not going to like that-

His head jerked down to her eye level as she pulled him down by a tusk and shook his head, “Will you snap out of it!”

Kel'Thuzad yelped, surprised, and pulled himself out of her grip. He held her out at arms length, claws digging into the hard plates of her shoulder armor, then he gasped again. She was real!

“Light- you’re here,” he recoiled, covering his mouth with his claws, “I thought, er- it doesn’t matter. Oh, light.”

“Kel-”

Kel’Thuzad wasn’t listening, everything became uncomfortably warm as embarrassment washed over him. The fog in his chest, diffused from drugs, roiled in its attempt to condense. But it came together too quickly, flash freezing the air in his chest with a squeal of ice, throwing up a wave of static that foofed up his hair.

How could this be happening! He brushed by her on his way out of the room, Modera hot on his clicking heels.

“Where are you going?” she demanded at his back. The now frozen ball of fog hovered somewhere close to his throat, constricting his voice. Kel’Thuzad took a hard right into the bathroom and shut the door in Modera’s face.

Magelights brightened, casting the room in a harsh artificial light. She pounded the door once then swore, but he ignored her as he examined himself in the mirror.

At least one benefit from resurrecting earlier that day is that there were no deformities or damage to deal with. Kel’Thuzad would never look more like the way he was supposed to than he would right now.

Except for his tusks.

Normally they were ivory colored. Now because of the drugs they were processing they had a pearlescent blue sheen to them.

He hissed under his breath and touched one gingerly. He could barely feel anything, they were numb and felt like they belonged to someone else. Worse the sensation was slowly radiating out from them, facilitated by the flitting mist in his chest.

There had to be a way to sober up, fast. He needed steam and… Kel'Thuzad turned to the small, wicked half moon sickle sitting on the edge of the sink.

The Scraper.

He swallowed a shudder.

Its purpose was to scrape away excess oil and any dried gunk at the base of his tusks. He hated it. But maybe if he could flush new resin he would stop 'metabolizing' the drugs?

There would be no way to know unless he tested it. He winced as he dragged it down the length of one tusk. The sensation was akin to scraping a fingernail against a pair of scissors; it made the lich’s lower back tense as the claws on his feet tried to dig into the stone floor.

A torturous minute drug on before he could wipe off the rest with a warm towel. But his suffering paid off. Already Kel'Thuzad could see clear oil seeping out of the root as sensation began to return to his face.

"What are you doing in there!"

"Nothing," he replied as he tried to fan some fresh steam into his chest, hoping to dilute what he produced naturally. There wasn't enough time. Kel'Thuzad gave himself a quick once over, fussing with his hair for a moment before giving up on that too.

He didn't quite have the strength to apply his glamor. He was still building back his reserves of magic. Not that it would really change anything, he thought with a glance at his wardrobe. Or lack thereof.

With a deep breath he opened the door.

Modera stood, glowering. He crossed his arms, as if that might protect him from her withering glare. For a moment no one said anything.

It was awkward.

"I don’t usually host office hours in my private residence,” he said. Modera was not amused, Kel’Thuzad felt he might burst into flames if she kept looking at him like that, “-without an appointment that is. How did you get in here?”

Modera threw something small and hard at his head as a response. Kel’Thuzad was caught flatfooted and it bounced off his brow with a loud crack. He cried out, mostly out of surprise. Still, he touched the spot gingerly as if to check for blood or chipping. The habits of life were hard to break, even for one such as him.

With a short growl he bent to retrieve the object. Small, shiny, obviously magical.

His scourgestone.

Uh oh.

He eyed it cautiously, did Vael confess to her crimes or get found out? He didn't exactly want to tattle on her, Kel'Thuzad doubted Modera would appreciate hearing their daughter was a thief. “I was wondering where this went,” he said lightly.

“So you admit it, that’s yours.” Modera pointed at him with an accusatory finger.

He motioned to his quarters, “Obviously. I can’t believe you used it. Honestly that was very dangerous. What if you spliced or turned up in the plague quarter?” Hearthstones were very finicky things, calibrated specifically for its user to go to a specific place. They were ripe for misadventure without proper recalibration.

“Don’t act like you care,” Modera snapped, “Where the hell is my daughter!”

The lich blinked and looked back down at his scourgestone.

Modera had this.

She didn't know where Vael was (the subtext being he had her, which obviously he did not).

A cold clarity spread through him. Something was wrong. The room was thrown into sharp relief as the remnants of the dream dust were immediately flushed from his system. Sobriety at last.

“Why did she have this?” Modera asked, her voice warbled just a bit as doubt crept in.

Kel’Thuzad didn't answer. Instead he retrieved Vael's hearthstone from its spot on his desk, next to her photo. He brandished it, “She stole it Modera. Swapped them,” he let it fall into his palm and clenched his fist.

To his surprise, Modera’s face lit up, “Kel! We can use that to reverse scry for her.”

In theory that could work. If Vael was in Northrend. The location range was short, even for him. Kel’Thuzad waved his hand counter clockwise to the stone, drawing up a thin filmy membrane.

“Black,” Modera said.

Kel’Thuzad cut off the spell. “We’re too far away.” If she were dead the spell wouldn’t catch at all. But even if she wasn’t dead, Vael was still missing. Unless… someone took her.

Someone took his daughter.

The temperature rose around him and Modera looked up, worried at the sudden shift.

“I need you to tell me everything.”

+++

Kel’Thuzad paced the length of his apartment. He tapped the small chalk board in his hands. They were nice to have for strategy sessions. “You’re sure there was no blood?”

“None that I saw,” Modera replied.

He crossed ‘explosion’ off the list. His claws tapped on the green surface as he considered a list of culprits.

Who would want to harm their daughter? He doubted it was a random act of violence, not that mercenaries were not prone to such outbursts. But it was the way it happened, the destruction of the building, that made it seem targeted.

“What are you doing?”

Kel’Thuzad stopped next to the fireplace, but did not look up, “Thinking. Who else knows about Vael’s parentage?”

“Why?”

“Humor me a moment,” he said, chalk tap, tap, tapping away, “it might be relevant.”

So she told him. Brann, Titus, her parents and sister- no surprises there. The omissions were what interested him, “What about the council?”

There was a pause. He turned to face her, her expression was as cross as her arms. One look at her told him everything he needed to know, “Modera.”

“They know,” she snapped.

Titus might know all of the lich’s nervous tells that told him he was lying, but Kel’Thuzad knew all of Modera’s. And she had a tendency to lash out. Right now, he suspected she might not be telling the truth. “Does Aethas know?”

“Yes- what does this have to do with anything?”

Deflection. Classic Moody, he thought with a little puff of fog. “It matters because Aethas is the only member of the Horde on the council,” he said, “Meaning he could have told Sylvanas, who the Blood Elves still see as a hero. Who hates me and, I suspect, also hates you. Further, if you didn’t think she hated you before she most certainly would if she found out we had a child together.”

“He didn’t tell her,” Modera said, which Kel’Thuzad believed (because Aethas did not know). “You think Sylvanas is behind this?”

“I’m trying to think of people who would have cause to harm us specifically,” he said with a shrug, “but I’m not sure how she might have found out.”

Modera stood and made her way over to the fireplace, carefully navigating the growing puddle beneath the glacial spike. She eyed an old photograph of Mr. Bigglesworth that she had taken before looking up at him, “Did any of your cronies know?”

“None besides Titus- unless you spoke with Vargoth? I heard he survived his ordeal in Outland.”

Old Diggory may have been removed from polite society for almost twenty years, but before the Dark Portal closed he was one of the few who knew about their relationship. Perhaps he saw Vael and from that put two and two together? But, Modera shook her head and with that he crossed Sylvanas off the board.

“I suppose your plan to keep Vael secret would have worked. If not for chance I might never have known.”

“She…didn’t reach out to you?”

He shook his head, “I thought she got turned around and couldn’t find the road back. Let her curiosity get the better of her.” Which, he supposed it had.

“I thought you would recognize your own kin, she looks just like you.”

Kel’Thuzad motioned to his face: a skull full of inhuman teeth, jutting tusks and a short pair of horns; eyes made of red mist set in hollow sockets. The only comfort he had was that he wasn’t balding. “I see this in the mirror everyday,” he said gently, “my glamor is just a memory."

Modera opened her mouth to respond, but looked away. The conversation quieted while they returned to the task at hand, though Kel’Thuzad found his mind returning to the moment he met Vael for the first time.

It was silly, but at the time he thought the girl might have been the source of that strange magic. Now of course he knew it was those mad bronzes, spying on him-

The dragons!

Kel'Thuzad grabbed Modera's shoulder, "Before yesterday- did you ever feel a weird presence in Ironforge?"

"Besides yours?"

"I don't-," Kel'Thuzad stopped himself with a huff. He did not have a weird aura. “Those dragons- they were watching me that day I met Vael. They saw us together, maybe they could see what everyone else could.”

Modera’s eyebrows rose, “That dragon said our decisions would affect the future.”

For some reason that caught him off guard. It was such a vague and bizarre thing for a time dragon to say. "But we’re both heads of state, wouldn’t that happen regardless?” Kel’Thuzad asked.

“Not like that, these infinite dragons meddle with important events,” Modera explained, “They have tried to stop the Dark Portal from opening and Arthas’s madness with Stratholme.”

“Arthas did mention a strange dream he thought he had about that day,” privately, Kel’Thuzad was glad they failed. He might have been stuck in limbo forever. “How did you hear about this?”

“An ambassador from the Bronze flight provided a dossier on their activities when Malygos declared war on the Kirin Tor.”

Kel’Thuzad thought for a moment while he stroked a tusk. His knowledge of the Bronze Dragonflight was spotty at best. Most of it was gathered from the minds of fallen mercenaries… but Modera did not need to know that. He knew they made their home in Tanaris, were aloof- same as all dragons really, but they took their role as guardians of time seriously. “We need to go to the Caverns of Time.”

“We?”

"Of course. Why wouldn't we go together?"

Modera scoffed and shook his hand off her shoulder, "Do I really have to answer that?"

"Yes."

Now it was Modera’s turn to be flustered. The bridge of her nose darkened as she crossed her arms. She opened her mouth before closing it. Then she scoffed. Kel’Thuzad could imagine most of the arguments and counter arguments she could make to justify her position. What he did not imagine was for her to be this flabbergasted.

Before she could recover, he spun on his heel. It was time to get dressed. Even though there was nothing to see, it didn't mean he liked being naked. Maybe there was something about people being able to look through him that bothered him, or maybe it was the fact that there wasn’t anything to see. In any case it would be easier to strategize if he didn’t feel Modera’s eyes wandering over his bones.

He made for his wardrobe, the councilor close behind.

But what to wear? Something to augment the potency of one school of magic or his offensive abilities as a whole? Kel’Thuzad shook his head and riffled through his collection, behind him Modera found her voice. She wanted to argue- didn’t she understand this was not the time for that?

Finally he pulled out what he was looking for, a set of violet robes. The last time he wore these his frost bolts could punch through saronite five inches thick. Only- Kel’Thuzad brought them close and took a whiff.

Mothballs!

He couldn’t meet his daughter smelling like mothballs!

They also had a violent splash of green bile and rusty splotches of dried blood on the front. Damn it, Kel’Thuzad threw them aside. It would be better to pick something that would help him channel anyway.

If they were going to fight a dragon, he would need more endurance, not power.

Kel’Thuzad bent to pull on a pair of pants when suddenly he felt a sharp tug in his sacrum. He jumped and let out a surprised yelp, banging his head on the wardrobe’s shelf. Staves and jars fell from their positions and bounced off his spine.

He whipped around to find a Modera scowling at him. She yanked on his ass bone and she was scowling!

“What!”

"Are you even listeni-"

++++++

Before she could finish her sentence Modera felt a horrible pressure. It was as if an invisible hand took hold of her and squeezed the air out of her lungs. It flung her through nothingness until her feet hit solid ground.

The vertigo of sudden teleportation left her reeling. The only things keeping herself upright were the cold iron bars at her back.

She was in a cage.

And not a very nice one.

That motherfucker!

Modera oriented herself quickly. She was in one of many cages lined against a wall. The room she was in was more like a gymnasium than a jail, full of living and undead members of the cult of the damned. They sparred and generally milled about but mostly ignored her.

If only she could get out, maybe she could escape this frozen hell hole. She didn’t need Kel’Thuzad’s help. Surely she could approach those dragons herself- they would probably be more willing to work with her if he wasn’t tagging along anyway!

There were no enchantments on the cage as far as she could tell. However, the many high visibility-yellow ‘No Translocating Zone’ signs did trouble her. Modera stared at the standard Magical Safety and Health pictograph of a man mid splice- briefly wondering why a death cult would care about safety, before deciding against teleporting out.

The lock wasn’t much help either. Someone had filled the keyhole with some unspeakable substance that Modera wiped off onto her pant leg, unwilling to examine it further.

She glowered at the crowd. How dare they ignore her! How dare Kel’Thuzad lock her up in this cage!

Modera glared at a couple across the room, for no particular reason other than they were in her line of sight. A man, shirtless, sported several deep gashes in his back. His long white hair was pulled back, away from his wounds. Next to him a dark haired woman tended to his injuries. She bent over to retrieve something revealing his face. That profile. It was so familiar-

“Rivendare!” Modera called out before she could stop herself.

Across the way he straightened. It was definitely him.

Rivendare cast about, searching for the source of his name, until their eyes met from across the room. Modera gave him a half hearted wave. She watched as he excused himself and marched over, shirt tossed over his shoulder, wry smile plastered on his face. Even from here Modera could see the patchwork of criss crossing scars covering his body. One in particular stood out: a thin pink line circling his neck.

Titus Rivendare’s loyalty to Kel’Thuzad ran through that line. It was something Modera hoped she could use in her favor.

Afterall Rivendare had, apparently, kept her secret for all these years.

“Now isn’t this a surprise,” Rivendare said as he leaned against the cage, “How did you end up in the punishment box?”

“Teleporter accident,” Modera lied. The details were not important, “Can you get me out?”

“Why can’t you?”

Modera glared at him like he had grown a second head.

Rivendare quirked an eyebrow at her and cleared his throat, “I’m glad you're here, actually. I- well, I finally told Banana that I'd known about Vael. He didn't take it very well."

"He really didn't know?" That explained Kel's apartment.

"I think part of him might have, back when they ran into each other at the library," Rivendare said, “Anyway, he’s very excited.”

Modera's scowl deepened. She didn't care about how excited he was! "My daughter was kidnapped.”

“Kel?” The death knight stood so quickly it was almost comical.

Modera shook her head, “Dragons.”

“Dragons,” Rivendare relaxed. He thumbed the stubble along his jaw for a moment, calculating something in that diseased brain of his, “I’m in.”

First a lich and now a death knight? Modera’s frown deepened, she didn’t need a scourge attaché for this mission. “Thank you but that wouldn't be necessary.”

“Nonsense, where Banana goes I go-”

“Go where?”

Modera turned, Rivendare ignored the speaker.

Walking towards them was another lich. For the uninitiated she might be a terrifying sight. She was tall, the thin horns on her head leant her a certain elegance that was betrayed by the slight herky-jerky-ness of her movements. Her long, dark red hair flowed behind her, held aloft by the subtle storm of magic that made up her body. Her blue witch-fire eyes burned with a certain curiocity at the sight of the archmage, watching her like a cat watches a bird in its cage. Waiting for dinner.

But Modera looked at Rivendare from the corner of her eye, noting how he regarded the newcomer with a mix of boredom and irritation. It seemed more likely this pussycat would go hungry tonight.

"Where are you going?" she asked again.

"Nowhere," Rivendare's reply was curt.

The lich motioned to Modera with manicured claws, so those could be manicured, "What is the Kirin Tor doing here?"

"That's none of your business."

She scoffed, hands on her hips, "The Council of Six in Naxxramas is certainly my business.”

“Cassandra, drop it.”

The mists in her chest shot up through her collar, “How dare you! Don’t use my name in front of-”

“Cassandra. Fairbreeze,” Rivendare interrupted.

Modera's eyebrows shot up and she almost barked a laugh. Ran away with the circus and became a lich! Wait ‘till Aethas hears about this! "This is what you've been doing? Your parents said you were on some expedition to Un'goro."

"Un'goro?" Titus said, voice full of feigned shock, "I thought you killed your parents."

"Shut up," hissed Cassandra as she rounded on the death knight, the mists had fanned out around her face.

She was blushing! Modera had seen something similar with Kel'Thuzad earlier and Modera realized it was because he was embarrassed. And so was Miss Fairbreeze.

"Why? Are you worried Kel'Thuzad would make you go through with it?" Rivendare asked with a shrug, "we all know you're lying."

Modera felt a brief surge of power from the lich before Cassandra drew back with a dark laugh. "At least I'm in good standing with the master. I saw you running away from his apartment earlier."

Rivendare let out a derisive sniff, "You have no idea what you're talking about."

“No? I suppose those injuries on your back appeared out of nowhere,” Cassandra didn’t wait for him to answer, instead she turned her attention to Modera. “Now what should we do with you?”

“I was wondering that myself,” Modera replied, “Are your parents spies? Should I have your mother brought up on treason charges?”

The white pupil floating in her sockets widened. The lich leaned forward, growling and Modera could feel magical static building around her, but it wasn’t from Cassandra, “Don’t you talk about Mother, I’ll-”

“Cassy.”

Cassandra straightened quicker than if she had been struck by lightning. A complete shift came over her, all her poise evaporated into a nervous energy as Kel’Thuzad approached.

Modera could see why he was called archlich.

Standing next to Cassandra, Kel’Thuzad might as well be from a different species- which he technically was being from human stock. He was huge, at least a foot taller than the other lich, and thicker too. His bones threw off a silvery-blue sheen that almost glowed while Cassandra was a dull cream. Then there was the sheer amount of mana bleeding off him.

If Cassandra was a storm of magic, Kel was a hurricane.

While the contrast was mildly interesting, it wasn’t what made Modera’s brow furrow. What did was the child holding the archlich’s skeletal hand. He was around Vael’s age and looked just like Kel might have, save for his white hair and vibrant, orange eyes.

She watched as he ran over and practically tackled the death knight (with an oof), "I just split a shadowbolt in two! Baba said you would take me to the village to get dessert.”

Baba? Modera made a face.

“Master! We were just deciding what to do with this intruder,” Cassandra was quick to wrap her arms around Kel’Thuzad’s waist and rub her horns against his tusks, “any suggestions?”

“Councilor Modera is not a prisoner, she is my guest,” he pulled his head up and away from her, distangling himself in the process, “Titus, what’s going on here? Why is she still in the box?”

“But- she threatened me!” Cassandra whined.

“Cassandra, please, you’re immortal,” Kel’Thuzad said, “Now, I have some business to attend to abroad. I trust everything will be kept in order?”

“Er, of course,” Modera watched the other lich wilt, “I suppose that means you’ll miss tonight’s special resurrection committee meeting.”

Kel'Thuzad blinked and tilted his head. Modera thought he might be confused- or insane if a committee meeting was any kind of social event. Maybe his time with the lich king changed him more than she could have anticipated.

What she did not anticipate was for Kel'Thuzad to rub his tusks on her horns and murmur an apology. A grim realization struck her: that was his girlfriend.

And they were kissing- or some equivalent unique to their 'biology'.

Whatever it was was making the air smell like her grandmother's pot puri.

Modera scowled at Rivendare, who was scowling at the liches. Good! Thankfully, it put Cassandra at ease enough for her to depart.

Kel'Thuzad turned to Rivendare, Modera could see the mists in his head collecting near his cheeks. "Turn around."

Rivendare rolled his eyes but complied. Kel'Thuzad gave his back a cursory examination before making what appeared to be an offhanded gesture. The death knight flinched as tendrils of filmy green and black magic sank into his back. Modera watched as the skin and muscles rippled before the wounds began to close.

"Gentle, gentle!" Rivendare reached back to itch at his fresh scars, "this is why I always go to Dottie. At least she has a bedside manner."

"I need you to watch Ghastly. Modera and I have to go to the Caverns of Time."

"No," Rivendare said.

Kel'Thuzad crossed his arms, "No?"

“Of course no- I’m coming with you,” Rivendare said, “I rescued Vael once didn’t I? I’m an expert.”

The boy looked up at Rivendare, “Who is that?”

The death knight leaned down and whispered something in his ear that made him gasp. Ghastly's orange eyes went wide and darted between Modera and Kel'Thuzad. He rushed over to the lich, “Please! Can I come too?”

“Absolutely not, Ghastly, it’s too dangerous.”

“But- I’m strong! And I can fly good and my nose can help! Look,” Ghastly said as he rummaged through his pack, “I even have this.”

Modera’s eyes widened. A compact blue box with a signature set of tesla coils- it looked like a gnomish teleporter!

“We can use this to go straight to Tanaris!”

Kel’Thuzad snatched the teleporter out of the boy’s hands and turned it over, “Aha! I knew it- you stole this from Heigan,” Ghastly clammed up. Kel’Thuzad continued, “We can’t use this, it’s practically an experimental bomb. It’ll blow up half of Dragonblight if we tried.”

His master plan foiled Ghastly deflated for a moment, only to spring back up with another gambit, “Can I at least come to the Caverns? You’re always saying I should make new friends.”

Kel’Thuzad made a thinking sound as he put the teleporter away into his own pack. But it was too much for Modera. Stuck in the cage as she was, she had to put her foot down. It was time to put an end to this ridiculous charade, “Kel, you can’t be serious. He’s a child.”

“Well… he is a drake.”

The child was a dragon? Modera looked between Ghastly and Kel’Thuzad. Could liches-- with a dragon?

“He’s adopted,” Kel’Thuzad said, reading her mind. He crossed his arms, “Why are you still in the box? We have to go.”

This time when Modera looked at him like he’d grown an extra head she also said, “It’s locked.”

Kel’Thuzad reached over and gently pushed the door open.

Thankfully, no one commented on it when she stepped out.

A low thrum went out as a spiral of magic began to form behind the lich. A portal. “Where is that to?” Modera asked.

“The Barrens,” Kel’Thuzad replied, “It’s the closest recall point I have to Tanaris.”

Modera scrunched up her face. Razorfen Downs. Not only was it full of bat guano and rotting Quilboar fanatics, but it was at least a full day’s flight from Gadgetzan. “Why can’t we go to Theramore?”

“I’ve never been. My glamor is expensive, if we go there so soon after my resurrection I wouldn't be able to cast much,” he said, “besides, what if we run into Jaina?”

“There's tens of thousands of people on that island. What are the chances you would run into Miss Proudmoore?” Modera asked.

“She could recognize me. She would recognize you.”

Modera doubted that. Jaina would have been a teenager the last time she saw the way Kel looked in his glamor. And she wasn’t expecting any visits from the council.

“Jaina saw Banana melt,” Rivendare said, earning a glare from the lich.

Oh. Still, Modera was not willing to budge, “I’m not going to the Barrens.”

“Have you ever even been to Theramore?” Kel’Thuzad asked.

"Yes, but…" she couldn't make a portal there in one go, it was too far away.

He let out a misty sigh, reached behind him and clenched his fist. The portal collapsed with a gasp. “Follow me.”

Evidently he meant all of them because Ghastly and Rivendare were quick to obey.

They set off through Naxxramas. Although there were no vivisections or other foul plague experiments on display in this area, Modera decided she did not like the fortress. For one it smelled like someone tried to sterilize a barn.

For second it was drafty and cold. Even half the undead she saw had a thick coat on. She had half a mind to apply a flame shield to at least cut out the breeze.

She pulled her cloak tighter and fought off a shiver, instead focusing on the pit in her stomach. Vael was out there somewhere. Once again she failed to keep her safe. A wicked thought nagged at the back of her mind: what if the Bronzes couldn’t help? What if they wouldn’t help?

They didn’t exactly discuss a Plan B.

Modera looked up at Kel’Thuzad. The lich hadn’t said anything since they began their trek. Part of her wondered what he was thinking about. As a lich, he was almost impossible for her to read. Was he thinking about Vael or was he communing with his master?

“You’re more…cordial than I thought you would be,” Modera said.

Kel’Thuzad cocked his head and looked down at her, “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t think the Lich King would allow you to do this.”

“Oh. He wouldn’t,” Kel’Thuzad replied with a small laugh, “Oh no. If he were still here, I would have already taken Vael and you would be worse than dead.”

Modera frowned, he didn't have to be so cheerful about it.

Then, realization dawned on her.

He was free?

She stopped dead in her tracks.

She was at a loss. When his letters stopped she feared the worst. In her mind Kel’Thuzad died the day he reached Icecrown. She’d mourned him.

Even if he was standing right next to her, he was gone. He was supposed to be gone.

But…the trips to Ironforge, his behavior in the library, all his behavior from the last week was beginning to make sense-

“Modera?” Kel’Thuzad interrupted her thoughts. She blinked and looked up, the others were almost at the end of the hallway, “Are you alright?”

"Yes!" Modera snapped. Kel’Thuzad and Rivendare shared a glance before he looked back at her quizzically (well, as much as Kel could look quizzical).

“I was only trying to make a little joke, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Modera could feel her cheeks burn as she marched up to them. She didn't want to talk about this. Worse, she didn't know why this revelation was making her lash out. She couldn't look at his face- it was wrong. She needed something else to focus on.

Then she narrowed her eyes in recognition. That staff on his back.

Atiesh, the Greatstaff of the Guardian. So he had reformed it. “I hope you’re proud of yourself,” Modera said, motioning to the staff, “Manipulating my daughter so you could get what you always wanted.”

Kel’Thuzad fidgeted, his claws clicked against one of the buttons on his cloak, “That isn’t exactly what happened,” he said, “besides, it's just one of the things I’ve always wanted and not even the most important.”

“What about the demon,” Modera asked, “You know it's possessed, right?”

“Demon?” Kel’Thuzad scoffed, expelling blue mist from between his teeth, “The staff was pulverized. Do you know how long it took me to glue this thing back together? I’ll eat my hat if it's possessed- if it ever was. How do we know Antonidas wasn’t lying?”

Modera arched an eyebrow, “Glue? You glued the greatstaff back together?”

Her fears of Kel’Thuzad running amok with the power of Atiesh subsided. It was more likely to blow up in his face at this point.

“I- yes! It was shattered into forty bits, what else could I have possibly done?”

They walked through an archway into the central hub of Naxxramas. The middle of the room was connected to a split level structure. One ramp led down to a sunken area surrounded by ornate stained glass windows. They took the ramp up onto a large, circular teleporter pad. From here Modera could see (and smell) the entrances into the other wings of Naxxramas.

“You could have realigned all the pieces, stripped them, reconstructed the pathways and put them into a new staff.”

Another scoff, “Who has time for that?”

Before Modera could answer, for example as an immortal his time was infinite, the pad activated.

This time she was prepared for the teleportation.

But not for the bone chillingly cold atmosphere. Alarmingly cold, even for Northrend. Modera’s armor was enchanted to withstand the freezing winds of Icecrown, and she felt as though she might as well be naked. Even the soles of her feet could feel the ice through her boots.

She hugged her ribs instinctively and took a step back. Even Rivendare and Ghastly rubbed their arms. The only person who seemed unaffected was Kel’Thuzad.

“Trying to k-kill me?” Modera gasped. Breathing hurt.

Kel’Thuzad blinked, the red light in his eye sockets extinguished for a moment before flaring back to life. A red haze shimmered around her, bringing a humid heat with it. A flame shield, a strong one at that. More notably, Modera did not see him move or hear him utter any incantations.

Dangerous. Not for him, but for her in case she ever needed to fight him. Unsignified casting made duels unpredictable.

“Apologies, I forgot how bad it can get up here.”

“Hey, how come I don’t get one?” Rivendare asked.

“Hush you. Now let's hurry along, Sapphiron gets crabby if people dally in his chambers.”

He led them through the alcove into the main chamber. The room it brought them to was huge. They must be near the top of the pyramid, Modera though. Near the exit the bones of a colossal dragon lounged against the rough stone walls.

Sapphiron.

Modera heard the ancient blue dragon had been slain by Arthas. She also heard that Kel'Thuzad occasionally rode him into battle, which Modera was inclined to believe. It just seemed like something he would do.

Like most skeletal undead she encountered, its chest was full of a frigid blue mist. Spellwork webbing shimmered between his wingbones and the crest on his head. They would have to walk past its skull to exit. Modera heard the dull scrape of bone against metal, from the corner of her eye she could see the dragon’s club like tail twitch.

He exhaled, blowing a fog bank of freezing mist into the chamber, solving that mystery. The flame shield flickered around her and Modera pulled her cloak tighter. A blue flame ignited in his empty socket and tracked her movement. She picked up her pace to keep up with Kel’Thuzad’s long strides.

Ghastly darted over to the resting dragon and said something to him in their native tongue. The response was something Modera felt more than heard. The dragon sounded like moving glaciers.

The young drake returned with a huge smile on his face, “Sapphiron said I’ll be able to split as many bolts as you soon.”

Kel’Thuzad chuckled, “I expect nothing less.”

He turned his bright orange eyes to her, “How many can you cast at once?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never tried to do more than four,” Modera replied, “I don’t have many occasions to bolt split.”

“Baba can do forty.”

Modera grunted. Kel’Thuzad would have occasion to do that. They made it through Saphiron’s frozen chamber. Now they were in another hallway, this one lined with a plush red carpet.

Ghastly wasn’t done with her though, “Are you the Modera that writes about Ulduar?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know Heigan?” Ghastly asked, “He’s teaching me how to build things.”

“I do,” she said. Heigan was a strange cat, who stank of sweat and sulfur. But he was an exceptional engineer. So much so that he was still published regularly in the Gnomish Science Quarterly. “You said he made that teleporter?”

Ghastly nodded, “He built a little focusing iris in it. He says it could send him to Outland.”

“It might,” Likely it would send him to the Twisting Nether. Why the hell would that madman make such a thing? She wondered as they stepped into the final chamber.

Another circular room. Though this one was a normal temperature, for Naxxramas. Four stone arches hummed with magical currents that she could feel from the doorway. Directly across from them was what appeared to be a monstrous chair made out of dragon bones.

“...is that your throne?” Modera asked.

This was the second time, but she suspected not the last, that Modera witnessed the Archlich of Naxxramas embarrassed.

“Er, yes.”

“Do you sit in it often?”

Kel’Thuzad waved the mist collecting near his face away, “It's how I pilot the citadel. Although sometimes I like to sit in it when I have to fight a little army in here."

Modera gave him a blank look while she tried to picture what that might look like. The silence stretched for a moment until the lich continued, "I think it's more fun that way.”

Modera thought it was goofy. But it did sound like something the Kel'Thuzad she used to know would do.

“I think its goofy when you do the grand entrance thing,” Rivendare said, “I thought I asked you not to do that.”

“You four just stand in a corner and get picked off one by one,” Kel’Thuzad replied, “I told you not to do that.”

Modera raised an eyebrow. She never thought she would get a front row to the Scourge’s interpersonal bickering.

“No- we divide the attackers and overlap our curses. The metrics show that is the best way for us to eliminate invaders!”

Kel’Thuzad rolled his eyes, ignoring the death knight. Modera watched him run his claws over one of the ornate arches instead. To her surprise runes hummed to life along the stone edges, glowing with a sickly yellow light.

“These are portal amplifiers, Nerubian design,” he said, “Have you encountered anything like this in Ulduar?”

Modera shook her head, placing one hand below his. The stone was warm to the touch.

“The old empire was vast, requiring ways to travel efficiently from here to Silithus if necessary. So the Nerubians devised a more extreme way to tunnel through space with magic. A clever trick, wouldn’t you agree?”

A dangerous thing for the Cult to have. “How does it work?” Modera asked.

“Easy, your hand is already in the right place. All you have to do is cast a portal normally and it will do all the channeling for you.”

It did seem simple, and as Modera began the spell she realized it really was. It was strange though. She felt a sucking behind her ribs as the almost electric thrum of magic traveled down her arm and into the amplifier. Soon the portal flared to life.

Modera looked down at her palm and flexed her fingers. She didn’t feel any of the fatigue from the cast.

“Alright, you two insisted on coming along. Hop in,” Kel’Thuzad said.

Modera watched Rivendare and Ghastly step through the light. She made to follow when she was stopped by Kel’Thuzad’s hand on her shoulder, “Modera, wait.”

She frowned up at him and watched the air around him shift and warp, obscuring his face until the storm subsided. And then he was her Kel’Thuzad again.

Seeing him this way was almost worse, she realized as her eyes slid away from his face. It was how he looked in her nightmares.

“I know what you must think of me,” he said, his voice having lost its ethereal reverberation, “I need you to know that I’m not going to try to take her away from you. I’ll do anything to get her home safe.”

Modera nodded and looked away. His words sounded sincere but they offered little comfort. Instead she felt like someone was squeezing her heart. She closed her eyes and felt him pull her close.

“We’ll get her back,” he whispered.

Modera nodded.

He was still in there.

Chapter Text

Kel'Thuzad watched Modera step through the portal's light. It was just good sense to let the caster go first. One never knew if it led to a magically sealed room…

Would she have done that? The tips of his fingers brushed against his chest. It was fleeting, but he could still feel her warmth there.

What else could he have said? Was there anything he could say that would truly put Modera's mind at ease? Maybe not. But, he needed to tell her. And he wasn't one to go back on a promise.

He wouldn't stop until Vael was safe.

But, Theramore.

Kel'Thuzad looked into the portal. It was risky. Their adventure could be cut short before it began. This glamor was superficial, it was just enough to lend him his old face. And it still drained all the mana recovered. He wouldn't be able to fight his way out if they were recognized.

There wasn’t much he could do at this point. Everyone was waiting on him. Kel’Thuzad squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and crossed through the portal.

His stomach dropped as he stepped into empty air. The portal- the exit didn't calibrate properly! Eyes wide, Kel’Thuzad overcorrected and lost balance. He fell through the portal, colliding with someone on the way down.

Oh light, Kel'Thuzad’s insides practically froze in his chest.

He knew he should have paid attention instead of futzing with his glamor! Now he'd fallen on top of the last person in Theramore he wanted to see.

Jaina Proudmoore.

It was a familiar position, thanks to Arthas's obsessive memories. Unfortunately- no fortunately, her expression was not one of carnal bliss. Jaina's brows knit together (that one he did recognize).

There was no way she could recognize him, right? The reference for his glamor was almost a decade old by the time of his banishment.

Cold hands hauled the lich up by his shoulders, "Nice going Banana, only two feet too high," came Titus's scathing remarks, "maybe next time we can all break our necks."

Two feet was within the standard deviation for a portal of this distance, not that Kel'Thuzad wanted to argue the point. It was secondary to the scrutiny they were receiving from the Mistress of Theramore.

He offered a hand and a swift apology to Jaina, both were ignored. She stood, eyes roaming from Kel'Thuzad to Titus, her brow furrowed a bit at Ghastly before returning to Kel’Thuzad.

"Councilor Modera, what a pleasant surprise," Jaina said, her bland smile not quite reaching her eyes.

Modera smiled- more like grimaced, through her ashen complexion, "Lady Jaina! Imagine- running into you! Here! Of all places!"

"It is my island."

"Oh, yes. Just a coincidence."

Kel'Thuzad’s gut sank. Modera was no good at being caught flat footed.

"Are you visiting for long?" Jaina asked, "I wish I'd have known you were coming, I would have prepared a suite for you."

Modera laughed, it was supposed to sound light and carefree, but it was anything but. "No, I'm just passing through. We have some business to the south."

We? Moody! Kel'Thuzad swallowed a grimace. Beside him Titus shifted. Her slip up didn't go unnoticed by Jaina either. The other mage placed a hand on the councilor's shoulder. "I have some ideas for the symposium next month. I would love to run them by you."

"Oh, I don't-"

"Nonsense! It will only take a moment."

Jaina was quick to guide Modera to the portal master’s office about thirty feet away.

"That can't be good," Kel'Thuzad turned to Titus. They watched Jaina hail a pair of guards and not so subtly motion to the two undead interlopers before shutting the door behind her.

Titus grunted as the burly guards glared at them. With a shrug he turned to the disguised lich, "Maybe Arthas was right. You know what he always said."

Kel'Thuzad frowned, "Never go down on a woman?"

"What? No. Did he really say that?"

"He thought- well, it doesn't really matter. But yes."

"That… explains a lot," Titus said, "I was going to say 'Blondes are more fun,' considering Arthas's girlfriend and your girlfriend are currently discussing how to arrest us!"

The lich grunted noncommittally. Titus made it sound like the two shared some sort of camaraderie. But that would require Modera to open up about her personal life to a professional rival, which he knew she would never have done. Plus it would require that she actually confess to liking him- publicly. Which he knew would never happen.

"What does 'going down' mean?" Ghastly asked, his fiery orange eyes wide with curiosity. Titus raised an eyebrow at Kel'Thuzad.

The answer was all his.

"I'll tell you when you're older," Kel'Thuzad said, placing a hand on the drake's shoulder. Hopefully he had a few more years before they had to discuss the dragons and the bees.

He guided Ghastly away from the disembarking zone, until they were off to the side. Still within door-monitoring range.

Kel’Thuzad had only seen a few maps of Theramore, but he knew the city was situated around a large mage’s tower. Most of the stones were granite quarried from the nearby cape, though some of the older material looked like limestone. The planks looked like they had been repurposed from one of the galleons that brought the original refugees to Kalimdor’s shore. Likely the tower was one of the first permanent structures built here.

It made sense for the termination point to open in Jaina’s refuge. From here she, or any of her advisors, could monitor incoming traffic. Modera’s portal from Naxxramas may not have a sign that said ‘Scourge Portal Here,’ but because of the distance it would feel powerful.

Kel’Thuzad groaned. Jaina probably assumed it was a portal from Dalaran. That is until he fell out of it.

Damn it! There had to be a way for them to figure out what Jaina and Modera were talking about because there was a non-zero chance that Jaina recognized him. He doubted it was about next month's symposium for arcane researchers. Although, if it was about next month’s symposium, he might be interested.

Kel’Thuzad frowned, there was another option worth considering. He turned to Titus, “Should I leave? Go ahead to Tanaris I mean.”

Titus grunted, but didn’t answer right away. If Jaina arrested Modera at least one of them could make their case to the bronze dragons. But…judging by how the guards were watching them, they were in danger of being arrested too. “What would Modera think?” Titus asked.

She would think I ran off to kidnap our daughter.

Titus didn’t wait for him to answer, he leaned in voice low, “A lot of people are watching us,” Kel’Thuzad made to turn, before Titus pulled on his sleeve, “Don’t look.”

The lich huffed, he had ways of spying without looking like a rube. He projected his consciousness looking for anything dead or otherwise. The undead were more common in Alliance lands since the second battle of Light’s Hope. He found a plain clothed death knight, a man negotiating for a portal to someplace less humid (he imagined). Unfortunately, he was alive.

But his ghoul was not.

Stealing the ghoul was so easy it might as well have been free. The poor death knight was none the wiser when his pet straightened and walked away. Just like that the lich had a second set of eyes and ears and he could see that indeed almost every guard and most of the mages in the tower had their eyes glued directly to his back.

He grimaced, the ghoul mirrored the expression, “That’s not good.”

“What do you mean?”

Glamors are complicated, multi-layered illusions which require a large amount of mana to cast. Almost none are the same. The casting parameters vary depending on the individual casting it and the desired illusion. In Kel’Thuzad’s case the spell has to take an eight foot tall skeletal apparition, mask the gigantic magical aura he produced into something less conspicuous, and package that all into something that looked like a lean, six foot tall (on a good day), middle aged man.

“I couldn’t cast every part of my glamor,” Kel’Thuzad hissed, “I told Modera- that was why I didn’t want to come here!”

Titus frowned and gave him a once over, “You look fine to me.”

“That’s because you don’t have any magical sight,” Kel’Thuzad replied, "but every mage in this room can see there's something wrong with me. I'm throwing off a signature that should only belong to a dragon or a demon-"

"Or a lich."

"Precisely."

Titus's eyes roamed around the tower, noting the hostile and curious looks they were getting, "So, basically, what you're telling me is your ass is out and everyone can see it."

"...right."

Titus shook his head, "I don't think you could leave this room even if you wanted to."

Kel'Thuzad felt a tug at his sleeve and looked down. Ghastly pointed at the mostly assembled Atiesh on his back. "Maybe they are looking at that."

"Why did you bring that thing anyway?" Titus asked, "does it even work without the base?"

Kel'Thuzad shook his head and directed the ghoul to stand under one of the windows to the portal master's office. "I thought I might have to pay off a dragon."

He strained the ghoul's senses. The words from inside the office were too muffled, but the tones were not. In all likelihood he might have to pay off Jaina. Or, just maybe, his hand brushed against one of his pockets.

Maybe there was a solution.

+++++++

Modera didn't risk a backwards glance. She couldn't afford for Jaina to see her face. Also, she didn't want Kel'Thuzad to see her. He might do something rash.

Jaina guided her to a small room with one hand on her back.

Mage lights flickered to life as they entered. The portal master’s office was a plain space, filled with two desks and a handful of uncomfortable looking chairs.

The door snapped shut. Modera flinched. She stayed staring straight ahead, eyes glued to a charmless painting of a lighthouse. Fresh adrenaline rushed through her body, the councilor struggled to keep her hands from shaking.

"Councilor, is everything alright?" Jaina asked.

Modera closed her eyes for a moment. A futile attempt to thaw the ice that had settled in her gut since she used the scourgestone. "I should be asking you that," she said. When she faced Jaina her face had become a mask of calm, "you were just tackled to the ground after all."

"Yes, that was a surprise," Jaina replied. She looked like she wanted to say more, but nothing came. And the silence stretched on. Meanwhile, Modera's insides writhed like snakes.

"That man you're with," Jaina prompted. Again she was met with silence.

Jaina took a step closer. The other mage was quite a bit taller, forcing Modera to look up at her. "Are you being held against your will?"

Modera opened her mouth, hesitating. Several options presented themselves.

None good.

Should she lie? Agree with Jaina that Kel kidnapped her? If Jaina arrested him and Rivendare would she be able to continue on by herself? Loathe as she was to admit it, Modera might need his help if they had to fight a dragon.

Alternatively, she could deny Jaina's accusation. What proof did she really have that it was Kel'Thuzad? She must have been barely a teenager the last time he looked like that. And Blighterghast- she didn't have to explain him at all.

As far as Jaina knew that was just a father and son who came down to explore the island.

Denial. That was the best course.

Damn it all. Why didn't she listen? None of this would be happening if they just gone to the Barrens!

Modera cleared her throat, "No, I haven't been kidnapped. Why do you ask?"

"Because that man looks an awful lot like Kel’Thuzad.”

Damn it! Before Modera could respond, Jaina continued, “Wasn’t there an incident in Ironforge involving you two recently?”

“Oh, you heard about that?” Modera asked. Her gut sank, so much for denial.

“It was all over the papers,” Jaina replied. Below the fold though, who reads that? “I heard he brought a devilsaur fossil to life?”

“It was a dragon’s skull… and a few other exhibits,” Modera said, “the devilsaur was plaster.”

Jaina raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, “What was he doing there at all?”

At least Modera did not have to lie about this. She shrugged, truly she had no idea why the lich had been there. She had theories, but those were not for Jaina. “Research? Maybe he was interested in Harrison’s lecture. Regardless, I was more concerned with the dragon attacking the museum.”

Jaina ran her fingers over the portal master’s desk and picked up one of her desk toys- a little stress gnome. “A dragon,” she gave it a quick squeeze, popping its eyes out with a squeak.

“She was part of the Infinite Dragonflight, an agent of Deathwing. You see, Kel’Thuzad and I were on the council during the second war.” Modera said, “She said she wanted to clear the board of any obstacles. Perhaps it was a coincidence, a matter of efficiency to deal with us together in a place where we couldn’t fight back.”

Jaina, made a noncommittal sound and continued to squeak the gnome. She stared at Modera’s face, looking for something, a kernel of truth or an answer to 'why the hell is Kel'Thuzad here now'. Thus far Jaina had no reason to doubt what she was saying. Maybe they were going to go speak with the Bronze dragonflight about this? That was the truth after all.

“I thought you had a daughter,” Jaina said finally.

Modera blinked, the question caught her off guard, “I do, that boy is Kel’Thuzad’s ward.”

“I remember I met her recently at the Stormwind Academy Gala,” Jaina said, She squeaked the gnome again, “How old is she now?”

“She’s ten,” Modera replied curtly.

“Do you remember that day in Antonidas’s office? When he gave Kel’Thuzad the ultimatum,” Jaina asked, shifting gears again. Modera nodded, not quite sure where this was going. “I remember everything about that day; how Kel’Thuzad looked. What he said. What you said,” this time she squeezed the gnome slowly, drawing out its squeak into a rasp, “I think about that day often.”

Modera’s eyes slid away, back to the painting. There were many sleepless nights where she wondered what she could have said to pull him off that path.

“He has a distinct look to him. For a long time I couldn’t put my finger on what it was,” Jaina said. With her free hand she motioned to her cheeks, “Then, it came to me suddenly. At the Gala, in fact. I realized most Tel’abim have dark eyes. Even their mages. But not Kel’Thuzad.”

Modera’s mouth went dry, she felt the color drain from her face.

“And not your daughter. Because she has her father’s eyes,” Jaina said, dropping the stress-gnome, “Doesn’t she, councilor.”

++++++

“I think they’re arguing,” Kel’Thuzad said.

“What are they saying?” Titus asked.

Kel’Thuzad squinted and maneuvered the ghoul as close to the guards as he dared. It wasn’t much clearer but now he could make out Jaina yelling. “Hard to say.”

Titus grunted and waited for the lich to elaborate. When he didn’t Titus switched gears, “are you going to tell me how Modera ended up in the box or do I have to ask.”

“What, that?” Kel’Thuzad suddenly felt itchy. He crossed his arms, “it was nothing. I needed to get dressed.”

Titus raised an eyebrow, “And? It’s nothing she’s never seen before.”

“Yes it is,” Kel’Thuzad snapped. Of course, Modera had likely seen many skeletons in her day. Anatomical models in a lecture hall were commonplace. As were the fossils she unearthed on expeditions. Hell she might have even encountered animate constructs in the Kirin Tor's fight against the Scourge. But he was absolutely certain she had never seen him, as a lich, naked.

Kel'Thuzad was likely to remember that sort of thing. “And no. It was… something else.”

“What, did she ‘violate your person’ or something?”

Kel’Thuzad glared, which was all the answer Titus needed. The look of glee he had was one usually reserved for the hazing of new recruits, “Did she grab your spine?”

“Stop distracting me, I’m trying to listen.”

“No-,” the death knight gasped at the revelation, “she goosed you?”

Kel’Thuzad rolled his eyes and tried to focus on the growing argument in the room. He wasn’t going to entertain this foolishness!

“Oh my god- she did, didn’t she,” Titus crowed, “I can’t believe it.”

“Bonestripper! Get over here!”

Uh oh.

The lich grimaced again. Apparently the death knight did notice his pet was missing. Kel’Thuzad locked the ghoul in place, keeping its focus on the argument in the room. However, this did not deter the creature’s original master.

The death knight stomped over and pulled at the ghouls shoulders. When it wouldn’t budge he looked around, searching for the source of this impertinence.

Acolytes and trainees were known to steal each other's ghouls during training. He might have experienced this as a form of hazing in the past. Kel’Thuzad watched through the ghoul’s eyes as the death knight spotted the only other death knight, Titus, and marched over.

Meanwhile Ghastly and Titus were still laughing!

“Er, Titus I think-”

Titus sighed, “Seriously? Lighten up you old goat-”

“Oi!”

Too late.

They turned to look at the newcomer. For a living death knight, he sure smelled like a corpse. And looked like one too. His skin was sallow; greasy tendrils of long black hair framed his face and his teeth were crooked and mossy. He was certainly a poster child for the study of pestilent magic. “What the hell are youse on, takin’ another man’s ghoul like that?”

Titus looked from Kel'Thuzad back to the death knight, "Me?" he asked, pointing to himself.

"Yes youse. Now give him back."

The guards near the door tensed, anticipating an altercation.

"Talk to him, not me," Titus said, jerking his thumb in Kel'Thuzad's direction.

Kel'Thuzad had an idea. "Are you accusing me of practicing dark magic?” he said loudly, pulling Ghastly to his side, “In front of my son!"

"What-" Titus started.

"I'm not going to tell youse again," the death knight said. He poked Titus hard in the chest.

Now every eye in the tower was on the death knights.

Titus raised his hands and glanced over at the guards. They were monitoring the situation but made no move to intervene. “Listen, I didn’t take your ghoul. This isn’t Archerus,” he said with a light laugh, “do I look like the kind of guy that would go around stealing other people’s ghouls?”

A grim demeanor came over the other death knight, “Everyday during training the other acolytes would steal my ghoul and then the instructor would yell Herman the vermin! If you can’t keep a ghoul you’ll become one! Then I would be thrown in the pit with the rats-”

Kel’Thuzad took this opportunity to slowly pull Ghastly away from the unhinged death knight. Once again he commanded the ghoul and the creature perked up from under the window. With a feral growl it walked calmly through the crowd toward his erstwhile master.

“And it went on. Every. Day,” Herman looked up, glaring straight at Titus. Each of his next words was punctuated with a poke to the chest, “That instructor looked just. Like. You!”

“It wasn’t a pit, Herman,” Titus replied dryly, “stop being dramatic.”

The death knight yowled when the ghoul sank his teeth into his ass. Now the guards were perking up. Betrayed by his ghoul and spurred on by the chance at revenge, Herman tackled a surprised Titus to the ground.

The guards ran over to break up the melee, others began to crowd around the brawling death knights. But Kel’Thuzad grabbed Ghastly and ran for the exit. With all the shouting and spells flying through the air, surely no one was left paying any attention to him.

With the stone archway within reach, Kel’Thuzad thought he was home free. Once out in Theramore proper he could grab a taxi or find a secluded place to make a portal to the Barrens- as he had originally planned.

That is until he ran into another invisible barrier.

He hit it hard, bouncing off of it and landing on his back in a heap. A shadow fell over him. Two draenei loomed, their silver eyes regarding him with amusement. “Apologies, but Jaina would like to have words with you.”

++++++

“If you don’t compose yourself, councilor, I’ll have you thrown in the brig,” Jaina leaned over the desk like a predatory bird. Any second, she might fly forth and strike, “I’ll remind you that we are not in Dalaran. Theramore is my island.”

Modera glared from her side of the desk.

Their argument had gone a little off track. Insults were exchanged. Past lovers judged and found wanting- Modera certainly had enough unpleasant run-ins with the prince when he attended policy meetings with his father. As for Kel’Thuzad, the less said the better.

Point being, it was not productive. Every second Modera wasted here meant Vael was still in danger.

Jaina had not arrested her yet, at least, Modera did not think she was going to or else she wouldn’t have threatened it. She would have just done it. Modera closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She didn’t feel any calmer.

But she knew what needed to be done.

“Jaina, my daughter is in danger. I would do anything to save her,” Modera said, “do you understand?”

The other mage relaxed and pulled away from the desk, “Anything could mean anything, be specific.”

“Anything- funding, soldiers,” Modera trailed off, “whatever Theramore needs.”

Noises from outside the room were growing louder, it sounded like a fight broke out. Modera could feel the flow of magic flinging through the air, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“Can you really give me those things?” Jaina asked. She turned her back and walked over to the painting of the lighthouse and pretended to examine it, “You’re only one of six, and not even the head of the council.”

“I’m the senior most member, my word bears weight.”

“I know,” the light flickered in the room, “that’s what interests me. I don’t want empty platitudes, or promises. I want your word, when I need it.”

Modera grit her teeth. Blackmail. Not surprising, but not pleasant either way. Her vote when Jaina needed it.

Jaina accused her of being compromised, but this would jeopardize her integrity more than any sordid gossip about the lich lord. But, would it? If Jaina’s reaction was anything to go off of, Modera could very well expect to get locked up in the Violet Hold for treason!

She couldn’t be there for her daughter if she was in prison. And she shuddered to think what Kel’Thuzad would do if he got his claws into her. He’d probably send Vael to the Scholomance for her primary letters- over her dead body!

If this was the cost then she would have to pay.

Modera nodded.

Before Jaina could reply the door burst open. A large Draenei in enchanted leathers had Kel’Thuzad’s arms pinioned, beside him another held Ghastly by the back of his shirt.

The guard shoved the disguised lich forward into the back of a chair, “We found them trying to escape,” the guard reported to Jaina while his brother unceremoniously dropped the boy.

Kel'Thuzad leaped to his feet, hissing blue mist headless of his glamor, "Do that again and I'll freeze the blood in your veins. Don't think I don't know the zero point for an Eredar."

The guards ignored him, instead waiting for the signal from Jaina. She motioned for them to stand at ease and thanked them while Kel'Thuzad fussed over Ghastly.

It was odd, seeing him like that. It clashed with all the literature she had read about the lich from the last ten years. There was something else too, that she preferred to push away to the recesses of her mind.

An echo of something that never was.

Then he straightened and Modera saw something else she had not seen in years. That familiar, bland expression and a smile that barely hid a sharp gaze. Something that could cut through the most bloviating argument. A look not used in their personal lives, but one she had encountered many times during council dealings.

“Jaina, it's been too long,” he said pleasantly, “you look lovely.”

Jaina replied with a bland smile of her own, “And you’re not a puddle.”

Kel’Thuzad put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. Modera thought she could see a real glimmer of amusement in his eyes, “Yes, well, I suppose a quick dip in the Sunwell can fix anything.”

They both laughed. Light and airy, it sounded so carefree. Modera glared.

“Theramore seems lovely this time of year, it’s a shame I’m just passing through,” he said as he stepped closer to Jaina, “maybe next time you could give me a tour?”

A wry smile pulled at the corner of her lips, “Next time? Theramore is so far out of your way. I would hate to inconvenience you."

"Nonsense, you would be doing me a kindness. Besides, it's just a portal away."

Kel'Thuzad took his hands out of his pockets. Something silver caught the light for a second before the lich pressed it into Jaina's palm. He leaned close and murmured something to the other mage that Modera couldn't hear, but it turned Jaina's wry smile into a grimace.

Modera's brow furrowed, she didn't want him to threaten her- again.

Kel'Thuzad stepped back, still holding Jaina's hand in both of his, "Okay?"

Jaina pulled her hand away. For the first time since they had been in the room, she looked at a loss for words. She hesitated, then nodded.

“Good,” was Kel’Thuzad’s only reply.

Modera narrowed her eyes at the thin chain dangled from her fist. A necklace?

Jaina looked at the guards standing in the doorway; the bland smile was back even if it was stretched and her skin had taken on an ashen quality, "Please escort them to the griffins."

"An escort, how grand. Now we won't get lost," Kel'Thuzad said brightly, “Thank you Jaina.”

He gave her a slight bow before turning to leave. With his back to Jaina, Kel'Thuzad's expression was genuine again. But his brow furrowed and worry was plainly written on his face. Their eyes met briefly and he gave her a small, reassuring smile. She didn’t know how to return it.

But why did he look so concerned? Modera glanced at Jaina from the corner of her eye. She was staring at the necklace in her hand, watching it like she'd seen a ghost. What exactly did he tell her?

She felt a cool touch at her elbow. Kel’Thuzad motioned towards the door, waiting for her to take the lead. He’d follow her. Even into this damned bargain with Jaina, she realized.

Modera turned to follow the guard, ready to brave the desert at last.

“Thank you, Councilors. I’m sure we’ll be in touch soon,” Jaina called after them.

++++++

Thrall, ex-Warchief of the horde, current student of the elements, was rather annoyed. Even for a plot involving time dragons, the situation he found himself in was bizarre.

This wasn't the Azeroth he knew. Everything was backwards. This version of Lordaeron never knew the plague of undeath. Which meant there was no Scourge and no Forsaken. But even stranger, there was no Horde.

Not one he recognized at least.

The orcs had been liberated, but not by him (he didn’t even survive infancy here!) Instead it was a sober Aedelas Blackmoore and a decidedly not-undead Kel’Thuzad who rallied the orcs. Apparently, they used their new army to overthrow the Menethils and take Lordaeron for themselves. They even granted their loyal officers the ruined Kingdom of Alterac and an official claim to the southern lands surrounding Blackrock Mountain.

He stared at his meager fire. Arable farmland, lumber, water. In this timeline his people lived in a land of plenty. Whereas back in the real world, they had to eke out a living in a desert. Hell, even half the game in Durotar was poisonous.

His people were better off in this world where he never existed.

A cloud burst over him.

Thrall pulled his cloak tighter. He hated the rain.

Though the sky had threatened a storm all day, there wasn’t time for him to make a shelter. The infinite dragonflight saw to that. The best Thrall could do was find a large tree with ample cover.

He growled at his pathetic fire. The elements were as distant here as they were in the real world. He was forced to make a fire the old fashioned way, sticks and friction. But the wood he managed to gather was too wet and too green. Bad for kindling. It was a miracle it started at all.

He knew going on this quest was a mistake. How did he get roped into this anyway? Being trapped in an upside down version of Hillsbrad was a far cry from 'Hey, can you help these night elves in Feralas? It's only halfway across Azeroth Thrall, you're not busy or anything right?'

Oh, let's just pop into the Caverns of Time, should be quick- ha get it? Time joke!

Damn dragons, any shamen could have quelled that fire. Thrall dug through his pocket and pulled out the acorn.

The magic acorn.

The green dragon, Desharin, said he would know when to use it. He turned it carefully between two fingers.

It was brown, pointy, had a cap…it was an acorn. But he knew it was important. He just wished he knew how it would come into play.

Thrall replaced the acorn and patted his pocket to make sure it was secure. Maybe it was the key to getting him out of this mess.

A pop came from the fire; the whelp he’d skewered was almost done. He reached out and poked its thigh, still too firm. Maybe a few more minutes.

Every four hours the infinite dragons would attack him. The first few had been well organized, with powerful, cunning wyrmkin. But Thrall was cunning too. Even better, he knew the lay of the land and used it to his advantage. This land used to be his home, afterall. He knew where all the hidden yeti paths were (and also where the orchards were); how to mask his trail in the high wilderness. When he felt their portals in the air, he made for the thickest parts of the forest where their large bodies would be at a disadvantage. Even though he did not have the aid of the elements, Thrall was not easy prey for the dragonkin.

As time went on and each wave was defeated, the dragonkin sent to fight were weaker. The last two had been nothing but whelps and their harried looking keepers. Though they were easier to fight off, it left Thrall with a bad feeling.

What would happen when they ran out of pawns?

Thrall reached out and pulled a leg off his dinner. The outside looked done. It was charred at least. He bit into it and made a sour face. The meat was barely warmed up in the center; bland, and rubbery. He didn’t have any seasonings. Maybe would barter for some next time he came upon a trapper. Still, he wolfed it down. At least whelps had a little more fat on them. Drake meat was almost too lean.

He tossed the bone to the side and leaned back against the tree. The dragons weren’t due for another two hours, giving him time to meditate at least. Thus far communing with the elements was a futile endeavor. It almost felt like the months leading up to the Cataclysm, when they were at their most frenzied. From his run-ins with the locals, Thrall was able to piece together that Deathwing’s reemergence had not yet happened.

He pressed a palm into the earth. Felt the blades of grass and moss, and the rocks and the dirt below them. There was life here, but no force. Perhaps the disturbances with the elementals were shared across time.

A light flashed in the distance, though it wasn’t lightning. It wasn’t that kind of rainstorm.

Then he heard the dry crackling of magic that heralded the invasions.

Thrall leaped into action. He stomped out his pathetic fire and he threw his cloak over the smoldering dinner. Then he dove into a bramble, cursed, and readied himself, Doomhammer in hand. He strained his senses looking for the warping of a new portal.

They were early. Why were they early?

For a long moment nothing seemed to materialize.

Then there was a noise unlike anything he'd ever heard, like metal grating together, ripping itself apart. It rattled his teeth and made the hair on the back of his arms rise. Then it did something odd: the sound slowed. It grew deeper and longer until it was just a dull thrum in the back of the warchief's mind, freezing him in place.

The moment stretched on for what felt like minutes. Around him birds and leaves hung in mid air, stuck. But there was one sound that wasn’t distorted: the snap of leathery wings.

A dragon.

It was as he feared, the big things were coming to fight, and they didn’t care to fight fair.

Thrall couldn't move his head to look, all he could do was listen to the sounds of branches cracking and feel the earth shudder under its heavy landing. Each foot fall created a distorted sound as the things the dragon came into contact with were brought into real time then abruptly thrown back into stasis. Each stochastic snap grew louder as the dragon drew near.

"Stop struggling you brat," Thrall heard, "I’ll eat you if you keep this up and there wouldn't be enough for your father to reanimate once I'm through."

The only response was a squeal of distress, something a child might make. Thrall frowned, internally of course. What on earth-?

Finally the dragon drug herself into his line of sight. Thrall narrowed his eyes, this must be the one the dragonkin were talking about, the one named Teradormi. Only, she was a far cry from the tower of muscle and scale they described. Here she was weak and battle-weary.

Something had ripped off part of her neck frill exposing the muscle beneath; deep gashes in her shoulder still oozed green blood; her right arm had been crippled and was held close to her chest, all of her weight was placed on her left paw. As she pulled herself into his clearing, Thrall could see she was lame and dragging one of her legs behind her.

What was big enough to maim a dragon like this?

With some effort the dragon opened her injured claw and unceremoniously dumped a ragged bundle in the clearing.

It was a little girl, a human.

Thrall watched her scramble away then freeze. She hit the limit of the stasis bubble that surrounded the dragon. For a second the air shimmered around the beast before becoming insubstantial again. Teradormi laughed once, then started sniffing. Thrall watched her nostrils twitch as she sampled the air, searching for him.

If the dragon wanted to kill him, she would need to pull him into the bubble. Which means she would be vulnerable to a counter attack. Could Thrall defeat her? He still did not have the aid of the elements, but she was gravely injured. From the looks of her she could collapse just standing there. If Doomhammer was stout enough to crush a pit lord’s skull, then why not this dragon’s?

It didn't take long for her to locate the shaman. He could see it in her eyes, the white pupil widened against a black sclera. She spat something in draconic and Thrall was jerked up out of the thicket. Teradormi sat back on her haunches and watched him struggle against her binds. Thrall was helpless, all he could do was glare just outside the bubble.

"Thrall, you're still in one piece," the shaman managed to curl his lip in a sneer. Teradormi continued, "l need this girl alive. Stay with her and the attacks will stop."

Teradormi tossed her head and winced, controlling the magic so Thrall would drift forward, still stuck in his crouch. As he drew closer to the shimmering barrier he could feel the pull of time. Out of the bubble it was quiet and still, but as it approached came the sound of crashing waves. The roar of the ocean. He squeezed his eyes shut as his head, and only his head breached the bubble.

His face was warm, but his body was ice cold. Time had resumed here but he was still split between two speeds. In his chest his heartbeat was faint and slow. Too slow, he realized. Thrall struggled in earnest now, vainly trying to bring his chest into the bubble with him while the dragon laughed.

“Stop fighting and answer me,” Teradormi said.

"Why shouldn't I kill her now?" Thrall spat.

Teradormi’s lips pulled back from black, needle teeth. "Do it. Sign your own death warrant. But know with you dead, Azeroth has no hope."

Darkness was beginning to creep into the corners of Thrall’s vision, "You sound confident,” he gasped, “Why- collateral?"

"One must always have collateral," she replied. Teradormi rose slowly and pushed Thrall outside the bubble. She seemed satisfied he would comply, perhaps reading the skeins of time or his words that put her at ease. The air around her warped and in a flash, she was gone.

With the dragon gone the world came back to life. Birds whizzed past; leaves and branches fell; Thrall crashed through the bush and the girl stumbled forward onto her knees.

It took a moment for the shaman to extract himself from the bramble, earning a few nasty cuts in the process. He staggered out, Doomhammer still in his fist and stared where the dragon once stood. Teradormi was consolidating her resources, that's why she brought the girl with her.

And she was injured.

Something interesting must have happened back in the real world.

Thrall rubbed the back of his head and looked down at the newcomer. She was a skinny little thing. Swarthier than most of the humans he had grown up around in Durnholde. Her dark hair was a tangled mess and she was covered in dirt. Also she was crying. A lot.

He knelt down next to her, "Are you hurt?"

She sniffed and shook her head. There were a few cuts on her arms and hands, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped some time ago. Nothing looked broken. Thrall watched her for a moment, chest heaving with sobbing hiccups before moving away so she could calm down a bit.

They were alone, out in the wilderness, maybe five miles out from Durnholde, at least thirty from Tarren Mill. Thrall had been making his way towards the Thorondil river to the west, which was a hard day's hike by himself. With this kid though, he wasn't sure how fast they could go.

He cursed under his breath. First the elements abandon him, now he was a pawn in another dragon's scheme. He cracked a rueful smile, what a mess.

Thrall turned back to the girl and pulled her up by her shoulders. She was still crying, but to his relief the sobbing had stopped. He narrowed his eyes, she looked a little small to be important. But these were time dragons they were dealing with. Maybe she would grow up to be someone important?

He made a thinking sound. If the infinite dragons were trying to bring about the end times like Anachranos said, why would they care about how powerful someone would be in the future. If they won there would be no future.

Maybe it was her parents the dragon was after. He thought back to the injuries Teradomi had suffered. What sort of humans could do that to a dragon?

She looked up at him, and Thrall noticed she had purple eyes. Jaina told him the color was rare, like his blue eyes, and usually meant a human had a magical heritage. “Are you going to kill me?”

Thrall grunted a laugh, and shook his head. “Are you hungry?”

She nodded.

"Good. I hope you like your dragon crispy."

Chapter Text

There was a dry scrape of metal on metal as Kel’Thuzad fumbled with the lock. It wasn’t so easy with everyone staring at his back.

“Home sweet-” the door swung open to reveal a depressing suite, “...home.”

Now he knew what ‘sleeping surfaces’ meant. The hotel was a repurposed galleon but he didn't think the boat theme would be so literal. Goblins.

The room was supposed to have two beds, instead it had one hammock, an armchair and a large cushion. As for the ‘adornments’ there was exactly one lamp and one creepy painting of a cat whose eyes seemed to follow him around the room.

Kel’Thuzad liked cats. He did not like this painting. It was the kind of thing one would expect to be spied on from.

Modera picked at the fraying hammock and scowled, “This is the presidential suite?”

It did look more like a flop house than a hotel room. The sour smell of sea spray and old sweat permeated the hard carpet, and the curtains were moth eaten and baked from the desert heat.

Ghastly darted forward and jumped onto the cushion, pleased at least with his sleeping arrangement, while Titus plopped down into the armchair. The springs groaned at his weight as he slowly sank deeper and deeper into the chair.

“Comfy,” said Titus, his voice muffled.

“The hammock is… quaint,” Kel’Thuzad offered on his way to the window, “they said we had a view,” he said as he pulled the curtains open-

-revealing a brick wall.

He closed the curtains.

“I thought you used your account,” Titus said.

“I did,” Kel’Thuzad had the highest possible customer rating- triple star platinum. Business with the Cult of the Damned made up almost a fifth of the cartel’s revenue last quarter. He was practically a trade prince in his own right. However, their accommodations had less to do with his stature and more to do with the location.

Modera insisted on staying as close to the airstrip as possible.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try the Farraki Legacy?” Kel’Thuzad asked. The casino was a state of the art hotel that even had a fancy buffet. He couldn’t eat, of course, but that didn't mean the others couldn’t have something nice.

“Yes I’m sure, we have to be airborne as soon as this sandstorm passes," Modera said crossly. She was dug into her position, even more so now that they were in their shambolic domicile.

Well it's not my fault if she gets fleas. It was too late in any case there was no way he was getting his gold back for the room now.

The trip was longer and hotter than Kel'Thuzad expected. He may be a lich, and thus immune to most bad weather, but even he had his limits. Persistent dry heat, like that encountered inside the Explorers League Library, seemed especially hostile to his constitution. Even now he could feel a familiar sluggish movement inside his ribcage.

Plus he was sweating.

Worse than the heat was the incoming weather. From the air they spotted a titanic wall of sand blowing up from the deep desert. The reason for the current ‘presidential accommodations.’

A sandstorm.

He hated sand. It was dry, coarse, it got everywhere- especially between his joints! There was nothing worse than something stuck up in his mandibular fossa or in between the hamate and capitate. It was a nightmare to remove. The lich needed a special tool to do the job, which he, of course, forgot. Luckily, his glamor acted as a barrier, filtering out much of the grit.

Though as much as he felt worn out, the others looked far worse. Titus looked like he could fall asleep, or be eaten by the armchair at any second. His high cheek bones were burnt from the wind over the ocean and he sported a black eye from his fight with Herman the Vermin back in Theramore. And Modera.

Woof.

Sunburn didn’t even begin to describe it. Besides himself, Modera was the only other person who did not wear some kind of face or head covering. Not even flight goggles. However she didn’t have the ‘luxury’ of his constitution. As a result she was almost as purple as the accents on her armor and her face was chapped. Her hair was thick with sand and the flyaways were plastered to her clammy forehead.

Kel’Thuzad reached out and felt her forehead with the back of his hand before moving both hands down to the sides of her neck. He was only a little surprised when she did not recoil or push him off. Her skin was blisteringly hot and she was still wearing her cold weather vestments. Clothes designed to keep heat in. “How do you feel? Can I conjure you something?” Kel’Thuzad asked.

“No, I can do it myself,” now she knocked his hands away.

“It wouldn’t do any good if you do it,” he replied. Consuming one's own conjured rations was only useful in cases of emergency, because it could only replenish what was used to create it. The caster would essentially be starting back at zero.

“We aren’t trapped beyond the dark portal. I’m fine,” Modera crossed her arms and glared, “can we talk about him.”

Kel’Thuzad turned, both Ghastly and Titus were watching, neither wanted to be the focus of Modera’s ire, but it was a coin flip as to who she was talking about, “Err-”

“Rivendare?”

“What do you mean?” Kel’Thuzad asked.

“Look at him- he doesn’t have any armor,” she said, “He’s wearing a tunic! How the hell is he supposed to help?”

“Hey, I am one of the most powerful death knights in Naxxramas- no, the world,” Titus said, “I’m helpful!”

Kel’Thuzad crossed his arms and glared at Titus. She was right… he was still in his sparring clothes. Plus it looked like he was stuck in the chair, “Where's your runeblade?”

“My- oh, that,” Titus waved him off with some difficulty, “In my defense we were in a hurry.”

Light, this was not happening!

Seeing the chagrined expression on the lich's face, Titus cleared his throat and continued, "But, Gadgetzan has one of the biggest pawn shops on the continent. I'm sure I can find some replacements."

There was a large resale market, but Kel’Thuzad had seen what poor and untalented mercenaries deluded enough to storm Naxxramas wore. They looked like clowns! And they were the exact kinds of people who filled in the mindless ranks of the scourge. He groaned and rubbed his face with one hand. Their processors didn’t even keep half of the armor they stripped off those bozos! Hell- they probably supplied part of the stock!

Mismatched kits that barely fit, irrelevant enchantments- what sort of scraps could Titus expect to pick off an arena casualty?

“Don’t worry, I bet it's full of that Firelands gear the Cenarion Circle developed,” Titus said as he tried to hoist himself out of the chair, “the fire look is very chic right now.”

Kel’Thuzad wanted to set him on fire with a look.

“Gas- you look hungry, let's get you something to eat,” Titus said.

“But I ate last week.”

“Blighterghast go with Titus,” Kel’Thuzad said, “make sure he finds a good weapon.”

Ghastly turned and groaned into the pillow before pushing himself up and following the death knight.

The door snapped shut with a loud click, leaving Kel’Thuzad and Modera alone.

With each other.

The silence stretched, neither one wanted to be the first to break it. Modera pursed her lips, her eyes roamed his face and the geometric embroidery on his robes. He looked away but the feeling of being observed remained.

Next came the fidgeting.

Kel'Thuzad abhorred these sorts of silences. It made him acutely aware of his body- how he was standing; if his hair was falling in a flattering way; the way his glamor did not properly mask his teeth. He felt as sweaty as he did back in the library. And there was something tickling the back of his throat.

Kel’Thuzad coughed.

There! All fixed.

"Did you have to do that?" Modera asked.

"Yes."

She narrowed her eyes but did not otherwise respond. It was then Kel'Thuzad realized Modera might find it odd that a lich would have to clear their throat. Considering there was no soft tissue. She just didn't know as much about his physiology- not that he understood why his mist congealed in this climate either. But he certainly knew more than she did.

But… the time to explain had lapsed.

“So,” he searched for something to follow his opener, “does your hand still hurt?”

He applied a cooling salve of arcane powder and dreamfoil oil, the perfect ointment for a mana burn, back in Naxxramas. Modera rubbed her thumb against the bandage on her palm, “Not really."

"That's great!" he said a little too loudly. Kel'Thuzad winced, light, what was wrong with him?

It was never this way before. They were alone! They had a plan! They could talk a little before Titus and Ghastly returned.

Or could they? It wasn't just the gulf of time that separated them. Kel'Thuzad looked down at his hands worrying his cuffs. There were barriers. Light, he'd spent the last decade actively not thinking about her, lest Ner'zhul or Arthas get any ideas. Now, without the stress of a dragon attack or the frantic energy surrounding their child's abduction, that old anxiety was free to creep in at the edges.

It was irrational. There was no one directing his actions but himself. But it wasn't such an easy specter to banish.

Besides, Modera probably had her own walls, ones designed to keep him out.

But all his rationalizing could not silence the specter of that couple from his first day in Naxxramas. They pushed themselves to the front of Kel’Thuzad’s thoughts- a grisly reminder of the lich king’s power. It didn’t matter how devoted to each other they were, how true their bond was.

The memory made his chest tighten.

There are many who will not serve the master in life, Anub’arak’s voice buzzed in his ear, this fluid resolves that.

The walls closed in.

You're just like them!

"I think I'm going to pop over to the shop then," Kel'Thuzad’s voice was tight, "Titus probably forgot his wallet.”

“I’ll come too,” Modera said.

The lich balked, the plagued couple breathed down his neck, “Why don’t you stay and freshen up? There is a big day ahead of us-”

“Why? So you can sneak off to the caverns alone?” Modera asked, “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“I’m not going to sneak off.”

“But how do I know that?”

Kel’Thuzad felt the impending sandstorm was enough evidence to the contrary, and that was before considering it would also mean abandoning his ward and his friend in a strange city. But the argument would be a pointless exercise. He shrugged and opened the door for her.

The trip down to the lobby was oddly tense. Neither spoke. Kel’Thuzad doubted he could in anycase. The hallway seemed tighter than it had been on the way to their room. The air was thick and the heavy mess in his ribcage made it hard to breathe.

Physically, breathing was just a reflex- a hold over from life. It served no function for him now that he was undead, but any impediment to its performance caused a deep discomfort.

The sensation only fueled Kel'Thuzad's imagination. His mind ran away with itself, spinning terrible scenarios for him to experience until it settled on one, repeating over and over:

What if they were too late?

“Banana?”

Kel’Thuzad blinked. It took a moment to pull himself out of the spiral.

“Did you catch any of that?”

He blinked again, Titus and the others were watching him. They were standing in the lobby and it looked like the boys had brought some food and an icy beverage to Modera. “Yes,” he lied.

Titus took a sip of his drink and raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Sorry, just checking something in Naxxramas,” Kel’Thuzad lied again, “vat cracked- construct quarter.”

He earned a noncommittal grunt. That bad? The lich swallowed a grimace, he must have looked like a haunted man.

"Let's go," Titus said finally.

Kel'Thuzad tried to ignore the dreadful pit in his stomach as he trailed the group out of the hotel courtyard and into the city proper.

Squat adobe buildings lined the narrow streets while ramshackle booths filled in any gaps to sell their wares to any passer by. Fried meats and bread, exotic fruit, drinks, trinkets, salvage- anything a person could want could be had for a price.

And with all these people came all their magic. For Kel’Thuzad it was almost too much to take in. His mouth began to fill with oil the deeper into the city they went. His lips pulled back like he had just bitten into a lemon allowing the greasy stuff to seep between his teeth and down his chin. The lich spat into the dust and tried to wipe his face with the back of his sleeve but it seemed that there was no end to it.

It wasn’t that Kel’Thuzad had never been to a city before. It was only there were less concentrations of magic in the ones he frequented. Even Dalaran, the magic city, only had a few schools of magic exercised within it, making it easier to pick out the particulars. The same went for Stratholme, Andorhal and Naxxramas itself. But here there was so much magic in the air and so many kinds, that it all blended together until it smelled like a Telish bazar. For a lich it was blinding.

The closer they came to the great arena in the center of the city, the higher the concentration of magic grew. It wasn’t just the passive fields of enchanted items and the current of the mage lights, but also the hot magic of combat.

Titus nudged him in the ribs, “Look at that.”

A hoary sand troll leered out from under his awning, black tusks shining in the lamplight. The stall was crammed full of merchandise- shrunken heads and bits of mummified body parts. But it was the people behind the shopkeeper that caught Titus’s eye: two zombies. They were both dehydrated orcs with their eyes and mouths sewn shut in Zandali fashion.

Kel’Thuzad watched them mechanically attend to their master’s wares, “I guess they let anyone in here.”

Beside him Modera eyed the zombies with naked disgust, “Did you ever make something like that?”

“No,” he replied. Sensing a trap he offered no further insight on the subject.

From here he could see it was very different from the magic he developed. But the differences were mostly cultural, he recognized the patterns of concentric circles common to troll and early kaldorei spellcraft. The parts he could not decipher was the sort of magic only possible with the aid of a patron.

Since Kel’Thuzad was not a troll he had no access to their Loa, thus he never pursued their techniques when he initially began his research. Plus he did not fancy learning the language.

But, Modera wasn’t done with him, she had a mischievous glint in her eye, “I’m starting to think becoming a lich isn’t much of an upgrade,” Modera said, motioning to the stall keeper, “I heard witch doctors could control any undead. Are you scared?”

He glanced at the troll and laughed. Suddenly, all the tension from earlier dissipated and he felt like a giant weight had been lifted off his chest, “So that's why I had the sudden urge to sew my eyes shut.”

“I thought your mouth might be better,” she replied.

“Is that so?”

“You can barely go out in public,” she said, “and when you do you have a near catastrophic accident.”

“Catastrophic,” he waved her off, “you exaggerate. I’m not the one who broke their ankle last time they went out.”

Modera sputtered, “You had your head smashed in!”

“It was that or get thrown into prison,” he replied dryly, not exactly a hard choice, “I got better.”

“You just got up, I don’t know if you got better.”

He grinned. In the arena a magically amplified voice called out something that caused the crowd to roar. Something flashed in the wall to their left, a haunting blue light. With it came a loud mechanical whirr. The lich felt a strange sucking sensation. He looked at his hands, they were distorted. Like the glamor was being pulled towards the light.

He nudged Modera and pointed to the machine, it looked like it was of Titan make, “What is that?”

She peeked around him and frowned, “That is a ley-scraper. We found them in Ulduar,” she paused when she saw his face and blanched, “...They draw in magic.”

“Oh,” that was probably why he felt funny.

“You know this just proves my point,” Modera said.

He could sense mana welling beneath him as they followed the curve of the arena. The whole city center was sitting on a massive geyser. Any second it would force its way through the very earth. The air was saturated with so much magic he could barely see. The world became smudged and indistinct, Kel’Thuzad only knew his companions by the colors of their auras.

Then he felt a prickling along his spine and the scrapers released their caches. A massive spell shot into the sky. Kel’Thuzad watched as a film of purple magic spread across the city.

A dome, protection from the sandstorm.

He stood in the street gaping up at it, taking in every detail, every whorl and sync chain that fueled its reaction. The glory of magic at scale.

“Incredible, it’s-,” he felt a tug at his sleeve and looked down. Modera. He blinked.

No one had eyes like hers. A deep plum, mysterious and moody. They always seemed to sparkle in the light. “...beautiful.”

She opened her mouth to reply-

“Khadgar! Hey- Khadgar!”

Khadgar? Where? Kel’Thuzad looked around. He was probably the number one person the lich did not want to talk to while he had most of Medivh’s staff strapped to his back. Khadgar would probably want to talk about the Book too.

It would be awkward. Plus, Khadgar would probably recognize him. I wonder if he knows about the whole scourge thing.

“Yo, Khadgar, wait up!”

Kel’Thuzad turned to find a goblin jogging up to him. He had a short, buzzed mohawk sort of like a donkey’s, and several gold piercings in his batty ears. The lich pointed to himself, confused.

“Yeah you. We didn’t think you were coming until next week,” the goblin was out of breath, as if he had been sprinting through the crowd. He planted his hands on his knees to recover. When he looked up he spotted Modera, “Oh you brought the Kirin Tor with you, smart thinking. Did any of the other councilors come?”

Modera pursed her lips and shook her head.

He nodded and straightened up, “Follow me, the shop is just around the corner.”

Kel’Thuzad looked at Titus and shrugged. The death knight was similarly confused. What could they want to sell him? To Kel’Thuzad’s knowledge, Khadgar spent the last almost two decades since the closing of the dark portal sequestered in Shattrath City with the Naaru- something that did not pay particularly well.

So they followed the Goblin around the corner to a massive store. It looked like it took up a whole block! Atop it was an impressive neon sign Beezel’s Pwn Emporium (the A had burnt out). Coincidentally, their destination.

As they crossed the threshold Kel’Thuzad felt a phantom hand grab the scruff of his neck and jerk-

+++++++

Modera entered the pawn shop, grateful to be out of the desert heat. The ceiling of the emporium was studded with wide paddled fans that wafted cooling air over her burnt face. She closed her eyes and let it wash over her, soothing mist caressing her chapped cheeks. In that moment there was nothing more luxurious.

Only, there was no mister.

“Woah- you’re not Khadgar."

She opened her eyes in time to see Kel’Thuzad coughing.

“Sorry,” he horked and waved away the purple haze that coalesced around him. Something stripped Kel’Thuzad’s glamor and now the lich was blocking the entrance to the shop. “Did I not mention that? My mistake.”

Modera could see the gears turning in the goblin attendant’s head, no doubt calculating what the Archlich of Naxxramas would do to his business. He bowed quickly, “It was my mistake lich lord, please look around while I speak with the manager. He may have an interesting proposition for you.”

"Lich lord-?" Kel'Thuzad looked at his skeletal claws and made an undignified sound before rounding on Rivendare, "Titus!"

Rivendare craned his neck and pointed to one of the very bright, bold signs that peppered the entrance, "’All glamors, polymorphs, and magical disguises will be forcibly stripped upon entry.’ Says it right there Banana.”

“I wouldn’t have come in if that were the case-”

“Lich lord, please,” the attendant was quick to calm the situation, “your gold is good here. No one will bother you.”

The goblin's eyes slid to Modera. He didn't ask her any questions but she could see the curious twitch of one of his long ears. Other shoppers were taking notice of Kel’Thuzad. He was taller than the shelves and dropped the room temperature by twenty degrees. Oh, and he glowed.

He was a little bit conspicuous.

And that was something Modera needed to avoid at all costs. She slunk towards the nearest row, hoping people were too distracted by Kel'Thuzad to notice her.

Even if the wider public of Gadgetzan may not be able to recognize her, they may still describe her. And the other councilors would take notice of Kel'Thuzad ranging about outside of normal cult territory. And with the incident in Ironforge only happening a few days ago they may question her about a middle aged woman in Kirin Tor regalia spotted with the lich.

First Jaina, now every two-silver gossip monger in Gadgetzan. And there were still the bronze dragons to come. Soon everyone was going to know she was running around with Kel'Thuzad. Worse, that she used to run around with Kel'Thuzad!

Then they were going to want to know why.

Modera stopped in the engineering section and let out a long sigh. Since the report on the activities in Andorhal, she knew she would have to keep Vael's parentage secret. Before, it had just been a matter of privacy. After Kel'Thuzad was struck down it became an issue of safety.

How much longer could she keep her daughter safe? She never expected Kel'Thuzad to regain his freedom. Or that he would even be himself after his ordeal with the lich king.

Unless he was lying. Modera stretched up and peeked over the stack. Kel'Thuzad's position was not immediately apparent. Which was troubling because he was a head taller than the shelves.

She narrowed her eyes and landed back on her heels. Modera would never admit this to anyone, but her mother might have been right. Maybe she should have told her colleagues about their relationship-

"I don't look like Khadgar, do I?"

Modera almost jumped out of her skin. Kel'Thuzad loomed over the stack behind her, his scarlet eyes glued to her face.

“Kel- er, archlich,” Modera sputtered, “you snuck up on me.”

Kel’Thuzad cocked his head and looked towards the end of the aisle where two undead men dressed in dusty leathers glared at him. He let out a puff of mist in their direction and they moved on to browse elsewhere. “They’re not going to bother you,” he said.

Modera turned her back and pulled a random manual off the shelf, “Who says they're the ones bothering me?”

“Oh come on,” Kel’Thuzad said, “pretend like we just bumped into each other.”

If she just bumped into him at some shady pawn shop Modera imagined there would be more hostility. “What did the goblins want to sell you?” she asked into her book.

“I don’t know yet.”

Whatever it was couldn’t be good. Modera frowned at a schematic for a samoflange. It was odd that the goblin would mistake Kel’Thuzad for Khadgar. They did not have much in common besides their interest in Medivh. Maybe the goblins wanted to sell him some junk mercenaries pulled in from Karazhan.

She could still feel Kel’Thuzad’s baleful presence, “What?”

“Did you hear my question?”

Modera glanced at him from over her shoulder. Did he look like Khadgar? He looked like a skeleton with some extra bits. “Not unless he’s suffered some sort of unfortunate accident.”

"I don't mean right now," Kel'Thuzad bit off the last word with a puff of fog, "I'm talking about my glamor."

Actually, Kel'Thuzad's glamor was an impressive piece of spellwork. Not surprising, illusory magic had always been a favorite hobby of his. Even if some of the details around his face were slightly off it still conveyed the impression of the Kel'Thuzad she remembered most.

Which begged the thought: if he could choose to look anyway he wanted, why choose that? Why not an even younger version of himself or the one struck down by Arthas?

Modera turned back to her manual and tried to picture Kel'Thuzad with facial hair. As long as she'd known him he was always clean shaven and he disparaged the long beards his peers would sport after a certain age. 'Ratty' he called them.

It was odd to think most of Kel'Thuzad's followers would remember him with a long ratty beard. If they were to cross paths Modera didn't think she would have been able to recognize him at all.

"No, you don't look anything like him, what is this about?"

"He's…old."

Modera scoffed and moved down the aisle. Khadgar had been cursed by Medivh to age prematurely, making him appear like an old man, "You know he's only forty-five."

“But I’m not,” Kel'Thuzad followed, but his aisle must have been more crowded than hers as he had to weave around other browsers, "He's always had a thing for you- I heard he carried quite the torch for you back on Outland."

She shot him a look over her shoulder, now that was an interesting statement. But maybe one she could use in her favor, “Here I thought the lich king might have ripped those sentiments out of you.”

“What sentiments?”

“Vanity,” she said, “jealousy.”

“Jealo-” Kel’Thuzad’s protest was cut off as he tripped over someone in his aisle. There was a loud squawk and the clatter of a large skeleton hitting the tile floor followed by a swift apology before his head popped back up. “I might be a little vain, but I have nothing to be jealous of.”

“You do know I’m seeing someone.”

“Oh, please,” finally there was a break in the aisle and Kel'Thuzad could zip into her row. He crossed his arms and leaned against the shelves, blocking her path. Modera could see the mist swirling in his chest. It seemed to congregate in a loose cloud near the top of his ribcage, “I know you can’t resist me, councilor.”

Modera barked a laugh, “You’re insane.”

“Am I? Come here,” he purred. When she didn’t move he cleared his throat and added, “But, also come here. I have to tell you something. Business related.”

“Is it about the price of wheat in Westfall?”

He shifted- suspiciously, “I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

Yep, his personality was definitely intact. This sort of silliness was only possible in the spur of the moment, it could net be premeditated. After a moment Modera sighed and approached. This close she had to crane her neck to look at his face. When she raised an eyebrow he bent down. Who couldn’t resist who?

“Those two men from earlier,” Kel’Thuzad said, “They weren’t undead.”

Not undead? They looked like forsaken, “Are you sure?”

He tapped a horn with the tip of a claw, “The only corpses in the area are the three in the foundation. No one here is undead besides myself and Titus.”

“So what does that mean?”

Kel'Thuzad placed a hand on her shoulder, "We need to stay vigilant-"

"Lich Lord," the goblin from earlier cleared his throat. Modera didn't turn but she watched the white pupil in Kel'Thuzad's eyes flick away to acknowledge him, "the manager would like to speak with you."

"Hopefully Titus will be done picking out his equipment soon," Kel'Thuzad let go of her and straightened, “maybe we should stick together.”

"Apologies, but this is a private business matter," the assistant said.

Modera watched them go, noticing the citrus-y smell Kel’Thuzad left in his wake.

But, what were they up to? She stood up on her tiptoes and craned her neck over the shelves, hoping to catch a glimpse of the manager's desk. It was Beezle Blastbolt, fretting over a square of black velvet. Damn her luck.

Maybe she could wait a few minutes before sneaking over and spying.

Or maybe she didn't really have to wait at all. It was in the best interest of the Kirin Tor that she find out what they were doing. At least she could deflect some of their questions with her findings…

Modera turned to shelve the manual she had been flipping through only to find Ghastly standing in the spot Kel'Thuzad had vacated.

His orange eyes were as wide as his grin, "Baba likes you."

"Is that so," Modera replied. She walked down the aisle until there was a break with a better vantage point of Beezle's desk, "did he tell you that?"

"He smells different around you," Ghastly said. The disguised drake pointed to his nose.

Modera wrinkled her nose, so that explained the smell, "Do you have a good nose?"

"The best," Ghastly said proudly, "I knew who you were right away."

Modera cocked her head, "How could you know that all from just smell?"

"Because Baba has a box on his desk that smells like you," Ghastly replied, "It's full of old stuff from when he was alive."

"Oh." Maybe he never stopped liking you.

She pushed the thought out of her head and looked over at the lich. His back was turned and he was gesticulating forcefully. Negotiating.

Maybe that was why he was acting strangely back in the hotel.

“There you two are.”

Modera looked up to see Rivendare hustle down the aisle. His armor choices were… definitely choices.

He looked like a clown.

Part of his kit looked like it had seen the worst of the fighting in Icecrown Citadel and only one piece, the shoulders, looked like it had survived the conflict in the Firelands. “What do you think of my armor? They even have some of the standard issue Naxxramas stuff,” Rivendare said pointing to his chest piece, “I only went with this and the belt, the rest was in bad shape.”

Modera reached out and checked the blue tag on the leather pants he was sporting, “Devilsaur leggings- Titus, you couldn’t find anything better than this?”

“Like what?”

“Plate?” Modera crossed her arms, “you’re a death knight. We’re fighting a dragon!”

All pretense of being sneaky or flying under the radar were officially out the window.

He waved her off, “It’s a steal and it comes with the gloves,” Rivendare said as he showed off the gloves. They were fingerless. “They make it easier to wield these babies.”

Rivendare turned so they could behold the two swords strapped to his back. The double pronged, blued steel of the blades was almost long enough to reach the floor. Near the hilt was a tiny, raging lighting storm.

The blessed blade of the windseeker.

“Two Thunderfuries?” Modera asked flatly.

The sword model had been all the rage with high end mercenary guilds a few years ago. Nowadays they were rare which probably had to do with the upkeep. It wasn’t so easy to collect the essence of a hundred thundering elementals to give the sword its zapping power.

Ghastly said, “Baba never lets me play with those.”

“You could shoot your eye out,” Riendare replied. Seeing Modera’s blank expression he added, “We have a whole pile of these back in Naxxramas. Kel gives them out as prizes.”

Figures.

“Did you at least get a helmet?” Modera asked.

“You mean, the piece de resistance?” Rivendare pulled out a braided elementium loop set around a fist sized crystal. When he placed it over- not on top of, his head the whole thing ignited and hovered in place, “Pretty cool, huh? I thought it completed my whole…red theme.”

Maybe it wasn’t too late to go back to Dalaran and just confess everything. It couldn’t be as bad as dealing with these morons!

Rivendare’s self satisfaction faded with a frown when he caught something on the breeze. He grabbed Modera’s shoulders and stepped forward, sniffing the air around her. Then he let go and crossed his arms, “What were you doing?”

“Reading,” Modera said curtly. She flashed him the cover of her book.

“‘Goblin Shredder Manual’,” he read, “I thought you were a gnomish engineer.”

“What is this about Titus?”

“What is going on is, I want to know what is going on between you and Mr. Positions over there.”

Modera glanced at Kel’Thuzad over the death knight’s shoulder. “Nothing is going on. We are working towards the same goal.”

“Then what happened in the room?” Rivendare asked.

If Rivendare was insinuating some sort of sordid event, he was mistaken. The truth was Modera had never seen Kel’Thuzad in such a state. It wasn’t the same sort of panicky nonchalance or false bravado from the library.

It was… despair.

“Nothing,” she said with a shrug, “He assumed you forgot your wallet.”

He grunted noncommittally. Rivendare was watching something over her shoulder. Modera followed his eye line: the goblin attendant looked down quickly, giving all of his attention to a ledger. Was he watching her?

“Ghastly, stay with the archmage,’ Rivendare said, eyes glued to the attendant, “I’ll be right back.”

+++++++++

The base!

Here! In the biggest pawn shop in Azeroth, in front of him, on a black velvet cloth.

It was almost nondescript, a dull metal cylinder, one end tapered to a point. The only notable feature was a raven stamped near the threaded cap. And of course the latent magical signature practically wafting off the metal.

Elementium had a peculiar, peppery smell. That was present, but overpowered by a sweet, almost putrid aroma. Kel'Thuzad knew he recognized it, but he couldn't quite put a finger on what it was.

He ran his claws along the brushed metal, the static cling of mana snagged at him. It practically begged him to pick it up and make the staff whole again. Kel'Thuzad rubbed his thumb against the tips of his fingers, "Where did you find this?"

"We acquired it as part of an escheated lot some time ago," Beezle Blastbolt said without looking up.

Beezle was the owner and proprietor of this fine establishment. A cartel Baron, he was one of the few people authorized to do real business with a client of Kel’Thuzad’s stature.

He wore a full suit despite the heat and his shirt was starched and buttoned as far up as the collar could go. His dark hair was slicked back with a thick layer of gel and so shiny the lich could see the red reflection of his eyes.

"Ah, yes. The Wor'dabu affair," Kel'Thuzad said.

One of Beezle's eyebrows rose as he adjusted the arcanite focus on his appraiser's lens. He leaned forward to take a closer look at the joining between the frame and head of Atiesh, "I'm surprised you keep up with such petty, regional affairs."

"Few things escape the Scourge’s notice," Kel'Thuzad replied. In reality, he just happened to read about it in Modera's office.

"Indeed. Everything appears to be in order with the Greatstaff, nothing is missing and all the pathways have been retrenched properly. I'm satisfied with its authenticity,” the goblin said, he looked up finally, one yellow eye magnified by the lens, “Who is responsible for the restoration?”

“Me.”

Beezle grunted his approval and pushed the lens up his forehead. “It will need to be purified before you can use it. I trust that is something you can do?”

Kel’Thuzad waved him off and leaned forward to examine the base again. Why did everyone think this thing was possessed! Up close he could see why the substitute base wouldn’t have worked- the magical focuses within the butt were made from the same substance as its mate in the head. To recreate one would mean the other would need to be reforged as well, and at that point it would no longer be Atiesh. Ironically, the frame was the least important part of the assembly. “So Khadgar is interested in the base as well?"

“The archmage claimed he had the other parts of the staff,” Beezle replied, “Obviously, that is not the case.”

“Obviously.”

“I received a certified letter this morning, he asked me to hold it for a week while he set his finances in order.”

“Are you?”

Beezel picked up the staff and placed it on the counter in front of Kel’Thuzad, “No. I don’t enjoy being lied to and now I’m suspicious,” he frowned at the lich, “I don’t like to be suspicious.”

The Baron probably suspected Khadgar of some trickery. And now Kel’Thuzad knew Beezle had the base. Beezle probably, and rightfully, assumed his store would be the target of a theft in the near future. “I would be happy to take it off your hands,” the lich replied, “was there an agreed upon price?”

“Twelve.”

“...hundred?”

“Thousand.”

Kel’Thuzad grunted, thankful he did not have an emotive face for once. Now he knew Khadgar planned on stealing it. There was no way he had that kind of money laying around. Being trapped beyond the dark portal and hiring mercenaries to try and plunder Karazhan did not exactly make one rich.

Now, Kel’Thuzad did have that kind of money, but not on his person. That would be crazy! And it was still expensive. “What about four.”

An eyebrow rose, but Beezle did not seem amused, “Eleven-five.”

“I don’t think I can justify more than seven,” Kel’Thuzad said.

“Respectfully Lich Lord, this is a legendary artifact,” Beezel said with a frown, “It is priceless.”

“Sure, but who else would even buy it?” Kel’Thuzad asked, “and don’t say Khadgar, he can’t afford it.”

“Who says I have to sell it at all?” Beezle asked. His eyes wandered over to Modera's approximate location, “I’m sure the Kirin Tor would pay above market to keep you from having the assembled staff.”

“Alright, let’s not get too crazy,” Kel’Thuzad held his hands up, that backfired, “I’m a reasonable man. Can you do ten? I’m sure I’ll make up the difference between purchasing equipment and reagents.”

Beezle's answer was cut off by a loud, expensive crash. His head whipped over his shoulder to search for the culprit. He hesitated, when another crash of a knocked over display caused his ears to flatten against his head, "Excuse me.”

Kel’Thuzad watched as he dashed off and wondered what was causing so much commotion.

If he could get Beezle down to eight or nine he would consider it a success. Of course, twelve thousand gold was not a bad deal either, it was less than he had expected at least. But that didn’t mean he could just pay the sticker price.

That was bad for business.

“Hey,” Titus nudged the lich to get his attention, “buy me these two Thunderfuries.”

“Sure,” he replied absently, still riding high from the prospect of reforming the staff. Kel’Thuzad turned to face the death knight and motioned to the base, “Look- isn’t this great?”

Titus glanced at the counter, “He’s going to sell it to you?”

“Oh yeah. I think I'm about to close.”

The lich missed Titus rolling his eyes. Kel'Thuzad leaned his hip against the counter and looked over his shoulder at the stacks. Modera was still in the schematics section talking to Ghastly. The mists in his chest flit about, they were getting along!

"I think Modera likes Ghastly," Kel'Thuzad said brightly.

"Is that what I'm smelling?"

Kel'Thuzad gestured to a tusk (and waved away a little mist that was beginning to fan away from his cheeks). "I can't help it, the city is saturated with magic."

Titus grunted his disbelief. Kel'Thuzad stood up straight and crossed his arms. Of course he liked Modera. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't control if his body wanted to broadcast that fact! "I'm serious."

"So is this," Titus slid him a thick ledger, opened to a specific page, “Look.”

Kel’Thuzad pulled it closer and read it carefully so as to not activate the synthesizer process. A cartel VEP dossier? There was a photo of Modera and-- the lich sucked in a breath.

A photo of Vael?

He skimmed Modera's entry but the most important tidbits jumped out immediately:

Affiliates: Vael, Daughter. Father unknown Tel’Abim.

Kel’Thuzad’s mist sank as he read the list of potential sires, blowing past the short list of merchants and sailors he had never heard of until...

Kel’Thuzad.

He hissed a curse under his breath, flipped to the index and ran a claw down the list until he found his name. For some reason he was still in the Kirin Tor section. At least Kel’Thuzad was pleasantly surprised to see that the goblins had an accurate photo of his undead state.

It wasn't a half bad one either. In fact, there were many photos of him, going back decades. The cartel even had one from when he was twelve selling furs in Everlook.

He ripped those pages out for future reference.

More to the point, his affiliates section said the same thing.

“Shit,” he let the pages fall back to Modera’s entry and rubbed his hand against his face.

“I know," Titus said, “You should see my entry.”

“...Is it bad?”

“It’s very short.”

“Okay,” pressed his knuckles into his forehead. What was he supposed to do with this information- by being here together he and Modera all but confirmed that suspicion. Modera told him Jaina had already figured it out. If she knew and the cartel knew, then who else knew?

And why was he the last one to know! Kel'Thuzad banged his fist against the glass countertop, cracking it. He opened his it revealing the spidery pattern underneath, "Damn it."

How could he protect Vael if their secret was so public!

“Hey, maybe it's not so bad,” Titus placed a hand on his shoulder, “the cartel has never used anything like this as leverage, right?”

“That was before Modera and I waltzed in here together,” Kel’Thuzad hissed, “we practically confirmed their op sec!”

Titus grimaced in response. Light. It was a sticky situation. Obviously, Vael probably wouldn't be able to remain a secret for long. Dalaran was just too small of a community. Eventually someone (that wasn’t Jaina) would be able to put the pieces together.

They still wanted to be able to control the situation. Vael was so little. He didn’t want her to face any scrutiny because of him. What if she couldn’t go to school? He didn’t want her to study at the Scholomance. He knew what they got up to there!

Well, he did want her to study at his school- but Kel’Thuzad knew that her opportunities would be much better if she completed her training in Dalaran. Vael could always complete her continuing education later.

Beezle returned, grumbling about wyrmkin under his breath. He climbed back up onto his stool and glanced at the broken countertop. He pointed to the damage, “You’re paying for that.”

“What is this?” Kel’Thuzad said with a growl. He shoved the VEP book forward.

“Those are cartel property,” Beezle said without even glancing at the ledger, “Proprietary information.”

Kel’Thuzad didn’t respond right away. He just confirmed their op sec. And now discretion was going to cost him.

“So, twelve thousand was it?”

“You’re damn right.”

“...do you take checks?”

+++++++++++

They were arguing about something, Modera's eyes narrowed. Kel'Thuzad seemed animated. Whatever Rivendare was showing him wasn't good.

"And that's how I lost years' First Citizen award," Ghastly said, "I knew I should have done my project on pocket abominations. Farah did hers on innervation. It was so good.”

Light, what the hell did Kel'Thuzad do to this kid? She was starting to doubt he was a dragon at all. "What was yours on again?" Modera asked. She had not taken her eyes off of Kel'Thuzad's sand filled mop.

"Spores from Loatheb. They're mutagetic. But they can't affect me. I'm immune to plague-y stuff," Ghastly said matter of factly, "Baba says that's part of what makes me so special. I'm an Aspect. Someday I could have my own flight."

"Is that what you want?"

"I want to be First Citizen."

There was no way he was a dragon. Kel'Thuzad must have made a tiny clone. There had to be a way to figure out what was going on over there, "If you help me with something I'll give you some points."

Ghastly crossed his arms, "But you're not in the cult."

"Oh -well, I can talk to Rivendare or Kel, they could do it."

"No they can't," Ghastly said, "family members can't give points to each other."

Maybe she wouldn't be able to get any information out of him, besides now Ghastly was recounting all the strong points of Farah’s project. Her eyes wandered to the other end of the aisle, the two men were back. One had dark curly hair, the other was long and clumpy. They certainly looked undead. Their skin was pitted and an ashen-gray color and their eyes had a similar pallid glow to them, but pale cerulean instead of yellow.

They appeared to busy themselves with engineering manuals but Modera had the sense they were watching her. At the other end of the aisle a man best described as square shaped, leered at them. He wasn't even pretending to shop.

Modera grabbed Ghastly's shoulder. He clammed up, his large orange eyes curious. The visage he crafted himself was exceptionally detailed. If not for his eyes or the color and texture of his hair he would be a perfect match as Kel'Thuzad's biological child. But that was the problem.

"Why do you look like that?" Modera asked in a hurried whisper.

Ghastly cocked his head, "Because Baba is my Da. Aren't human children supposed to look like their parents?"

"No- Kel'Thuzad's glamor was stripped when he walked in here, why wasn't yours?"

Ghastly looked down at himself and then stretched his arms out to his sides as if to measure the width of the aisles. “I don’t know, maybe I’m too big?”

Too big? The men had since abandoned their books and were stalking towards them. Kel’Thuzad was right, they weren’t undead!

“Kel!” Modera cried out as Curley and Slim began to charge, “They’re dragons!”

Modera flash froze the long haired one in a block of ice but the other twisted around her spell. She barely had enough time to push Ghastly out of the way and lift her staff up to catch Curley before they collided. The disguised wyrmkin grabbed at the haft and shoved Modera back with little effort.

Up close the Curley’s disguises could barely pass for human. For one his hair was hardly hair at all, it looked more like downy feathers. He had long black claws at the ends of his fingers, too many teeth in his mouth and his skin stretched over bones whose angles were too sharp. Even the areas that looked like rotting pits from a distance were actually just mottled patches of scales. It was all a trick of the light.

The shelves dug into Modera’s back and arms, it took every ounce of her strength to keep the dragon-man from strangling her with her own staff. He grinned, confident that she would be easier to dispatch than he was led to believe. And he might have been right if Ghastly had not leapt onto his back.

“Leave her alone!” he cried. Ghastly wrapped his arms around Curley's throat and squeezed, granting Modera a brief reprieve.

He stumbled back, blindly grabbing behind his head for the boy, but he didn’t have the range of motion necessary to pull him off. But that gave the Square Man enough time to come up behind them and wrap his meaty forearm around Ghastly’s chest. With a grunt he pulled. But Ghastly was not just a child. Within him was the strength of a dragon.

So when he was pulled an equal amount of force was applied to Curley’s throat.

Curley’s eyes bulged and he clawed at the boy’s arm before croaking something in draconic– probably ‘stop.’ It fell on deaf ears as the larger dragonspawn shook Ghastly like a ragdoll (which also whipped his colleague about).

It did nothing to dislodge him.

“This kid is strong,” he grunted, “Let go already!”

This finally seemed to catch Kel’Thuzad and Rivendare’s attention.

“Titus,” Kel’Thuzad motioned to the commotion.

“On it boss,” Rivendare replied.

There were more issues that plagued the Thunderfury design outside of the exorbitant forging price and upkeep.

"Let's test these bad boys out," Rivendare said. He pulled a Thunderfury off his back with a flourish. But it was comically long and scraped the front of the glass container, leaving a long gauge in its wake before slapping Kel'Thuzad in the back of the head with a hollow thunk.

"Ow!"

"Oops, sorry mate," Rivendare dove forward, rolled and aimed the sword like a rifle at the fattest wyrmkin and-

Modera's world went white. It took a moment before she felt herself collide with a shelf.

The swords discharged electricity, but had a nasty reputation for friendly fire.

"What the hell was that!" she heard Kel'Thuzad cry.

Her vision returned. Curley was coming too also, he had been blown down the aisle by the shock.

Meanwhile Ghastly and the giant were still going at it. It was a struggle for the corpulent man to keep his hold. Especially as Ghastly seemed to swell. He grabbed his attacker's arm and with all his might and pulled down.

Up came a great spray of mist, the after effects of breaking many enchantments at once. The earth shook as the larger man was thrown to the ground. Modera coughed and waved away the smoke. She had barely recovered when both she and Curley were buffeted by a wing.

They fell into the shelf, this time the whole thing fell with an expensive crash. The dust cleared, revealing Blighterghast.

The drake was exceptionally large for his age, standing at least as tall as a racehorse. But that wasn’t the only unusual thing about him. He was hairy! He had a thick mane of white hair that ran down his neck and shoulders. His hide was a pale, olive color with vibrant purple striping that matched the webbing of his wings.

The dragonspawn wasted no time shirking his disguise. He was also large, and a creature Modera had only read descriptions of in books. He shared the centaur body plan of the dragon spawn they encountered back in the library. Except, this one also had a large pair of wings. He sneered at the drake with his short, pug like face.

Impressive as he was, he made a fatal mistake.

He gave Modera a bigger target.

She fired off a barrage of chilling magic, hoping to slow his movements. “Kel’Thuzad, do something!”

“I am!” he turned to Beezle, “That check cleared, right?”

The dragons were hissing like alley cats. Modera did not want to get caught in the crossfire.

“Kel!”

Beezle nodded.

“Coming!”

Kel’Thuzad snatched something off the counter and vaulted up onto the top of a stack. He laughed. Low and menacing, growing louder until it drew the attention of every person in the shop. He spread his arms wide, in one hand the unfinished Atiesh. In the other-

“Oh shit.”

The base.

“You sorry fools. Cower before the might of the Archlich of Naxxramas!” Kel’Thuzad’s voice carried easily over the rush of shoppers fleeing for the exit. He adjusted the staff into the crock of his arm and worked the base into place, screwing the pieces together as he spoke, “Lich Lord of the Plaguelands,, Commander of the Dread Necropolis! Master and founder of the Cult of the Damned! Formerly of the Council of Six-”

“Kel! You have to stop!” Modera rushed toward him, “It’s cursed! The demon!”

“-Hearthstone enthusiast! Kel’Thu- freaking-”

The staff was reforged.

And the world was engulfed in sound and fire.

Chapter Text

“...zad,” Kel’Thuzad coughed. What the hell-? He felt something squishy wriggling underneath him.

A section of shelving landed on him in the blast and with some effort he pushed himself up. Modera coughed beneath him. This was the second time this week he had been treated to this view of her and the second time under less than ideal circumstances. Unfortunate. Thankfully, she appeared unharmed.

“Possessed,” Modera wheezed.

He must have knocked the wind out of her in the fall. Kel’Thuzad rubbed her side and surveyed the scene before him, “You’re okay, just breathe.”

Had a bomb gone off inside the shop? Shelves were broken and splintered, some tilting into each other, others intact but with their boards split, merchandise cascading down and piling in the aisles. Some of it burned, the cinders flitting about and spreading their hungry orange glow.

Ghastly and Titus shook the dust off themselves, but otherwise appeared unharmed. One of the wyrmkin caught the brunt of the blast- he was dead, shot through with product-turned shrapnel. But the winged one swayed on his feet, dazed from the blast.

Kel’Thuzad looked down at Atiesh still in his other hand. Did it backfire?

No. He didn’t even cast a spell. How could it backfire?

Modera clenched her fists and huffed, frustration plain on her face as she batted his hands away. Something caught her eye. She took a deep shuddering breath and screamed bloody murder.

A molten fist grabbed the lich by the neck, hot enough to make his spell weaves boil. Kel'Thuzad tried in vain to pry the thing’s claws off of him as it drug him off Modera, burning his own hands all the while. With a swift jerk and the clatter of his own limbs hitting the shattered shelves he faced the beast.

It was huge! It looked like what happened after a Nathrezim and a fire elemental got too familiar with each other in the Grim Guzzler’s restroom.

He was face to face with a red-muzzled mandrill, wreathed in a beard of flames. The ridges of its long snout flowed into deep pits that gazed back like molten iron, burning into the witchfire of Kel'Thuzad's own eyes. Its maw gaped, bearing fangs to shame a saber cat’s and howled sulfurous doom. Kel'Thuzad gagged.

It was Hell, and Hell was angry.

There were many misconceptions concerning the undead. One of them was that they could not feel fear. True, maybe, for the mindless thralls- they didn’t feel at all. But what about the other monsters? The death knight commanders, the skeletal engineers, the abominations?

The scourge may have drilled the common humanity out of them, but they were still sentient. Still sapient. Especially the liches.

All the flowery language those overgrown skeletons used to describe themselves omits, accidentally or otherwise, the fact that at their core they are still people. Fear never really leaves people.

It should be understood, then, that demons are scary. Especially when you don’t expect them to be there.

Kel'Thuzad screamed.

He screamed again when Atiesh threw him towards a wall.

Kel'Thuzad crashed through the straw and plaster. For a moment he laid there in stunned silence.

The staff was possessed!?

Literally no one could have predicted such a thing!

Sure, everyone told him it was cursed- but he thought they meant metaphorically. Not literally.

He pushed himself up into action when a flash of arcane light sparked behind him, followed by a roar in…not in Kel’Thuzad’s direction. Modera bought him some time.

Kel’Thuzad dropped the tiny desk chair he hadn’t realized he picked up. The demon had thrown him clear into the manager's office. It was completely unlike Beezle himself- dank, claustrophobic and grubby. The walls were plastered with lewd posters. Mostly Tauren and… Dwarves?

Beezle must have something in here he used to dissuade rowdy customers. Hopefully something more potent than the gold plated shotgun hanging over the cabinet. Kel’Thuzad could feel the currents of magic swirling around Modera. Cold clashing with fel fire. Then he found it:

The emergency station.

Kel'Thuzad vaulted over the desk, tapping his teeth while he examined his options. Fire extinguisher? That wouldn't work, it was too small and not designed for living flame. Mana antagonizer?

The obnoxious whirr and crack of a thunderfury brought back the worst kind of memories, but they were cut short by a gorilla howl.

Kel'Thuzad shook his head. Knowing his luck the mana antagonizer would just backfire and unravel him.

The fight outside grew louder. From the sounds of things the winged dragonspawn was losing to Atiesh. Modera was directing traffic, her amplified voice carried easily over the cacophony.

Hurry!

Then he saw it. Magic Powder- in case of emergency break glass.

Perfect!

With a wicked laugh Kel'Thuzad seized the tiny hammer on a chain and tapped the glass. Snatching free the leather pouch he slipped out through the him-shaped hole in the wall just in time to see Atiesh plunge its sword deep into the dragonspawn.

It burned so hot it cooked the poor dragon man alive, splitting his flanks like a burst sausage. The dragonspawn grabbed at the sword in vain but each pass at the weapon was weaker than the last. Finally he collapsed to the ground, pink foam forced up from his lungs boiled out of its mouth.

The lich and his companions were stricken by the scene. They watched open mouthed as the demon placed a hoof on the dragonspawn’s hip, bringing with it the stink of seared flesh and the sizzle-pop of burning fat. It set its sights on Modera and yanked the sword free of the dragonkin’s sizzling corpse.

“Hey!” Kel’Thuzad leapt over one of the fallen shelves and loosened the drawstring on the bag with his teeth. The demon turned its burning gaze onto the lich and Kel’Thuzad froze.

Someone or something had been trying to kill Kel’Thuzad for his entire life. From the forests in Winterspring, to his time in Dalaran’s reserve and almost constantly for the last seven years. Warriors with the light of righteousness in their eyes, blood crazed orcs- even other lesser demons, they all blended together after a while.

Honestly, they were boring.

It got to the point where now Kel’Thuzad only remembered those who struck killing blows against him if it was unusual–like Harrison in the museum. That was unusual and embarrassing. One day it might even make a good story.

But Atiesh was different. It didn’t have any look in its eyes. Nothing that spoke of a deeper purpose- no motivating righteousness. No ambition. No grand design. Because fire doesn’t plan things. Fire simply consumes.

And that was what Atiesh would do to him- it would burn him and what was left of his soul in hellfire until he was nothing but an empty husk. And it wouldn’t spare him a thought while doing it, for a fire does not consider the brush. It would strike him down utterly and then its flames would leap to his friends, his family and his children.

The Silver Hand and Argent Dawn would consider Kel’Thuzad’s situation ironic.

White-hot rage surged through Kel’Thuzad. The thought of this demon laying a hand on Modera, on Ghastly, on Vael seared his bones to the marrow.

No, Kel’Thuzad would not permit his own arrogance to kill his loved ones. This hell-chapped monkey wasn’t the face of their death. I am death!

Kel’Thuzad grabbed a handful of the magic dust and lunged forward, roaring as he hurled it straight in the demon’s face. Had his mind not been focused by rage, he would have been quietly proud of himself for not throwing like an anemic schoolgirl.

Everyone froze. The baboon demon stared at Kel’Thuzad, dumbfounded. Silence overtook the pawn shop. For a moment it seemed like nothing was happening. Glitter-dust coated Atiesh’s face and hands, like a toddler’s construction paper project.

Then its face split, bearing its terrible fangs as it reared its hideous horned head back like a viper about to strike and–

It sneezed.

It sneezed all over Kel’Thuzad’s face. Great gobbets of hot, glitter-infused snot, from the archlich’s forehead to his clavicle. Some of it even got inside his ribcage. He could taste with the mist in there.

The sneezes came again and again, followed by coughs, great whooping coughs from deep in its chest. Wheezing, ugly coughs like dislodging gravel, coughs that blew past its lips making them slap against its gums, flapping about like the jowls of a hunting dog.

The demon struggled to breathe in its coughing fit, its red face turning purple as it asphyxiated.

Wait, no, that wasn’t right, you can’t really suffocate a demon. Also, Atiesh’s head appeared to be getting…larger?

The fire around its face subsided until it extinguished, revealing its hairless sooty hide. The raised growths on the side of its snout ballooned, darkening into a shiny mass of purple flesh. The rest of his face didn’t fare much better, it looked like the demon had been stung by a swarm of bees. Even his once white hot eyes, now pink and watery, could only peek out behind swollen lids.

With a clatter the sword fell to the ground. Atiesh fell to his knees and wheezed, almost as if it was having issues breathing. It retched before there was a flash of light and the smell of ozone followed by a thundering in the demon's guts. There was no vomit, just a small quivering pile of what appeared to be dirt.

Modera clambered over the broken shelves to Kel’Thuzad. Titus, carrying a now human Ghastly, followed close behind.

“Good job,” Modera said, “What did you do? I didn’t see you cast anything.”

“I didn’t, I threw this magic dust at him,” Kel’Thuzad said as he handed Modera the pouch, “I found it in the emergency cabinet.”

Modera examined the label on the pouch and barked a laugh, “Kel, what kind of emergency did you think we were in?”

He took the pouch back and read the label for the first time. Stamped in gold foil- Dr. Schtupp's Embiggening Powder (for the Ladies).

“Ew,” Kel’Thuzad deflated, his face burning as the mists fanned out of his jaw, “I-it was behind glass, I thought it was going to turn it into a sheep or something.”

Modera watched Atiesh. The demon was now sprawled out on its side and gasping for breath, totally disabled for the time being.

“Looks like you after Señior Pepe’s,” Titus said.

“Oh, that was a bad night, remember?” Modera reached over and rubbed his arm in faux support.

It was his fiftieth birthday. Julian threw a big get together at the most up-and-coming spot in Stratholme. Unfortunately through a combination of overdrinking and bad shellfish Kel’Thuzad spent the evening and most of the next day on the floor of the bathroom.

“It does not- and you know Telish food doesn’t, didn’t agree with me,” Kel’Thuzad knocked her hand away, “Can we stick to the matter at hand? I’ve seen a lot of demons during my tenure with the Scourge, but I’ve never seen one like this.”

In the time before Archimond’s grand summoning, the Scourge was still a minor wing of the Burning Legion. Though he and Ner’zhul strove to sabotage their war effort, Kel’Thuzad was able to learn a great deal about their hidden masters.

“That’s because it’s not a normal demon, it’s a titan,” Modera replied.

“What!”

“More accurately, it’s a piece, of a piece, of a piece of Sargeras.”

A titan three parts removed. “How do you know this?”

Modera explained as briefly as she could (which, considering she was an expert on titanology, was not brief at all).

Kel’Thuzad found himself enchanted with how her eyes lit up as she recounted the story of Aegwynn’s great battle with the Avatar of Sargeras and how its vanquished spirit infected her and her future child Medivh. If he wasn’t a lich he may have missed all of what she was saying.

Her talents and passion were wasted in Dalaran.

“And before you ask, this was in a Council briefing from two years ago,” Modera said, “Obviously, you’ve been away.”

"Oh," he was grateful she couldn’t read his expressions. Kel'Thuzad turned his attention back to the demon, tapping his teeth while considering their next move. Atiesh had continued to vomit arcs of lightning into the debris during Modera's lecture and was in the process of doing so again. Kel’Thuzad pointed at a new jiggly pile of soil, "Why is it doing that?"

"Titans are creator gods," she said with a shrug, "it's creating… something."

"Wait, so are you telling me that stuff actually works?" Titus asked as he reached for the pouch.

Again Modera shrugged. Kel’Thuzad pulled the pouch out of Titus’s reach and plunged it into his pocket for safe keeping.

Modera blinked. Titus crossed his arms. “Do you need the powder, Banana?"

"No," Kel'Thuzad replied. But it was behind the glass, "I don't know, maybe." They both gave Kel’Thuzad a look.

“Who knows, maybe it does other novel things?”

Another rumble brought them back to the matter at hand.

"How does one banish a Titan?" Kel'Thuzad asked, grabbing hold of that lifeline.

Wordlessly, Titus held out one of his Thunderfurys to the archlich.

"What the hell do you want me to do with that, saw its head off?" Kel'Thuzad snapped. That sounded very involved. The lich was hoping for a more elegant solution. And preferably a quick one.

He could feel his insurance premium going up by the second. The fiscal meetings with Cassie would be a nightmare.

"I don't know, Modera, what do we do?" Titus asked.

She thought for a moment before navigating the rubble to an untouched section of shelving.

Kel’Thuzad took the opportunity to take Ghastly from Titus and move away from the suffering demon. He didn’t look hurt but he might have been shaken by the horrific image of that dragonkin soldier’s lungs turning to haggis while it was still alive.

“Are you alright?”

Ghastly’s response was muffled by the lich’s mantle.

“I saw you help Modera, that was very brave,” Kel’Thuzad said. Another muffled response. “I bet Farah would think so too.”

Ghastly looked up, “Really?”

“Oh yes, women love a man of action,” he replied, “and you held off three of them.”

The drake gave him a sheepish smile, that certainly got his mind off the carnage.

“Let’s do something special when we get back home.”

“Can we go sledding?” Ghastly asked as he slid down, “I hate the desert.”

Kel’Thuzad agreed. If he never had to come back to this climate, the better.

Back in the stacks Modera made a sound of discovery. They turned as she rushed back, two books in hand. “I think I figured it out, I just needed to confirm something.”

“Sword is still on the table,” Titus said.

Modera ignored him, instead she pointed at the lich, “Kel, have you ever unraveled yourself?”

“Me?” he pointed to his chest, surprised at her question. That was only something he had to do in an extreme emergency, like if he spliced himself into a wall or if he needed more time on a deadline, “a few times, yes.”

“But how did you go about it?”

“Er, well, all the important bits are almost entirely arcane energy, so one would need to weave a substantial fel leg into their disruptor spell,” he replied. After a moment adding, “emphasis on substantial.”

He didn’t want her to get any ideas, not that Modera would ever experiment with fel magic.

Modera nodded and consulted one of her books, finally pointing to a passage and showing him, “Here, see, we pulled this information out of Ulduman. According to these translated tablets Titans are almost manifestations of pure arcane magic. You might be able to banish one the same way you- except,” Modera stuck the open book under one arm as she flipped to a section in the other book, “Sargeras was corrupted by fel energies, so-”

“We can double the arcane output instead!” Kel’Thuzad said, “Moody you’re brilliant!”

Modera opened her mouth then closed it, befuddled for a split second. “It’s only a hypothetical,” she said, recovering with a wave.

“But built on a good foundation,” he replied. Arcane and fel energies represented the power of order and disorder respectively. They were opposing energies and would antagonize each other. “Let’s try it out.”

Kel’Thuzad turned to the demon that was still rumbling and wheezing on the floor. With the staff in one hand, he began to draw up the necessary power for the spell.

Almost immediately he knew something was wrong.

The magic brought with it a mild burning sensation in his marrow. It came too quickly, too eagerly, the rush and the power behind the spell was off. It wasn’t orderly at all.

A gout of green fire leapt from his outstretched hand into the demon.

“What- Kel’Thuzad!” Modera’s hands were fisted in her hair.

Kel’Thuzad looked at his hand, the wrappings on his palm were scorched, the bones beneath burned from the spell. Fel magic?

But… how? The lich flexed his claws to ward off an aching chill. “That wasn’t supposed to happen,” he looked at the staff.

The raven’s glass eyes glowed green. Did it infect his casting?

“What were you thinking!” Modera snapped, “I didn’t say blast it with fel-fire you jackass.”

Kel’Thuzad rotated the staff around so Modera could see its face, “I didn’t- I channeled the proper spell, I-”

Titus ran through their argument, dragging Ghastly by the arm. Modera and Kel’Thuzad paused to watch them scramble out of the front doors. Behind them the air began to heat up. Kel’Thuzad turned.

Instead of banishing Atiesh, the lich’s fel-fire infusion reinvigorated the demon. It looked about two feet taller, too.

“...I guess that powder does work,” Kel’Thuzad said weakly.

There was no retort from Modera, the archmage was already racing after the boys. The demon bent to pick up its sword and Kel’Thuzad wheeled to follow.

XXXXXXXX

Vael was no stranger to the outdoors. She went on many adventures and hikes with Better Botanicals at her side. Identifying and collecting plants was one of her favorite pastimes. She knew every rock and stump in the area around Southshore; and every rut in the trail near her house in Redridge.

But those places were in the low country. Hillsbrad was full of flat farmland and Redridge's trails were all curated.

The deep woods running between Durnholde and Tarren Mill were deep. And they were rugged.

Vael didn't know how much longer she could walk.

This was the second day of her and Thrall's march. She had no idea where they were going. All he said was 'west'. But there was nothing west. Nothing but the river. Beyond that was Tarren Mill, but the Forsaken owned that.

Vael shivered and hoped they would turn north at the river instead.

For now, she just wanted to stop walking. Her clothes were soaked with sweat and water that fell from the trees. They were heavy and cold, wet cloth chafed at her skin. Her socks? Also wet. They made her feet slide around in her boots. The blisters popped this morning.

The backs of her hands were cut up from trying to climb through a sticker-bush earlier. Thrall insisted she could make it. That was one more problem.

When Vael first met Thrall, she was more than a little starstruck. She’d never met anyone as famous or heroic as him (her father didn’t count). Thrall was an absolute legend!

She just didn’t expect him to be so…chatty.

For the first few hours Vael was polite as she had been taught. She would nod as he talked about how he hated these woods. How he got lost in them when he ran away from Durnholde. How the other orcs made him scrounge a living near the Alterac range.

It was the sort of conversation one had with themselves. He didn't need her participation. Vael had been privy to many of these from her mother. It was how she planned out some of her council debates. But they were supposed to be short conversations and this one had gone on for almost two days now.

"Then Saurfang made me ride a wolf in front of everyone- I thought I was going to fall off the whole time."

"Uh huh."

"Have you ever ridden a wolf?"

"Uh huh."

"Really?"

"Uh huh."

"Then you know it's nothing like a horse," Thrall stopped to look at her.

"Uh hu-" Vael was interrupted as she trudged into the orc. She bounced off him and would have fallen if he had not caught her.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly.

"Maybe we should bed down for the night," Thrall rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, "we will reach the river tomorrow."

Vael nodded mutely. They weren't in a flat spot, it was more like a thicket of manzanita bushes. But there was a smooth rock she could sit on while Thrall stomped down some of the foliage and gathered firewood.

He dropped a pile of sticks, wet logs and half a manzanita into the center of the clearing. Satisfied, he knelt down and organized his kindling.

“He can’t light all that on fire. It will explode,” Doomfinger whispered in her ear.

Vael watched as the sparks from his flint crinkled up the frayed pulp and smaller twigs before guttering out.

“He’s never going to be able to start a fire like that- the wood is too wet.”

Vael patted the side of her boot where she had stashed the wand and nodded. She couldn’t answer, what if Thrall heard her? He would think she was crazy!

“You need fire. It's too cold out."

"But, I don't know how to make fire," Vael whispered. She hadn't even started her training yet and only knew how to conjure food and water.

"I thought you read those survival pamphlets in the restricted section."

Vael could only find two Cult manuals in the Explorer's League Library. One was on edible plants but the other was on- "Oh!" Vael stood up.

Thrall looked up and watched her fish Doomfinger out of her boot. The orc raised an eyebrow at the old wand.

"I can start a fire with this," she said, motioning with Doomfinger.

"That looks too nice to be kindling," Thrall replied.

"I-no," she started, ignoring the irritated pulse coming from the wand, "here, stand back."

Reluctantly, Thrall pushed himself up and stepped away from the pile of useless kindling. Vael pointed Doomfinger at the sticks and …waited.

"You should arrange the wood first."

Vael sighed and lowered the wand. She didn't want to arrange the wood. But she shuffled forward dutifully. After a few minutes she had built a little cabin out of the material. She kept the twigs from the bush as kindling but set aside the thicker branches.

“That’s good material, why are you taking it out?” Thrall asked.

Vael picked up one of the red logs. Its papery bark curled up revealing the smooth scarlet skin underneath, “If we have too much of this the fire might be too hard to control.”

Thrall crossed his arms, “I’m a shaman, I can control fire.”

“Then why isn’t he starting the fire with magic?"

Vael ignored the wand. She thought asking him that might be rude, “They might not react well with wand fire.”

With everything prepped Vael tightened her grip around the wand and pointed it at the wood. Thankfully Doomfinger co-operated this time. She felt a jolt shoot up her arm as a dark ray of purple energy shot out the bony finger. At first it seemed like nothing was happening. Then came a loud series of pops. The kindling did not burst into flame, wands were not so dramatic even if Doomfinger had a theatrical flair. Instead it smoldered to life, and burned an almost invisible blue, like an ethanol fire.

Thrall rubbed his hands together and held them out to warm in front of the fire, “I didn’t know shadow magic could produce a real flame.”

“It does. Wands use a process called prismatification to start fires,” Vale said hoping Thrall wouldn’t ask her to define prismatification, it was just a term she read in one of her mother’s books, “They burn so hot that they don’t produce any smoke and shadow magic doesn’t really burn brightly.”

“What’s prismatification?”

Damn it. “Um-”

“It’s when the crystal alignments within a wand force magic into a specific color,” Doomfinger said, “But that’s not how wands produce fire that just describes part of the process for magical attunement. Don’t worry we can go over all that later.”

Vael repeated what the wand said, excluding the second part. This seemed to satisfy Thrall at least. He grunted, impressed with her apparent knowledge of magical theory and pointed to Doomfinger, "May I see it?"

"No!"

Vael hesitated, what if Doomfinger said something nasty? Or worse! Or what if Thrall wouldn't give it back? But…if she didn't hand it over he might get suspicious.

Suspicious of what she wasn't sure. But the fear of it was enough for her to reluctantly hand it over.

Thrall accepted the wand despite its protests. She watched his examination, how he poked the pointing finger with one of his own; how he held it out to check if it pointed true and how he swished it about with a fancy flourish.

"This is sort of a weird wand isn't it?" Thrall asked as he traced one of the whorls with his thumb, "for a kid, I mean."

Vael crossed her arms, "What do you mean?"

"It looks like it came from a haunted bog. Also I think it is yelling at me," Thrall said. He held the fist up to his ear and winced, "definitely does not like me."

Vael gasped and covered her mouth. But Thrall just laughed and handed the wand back.

"A bog!"

"I'm sorry, it doesn't like strangers," Vael said.

Thrall held out one hand and sat back on his stump. "Can you tell me anything about it?"

"Oh, well, Doomfinger was designed to fight dragons," she balanced the wand on her palm and used her free hand to motion to the areas of interest, "cyprus is associated with death. So is lead- it's also the heaviest classical Arathi metal. It weighs down the magic," Vael explained. She saw the blank expression on Thrall's face, "the finger also…pins the dragon…to the ground. Like a bug."

"...Oh."

Silence.

Vael shifted her weight from one leg to another. She felt itchy. "My father made it."

"He gave it to you?" Thrall asked.

"Not exactly."

Thrall chuckled, "so you took it from his study."

Vael opened her mouth but no words came. Instead her stomach sank. Thrall noticed the shift and rubbed the back of his neck, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize-"

"Oh, no- he's not dead," Vael said, "not that dead. He's undead. I just don't think he knows who I am."

"I see," Thrall rubbed the dark stubble along his jaw, Vael could hear the scratchy sound from where she sat.

The conversation died down as they listened to the fire crackle.

Saying it outloud hurt more than she thought. Almost as bad as what her mother said. But…what if she was right? What if the lich king took that part away from him.

Vael's eyes stung and she looked away. She didn't want to cry in front of Thrall… again.

Besides, it’s not like he would want to help her after she stole from him.

“Don’t think such silly things,” Doomfinger said, “of course he would want to help you.”

How could he do that if he didn’t know her? Vael stared at her boots, her own mother couldn’t help her if she was in a different time.

She might as well be on a different planet.

Vael’s wallowing was interrupted by a low gurgle. "I don't suppose you can conjure us some more food?" Thrall asked.

~

Vael watched Thrall shove an entire cupcake into his mouth, frosting first. She preferred to lick the frosting off first before nibbling on the cake. For some reason it didn't matter how much she ate, at the end she still felt hungry.

"That's because your conjurations will never be able to replace more than the energy you use to create them," Doomfinger said, "Your father is going to rip the hide off this orc when he gets here."

Vael frowned and looked down at her food. That would mean she hadn't eaten anything for two days.

"You know," Thrall broke the silence, Vael looked up, "you shouldn't believe everything you read about the undead. Remember what I told you about Sylvanas and Nathanos?"

"You said he was creepy."

"He is," Thrall said, "but he loves her. And she loves him too- I can tell, I know what humans are like when they like each other."

"Are they like orcs?"

"No. I'm- uh, still trying to figure that out," Thrall leaned back against his stump and looked at the stars. The clouds had finally begun to clear. "I like Aggra, but sometimes I don't think I'm orc-y enough for her."

Vael didn't think she should respond. Plus, she didn't know what to say in anycase.

"Sometimes I think if I were a better shaman she would- I don't know," Thrall grabbed a handful of grass and pulled. It came up with a rip, "the elements here are a lot different than in Outland. After Deathwing they hardly heed our calls. It frustrates her."

"Azeroth is different from Draenor. The intersections between the real world and the elemental planes are more permeable here. It makes the elementals less stable and more aggressive,” Doomfinger said, “Unfortunately for Thrall, it makes perfect sense that she might have difficulties adjusting. He might even be more adept than her.”

Vael looked down at the wand and frowned, "How do you know that?"

"The first scourge liches were all ex-shamans, they complained endlessly. Mostly about water," it replied, “It wouldn't cooperate for them.”

Thrall motioned to Doomfinger with a cupcake, “What’s that thing saying now?”

“He says the water on Azeroth doesn’t like to listen,” Vael said.

“Very true,” he replied before raising an eyebrow, “How does it know that?”

“I think my father would be able to help you,” Vael replied, “if he were here that is. He knows a lot about shamanism.”

“Your father’s a human though, how much could he really know?”

Vael looked down at the wand, “A lot.”

“A lot.”

Thrall gave her a hard look as he shoved another cupcake into his mouth, “Your faffer’s not the Liff Hing is he?”

The Lich King? Vael crossed her arms, close, “I’m not related to Sir Fordragon.”

“Damn. We could probably use his help right now,” Thrall replied. He swallowed the rest of the cupcake before something struck him. He narrowed his eyes at her, “how do you know about that?”

Oops. That was the second time Vael had let that slip. It was supposed to be a secret. “Councilor Modera- she’s my mother. She told me.”

“Oh- that’s who you look like,” Thrall said, “I’ve been trying to figure it out this whole time. I met her a few times. She gave a presentation on those titan ruins to a group of mercenary guilds last year.”

He rested his chin on his knuckles and tapped his thumb against his jaw, “Wasn’t she just attacked at a Harrison Jones event?”

Vael nodded.

“Was Kel’Thuzad involved or did I imagine that?” he asked, “I only just saw the headline in the visitors center at the caverns.”

Her mother said people only read past the top part of the newspaper if it's about sports or gossip. She gasped and stood up, suddenly struck by her own realization, “They were attacked by the same dragon that brought me here!”

Vael quickly explained how her parents were on the council together during the second war when they fought Deathwing, omitting the part that she was related to both of them of course.

“Maybe they’ll come rescue me- us,” she stopped herself, “Us. They’ll rescue both of us.”

“That was close.”

Mentally, she shushed the wand.

“I met Kel’Thuzad a few times, long time ago when he was still alive,” Thrall said.

“Really?” Vael asked brightly. Maybe too brightly, she caught herself and coughed. No need to look too interested, ‘What was he like?”

“Nicer than most humans I suppose, he used to give me sweets. I think he was learning orcish from one of the servants in Durnholde,” Thrall looked off into the distance, lost in a brief memory, “I wonder if he remembers that.”

“Well I certainly do,” Doomfinger said.

Vael looked down at the wand and smiled. That was the first time she had heard a stranger say something nice about her father.

Thrall chuckled, the sound was deep and rich. “I never thought I would need his help again,” Thrall said, “but don’t be scared if he shows up, me and your mother can keep him in check.”

XXXXXXXXX

Modera was yelling at him. But not for him to slow down.

Kel'Thuzad could barely hear her over the chaos because next door the arena was letting out. Drunk hooligans of all races reveled in the street, while bitter, drunk gamblers screamed at their bookies and others puked their guts into the gutters.

Behind them Atiesh was struggling to smash everything in the store in its pursuit of the lich.

"Where are we going!"

"I'm still figuring that out," Kel'Thuzad said.

"Running away can’t be our whole plan!" Titus yelled.

"I'm taking suggestions!"

He held Modera’s wrist in an iron grip. The throng was tight, he couldn't risk losing her. Worse, the crowd wasn't afraid of him. A lich might make for an unusual sight outside of cult territory, but in cosmopolitan Gadgetzan it was hardly worth mentioning. Here, the people probably assumed he was just part of the crowd!

Kel'Thuzad wished he was back at the museum. For one, he could at least use some of his magic there. For second it was significantly easier to navigate a crowd of fleeing girls who were screaming your name. More fun too. Here the lich had to bully his way through, shoving and hissing at anyone in his path.

All the while Modera berated him (so it did share that much with the library).

"-irresponsible!" Modera's voice carried over the crowd, "Antonidas was right about you. Never looking before you leap! And my mother-"

"Babs? She adores me!" Kel'Thuzad said as he elbowed his way past a Troll. His brain was running a thousand miles a second trying to figure out a solution. This was worse than the library. Anything he cast would threaten to eat him from the inside.

"-using a staff that poisoned your reserves-"

Reserved magic! That was it!

Before he could voice his brilliance, the crowd shifted. Atiesh finally burst through the doors of the pawnshop, instantly cooling the boisterous atmosphere. Kel'Thuzad could see the wave of panic rippling towards them.

Then came the crush of bodies. Immediate and suffocatingly claustrophobic. It was almost impossible to move a finger, let alone four people.

Kel'Thuzad found himself lifted off his feet, sandwiched between two bull Tauren. His upper body was being pushed one way and his legs another. The push and pull of the crowd sawed at his hold on Modera. Almost reflexively he dug in his claws, piercing through her vambrace and into the soft flesh below. He heard her cry out in pain- but also the sharp peal of a panicking child.

“Ghastly!”

Kel’Thuzad wriggled as best he could, his free hand reaching out for the back of the drake’s shirt. He stretched, almost there- his claws just grazing the edge of his collar. If he could just get an inch- less, but something on the side of his head was holding him back. Kel'Thuzad grabbed a fistful of the Tauren's mane and pulled himself forward.

Then…more resistance and something hot and wet. And he couldn't move his head.

Because he had accidentally gored the poor Tauren he was pushed up against.

The bull bellowed in pain and reached back blindly, hoping to crush Kel'Thuzad's skull. Instead he found a horn and pulled, dragging the lich closer to Ghastly, but also digging his tusk deeper into the Tauren's meaty hump. The other Tauren tried to help his friend by grabbing the lich’s face and tried to push him in the opposite direction.

Kel’Thuzad did the only thing one could do when a strange person stuck their hand in one’s mouth: he bit down. The Tauren howled and tried to pull away, but the lich had already sunk his teeth in. Kel’Thuzad wasn’t exactly in a position to let go either, if he did then that bull would try to smash his head in.

A sudden cold shift in the air and the taste of winter heralded a spell. Kel’Thuzad didn’t know if it was an attack towards him or at the demon. Lucky for him he was wrong on both counts.

The ground beneath them froze in a disk, rising with layers upon layers of magical ice. With each layer the freezing grew faster, creating a pillar of frost with them at the top. It stopped suddenly and pitched at a steep angle causing anyone who was thrown into the air on the ice to lose their footing and slip down a ramp towards a clear ally.

The Tauren Kel’Thuzad had been attached to fortuitously fell forward, allowing the lich to cling to his back. Now free, he turned his head to find the source of their salvation: Modera! With one hand she was directing the flow of magic, creating their ramp as they slid down it.

He could kiss her right now, if it weren’t for the demon business.

The slide was short lived and soon they along with the two Tauren, a Troll, two Orcs and a Worgen were all dumped unceremoniously in the empty side street.

The bull he had landed on groaned and Kel’Thuzad thought the least he could do was help him to his feet. After all he had just torn into his back with one of his tusks. Plus it was a good excuse to practice his taur-ahe.

“Stupid troll,” the Tauren spat, “haven’t you learned to keep your teeth in…your mouth.”

He looked up and noticed Kel’Thuzad was not a Troll. “Apologies, I truly did not mean for that to happen,” Kel’Thuzad said.

The lich reached for the pocket on his left hand side, then remembered his orcish-alphabet cards were on the right hand side of his cloak. He pulled out a business card and handed it to the mangled bull. “Here, take this to Jandi’s Arboreum in Orgrimmar. They’ll patch you up for free.”

“What about me,” his friend said as he pointed to his hand, “you bit me!”

“You put your hand in my mouth.”

The Tauren pointed to his hand again. With a sigh, Kel’Thuzad rolled his eyes and fished out another card.

“Banana,-”

Kel’Thuzad turned to face Titus, “What happened to your face?” the death knight asked.

“Nothing. Where is Ghastly?”

He pointed over his shoulder. Modera was leaning against a barrel while the drake was looking at her injured arm. Kel’Thuzad hustled over and kneeled next to the drake.

He looked fine, Modera looked mostly fine.

“Sorry about your arm,” Kel’Thuzad said.

She waved away his apology with her good hand, “Tell me you at least have a plan to stop this thing.”

“That I do,” he replied, “We need to hurry though, I’m almost positive that demon can track me.”

Besides the scrapers he threw off the highest magical signature in the city.

The group hurried down the alley.

"What can you tell me about the ley scrappers?" Kel’Thuzad asked.

"Why, what are you thinking?"

"It sucks up ambient aether, right?” he asked. They were getting closer to the machine, by his recollection it was only a few blocks away now.

“Well, yes,” Modera replied, “It sends micro pulses into the earth that mimic-”

Kel’Thuzad turned a sharp corner. There at the crossroads of two other side streets stood a group of goblins. They all wore the same thing- dusty mail, dirty desert pants, and a scowl.

Guards.

A slightly singed Beezle elbowed his way to the front. He pointed right at Kel’Thuzad, “There he is! Get him!”

"Beezle why? You know I'm good for it," Kel’Thuzad skidded to halt just in time to duck under an incoming net.

Beezle shrugged, "It's just business Kelly, nothing personal. I gotta have them give you the boots, medium style. You know how it is."

Kel'Thuzad did unfortunately know how it is. "But the shop is insured!"

"Oh, I know," Beezle motioned to the city guards, "I'm not paying you mooks to stand around, now get in there and rough him up. And don't give me any guff like 'he can't feel pain'!"

One of the guards ran his hand up his forehead and under his helmet, "What about his lady friend?"

"I'm not his lady friend," Modera called out.

“If you hit a sitting councilor it means I have to do a lot of paperwork,” Beezle cracked his knuckles, “and you can kiss your ass and your pension goodbye if that happens.”

This spurred the guards to action. The guards rushed forward, with a hearty cry now that they had money on the line.

Behind the group, in the alley they had just come from, Kel’Thuzad could hear the snap of Atiesh’s wings as it landed with the dry heat of a furnace.

They were trapped!

“Look out!” Modera called. Kel’Thuzad turned, too slow to dodge the follow up. The net tangled up in the lich’s horns and threatened to bring him down. Kel'Thuzad did the only thing he could do- he drew up his power and teleported.

It was a dangerous move, blinking a group of people to a spot he vaguely remembered. But it worked, kind of. They appeared three blocks away in front of the ley scraper- and Kel’Thuzad promptly collapsed, writhing in agony as he felt the backlash of fel magic.

He let out a series of short, panicky screams- he was burning from the inside out! Kel’Thuzad could feel the magic eating away at him as it tried to destroy critical spell paths governing his corporeal form. Luckily he had the presence of mind to redirect the flow of harmful energy back towards the staff before it ate him alive.

That, plus Ghastly threw a bucket of questionable water on him.

“Thanks.” Casting anything, even if he didn’t tap into Atiesh’s power affected him. Kel’Thuzad stared at the dome above them as he gathered his thoughts. Without magic he was worse than useless.

But that didn’t mean he could lay there and give up. He grit his teeth and staggered to his feet, ignoring the ache in his bones.

Finally, the ley scraper.

The foul machine was still humming, purple magic pumping its way into the air fueling the shield spell. He and Modera stepped closer to examine it. Kel'Thuzad almost didn’t want to touch it, even from here he could feel the unwelcome sensation of a draining spell.

He tapped his teeth with a claw, “What does it do with the mana it pulls in?”

From the corner of his eye he could see Modera furrow her brow, so he added, “Does it convert it or keep it raw?”

“Both,” Modera replied, she stepped around it to a control panel. Kel’Thuzad watched her lift a lid, revealing a series of dials and switches. He peeked over her shoulder, some of the symbols he recognized, others not so much. The language of the titans. “See you can change the inputs of what you need it to do. Something like this in a desert should be converting the mana into a source of water, but the goblins have it set to arcane for the barrier.”

“But it’s pure arcane energy?”

Modera nodded.

“Great!” Behind them things were getting louder. The demon picked up the lich’s trail. The burning putrid scent of fel magic was growing stronger. “Now how do we get at it?”

“You want to shut off the barrier?” Modera asked, “You’ll let the sandstorm into the city!”

“I want to stop the demon,” Kel’Thuzad replied. If the sandstorm blew in, well…it would stop the sports riot at least.

Modera gaped at him then threw her hands up, “I can’t be involved with this.”

“That’s fine, Titus,” he motioned to Modera, “restrain the councilor.”

She put her hands on her hips as Titus linked arms with her, “This is ridiculous.”

“That’s right, councilor!” he said loud enough for plausible deniability, “With you in my clutches the Kirin Tor will…” Will what? He searched for a motive, Titus shrugged. “er, have to meet my demands!”

It would have to suffice, “There, satisfied? I’ve kidnapped you, you’ve been napped.”

Modera looked wholly unimpressed.

A screech of metal like a breaking tram heralded Atiesh’s arrival. The demon was angry and not unscathed from its tangle with the guards.

The guards really did a number on it. Netting was tangled around Atiesh’s wings so thoroughly they were stuck half-extended. The last quarter of its tail had been chopped off. Now sluggish black tar dripped from the stump. Finally half its face was mangled, one eye swollen shut and it appeared to be missing a canine. Kel’Thuzad hoped whichever goblin took that would make it into a pocket knife or something.

Demons were difficult to banish through mundane means. Even if a hundred goblins had assaulted it, Atiesh might not go down. But a blast from the scrapper would send it back to the twisting nether.

Only, Kel’Thuzad needed something to focus the scraper’s energies. He could shape the spell to his purposes as long as he didn’t draw the power into himself. Casting about the alley for something, anything they could use as a focus, his eyes settled on one of the Tunderfurys attached to Titus’s back.

Of course! The blade was made out of elementium- the fancy kind, with a crystal infusion. It also had a huge blue arcanite attached to the pommel.

Kel’Thuzad reached over the death knight and pulled out one of the swords. It was horribly balanced, no wonder it ended up in a pawnshop. He leveled the sword at the demon, “Everyone stand clear.”

For the first time Atiesh laughed. It was an ancient sound. Then it charged.

Kel’Thuzad whirled and rammed the blade into the ley scraper with the gem in the sword’s pommel aimed directly at the demon’s chest.

The machine whirred and choked, its internal processes interrupted by the blade. Above them cracks in the dome spidered outward, racing to fill the entire skyline. The weapon in his hands vibrated until it grew white hot. It hurt, past mortal limits, but his were far greater. The scraper’s shriek rose in pitch until Kel’Thuzad thought it might explode - which it did, but not before a great blast of arcane power shot from the Thunderfury and through the demon’s chest.

Atiesh staggered forward. It caught itself on its sword before falling to its knees. The flames on its body guttered out, finally snuffed before it turned its still burning eye on the lich.

"Arrogant wizard,” Atiesh wheezed, speaking for the first time, “You play with magicks you don't understand. Look at yourself, are you still not satisfied?"

Kel’Thuzad did not have an answer.

Atiesh slumped over, dead. Its body crumpled into a pile of char, leaving behind only its jagged, purple sword.

He stared at the spot, watching the embers drift away on the wind. Its final words rang in his ears as he turned and ran into the storm.

Chapter Text

“This is bullshit,” Titus said.

Kel’Thuzad grunted. They were required to participate in a kind of ‘orientation’ before they were allowed to speak with any bronze dragons. And no private tours were available–Kel’Thuzad asked.

The central hub was dizzyingly gigantic. So vast that the ceiling incorporated the Twisting Nether into its structure. Instead of going underground, Kel’Thuzad felt like they had traveled into a different realm, outside of time itself. Everywhere he looked things half formed and disappeared as if they never existed. Maybe they never did.

And at the center of all things towered an ornate hourglass. Its many bulbs were full of golden sand which shone with an unearthly light. Temporal magic bleed off it in such quantities that the oil on his tusks turned a brassy hue.

Kel'Thuzad rubbed the side of one with his thumb, it came away slick. He didn't even know that could happen.

The Caverns of Time was one of the most awesome places Kel’Thuzad had ever been and he couldn't even appreciate it because they'd been forced into this tour for babies.

Coincidentally, Ghastly was enjoying himself.

“I mean, seriously,” Titus continued, “we don’t have time for this.”

Kel’Thuzad was only half listening (to both Titus and the tour guide), the mercenaries were very distracting.

They were three orcs, a tauren and an undead woman and they were all very interested in him. They kept whispering to each other and stealing glances at the lich.

"Just ask him," one of the orcs, a stout fighter, whispered.

"No- stop it!" hissed the woman in thickly accented orcish.

The lich politely ignored them. “Apparently we do have time,” Kel’Thuzad replied, “according to the guide that is. Time doesn’t flow the same way here.”

“Don’t tell me you’re actually paying attention to this,” Titus said.

Kel’Thuzad shrugged. It wasn’t as if he had a choice.

“While we’re on the subject, take a look at this,” Titus pulled a sword off his back. The ladder-patterned steel had a purple tint to it. It was double bladed with a tip that looked like it belonged on the end of a spear. But the most unusual feature was a set of large, animate teeth set in the guard that chattered and gnashed together. “Look familiar?”

Kel’Thuzad crossed his arms, he knew where this was going. However, Modera did not.

“Is that the demon’s sword?” Modera asked.

“Yes. But Naxxramas is lousy with these terrible things,” Titus said. He held up the sword and brought his index finger very close to the teeth, only to have them snap. He repeated this, each time getting closer, risking a bite, “See this? This completely throws off my swing when it tries to bite into the person I am stabbing!”

“I think that is supposed to strip the enchantments off of whatever it touches,” Modera said.

Kel’Thuzad barked a laugh.

Titus groaned, “Don’t tell me you're on his side!”

“Titus, I’ve told you many times- unless you can find me crates of free swords I’m not replacing them,” Kel’Thuzad said.

“They are crap. Crap! I’m telling you right now, they need to go.”

“Where do you even find crates full of demonic swords?” Modera asked.

“Burning Legion,” the men said in unison.

“We stole them,” Kel’Thuzad explained, "I challenge you to find a better deal than that!"

"Don't you have a legion of untiring craftsmen at your disposal?" Modera asked, "why continue to use these shabby things?"

"Shabby!" Kel'Thuzad clicked his teeth, she just couldn't appreciate a good deal, "how like someone on the banking committee to think new things can just be bought."

"And how miserly of someone on the budgetary committee to squeeze every copper out of an obsolete implement," Modera countered. She leaned closer to examine the sword’s snapping teeth, “if you hate these so much why did you even pick it up?”

“Because Banana fried my other Thunderfury.”

“I was saving everyone,” Kel’Thuzad snapped. He let out a huff of mist. Ungrateful, the lot of them! Didn’t they know he was still shaking sand out of his skull?

“If that’s what you call it. Your staff envy is what got us into that mess.”

"I don't-" he stopped. You don't have to respond to everything, he reminded himself. Kel’Thuzad paused and looked back at the giant hourglass, "Have you ever seen anything so stupendous? It’s amazing! Do you think the Titans made it?"

"Yes, they did," Modera replied, “and yes, I have.”

Kel'Thuzad couldn’t tear his eyes off the hourglass, "Really? Not the Dark Portal."

"The corpse of Yogg-saron," she said without looking back.

An old god? Kel’Thuzad double teamed it to catch up, "Surely you didn't look directly at it?"

"It was dead Kelly, it can’t do anything.”

Kel’Thuzad was about to respond to that but thought better of it.

In anycase, a small group of cultists had embedded themselves inside the team that eventually defeated the old god inside of Ulduar. Some of them were still afflicted with night terrors and other… ailments.

Common among them being, strangely, a strong aversion to squid.

Sadly some in the kill team had been reduced to gibbering husks. Their bodies and souls were so affected by the madness that not even a necromancer as skilled as Kel’Thuzad would risk converting them.

Even undeath did not bring full immunity to the dark whisperings of the old gods. There were even some rumors among the Scourge intelligentsia that Arthas in his last days was succumbing to madness. Perhaps brought about as a result of his chronic exposure to Saronite- the solidified blood of Yogg-saron.

“It’s dangerous. Those sorts of things never truly die. Their power lingers on-- it corrupts people,” Kel’Thuzad said, “That magic is evil.”

Modera stopped hard in her tracks and turned in time to see Kel’Thuzad almost stumble into her. He was only just able to catch himself, much to the amusement of the Horde adventurers. “I did not just hear that coming out of your mouth,” Modera said. She crossed her arms, “have you looked in the mirror lately?”

“Why? Do I have something on my face?” he asked dryly.

“Kell-” she caught herself, “Thuzad. How can you say that when your own magic has corrupted you?”

He gaped at her. Corrupted? Him! He was just a lich, the result of a very deliberate process. And mostly against his wishes. He didn’t have glowing green eyes or green skin or bloody tentacles popping out of him!

“Your boyfriend is more corrupted than I am," Kel'Thuzad said under his breath.

But still loud enough for Modera to hear.

"What did you say?" she snapped.

"I am not corrupted," Kel'Thuzad said louder. There was nothing inherently 'evil' with necromantic magic itself. It was even relatively safe if practiced properly. Safer than pure arcane magic - which was addictive.

Ethical objections to it were entirely cultural.

She was the one playing with fire! The power of the old gods was a cancer. It left the caster vulnerable to their insidious influences. Madness followed until the caster developed a squidily complexion.

He huffed a cloud of mist and looked down.

Unfortunately making eye contact with one of the orcs.

Now they had to talk.

Which the lich suspected he wanted to do anyway since he was walking backwards, facing Kel’Thuzad. He was young, probably not even twenty. Dust covered his boiled leather armor but his axes were in good condition.

The boy stuffed his hands into his armpits making his elbows stick out and him look like a squat triangle.

“Hey,” the orc greeted him with a jerk of his head, “you a necromancer?”

Kel’Thuzad resisted the urge to sigh, “Yes,” he replied in orcish.

The orc nodded, “Cool.”

The other adventurers seemed to think it was cool as well. Except for the forsaken woman. She hid behind the tauren cow, only sneaking looks at him when she thought the lich might not be looking. “What’s your name?” they asked.

He told them his name with the appropriate amount of gravitas their encounter called for. The party exchanged excited glances with each other. Whether it was because they knew who he was by reputation or because a lich was actually humoring them Kel’Thuzad couldn’t say.

It didn’t take long for him to learn all about their little adventuring party.

The orcs were triplets, all fighters. The only way Kel'Thuzad could tell them apart was because they each had a different nose piercing. The brothers had met up with the other two in Thunder Bluff to plunder Zul'Farrak. Then apparently got lost.

The more they talked the more he realized they were really more like teenagers playing mercenary, instead of the battle hardened veterans he usually encountered.

"Can you help our friend?" Bograt, the one with the septum piercing, asked, "she can't use her left hand. If you’re a necromancer you can heal her, right?"

Kel’Thuzad ran his claws along a tusk and thought. A forsaken with structural issues? Never heard that one before…

“You’re certainly being friendly,” Modera said dryly.

“They’re just kids,” he replied, “you can participate if you like."

Modera shook her head, "I don't speak the language."

“We have gold, Uncle, if that’s what you need,” Bograt said, “please?”

Kel’Thuzad held his hands up apologetically, he did not mean to ignore their request, “I would be happy to help your friend- for free,” he said, “If she’ll accept my help that is.”

"See El'zabet," orcish pronunciation of Elizabeth, "I told you," another brother said as he pulled her forward.

"No- I," she dug her feet into the sand as she protested, "the Dark Lady wouldn't like it."

"Screw that! We need you to keep us alive."

Kel'Thuzad crouched down so he could be at her eye level. She watched him warily, one hand clutching her staff tightly. "You have nice friends,” he said warmly in common. The girl mumbled something unintelligible. Something about her was...off.

“What are you doing?” Modera asked.

“I’m not sure yet,” he replied.

Nine out of ten forsaken were victims of the plague of undeath who broke away during Ner'zhul's ‘episode’ seven years ago.

Light, it's been that long.

Their resurrections were barely a step above reanimation meaning the magic that pulled them from the veil did not stop what nature intended. Rot set it. Bloating and sloughage soon followed.

The average forsaken didn’t have the connections for an apothecary’s alchemical embalming or the gold to go to Westwatch to see a cult trained necromancer. Thus their upkeep suffered. Additionally, the magic animating them wasn’t self cycling. Entropy eventually ate away at the spells anchoring the souls to their bodies, reducing them to a zombified husk.

What they were supposed to be.

By his estimation at least a quarter of their population should have faded by now. And yet…by all accounts their numbers appeared to be growing. And he suspected the proof was right in front of him.

This girl was fresh. And young, maybe only seventeen. Too young for undeath. The side of her pretty face was marred from liver mortis, leaving her with dark purple splotches and spidery white lines. Someone left her for dead on her side. If Dottie were here she could fix that.

The lich’s heart sank, metaphorically speaking. Someone had stolen her life before she even had a chance to live it. In its place the thieves left a cruel parody. A pale simulacrum that, if she was lucky, would leave her a shambling mess in a few years.

And her resurrector didn’t even have enough pride in their work to do that properly.

Obviously, this was unacceptable and something Kel’Thuzad was in a position to rectify. He could fix her arm. The tendons on her hand were frozen, locked in a permanent flexed position. At a glance he could see there was no innervation in the shoulder and the mobility weave did not reach past her elbow.

“May I have your name?” he asked.

"Elizabeth Maleb," she said to her shoes.

Beside him Modera grabbed his elbow, "The magister's daughter?" he asked.

Elizabeth looked up and hesitated before nodding.

"How is your father?" Kel'Thuzad asked. Henry Maleb had become the magister of Southshore three years ago after his predecessor had been assassinated by the Syndicate. Thus far he’d managed to escape any further assassination attempts by the displaced Alteraci nobles. “I always liked him, he came to some of my fundraisers- long time ago, you must have been just a baby at the time.”

“He is a traitor,” Elizabeth replied, “he rejects the Dark Lady’s gifts and fights against her.”

“Ah. That’s too bad.” It wasn’t too bad. But what else was one supposed to say to that? Kel’Thuzad wanted to kick himself, in hindsight of course it was a bad question. She was forsaken now, undead. They were usually estranged from their living relatives.

But…Kel’Thuzad traced one of his canines with a claw. It didn't sound like Henry was still alive. And it was an odd answer. Undeath done properly could be a gift. It was how good members of the cult were rewarded.

If any of his necromancers elevated a person into undeath the way Elizabeth had been, they would be severely punished. To put it lightly.

“How long has your arm been like this?"

"Since I became undead," she said coolly.

“And how long has that been?”

“Four months.”

She must have died during the forsaken's march on Southshore. He grunted a response. Apparently his affiliation with her father was a bigger mark against him than the fact that he, Kel’Thuzad Archlich of the Scourge, was ultimately the person most responsible for her current state.

Why was he having such bad luck with the public lately?

He cleared his throat, “You know, Sylvanas and I talk fairly frequently,” true, “and I know for a fact that she cares deeply for her followers,” mostly true, “She wants every forsaken to be as resilient as possible. I think she would be pleased to hear that you were made whole.” Mostly not a lie.

“You still talk to Sylvanas?” Modera asked, like some kind of fucking saboteur.

“Yes, Councilor,” Kel’Thuzad said with perhaps a tad bit of forced sweetness.

“What do you talk about?”

Kel’Thuzad was still bent over with his hands on his knees so he had to twist himself to glare at Modera, “Those are matters of State.”

Modera crossed her arms. She didn’t really expect him to talk about his treaties with the Undercity here did she? If Modera or Dalaran wanted that information they’d have to engage their intelligence network like a normal city-state.

“Working on her boyfriend isn’t really a state secret,” Titus said. When Kel’Thuzad twisted to glare at him he added, “for us I mean.”

“It is a violation of their privacy,” he replied, voice straining the limits of politeness, “One that I’m sure she would love to hear about.”

Kel’Thuzad huffed a cloud of mist. Time to get back to the matter at hand-

“Who is this boyfriend?” Modera asked.

“Nathanos Marris,” Titus replied.

Light. He ignored them and focused on Elizabeth, "I have to touch you to get a better sense of what's wrong, is that alright?"

Elizabeth glanced at her friends who grinned and gave her a thumbs up. With a sigh she nodded.

Kel'Thuzad's examination was short, but illuminating. Whoever performed this had been sloppy- which made sense if she had been a battlefield resurrection. Ghastly even took the opportunity to point out some problem areas. The weaves were routed inefficiently and some crucial systems criss-crossed in a way which could cause fusing or other harmful effects.

"Do you remember the circumstances of your resurrection?" Kel’Thuzad asked as he turned her to face away so he could get a look at the spellwork on her back.

"When I woke up there was an angel standing over me,” a valkyr, Kel’Thuzad knew a break away group supported Sylvanas after Arthas’s death. That might explain a sudden population bump.

But that would mean Sylvanas was… creating more forsaken?

Elizabeth continued, “I was in a pit with a group of other people- they moved us out and she brought more back," something caught Kel’Thuzad’s eye when he positioned her arms to stick straight out, "then they sent us to processing."

Kel'Thuzad trailed a finger up her neck and sucked a breath in through his teeth.

There was a compulsion matrix buried at the base of her skull.

"Is he really half ghoul?" Modera asked.

Kel’Thuzad straightened, eyes glued to the spell.

"He’s about as degraded as one could get before skeletonizing,” Titus said, “not that there’s anything wrong with that, right Banana?”

He didn’t reply. Modera frowned up at him before following his eyeline to the bundle of magic. Thankfully she didn’t say anything.

The valkyr incorporated these? The mists tightened in his chest. Surely Sylvanas wouldn't- would she?

"Is something wrong?" Elizabeth's voice jolted him back to the present.

"No- the good news is your arm is an easy fix," he explained the process while he worked. When Kel'Thuzad broke the malfunctioning weave that controlled her shoulder he shorted the compulsion matrix. They were such delicate things.

He should know after all.

The repair completed, Kel'Thuzad had her test her strength by squeezing his hands. "They're cold," Elizabeth said, surprised, "I can feel that you're cold!"

"I thought you might want a little more sensation," Kel'Thuzad said with a chuckle, “Now you do need more work that I’m not able to do here. You should limit your exposure to this desert climate and take a trip to the Scholomance. There is a specialist there, she can give you everything short of your life back.”

Before she could thank him her friends swarmed around her, excited by her rejuvenation. It was time for Kel'Thuzad to take his leave of them.

Their tour guide was long gone, apparently the servitor didn't care if the tourists actually followed along. The Bronzes must know things would work out in the end.

The compulsion matrix troubled him. Kel’Thuzad reached back and rubbed his neck, the bones clicked together with a soft rasp. His bindings to the lich king had been more subtle than Elizabeth’s crude control module. What was Sylvanas doing?

Because it looked like she was raising more subjects.

He suppressed a growl. It would be an easy thing to make the new crop of forsaken obedient and loyal. Make them believe they were happy, like Elizabeth.

When in reality they might be slaves.

“That girl,” Modera’s voice broke his spell of contemplation.

In his musings he had wandered away, finding himself now at the yawning mouth of a cave. Kel'Thuzad looked up, the walls were studded with Lordareanian watch towers. Around them toiled peasants frozen in time. Were they real or illusions of the caverns?

Modera took one of his hands. Undeath dulled his sense of touch and any warmth from her skin registered for only a moment before sinking into the background. But he could rekindle it by smoothing his thumb over her knuckles.

“You knew her, didn't you," he said. Kel'Thuzad didn't ask why she didn't say hello if she did. Outside the Scourge, the undead tended to have issues meeting with those from their lives. He thought of Araj. The other lich was a rarity: he wanted to see his family. However that didn’t mean they wanted to see him.

Modera opened her mouth then hesitated. Her plum eyes shone. She looked away to answer his ribs, "Her brother was in Vael's class."

Oh.

Children were not reanimated (usually).

Gently, Kel'Thuzad pulled her closer. His body was cold and offered little in the way of comfort but it was all he had. If he did nothing he would be a monster.

Modera didn’t say anything, but he could feel her tighten her grip on his hand. Without Titus’s quick action Vael may have shared a similar fate.

He didn’t want to think about that, “You’ll see her again soon.”

She nodded and pulled away. He clenched his fist in an effort to hold on to the echo of warmth left in her wake. But it too faded into nothing.

“That was a nice thing you did for her.”

He grunted, usually he preferred not to perform unscheduled house calls. If he did he would never have any time to himself. But…her friends were nice. “Forsaken or not, I couldn’t let her continue on that way.”

It did come with a troubling revelation even if he couldn’t tell Modera what he suspected. One case study was hardly proof. Besides, she didn’t know enough about the necromantic spell language to interpret the proof in anycase.

“I enjoyed seeing you work again,” Modera said, “even if the magic is distasteful.”

“But you just said-” he cut himself off, because Modera was doing something he hadn’t expected.

She was …smiling. A real smile. One that he hadn’t seen in years. It was like she was seeing him again. The man he was, not the monster he'd become. It made the mists in his chest flit about near the top of his rib cage, giving him a sort of bubbly sensation, like sparkling wine

But, it didn’t take long before Modera’s smile twisted a bit at the corners, “is that the sort of thing you do for Nathanos?”

Kel’Thuzad barked a laugh. She was still on that? "His body is beyond the sort of help I can give him," he replied, "his options at this point are very expensive and very experimental."

"Like what?"

"Making him a death knight was floated as a potential solution," he replied.

"Don't you make those all the time? What's so experimental about that?"

They were experimental because they were the other kind of death knight. The horrors from the second war. A soul taken from its original body and placed in a foreign vessel.

Experimental also because he'd never performed the procedure. The Scourge’s technology had grown past the needs for such brute magics. Kel'Thuzad tapped his tusk and thought for a moment. Not that he couldn't technically do it, though was it something he even wanted to attempt?

He was a mage, a necromancer- but not a warlock.

Surprising as it may be, Kel'Thuzad had standards.

"The materials wouldn't be ready for a few more years," he said cryptically. As he understood it they already had a body picked out. That gave him time to decide at least.

"I hope it works out for them," Modera said. Kel'Thuzad preferred they find another solution, "Although, I must confess I am surprised to hear about this deep love they share."

"Why?" Kel'Thuzad picked at a hardening chunk of resin at the root of one tusk, "we're both in relationships with elves, it's not that uncommon."

Her pained expression told him everything. Part of him hoped Modera would have dispensed with that notion after seeing him with Ghastly. He crossed his arms, “I would still love you if you were a squid,” his voice full of faux outrage.

“I’m not going mad!”

He grinned in response to her righteous indignation. Kel’Thuzad turned and motioned to the frozen peasants, “What do you think this is about?”

“I think it's a timestream,” Modera replied, “Something to do with Thrall.”

Kel’Thuzad tapped his teeth. The newspaper said that Thrall was missing. He asked if she knew anything about that, but Modera had not read the paper recently. Her life had been fairly hectic lately- no idea why that could be.

“Where are you going?” Modera asked.

Kel’Thuzad blinked. He wasn’t going anywhere- yet he was all the way past one of the towers. When did that happen?

The lich was about to ask as much when a shimmering wall of bronze materialized before him, “I’m sorry Archlich, but I can’t allow you to proceed."

XXXXXXX

The air warped as more of the dragon’s form shifted into the physical plane. First his brilliant turquoise eyes; then his golden scales buffed and polished by desert grit. He was whip thin, as if he had been stretched out on a wheel. His slender build was specially adapted for slipping through the sands of time. From his eyes radiated the same light as the hourglass. Though the dragon was looking at him, Kel'Thuzad had the impression that he was being seen. Not just in the present space, but in all possible presents and all futures.

"Come along," said the dragon.

"What’s down there?" Kel'Thuzad asked. The cave yawned before him, an inky black hole to another time. A chill breeze wafted over him bringing a familiar smell, which brought with it a powerful sense of nostalgic dread. It’s cold breath coiled between his ribs like grasping tentacles. If he stood there for too long the cave might swallow him whole.

"Hillsbrad, eight years ago."

"Eight years…?" he glanced at Modera. He was still alive eight years ago.

"Indeed, but I can't allow you to venture down that path. It would be disastrous."

"Really?"

The dragon ignored him and began to make his way away towards the beginning of the loop. He didn't seem to want to elaborate further.

Modera followed and with some effort, Kel’Thuzad tore himself away from the gateway.

Eight years ago… all the plans he had were coming together. Everything impossible was soon to be within his grasp. The Lich King's march on Lordaeron seemed inevitable.

The Lich King!

Kel'Thuzad picked up his pace, putting as much distance between himself and the portal as possible. If he went into the past, did that mean the Lich King could ensnare him? He rubbed the back of his neck again.

“Councilors,” the dragon turned and squinted at the lich, “Although I suppose you’re not much of a councilor anymore lich lord. We can't help you."

"How can you say that?" Modera asked, "you don't even know what we are going to ask!"

"We do not interfere with the affairs of mortals."

"Well, I'm immortal-"

"For what, all of five minutes?" the dragon drawled.

Kel'Thuzad crossed his arms, he was starting to think this dragon was some kind of asshole. "Our daughter was kidnapped by a time dragon, I think that qualifies as a draconic affair.”

"Can we talk to someone who's in charge?" Modera asked, already looking around the dragon for another victim, "perhaps Nozdormu?"

The dragon let out a roaring laugh and reared back, flaring his wings and arching his neck in an imposing display, “I am Anachronos.”

He said that like they should already know. Kel’Thuzad glanced at Modera for a clue because he had no idea who this dragon was. Unfortunately, her face gave him absolutely nothing and now they had stood there for too long without responding.

Kel'Thuzad cleared his throat, apparently it was up to him to break the silence, “A pleasure. About our daughter-”

“Is this the first time we’ve met?” Anachronos interrupted.

Kel’Thuzad glanced at Modera again, this time she shrugged, “Yes?”

“Then the pleasure is yours.”

"Ana!"

Anacranos's lips pulled away from his teeth.

"Ana!"

Kel'Thuzad leaned to look around their guide to find another dragon flapping his way over. This one was immense, easily twice the size of Anachronos. And he was stocky, built more like a red dragon than these slick bronzes.

The earth shuddered when he touched down and his backwing threw up a spray of sand that Kel'Thuzad was unable to avoid.

He was starting to dislike bronze dragons.

"Ana- oh, hello you two," the newcomer acknowledged them with a dip of his head, "how's the family?"

When he was greeted with blank stares the dragon added, "is this the first time we've met?"

"Zaladormu," Anachronos growled without turning, "I told you not to bother me until you located Thrall."

"We found him," Zaladormu said, "and Teradormi- they're both in Fifteen-B."

Modera grabbed at Kel'Thuzad's arm, "Teradormi- that's the name of the dragon from the library! She must have kidnapped my daughter!"

Zalad glanced at Modera, "There was an anomalous reading, reports are showing a second Kel'Thuzad… except he's standing here apparently."

And Vael did not have a magical signature that came close to resembling his. Unless- oh no, "She hasn't been stranded there for years has she?" Kel'Thuzad asked.

The dragons shook their heads and explained that that timestream had only been active for a few days. Apparently, Zalad threw Thrall in there to protect him from an attack by the Infinites and then…lost him.

Kel’Thuzad was certain that if he had read that article it wouldn’t have mentioned anything about the Caverns of Time or being lost in another timestream.

In anycase, it sounded like Teradormi was using the pocket dimension to hold her hostages.

By the time the dragons explained the situation Titus and Ghastly joined them, necessitating a second explanation.

"That still doesn't explain the readings though," Modera said.

Kel'Thuzad rested his chin on his knuckles. Vael couldn't be the source. It had to be something else. His eyes drifted towards the staff in the crook of his elbow…maybe something she was carrying?

"Doomfinger!" Kel'Thuzad exclaimed. He grabbed Modera’s shoulder, "she has Doomfinger with her!"

“What do you mean Doomfinger, why would she have that nasty old thing?” Modera crossed her arms, “Did you give my daughter a weapon?”

Modera really didn’t know about Doomfinger? And Vael stole his scourgestone. Their daughter might need some tighter supervision, but that was a discussion for later. “No, of course not. She said she got it from some mercenary,” he explained, “But apparently it talks which leads me to believe-”

“You let my daughter keep a dangerous talking wand?” Modera threw her hands up, “Apparently- and what do you mean apparently it talks? What the hell did you do to that thing! Besides exposing her to a dangerous foreign consciousness. I could have you charged for that!”

Kel’Thuzad held his hands up in defense, “What did you want me to do- steal it back?”

“That would really help your public image,” Titus said, “maybe you could try stealing candy from a baby next.”

“Thank you. I didn’t give her the wand,” Kel'Thuzad said evenly, “I had every intention of retrieving it after reforming Atiesh. It was only a few days ago I even found out about this- and I was dead for most of it.”

Modera didn’t reply, instead she silently fumed no doubt formulating more scathing remarks.

“If you imprinted on this wand then it is possible that is the source of the anomaly,” Anachronos said.

“Then you’ll help us?” Kel’Thuzad asked.

“No,” Anachronos replied, “it’s too dangerous, we can’t afford to have any more Primes out of phase.”

“But-”

“My answer is final,” Anachronos unfurled his wings. That was that.

Modera turned to Kel’Thuzad, a desperate, pleading look in her eyes. There had to be a way to appeal to the dragons. He knew they could find Vael, her hearthstone would allow them to scry her location. But there was another trapped in the timescape.

One whom the dragons were chiefly concerned with.

“I can find Thrall,” Kel’Thuzad said, “If you let us into the timestream we can get him for you.”

“You?” Anachronos snaked his head closer to the lich’s, “How?”

“You are speaking to the summoner of Archimonde,” Titus said. He crossed his arms and scoffed, “Retrieving Thrall would be child’s play for Kel'Thuzad!”

Anachronos' eyes flashed at Kel'Thuzad, "Is this true Archlich?"

"Yes, I summoned Archimonde."

The dragon’s claws ground into the sand, If Kel’Thuzad wasn’t mistaken it looked like Anachronos wanted to punch him. Good! “The other part,” he said evenly.

Kel’Thuzad made sure not to glance at Titus or Modera, “Yes, that should be no issue. As Rivendare stated I am adept at intra- and interplanar summoning.”

Anachronos eyed him, silently calculating whatever risks this proposal presented.

For his part the lich maintained his front of confidence. In reality, he wasn’t even sure if the spell he used to summon Archimonde would work in this application. For one the parameters were astronomical. Because of the high mana draw its only practical use was to summon someone from out in the Twisting Nether or another planet.

For second, Kel’Thuzad had the means to communicate with the demon lord and focuses attuned to Archimond’s signature which allowed him to be the target of the summoning. He had nothing of Thrall's- and this was before factoring the fact that the last time he saw Thrall the orc was only twelve or so.

“Ana…they could help us,” Zalad said, “We need mortals.”

“Why?”

Zalad lowered his head and muttered something in draconic that made Anachronos hiss. He pulled away from Kel’Thuzad and rounded on the other dragon. What followed looked like the most thorough dressing down the lich had witnessed in some time. Despite the fact that they were dragons and Kel’Thuzad couldn’t understand what they were saying he knew what a brutal verbal beatdown looked like.

It was a little uncomfortable.

He felt a tug on his sleeve. Ghastly? Kel’Thuzad leaned down.

“They closed the timestream to trap the other dragon in there.”

“They what!”

Anachronos froze. He hadn’t banked on being understood.

“You closed the timestream!” Kel’Thuzad exclaimed as the air temperature plumeted and his voice rose, “How are we supposed to save our daughter if the fucking timestream is closed!”

There was no way this overgrown handbag was going to keep him from Vael!

The dragon grimaced, his wings held low in a submissive posture, “Archlich, please, calm down,” Anachronos said, more pleasant now than he had been at any other point in this encounter.

Kel’Thuzad did not want to calm down. He wanted to claw Anachronos’s eyes out!

The dragon continued, “I'm sure there is a rational explanation-"

He choked on his answer. A great fist grabbed Anachronos by the neck and squeezed, dragging him down to Moderas's eye level.

A positive storm of magic swirled around Modera blowing the flyaway hairs away from her face. Her eyes had the subtle glow of an archmage who was about to pull a lot of mana.

Magic that would likely be violently directed at Anachronos.

“Listen to me,” Modera said, her voice deadly calm, “Do you know how much membrane has to be intact in order for a dragon to fly?”

Anachronos’s eyes darted to Zaladormu pleading for help only to be met with a violent jerk, “Don’t look at him, he can’t help you,” Modera said, “According to Titanic records its eighty-five percent. But you seem slender as dragons go. Do you think you could fly with sixty-five percent?”

Anachronos shook his head.

Kel’Thuzad caught Titus’s eye and motioned for him to stop Modera before things get out of hand.

Modera had already switched to describing the types of shoes she liked.

Titus frowned, shook his head and pointed back at the lich, no way! She’s your lady, you stop her.

Kel’Thuzad shook his head and gestured more forcefully, trust me and just do this please.

Preferably before she got to upholstery.

Titus mouthed a curse at the lich before intervening. Tentatively, he placed a hand on her shoulder, “Archmage, maybe they-”

Modera rounded on the death knight with fire in her eyes and lightning at her fingertips, “Don’t tell me to calm down!”

Titus reeled and almost trapped over. Though he was lucky she didn’t blast him off his feet for good measure.

When she turned to face Kel’Thuzad he could see the cracks in her mask beginning to break through. He pulled her close and rubbed her back, “Don’t worry, I can resurrect them after you’ve killed them.”

Her only reply was to rest her forehead on his sternum.

When Kel’Thuzad turned his burning eyes back towards the dragons they shared a glance with each other. If Modera of Dalaran, staunch defender of the law and magi of moral and upright character could unleash such threats of violence, then what would a lord of the Scourge be capable of?

Perhaps the dragons could see futures where this conversation went poorly.

In an effort to avoid this fate Anachronos shifted into a mortal guise: an auburn haired night elf dressed in plain linen. “You misunderstand-”

The lich let out a low hiss.

“-the timestream is only closed to us Bronzes,” Anachronos said nervously, “My overeager friend here was only containing the interloper.”

“But we can go in,” Modera said.

“Yes. It is of the utmost importance that Thrall is returned alive- not undead, to the prime timeline,” Anachronos replied, “In fact the fate of Azeroth may depend on it.”

So they could still enter the timestream. Kel’Thuzad let out a sigh of relief. Vael would be safe soon.

But that left Thrall. Was he really wrapped up in the fate of the world? Light, now he had to figure out a way to actually find Thrall. Kel’Thuzad glanced at Modera from the corner of his eye, maybe she would have an idea?

“See Ana, I told you,” Zalad said, “Our allies in the Kirin Tor are much more adept to help in these circumstances than the common mercenary.”

Anachronos grunted noncommittally and motioned to the group, “they look about as fresh as a corpse.”

Apparently he recovered quickly from Modera’s thrashing.

Zalad did a double take and squinted as if seeing their sand blasted faces for the first time. Maybe in the future he and Modera were some sort of powerhouse of magical might. Right now they probably looked like sunburnt tourists.

And the lich equivalent of a sunburned tourist.

“Ah, yes, what happened to you?” Zalad asked.

"We were running away from a demon," Kel'Thuzad said, “I think my staff is possessed.”

Beside him Modera and Titus scoffed. Ghastly nodded.

"I hear they make a cream for that," Zalad said blithely.

Anachronos grunted and pointed at Atiesh strapped to the lich's back, "Let me see it."

Kel'Thuzad hesitated. Was this the price of entry? He tried to prepare himself for the possibility that Atiesh would need to be a bargaining chip, but that was before it cost him twelve thousand gold to complete. Plus labor hours.

But, he looked up. If this was the price, then so be it.

Anacharonos examined the staff, even holding it lengthwise down his forearm to check if it was plumb. "What did you use on this thing, a hatchet?"

"I don't know how it broke exactly,” Kel’Thuzad replied, a little thrown off by the question, “the barrier protecting it might have failed--"

"Not then. I mean when you put it back together. It's awful. A child couldn't have done a worse job," the dragon said. Kel'Thuzad crossed his arms, he built it with a child. "What is it bound with?"

"It's a mix of mageroyal and lotus extract," he said curtly.

"Those antagonize each other. You'd be lucky if it lasted three casts before it blew apart."

Kel'Thuzad huffed. Why was this dragon such a dick! "That's only true if you don't temper the solution properly- which I did."

"Mortals. They always think they've mastered a skill just because they’ve studied it for a few decades," Anachranos said. A gray light surrounded the staff and he handed it back to Kel’Thuzad, "Here, it's fixed. Shouldn't shatter unless you let Archimonde stomp all over it again. You'll still need to purify it though since it is possessed."

Kel'Thuzad took the staff back with an unseen scowl. He didn't thank the little scion, not that Anachronos seemed to notice.

Before the staff’s glass eyes had a green glow to them, though it had grown fainter since the demon had been defeated. Now they were empty. In fact the whole staff felt inert, as if its power was frozen. Until he could purify it, Atiesh would be little more than a glorified walking stick.

The dragon turned and walked back towards the hourglass, the group trailing in his wake. With a grand series of sweeping gestures Anachronos pulled, bringing forth the sands of time. They swirled around him in a whirlwind while he shaped the storm into a familiar form: a smaller hourglass.

His work done, Anachronos turned and examined the group before him. Each member brought a different sort of dissatisfied expression from the dragon, until he was stuck choosing between Kel’Thuzad and Modera. Neither of the mages seemed to satisfy whatever arcane rubric he was using. He made to hand the lich the hourglass, then changed his mind and handed it to Modera, “You are the most responsible.”

“I’m responsible,” Kel’Thuzad said.

“No you’re not,” Anachronos replied in a way that would broker no argument, “This will allow you to return here once you’ve located Thrall. Do not break it.”

“What happens if it breaks?” Kel’Thuzad asked.

“See, this is why you’re not the responsible one,” Anachronos said without looking at him, “Zalad, see to it that they are briefed.”

XXXXXX

Kel’Thuzad preferred Zaladormu to Anachronos. He was more amenable than most dragons he had encountered- definitely the most amenable since he had become a lich. For second, he actually treated them with respect.

They may be but children to such long lived beings, but he and Modera were still important, powerful children.

“The hourglass acts as a kind of stabilizer,” Zaladormu motioned to the lich with a giant paw, “Since there is no precedent for a creature such as Kel’Thuzad inside of that timeline, the hourglass will allow him to conform to the space.“

“And if it breaks?” Modera asked.

“If it breaks the timescape will struggle to accommodate any anachronisms, it may attempt to conform to him,” Zalad said cryptically, “And you will be trapped.”

Kel’Thuzad ignored being referred to as a ‘creature,’ “What do you mean by ‘conform’?” That sounded like it could be painful.

The dragon chuckled and tossed his head towards the entrance of the tunnel. Unlike the one he had almost wandered into, this one was completely unadorned. Two large drakonids stood on either side of the entrance, halberds held at ease. Though they were as still as statues, the two dragonkin could spring into action at a moment’s notice.

“That, I cannot say, it is for the caverns to decide.”

With that Zaladormu took his leave of them.

The drakonids made no move to stop them from entering the timestream. Darkness swallowed them after only a few feet into the tunnel. The only light they had to guide them came from the magelight Modera had conjured and Kel’Thuzad’s persistent aura.

Minutes stretched on in the quiet with only the muffled crunch of sand beneath their feet, leaving Kel’Thuzad alone with his thoughts. The dragons were not able to tell them anything about where Vael or Thrall were, only that they were somewhere in Lordaeron. At least between them Kel’Thuzad and Modera had enough portaling landmarks to cover the countryside. He doubted scrying her location would be difficult.

But that didn’t mean Vael would be accessible. What if the dragon had her stashed away in a cave, or someplace they couldn’t recognize?

That left another issue- after they rescued Vael, Kel’Thuzad had no idea how they were going to find Thrall. Which may be a problem, since he suspected Modera would not be receptive to his secret plan of leaving the ex-warchief behind.

Kel’Thuzad cleared his throat, searching for a distraction, “The dragons called us both members of the Kirin Tor. I thought that was interesting.”

There were other interesting things too, chiefly the fact that Zaladormu asked how their family was- meaning, something. But that ‘something’ wasn’t…something he wanted to bring up until he and Modera were alone. For now he could bother her with the status of his banishment.

“You’re expelled, it’s not that interesting,” she replied.

“Ah, yes, I did receive that paperwork this Winter Veil,” It only took the council ten years to officially banish him- and it was from this year. The envelope was dated and certified. “I’m appealing that by the way.”

"Are you crazy? You can't do that."

"Yes I can, it's within the appeal window and there's nothing in the founding charter that says I can't."

"I understand that, but you led an army into Dalaran and murdered Antonidas."

"I had nothing to do with Antonidas," besides, was it really murder? They were at war with each other, "the army, maybe- but I was under the Lich King's control. It's not like I would have invaded Dalaran otherwise."

"There is still the necromancy issue- illegal dark magic," Modera replied, "how are you going to wiggle out of that?"

"Easy. I had all the approvals I needed at the time; it's de facto allowed now with how permissive Dalaran is," he ticked the reasons off on his fingers, "and it's nothing compared to what Drenden and Antonidas were up to at the time. Just ask Jaina about that."

Modera turned to scowl up at him but it slid right off her face, replaced by a shocked expression. Kel’Thuzad frowned. He didn’t think he was saying anything too crazy. Did she expect him to lay down quietly on this?

Afterall, wouldn’t it be better for Vael if her father was in good standing with the Kirin Tor? Well, maybe not good but not banished was better than banished. “Why do you think you just got off with mild blackmail?” he asked, “Don’t let her take advantage of you over whatever indiscretions-”

“Titus!” Modera grabbed at the death knight’s arm, “l-look!”

“I think he has a good argument- woah!”

The shock on their faces didn’t last long. Their expressions lit up until they looked like giddy children.

“You’re alive!”

Chapter Text

Alive!

He shot them a look. What did they mean alive?

Of course he was alive, he was here wasn’t he?

Kel'Thuzad prodded his face and frowned. It gave way under his fingers.

Glamor.

Right, Kel’Thuzad rested his chin on his fist and ran his thumb along his jaw. There was a fair amount of stubble present, which was odd. Like in life, his glamor was clean shaven. Maybe the stress of the last few days was expressing itself physically.

Of course… the last ten years were particularly stressful and this had never happened before.

But when had he even applied this? Hadn’t he just been scraping resin off his tusks just moments ago?

Kel’Thuzad shoved two fingers in his mouth so he could check his back molars. Those teeth gave him so much trouble when his tusks morphed into them. They were flat, not deformed bestial things. In fact all of his teeth were flat, he noticed as he ran his tongue across them.

“I think I’m alive,” Kel’Thuzad said- although not very clearly. It still looked like he was trying to eat his fist.

Titus reached over and yanked his arm down. The death knight’s cold hands practically burned his wrist.

"I'm- how?" Kel’Thuzad asked as he wiped the spittle off his chin. Even his voice hit his ears differently.

His heart- he had a heart, and it raced in his chest. The feeling was terribly alien and familiar all at once. His lungs pulled in a new breath, not out of habit but out of necessity.

Kel'Thuzad examined his hands. They were as he remembered them, scars and all. They--

“Ouch!” Kel’Thuzad pulled his hands away from his face. He’d poked himself in the eye.

A bad habit, but sometimes as a nervous tick it could be satisfying to catch one’s claws on things. Like the ridge of one’s eye sockets. Now, indulging in this too often could leave marks, and marks led to questions. Questions like, ‘are you feeling well?’ and ‘when was the last time you left your office.’ Such things often resulted in a trip to Socialization.

And that was to be avoided at all costs.

"How is this possible?" Kel’Thuzad asked as he shoved his hands in his pockets. Even now he could feel the threat of forced fun rising in the aether.

Modera, still gaping, blinked, his question pulling her back to reality. She recovered with a scoff and crossed her arms, "Didn't you listen at all? The dragon said you couldn't be that abomination in this timeline."

"Well-" abomination! He huffed, though it expelled no mists, "That could have meant anything. I could have-"

Before he could say 'been a different type of undead,' Ghastly leapt on him for a great hug. And unfortunately kneed the erstwhile lich in the crotch.

Kel'Thuzad doubled over, the pain was worse than anything he had experienced in years. Certainly worse than the poke in the eye! He only just managed to stay on his feet because of his death grip on Atiesh and Ghastly's firm footing.

"You're squishy!" the dragon said happily.

"Thanks, Ghastly," he managed to grit out. Kel'Thuzad turned a watery eye on Titus and Modera and glared. The other two were trying to suppress a fit of laughter.

Only somewhat successfully. How dare they!

"Better him than you,” Titus practically gasped. He turned to Modera, “Please tell me you brought your camera.”

“No-”

“Of course I brought it,” Modera said.

“Expecting to swing by a lot of digs on this trip?” Kel’Thuzad straightened gingerly. His nethers still hurt, yes, but there was also a sharp pain in his left hip he was certain was not caused by Ghastly’s leaping hug. In fact he found he could hardly walk properly and had to limp over to the other two. He pushed on his leg with a frown, as if applying pressure to it would fix the problem.

Even through his pants he could tell his thigh was misshapen.

“My camera lives in my bag,” Modera replied as she took it out of her pack, “I almost never leave the house without it.”

She looked up at him with a lopsided smile, “Don’t you want to see what you look like?”

Kel’Thuzad wasn’t sure if he did. What if the timestream had chosen some random form for him? What if he had to meet his daughter with a face that was not his own? Kel’Thuzad reached up and touched his face again, his fingers rubbing against rough stubble on his jaw.

But…what if it was his own face?

He nodded finally and straightened as best he could against the pain in his hip. There was a flash and a mechanical whirring as the camera produced the finished photo. Modera waved it so the inks would dry quicker. Soon the four were crowded over it jostling to see the picture in the light.

Kel’Thuzad took it, for a moment dumbstruck.

The last time Kel’Thuzad had seen his reflection he had been losing his battle with fel-poisoning. The stress of the Lich King’s command and the tumors growing inside him killed his appetite. The only thing that kept him from looking like the living dead, was the depression beard he’d grown shortly after his arrival in Naxxramas.

But he didn’t have miserable, sunken eyes or hollow cheeks now. Nor did he look as old as he thought he might. His face was lined from age, but with the sort of marks one gets from smiling and laughing. His double must live a jolly life because he was about fifty pounds heavier than Kel’Thuzad could remember being.

“You look like yourself,” Modera said.

Next to her Titus nodded his approval.

Maybe it was a trick of the caverns, but the way Modera’s smile lit up her plum eyes sent a thrill through his stomach. Kel’Thuzad looked away, hoping his sheepish smile would go unnoticed.

He was alive! Kel'Thuzad couldn't keep his hands off his face. The muscles under his fingers pulled away when he grinned. He could feel his pulse in his neck. Warm blood pumped in tandem with his heartbeat. Because he was alive-

He was mortal.

The grin evaporated, replaced with a look of cold horror.

He was mortal! And Modera hated him.

Kel'Thuzad slid behind Titus in a lame effort to keep space between himself and the archmage. He hoped, perhaps in vain, that they wouldn't notice the color drain out of his face. But of course the shift was noticed immediately and Titus turned around.

"What's the matter?" Titus asked.

"Nothing, nothing," Kel'Thuzad replied quickly, "why do you ask?"

Modera took a step forward, and Kel'Thuzad took one back.

As a creature of death, Kel'Thuzad, ironically, thought of it very little. For him, dying was something akin to scheduled maintenance. Not a state of permanent finality.

But he was not a lich. He was a man.

With a limp.

Even his stores of magic had been reduced to something closer to Modera's. Which, to be clear, still put them squarely within the realm of monsters, as far as the normal citizen was concerned. But it was not at the same level he had been only moments ago able to command.

Kel'Thuzad waved his head back and forth so his tusks could pick up any magical traces in the air. Modera could fling a bolt of ice at his chest at a moment's notice- he had to be prepared. But, after a spike of paranoia, he remembered he had no tusks. He stopped. He couldn’t smell anything.

The timestream may have given him back his body, but it also cut off his arm and blinded him!

He jumped, brought back to reality when Ghastly took his hand. The little dragon beamed up at him. The others were similarly in high spirits. If Modera harbored any murderous intent she didn’t show it.

Well, why would she? They were on a mission to save their daughter after all. That’s right.

Kel'Thuzad gave Ghastly’s hand a little squeeze and suddenly felt very silly.

Around them the tunnel began to warp. Bricks pushed their way out of the formless walls as cobbles rumbled beneath them. They struggled to keep their footing as the room came into being. Kel’Thuzad gripped Atiesh, relying on the staff to keep him upright.

Modera stumbled when a steel lockbox erupted beneath her heels, knocking her forward off balance. Kel’Thuzad caught her before her knees could hit the ground and hauled her up, despite his protesting leg.

Lit sconces appeared with a pop, coloring the space in a new light. Shelves and their wares cluttered into existence next to wooden crates and sacks of flour. The activity in the room ended as quickly as it started.

Kel’Thuzad blinked. His eyes finally adjusted to the flickering light.

Judging by the musty air, they were underground, in a storeroom.

“I don’t think we’re in the Caverns anymore,” Titus said.

“Did you know that would happen?” Kel’Thuzad looked down at Modera. The other mage was still holding onto his lapels.

She let go with a small frown and shook her head, “Where do you think we are?” she asked.

Kel’Thuzad made a thinking sound and limped over to one of the crates bearing the familiar heraldic seal of a wolf and a griffon holding a cup. He slid the top off and pulled out a round glass jar, “Stratholme?”

“Holy water?” Titus asked. Kel’Thuzad tossed him the jar, almost catching the death knight flat footed, “Careful with that!”

“Oh hush, it can’t hurt you,” Kel’Thuzad said.

“Easy for you to say, Mr. Sunwell.”

Kel’Thuzad waved him off.

Beside him, Modera pulled out another jar. “In our time Stathome is a smoking ruin. It’s hard to imagine but here… it might be whole.”

“A smoking ruin? My city? Please,” Titus scoffed, “We put the fires out. I think it’s nicer now.”

The northern reaches of Lordaeron were historically more religious than the capital sprawl. In their time, Light’s Hope Chapel stood as a lone beacon of resistance in the Cult’s territory. Twice, Kel’Thuzad attempted to snuff it out in the name of the Lich King, only to fail. The fact that Darion Mograine had also failed did little to soothe that sore spot. Lordaeron was his to administer after all.

However, as mighty in faith as Light’s Hope was, the most potent holy water came from the chapel of Alonsos Faol in Stratholme. The Scarlet Crusade and Argent Dawn fought tooth and nail to preserve the site regardless of how deep it was in their city.

Kel’Thuzad turned the jar and watched how the glow from the torches granted the water a pearlescent sheen. Just a few drops from this would cause most lesser undead to howl in pain. They say it held the power to repel spirits and banish demons…

Behind him Modera and Titus continued to snipe at each other-

“It reeks of burning rubber- you can smell it all the way from Light’s Hope!”

“It does not! That’s the Scarlets mucking about my warehouse!”

-But Kel’Thuzad ignored them. He unstopped the cork with his teeth and wet his fingertips, daubing the raven’s head. Anticipation rose by the second as his heart thumped in his chest. What would happen?

Nothing.

He frowned and looked back down at the jar. A few drops was usually enough to consecrate things. Maybe he just needed more water.

Just in case.

Kel’Thuzad dumped the rest of the jar’s contents onto the staff and gave it a good rub down for good measure. It was then Modera and Titus stopped to watch him.

“What’s going on, Banana?” Titus asked as Kel’Thuzad turned the staff over so he could tend to the base.

“Just testing something,” he said, turning the staff right side up again. Kel’Thuzad held his breath, eager to see if his idea would bear fruit. This time he would not be disappointed. Beside him, Modera gasped as a thin stream of black smoke burned off the frame.

It was hard not to feel giddy as Atiesh came alive in his hands.

He could feel the staff’s inner spirit probing at the shields he kept around his mind. Shields designed to keep out the bleating needs of the scourge’s lesser thralls…and the voice of Bolvar. They protected him from all forms of foreign consciences- which had become a topic of interest with Modera.

Not that she didn’t have a point, considering…well.

But… Kel’Thuzad looked up at the carved raven. He was alive and healthy. Much more than he had been at any time since his arrival in Naxxramas. Maybe this time he escaped Icecrown and warned the kingdom as he thought he might?

Or maybe he never went at all.

If there was no Lich King, no Scourge, there was no reason to remain shielded.

Atiesh brushed up against his shields like a friendly cat. If he wanted to wield it, to fully unlock its powers, then Kel’Thuzad would have to open himself.

Kel’Thuzad had communicated with powerful artifacts in the past. He even had some in his possession. Forstmourne had been aloof, dismissive, hungry; The Book of Medivh had a malicious bent to its mischievousness.

Atiesh seemed to share the book’s puckishness- probably the result of Medivh’s personality imprinting on it. However the staff was more tempered, and Kel’Thuzad could sense it had a good nature.

At least, he did not get the impression it was going to make his eyes bleed or demand he sacrifice his life energy to it, in any case.

The wood warmed as its power was finally allowed to flow freely. It pulsed once, the vibration traveled up his arms and into his chest as the raven’s eyes flared- now clear amethyst.

A ribbon materialized, winding itself into place between the raven's clawed feet, the same shade of lavender as his ceremonial armor. From it hung a collection of beads and three shiny baubles cut from yellow arcane crystals. They sparkled just like the ones the frost giants guarded in winterspring.

The staff wasn’t just his. It was bound to him.

The chemical heat of magic warmed his hands. Kel’Thuzad could tell just from holding it that Atiesh was endlessly powerful. A caliber even above the elven spell blade Felo'melorn, which the lich had stashed under his bed. With this, he might be able to defeat the dragon alone, even as a mortal.

“Are you sure you can handle that thing?” Modera asked. Kel’Thuzad looked up in time to catch her steely frown, “there is a reason Antonidas never wielded it himself.”

Besides the fact that it was possessed? “Antonidas wouldn’t even know what to do with it,” he replied dryly.

“And you do?” Modera crossed her arms, “the Kirin Tor will not stand idle knowing you have this kind of power at your disposal.”

Kel’Thuzad rolled his eyes, “They didn’t seem to care so much when I had all the pieces.”

In fact, Dalaran was in no position to do anything about it now, considering their war debts and the fact that all their farmlands were reduced to sludge by the forsaken a few months ago. The city was in no shape to launch any sort of campaign. The only thing they could do was have Modera politely ask him for it.

“Some did more than others,” she replied.

“You?”

Modera’s eyebrow arched but she did not reply otherwise.

He looked back at the staff. Even touching it for this long would be enough to make some mages go mad.

There was one not so long ago who succumbed to its promise. A high elf who had been left behind by the packs of mercenaries storming Naxxramas. They found him eventually wandering around the plague quarter, muttering to himself. Lucky they did, too, because he’d managed to steal five shards of the staff!

After dispatching the trespasser, Kel’Thuzad made sure to collect the rest of the shards from his lieutenants. Once tallied and recorded they sat, forgotten, in the box on his desk.

Along with the other memories of his past. With Modera’s letters and perfume.

Wasn’t that the start of all this? The longing, a hole once filled or muted by the Lich King’s command, which left him hollow. In his cowardice Kel’Thuzad thought he could fill that void with Atiesh.

But Modera was here now. She might not be with him per say, but she was here. She bore his child and kept her safe. She came to him for help.

…Okay, she thought he’d kidnapped their daughter. But she still came alone to confront him. That had to mean something.

Kel’Thuzad sniffed a laugh.

Greedy mages and arcane addicts might seek the staff to satiate their need for power in the petty sense. He reached up and let the satin ribbon run through his fingers. But he was neither, “I’m an archlich and I already have the power of the Sunwell at my disposal. Atiesh doesn’t interest me in that way.”

“You were certainly interested in it enough to reform it,” Modera said.

Behind them Titus coughed.

“Yes, for knowledge, the power is incidental.”

Titus coughed again, this time the two mages turned to acknowledge him.

“Banana thinks the staff can turn him into a bird,” Titus said.

Modera’s arms migrated to her hips. She was quiet for a long moment and her expression oscillated between wanting to fling something at his head and grave disappointment. Finally, “Are you serious?” she asked, voice flat.

“No, although I have heard Medivh could…” Kel’Thuzad trailed off when he saw one of Modera’s eyebrows arch. He cleared his throat, “Modera, I’m an enigmatic and powerful wizard in my prime. I could have any number of reasons for reforging the staff.”

“But I thought we were going to go flying,” Ghastly whined.

Like he needed another kick in the balls, “We will,” he said quickly.

Modera glared and Kel'Thuzad knew she was formulating a wicked barb to level at him. So what if the other half of the reason he wanted the thing was so he could turn into a bird!

"What kind of bird?" she asked.

This caught him off guard, "I haven't given it much thought,” he lied, “Maybe something sporty- like a falcon."

"I can't believe you-"

“Sporty!” Titus interrupted, “there is no way it would turn you into a falcon.”

"I- well, yes, that's also true," Modera said, "you'd be lucky if it didn't turn you into a turkey."

"Or a buzzard."

"Why- because I'm undead?" Kel'Thuzad suddenly rankled. He did not want it to turn him into a vulture! "That's bull-!”

“Who's down there?” called a gruff voice.

They froze and shared panicked looks. They were in the basement of a church at Light knows what time. Worse yet, there was no way out. The timeway closed behind them, trapping them down here!

The stranger thumped down the stairs, leaping down the last three before straightening to face them.

An orc?

Titus turned to Kel’Thuzad and asked under his breath, “We are in Stratholme, right?”

Apparently, he was just as surprised to see them as they were. Even more unusual, after spotting Atiesh, he quickly dropped to one knee.

“Er,” Kel’Thuzad glanced at the others and shrugged, “that's quite alright.”

The stranger stood. He was just a teenager. Something about him was off.

His clothes were clean and plain- a pair of loose pants and a simple linen shirt.

Which was also odd. This is not to say that orcs could not wear the fashions of the Eastern Kingdoms. But in his experience of walking through Orgrimmar or the Undercity, Kel’Thuzad observed that more traditional tribal garb was en vogue. Possibly influenced by their partnership with the Tauren and Trolls, possibly because it was an attempt to reclaim their more noble ancestral past.

In any case they did not usually dress like humans. Nor speak like them as the boy had.

“My name is Tevosh, it’s an honor to meet you, sir,” he beamed at Kel’Thuzad, “and you too, archmage,” he said with a quick nod to Modera, “My family will forever be in your debt for freeing us from Lordamere.”

Freed from Lordamere? Did he mean the internment camp? “No thanks required,” he replied warmly. Kel’Thuzad shot Modera a sidelong glance, did that mean in this timeline his plan to dismantle the camps…worked?

“Though I must ask,” Tevosh said with a glance at Titus, “what are you doing in the basement?”

Yes. What were they doing in the basement?

“Archmage Modera and I are investigating an uptick in draconic activity in the region,” he lied, though it was only a partial fib, “they seem to enjoy meddling in mortal affairs.”

Tevosh leaned forward, “Does this have to do with Lord Blackmoore’s disappearance?”

“Yes,” Kel’Thuzad lied, this time he could feel the heat of Modera’s glare on the side of his face, “you work here in the chapel. If you have heard any information about his disappearance, it might help us.”

So, Tevosh eagerly led them upstairs, and told them everything he had heard through the grapevine. Apparently, Aedelas Blackmoore,- now Lord Protector of the Northern Lands, was not the drunken and headless prison warden he was back in their timeline. Here, he, along with Kel’Thuzad had freed an army of orcs from the internment camps and conquered Lordearon.

Certainly not something the lich had expected. Nor did his companions.

However, Blackmoore had disappeared recently without a trace. Kel’Thuzad suspected the low gossip Tevosh had- that Blackmoore ran away to Kezan with a draconic paramore, or that he had actually died three years ago and his corpse was being puppeteered by a shadowy group of warlocks- were bunk.

At least, he suspected the second one was bunk. The Cult of the Damned did do that, not infrequently, to minor officials.

There was one that caught his attention, “But the one I heard the most was that the room he was last seen in had a horrible dry smell. Like an oven- even though there was no fire in the hearth,” Tevosh said.

“Bronze dragons,” Kel’Thuzad said, mostly to himself. So the infinites were meddling with this timeline as well.

Before they took their leave Kel’Thuzad asked the boy about Thrall, giving him a brief description of the warchief.

“A shaman?” Tevosh shook his head slowly, “they don’t exist.”

xxxxxx

Time heals all wounds.

But this probably wasn’t what they had in mind.

Teradormi floated in a shady spot on Lake Lordamere surrounded by a faint gold light. A locally generated temporal anomaly. Its purpose: to speed up the time in the bubble around her. Her own brand of healing magic.

It wasn’t perfect. It couldn’t realign her broken bones in the proper sense, so it might not fix her lameness. But it would at least mend the lacerations in her neck and close the holes gnawed into her wings.

The dragon growled when she remembered the indignity that lich foisted upon her. Almost brought low by vermin and abominations!

Then there was that awful woman and her damned machine.

Teradormi hissed a stream of bubbles into the water.

The archmage was supposed to be dead. In fifty percent of the models ran Modera died at the hands of the lich; another thirty percent of them were to misadventure or the dragon’s servants.

And Kel’Thuzad, well he should be phased out of time! He met his well deserved fate in almost seventy percent of the models. That was why she chose the library. With its dampening wards it was the perfect place to ambush him.

He wasn’t supposed to be able to fight back.

And he hadn’t, not in any way she modeled.

The Fauna of Hyjal. Teradormi blew another jet of bubbles into the lake. She hadn’t anticipated he would stoop to reanimating squirrels against her. Squirrels!

She had always predicted he would go to the right to try to find a weapon in the Titanology section.

That was what Modera always did when she made it that far.

They weren’t supposed to work together. And Teradormi was certainly not supposed to be here- stuck healing in this lake!

The irony was, she was the one trapped in time. Her bronze cousins sealed the timestream behind her soon after she dragged that child in.

Her bait.

The dragon swam slowly, using her powerful tail to cut through the water as she searched for a sunnier patch to float in. The girl was a pleasant surprise. Teradormi could sense the connection between the lich and her that day in the slums. The relationship was obvious even if he treated the girl like a stranger. But he didn’t kill her. And he did not kill Modera. He helped her.

That wasn’t in any of her models.

Which meant they were flawed.

No. She pulled up her transparent flying lid and dove. Murlocs plagued these waters and she needed a snack. Her models were not flawed, but perhaps the information she used to build them was.

It was a gamble, but, after seeing how her parents were willing to work together in the library it wasn’t much of a leap to think they might rush to protect their offspring. The lich at least might want to recover her to serve in his master’s army.

So she followed the girl back to Redridge and waited.

And now…she was stuck with no way of knowing if both humans would arrive. Or even how they might.

Damn her cousins! Didn’t they know how important her work was?

A flicker of movement in the corner of her eye was a red and yellow murloc gathering seaweed. Teradormi slowed and let herself drift forward. It didn’t sense her presence. She opened her maw ready to strike then-

She froze. A tremor went through the water, not physical. Temporal.

Prey forgotten, Teradormi surfaced with eyes wide and nostrils flared. The timeway was open! She was free! She could-

It closed.

Just like that it closed! She was trapped again. But how? Why!

The dragon swam towards one of the inner islands and hauled herself onto the rocky shore. It wasn’t easy, her front leg still didn’t want to cooperate. No matter. With some effort she pushed herself into a seated position. She sampled the air, tongue flicking in and out of her jaw like one of the massive saurolisks that inhabited southern Stranglethorn.

There on the wind was time. A concentrated pocket of it.

The bonzes closed the timeline, but not without leaving a way out.

xxxxxx

“I thought you didn’t like those things,” Modera said as Kel’Thuzad dunked a biscotto into his coffee.

The two of them were sitting in a corner café in Corin's Crossing, an industrial town south of Stratholme, waiting. It wouldn’t be long before he could make them another portal. Unfortunately, they were more difficult and draining to cast as a mortal… and he was the only one with the marker to Stratholme.

“It's worth it to give old things a chance every now-and-again,” he took a bite and shrugged. Sweet amaretto and anise from the biscuit melded with the bitterness of the coffee creating a deep blend of flavor while the slivered almonds offered a crunchy texture. “Besides, they came highly recommended. You’d be surprised at what you might like after seven years without food.”

Modera grunted and raised an eyebrow at his tall stack of cookies. The lady at the bakery said they were their specialty, plus they had just come out of the oven. It was hard to pass up that kind of endorsement.

“Would you like one?” he asked.

“No.”

In other words, yes, Kel’Thuzad split one of them in half and flicked his eyes away as Modera took it.

They fell quiet. It wasn’t a stony or awkward silence, but a contemplative one.

It was the second day of their search and so far it was much slower than they had envisioned. The geopolitical struggles of the last decade relegated both of them to their respective territories. Being mortal, their portals were limited by distance and stamina which made the pathing inefficient.

This was the third location they had checked today, and Kel’Thuzad was beginning to fully appreciate the appeal of undeath.

As for the scrying, it still pulled up that muddy dark film. However, there was a small bit of hope: smudged shapes moved in the black. Not enough to see what it was, but it was enough to give them a direction.

South.

“I think tomorrow will be better,” Kel’Thuzad said, “Caer Darrow butts up against the wilder places and Andorhal is closer to the Alterac. We might be able to scry the whole range from the city.”

She made a doubtful sound, “It wouldn't reach the western flanks.”

Kel’Thuzad drummed his fingers against the table and thought. With the eastern ‘Plaguelands’ searched, they would need to move their base to Andorhal. Meaning they needed to start there, so that Titus and Ghastly could begin canvassing for signs of Thrall. He was creating a mental map when an idea struck, “Can you still make-” he hesitated when Modera raised an eyebrow, “Do you still have a marker for the lake in the hills?”

Her mouth made a thin line and Kel’Thuzad regretted asking. It would be silly to think she’d ever gone back after everything, but the photo in her office popped into his mind. When her face relaxed and she nodded, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Really?”

“It has a nice view of the river basin,” she said simply. Modera tried to swallow her grin and Kel’Thuzad thought it had to do with his expression. It was hard to mask them after years without a face. “Do you still have the marker?”

“Yes,” he replied, maybe too quickly. He cleared his throat, “it's a good spot for harvesting Goldthorn.”

“And you wouldn’t be asking this because you fancy a bit of necking or anything would you?” Modera asked.

“...I suppose we might have time to squeeze that in,” he replied with a wry, half smile, “But, if you can make a portal there it will help spread the load around. Plus, we can scry the back half of the range.”

“Ah,” Modera busied herself with her coffee and the other half of the biscotto, a blush dusting her cheekbones.

Kel’Thuzad took a moment to study her face, noting how her cheeks were growing steadily redder.

The same thing happened this morning. When he awoke to find Modera already awake.

There was the shock of waking and the brief confusion of being in a strange place. Not to mention waking up next to Modera.

The room only had one bed and he was damned if he was going to sleep on the floor.

His guts tightened at the sight of her, Kel’Thuzad couldn’t remember the last time he’d shared a bed with her. When he smiled, he knew he had her caught staring, because she began to turn red.

Maybe she likes my new body. He rested his chin on his fist and closed his eyes as he tried to burn every bit of the morning into his memory.

“What are you thinking about?” Modera asked.

“Nothing really, planning,” he looked back down at his pile of biscuits and picked one up, “Should we get more of these for Vael?”

Modera made a thinking sound before shaking her head, “She doesn’t like amaretto.”

“What about marzipan?”

“Nope.”

“But… it's good,” he said, more put out than he intended to be. He liked marzipan (and wanted an excuse to get some).

“I know,” Modera said with a wave of one hand, “I can’t get her to eat it.”

“Well, what does she like?”

“Chocolate mostly, toffee, and those awful cherry cordials you and my father adore.”

“I do like those, didn’t see any in the shop though,” he replied.

“Good. They give you bad breath,” Modera replied.

It was a small price to pay for a delicious treat.

“What else does she like?” Kel’Thuzad reached over and took her hand. Modera did not pull away when he smoothed his thumb over her skin, “Tell me about her.”

There was a ghost of hesitation before she nodded. Kel’Thuzad listened, rapt, as Modera told him stories about their daughter. How she loved to read, to explore the woods, how Modera would catch her reading her spell books and manuals.

But he grew silent when Modera recounted how sad Vael had been when she had gone to live with her aunt and uncle. The words she’d said in Ironforge echoed through his memory.

They think I’m a burden and call me a lichling.

“You gave her Better Botanicals?” Kel’Thuzad asked, eyebrows raised. He’d assumed she’d found a copy in the library.

Modera nodded, it was a slow, deliberate action, “I never lied to her about what happened to you, it was too dangerous. But she was so young, she couldn’t understand,” she trailed off.

Kel’Thuzad knew what unspoken words hung in the air.

“But plants are simple, mundane, boring,” Modera said, “you were human once. I wanted her to know you the way I used to.”

Even though he had been so beastly. Even after he’d left and come back…different. With that thing in his head. Kel’Thuzad’s throat tightened. He didn’t want to think about what it must have been like for Modera to read the debriefing on Andorhal. Or if she was there that day when Dalaran fell. How mortified she must have been to have ever felt anything for him.

Despite everything, she still wanted Vael to have something to know him by.

Something…good.

“You kept her safe for all these years,” Kel’Thuzad said as the back of his neck grew hot. Warmed by a creeping shame, “You’re a good mother, Modera.”

She shook her head, “You wouldn’t say that if you knew the last things I said to her.”

“I’m sure it's not so bad,” he replied, “considering your competition.”

She grimaced and looked out into the crowd. For a moment she said nothing and the only movement was the muscle tightening in her jaw. Finally, when she spoke it was so quiet it was almost a whisper, “Can you feel anything?”

Frigid adrenaline flooded Kel’Thuzad’s guts while the heat of embarrassment continued down his spine. The coffee in his hands suddenly stone cold. He knew this question was inevitable, though he’d hoped, perhaps naively, that it wouldn’t. Hoped Modera would have spent enough time around him to see, to know.

That he was still human.

“Yes,” he managed to choke out, trying to hide the haunted look in his eyes. The world may think him an unfeeling monster, but the irony was he felt too much. The psychic roar of the scourge’s thralls, their hunger, rage and their despair. They echoed within him, barely kept out by the shields he kept up around his mind. If he were a lesser lich, he would have lost himself years ago to their wailing.

“Even joy?” she asked, “Love?”

Kel’Thuzad thought of Cassie, second to Titus in reading his face. Of Ghastly and Titus, his own little family. Of Vael who he hoped wouldn't despise him for all of this.

The heat began to recede as the slimy thing around his throat loosened his grip. They were why he’d managed to stay sane all these years. And Biggy of course. His kitty recognized him even after his transformation. They were the ones who’d kept him him.

And finally, Modera. His great love. He had never been able to carve her out of his heart, not completely. Cowardice drove him to place his mementos in that box. But cowardice also kept him from destroying it. Those last shreds of his humanity.

“I do,” he said, voice firm though his throat was tight. He still loved Modera even if he couldn’t tell her. Not now. She had her own life, and her own relationship. It wouldn't be right to burden her with his affection.

“I am myself and I’m still… human,” and as he said it he knew it was the truth. When Arthas fell the shackles of his slavery and his bond to the Lich King were broken, forever.

“I haven’t been a good father, but I could never hope to be if I couldn’t love my own daughter,” Kel’Thuzad reached over to wipe a tear off of Modera’s cheek, “Even if she is a little thief. You know that reflects poorly on the mother, right?”

Modera sniffed a laugh into her coffee, “You’re one to talk. How do you know she didn't get it from you?”

“I’m not a thief!”

“I heard you were behind those scandalous robberies at the Royal Bank in Hearthglen and Andorhal,” she said, one eyebrow arched, “or was that actually the Defias Brotherhood working in Lordaeron ten years ago?”

He couldn’t hide his grin as he looked away, “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think if you were to ask around, you’ll know I was at Jandice Barov’s wedding.”

They shared a conspiratorial smile.

“Light, I’ve missed you,” she sighed.

Her confession made something twist inside him. But it also planted the seed of a wicked thought. If he wasn’t careful it could turn into an idea.

What if they never went home?

xxxxx

The sun had been down for hours by the time they returned to Stratholme and Kel’Thuzad was tired and hungry. Not the best combination. To make matters worse, his leg felt like it might fall off.

Since Corrin’s Crossing, Kel’Thuzad’s pace lagged. Modera said nothing, only slowing to match. Even now she stood in the doorway to the Bayberry watching him as he hobbled up the three steps to the porch. He gave her a wan smile as he reached the final step.

“Are you hungry?” Modera asked.

“No,” he lied over his stomach’s growl. After the fifth portal, he just wanted to sleep.

“The cook said he was making lemon custard for dessert,” Modera said. When he perked up she added, “there might be leftovers.”

“Well… maybe just a little.”

The common room fire was low, the remaining embers cast a dull light as they crossed to the kitchen. Everyone had long gone to sleep and Kel’Thuzad could sense Titus resting in his room. Best not to disturb him.

Kel’Thuzad leaned against a counter as Modera rummaged through the icebox. Glass clicked together as she rearranged the items within. “Do any of the wines look good?” She asked.

Wine and pudding. Not the worst dinner he’d ever had, he thought to himself as he stared into nothing. After a few long seconds Kel’Thuzad realized he was staring into nothing in the direction of Modera’s rear. A few seconds after that he thought he should busy himself with the wine selection.

The inn was surprisingly well stocked. Its collection featured fare from Silvermoon and as far south as Westfall. As a lich he was still able to drink, though it was a more involved process. Wine still tasted the same, more or less, but if he wanted it to do anything to him it needed to be laced with arcane powders. Unfortunately these fortified wines all tended to taste the same after a while.

But- he was alive right now and didn’t need to worry about any of that.

“Seems like arc-donnay is popular here too,” Kel’Thuzad mused.

“Ugh, I’m sick of that awful swill. Everyone in Dalaran is obsessed with it.”

“We must have the same importer,” Kel’Thuzad replied, “it’s all we’ve managed to get for the last six months.” He turned some labels hoping perhaps for a different white when one bottle in particular caught his eye.

“They have a Pupellyverbos!” he said as he grabbed the sleek green bottle, “I can’t remember the last time I saw one of these.”

Modera straightened, still licking a spoon. She squinted at the bottle, “Is it real?”

The Pupelly Winery had been razed by Amani Trolls two years after the Scourge sacked Quel’Thalas. Which was unfortunate, because they had deliberately avoided the little valley on their march to the Sunwell, so popular was the wine. The last shipment of Pupellyverbos Port was famously lost when the ship carrying it was sunk off the coast of the Hinterlands three years ago.

Kel’Thuzad heard the owners were able to save some of their vines, but it might be years before they could regain enough for production.

“Only one way to find out,” he said with a grin.

Desserts in hand, they snuck up to their room, giddy.

Any lingering crabbiness from the day melted away, replaced with the fuzzy warmth of wine. The custard helped too, creamy, sweet, tart- the perfect thing to brighten his mood.

He relaxed into the couch, grateful to finally be out of his clothes. They weren’t meant for this climate (or any climate really). Thin, scratchy and way too tight, they were designed for a lich. Not a pudgy man. He was grateful he never fell out of the habit of wearing undergarments lest he be left with nothing to wear.

Modera scolded him when she found out he didn’t have any flexi-weaves in the seams. He looked down at his empty bowl and tried to scrape up the last of the custard with a spoon; she wouldn’t have any either if her clothes were stolen all the time.

He glanced at Modera from the corner of his eye hoping she still had some left that he might steal a bite. She was sitting on the other side of the couch in her nightgown… and watching him with a curious look. “What?” he asked around the spoon.

“Nothing,” she said with a little shrug, “the custard smells like you.”

His brows furrowed a bit, “I smell like custard?”

“Like lemons.”

Kel’Thuzad choked on his wine. He could feel his face turning red as he wiped his face clean. “What- right now?” There was no way, he was mortal!

“When you’re a lich," she replied.

So she did notice that, he thought as he took a sip, though he doubted she knew what it meant.

“Ghastly says it’s because you like me.”

He almost choked on his wine again. Ghastly! The boy needed a lecture on discretion. Kel’Thuzad didn’t want to get into the particulars of his biology. Especially when he didn’t fully understand the reasons for why things happened. “What did Ghastly say exactly?”

“Nothing. Only that you liked me and he could tell because of how you smelled.”

“We were in a high magic area. That has an effect of speeding up…” he trailed off when he saw her raise an eyebrow as she took a sip of wine, “er, resin production.”

Silence.

“Do you really think I’m an abomination?” Kel’Thuzad blurted out. He didn’t really want to talk about that, but the thought had been bothering him since the chapel. He knew what he was. But for some reason being thought of as an abomination was…abominable.

“Well, yes,” Modera said with a sip of wine, “but only in a technical sense.”

If they were speaking technically then he supposed he would agree with her. “But only in a technical sense right?”

Modera placed her glass on the end table before shifting closer to him. Close enough so they were not quite touching, but he could feel the static cling of her magical field against his own. A thrill of excitement went through his guts. “You seem like yourself.”

Kel’Thuzad polished it off what was left in his glass before setting it aside. When he turned back he found Modera watching him. Her plum eyes trained on his own.

She placed a hand over his heart and let it rest there. For a moment Kel’Thuzad thought it might beat out of his chest. Heat seemed to radiate from her hand through his body, until it felt as though he might burst into flames. He dared not move, worried any shift could frighten her away, to pull back.

But Modera was the one to break that agonizing stillness. She smoothed her hand up his chest to rest on his shoulder. With the slightest of touches she pulled and Kel’Thuzad obliged, lowering his head. And then her lips were on his.

Chapter Text

Disaster.

No. Catastrophe.

Disastrophe. Modera stared at her eggs. This trip was officially a disastrophe.

She slept with him.

Why!

Mimi was going to kill her. She could picture her sister and her stupid judgmental face, "This would have never happened if you went into law!"

Modera hissed her retort into her breakfast.

“I heard wrestling last night,” Ghastly said.

Modera flicked her gaze at the drake from underneath her brows, expression as schooled as she could make it. Though from the nervous glance she received from the boy she could tell it wasn’t that controlled.

To his credit Kel’Thuzad dismissed him with a grunt. Being alive meant he could eat again, and he was keen to enjoy it while he could. “Seemed quiet,” he said around a mouthful of eggs and toast, “But it was late when we got in.”

This time Rivendare grunted.

Modera watched him warily as she nibbled on a piece of bacon she had swiped from Kel’s plate. Around the time he had wordlessly taken her sliced tomatoes. She scowled in Rivendare’s direction. Not only had they slept together, but they were sliding back into old patterns. Quite easily in fact- it was like the last ten years hadn’t happened.

Modera wasn’t quite sure if she should be embarrassed or angry with herself. Or both.

Rivendare slurped his coffee, breaking Modera out of her reverie. He held her gaze for a second before lazily turning to Kel’Thuzad, “Did you at least try the Shtupping Powder?”

He froze midway through a monster bite of everything on a piece of toast. There was a loud crunch followed by furious chewing, “What do I need that for?” he swallowed, “I schtup fine.”

Do not look this way, Modera glared at him.

“So is that how you got that hickey?” Rivendare asked.

Disastrophe!

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kel’Thuzad replied smoothly.

“It’s right there on your neck.”

Modera followed to where Rivendare was pointing and couldn’t stop herself from flushing. There was a large, blotchy purple mark on his neck. Kel’Thuzad poked it and shrugged. “I am old, maybe it came with the body.”

“It seems below the office of a councilor,” Rivendare said with a wry smile, “Though I must confess I’m a bit behind on what's popular in the magic city, Modera-”

At that moment, Modera took a sip of her coffee. The motion ruffled her shirt and brought Rivendare’s eyes to her now exposed collarbone. He sucked in a dramatic breath and pointed, “J’accuse!”

Modera flinched, surprised at the sudden outburst. Hot coffee sloshed out of the mug covering her hands and lap. “Titus!” she snapped.

The death knight howled with laughter, clearly enjoying her suffering. Cretin! Kel’Thuzad didn’t laugh, but he was his own brand of annoying. She still let him fuss over her, which just confirmed everything Rivendare was accusing them of.

Kel’Thuzad grimaced when he spotted the angry mark on her neck.

“I knew it,” Titus crowed, “Like a couple of teenagers-”

“Titus didn’t feel well this morning,” Ghastly interrupted.

All the negative feelings she might have felt toward the little drake a moment ago evaporated.

“Is that so?” Kel’Thuzad asked.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“He said he was too stiff and there were some issues in his hands and feet,” Ghastly replied for him, “and there was a smell.”

And just like that the conversation turned away from their nighttime activity.

“A smell,” Kel’Thuzad raised an eyebrow, “should we go to your room and diagnose?”

And then discuss your behavior. Modera smirked into her drink.

“I’m fine,” Rivendare said tightly.

Kel’Thuzad thought for a moment, his fingers drumming against the table in silent calculation. “It could be serious.”

“Are smells really that bad?” Modera asked. Come to think of it, almost none of the death knights she encountered ever smelled. Well, she corrected herself, they rarely smelled like a rotting corpse. Some of them did reek of unholy magic if they practiced it enough. But as far as she knew, Rivendare did not.

He made a vague sound, “It’s certainly not good.”

Rivendare bristled as the two mages scrutinized him. To Modera the death knight had an incomprehensibly dense matrix of spells woven throughout his body. She wouldn’t even know where to begin to diagnose a problem.

But Rivendare’s skin had taken on a waxy look, and the shadows of his face looked more purple and green than she remembered. “Are you…” Modera searched for a polite word. When none came she shrugged, “rotting?”

“No,” he snapped.

“It could be your body,” Kel’Thuzad said. Apparently the problem wasn’t that serious because he went back to eating. The lich motioned at Rivendare’s torso with his fork, “Maybe it's…not adjusting well.”

Modera blinked as realization hit her, “Weren’t you beheaded?” she asked, “I thought that was supposed to be permanent.”

“The damage was severe. I think the Argent’s burned the body,” Kel’Thuzad said around a mouthful of eggs, “so we had to do a cephalosomatic anastomosis.”

It took a second for her to piece together what he said. Cephalo- head transplant? “Ew,” Modera wrinkled her nose at the death knight.

“Thanks,” Rivendare said flatly.

She turned to Kel’Thuzad and scowled. If the reports from the Argent Dawn were to be believed the Scourge performed many disturbing magical-medical experiments. And she knew from reputation and (from the fact that he listed it as one of his accomplishments right before he blew up that pawn shop), that Kel’Thuzad was one of the masterminds behind the abominations. Creatures stitched together from bits of animals and humanoids and brought into a cruel parody of life.

For some reason the thought of him sticking his best friend’s severed head onto another body was particularly odious.

“Why are you looking at me like that? I didn’t do it,” he said as if reading her mind. Kel’Thuzad crammed more toast into his craw, “Do I look like the kind of person that would do a head transplant?”

She made a noncommittal sound. He sort of had a point. Chimerical creatures were a well trodden field, just maybe not one populated with well adjusted individuals. There were always reports floating around about new processes or rumors about some mage’s familiars. Those freak shows tended to work on live subjects. In that way the lich was not on the cutting edge.

Modera considered that a good thing.

“I actually encountered a lot of internal resistance to the resurrection- too resource heavy. Also the physical portion of the procedure was too technical for anyone in the Cult,” he went on to explain some of the high level differences between a death knight and a less complicated form. Mostly it came down to how existing structures made better scaffolding for animating spells than synthetic ones.

Modera found herself mildly interested but chalked it up to Kel’Thuzad’s rhetorical skills and less with the material. He had a knack for taking any boring subject and making it intriguing, “Anyway, I ended up paying Benji to do the non-magical aspects. He published a paper on the procedure.”

“I must have missed that issue of Severed Head Monthly,” Modera replied blandly. Ben Malory? A talented surgeon and alchemist, who coincidentally looked like the type of person who would do a head transplant. But his research facilities were across the street from Aethas’s.

In Dalaran.

“Malory isn’t in the cult is he?”

Kel’Thuzad shook his head as he wiped his face with a napkin, “I think he just likes money. He-”

“Can we stop talking about my procedure?” Rivendare cut in, “I’m sitting right here.

Kel’Thuzad apologized with a sheepish look, “You know I would do anything for you.”

“Well you don’t have to go telling everyone about it.”

Modera looked at Kel out of the corner of her eye. Ghoulishness aside, Kel’Thuzad fought for the people he cared for. Which said something about the kind of man he still was.

She pushed her eggs around her plate and thought about the last few days.

He was loyal. He intervened with Jaina- though whether or not that was a good thing was yet to be determined. And he’d helped that girl in the caverns. Ghastly adored him.

That doesn’t excuse what you’ve done, her sister’s voice echoed in her mind.

But, it had to matter a little bit.

“Have you two found out anything about Thrall?” Kel’Thuzad asked.

“Yes,” the drake said confidently. After a moment he frowned, second guessing himself, “no.”

“Well, which is it?”

“I don’t know- but that's because everything here is so backwards.”

“Backwards?” Modera asked. Everything seemed at peace here, though she wasn’t exactly keeping up with local affairs.

“An orc isn’t so much out of the ordinary up here, since the integration,” Rivendare explained, “we don’t know much about Thrall except he is a shaman, and those don’t seem to exist,” he leaned forward and lowered his voice, “I don’t think the cataclysm has happened yet. There was no plague, the dark portal didn’t reopen and there was no legion invasion. This place is on a completely different trajectory than we are”

“No third war,” Kel’Thuzad said mostly to himself, “the Sunwell may never have been corrupted. I suppose that's why I’m not a lich,” he paused and eyed Rivendare again, “That’s probably another reason for your problems.”

Rivendare’s frown sharpened, “Why? You resurrected me before all that happened. How could it affect me?”

“Because I doubt there are any large concentrations of practicing necromancers to alter the ley energies,” Kel’Thuzad replied, “There's no ambient, like-magic for the spells to passively feed off of-- possibly anywhere if Ner’zhul never made it out of Icecrown.”

“That can really happen?” Rivendare asked.

“Oh yes, enough of one kind of magic in an area can affect its surroundings. Too much and it infects the ley lines,” Modera replied, “Haven’t you ever flown over the Blue Dragonshrine on your way to that temple complex in the tundra?”

Rivendare shook his head.

“Oh,” Ghastly sat up straighter, “the trees there have all turned into crystals.”

“That’s right, they-” Kel’Thuzad stopped himself and narrowed his eyes at the drake, “How do you know that?”

Ghastly opened his mouth, for a second nothing came out. Modera smiled into her coffee and enjoyed the little glimpse into his family life. Perhaps Ghastly wasn’t as sheltered as she thought as she had the distinct impression that the drake just told on himself.

“How do you plan on summoning Thrall?” Modera asked, coming to his rescue. It was only fair.

Kel’Thuzad crammed a loaded piece of toast into his craw, “Whaff?”

“Thrall.”

“Oh, him. Well, you know a portal or… something,” he waved her off as he continued to chew, gesticulating in a way that she assumed ment ‘portal’, “We can focus on him after we find Vael.”

Modera narrowed her eyes.

He was lying.

+++++

Not long after breakfast, Kel’Thuzad and Modera found themselves at Caer Darrow. The foggy island fortress hadn’t changed from what Modera remembered. Though it had been almost fifteen years since she had last visited.

Modera stared at the flags snapping in the wind. Two silver gauntlets on a field of red and white. The Barrov’s crest never fell, even when their ancestral home had turned into such a horror.

Scholomance. There was written a history of blood and despair.

She tried not to think about the fact that she just slept with the man who was responsible for all of it.

“Why didn’t I get invited to Jandice’s wedding?” she asked, eyes still on the flags.

Behind her Kel’Thuzad was still huffing up the hill. “The- what?”

She turned, “Jandice’s wedding. It was the social event of the season.”

“Oh, that,” Kel’Thuzad stopped next to her and leaned against his staff, brows knitted together, “did you want a real answer or a fake one?”

She paused, considering, “Is there a fake answer?”

“Not really,” he replied, “I try not to think about that time in my life.”

Modera grunted and waited for him to continue. The silence stretched as he shifted his weight between his good and bad leg then back again.

“Well- I don’t know,” he said finally, “I wasn’t in charge of the guest list.”

Liar. The reason must be serious too if he was this squirrely. He cleared his throat, “What do you think of this timeline?”

And he’s changed the subject. “It seems peaceful,” she replied.

“I thought so too. Maybe after we find Vael we can explore it a bit?”

There it was. Modera felt her expression tighten. She knew this was coming - that he would want to spend time with them. Only with the stress of the last few days, Modera had not devoted any time to thinking about how she might respond. And now she was sending mixed signals.

She could hear her sister laughing at her stupidity.

“I think you’re hiding something,” Modera deflected.

Kel’Thuzad eyed her cautiously, “About the wedding?”

“How are you going to find Thrall?”

He blinked, and Modera’s frown deepened. Here we go. “I thought we talked about that at breakfast.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“You didn’t answer my question either.”

“Kel, the fate of the world doesn’t depend on our custody arrangement.”

“Well-- maybe it does,” he replied as he crossed his arms.

Modera saw red as the air temperature around her plummeted. He wasn’t the only one who could make things frosty. She lashed out with the butt of her staff, aiming for his bad leg. He parried it with a surprised yelp, the connection rang out with a crackle of arcane energy.

She continued to attack, each word punctuated with a forceful hit, “Don’t you ever-”

Modera took a step and found she couldn’t move her feet. They were frozen to the ground. Off balance she fell forward, only for Kel’Thuzad to catch her. Before she could say anything a stranger cleared his throat.

Behind Kel’Thuzad stood an old orc. Despite his age he was still tall and broad and carried himself with a warrior's confidence. Stranger still, Modera knew him. Or had met him a few times. Varok Saurfang. He commanded the Horde forces storming Icecrown Citadel and was part of Thrall's entourage for the Ulduar briefings.

Saurfang was dressed unlike any orc she had ever seen. He wore a dark kimono with wide lapels, not unlike those found on a suit jacket. His robes were embroidered with golden beasts from Draenor and Azeroth and at his waist was belted a small axe inlaid with mithril.

“I hope I’m not interrupting something,” he said.

“Oh- no,” Kel’Thuzad said with a nervous laugh, “Just a lovers quarrel.”

Saurfang glanced between the two and frowned, “Didn’t we just talk in the hallway? How did you get out here so quickly?”

“I…”

“I summoned him,” Modera interrupted, “an experiment.”

Kel’Thuzad nodded, “Hence the argument.”

They flashed the orc a smile with too many teeth.

“I see,” Saurfang said. It seemed like he bought their story, she hoped. “You better hurry Kelly, remember how mad Julian was when you were late last time?”

Julian….Rivendare?

“No I’ll be right there,” he replied, brows creasing, “I just need a minute… or two.”

Saurfang gave them a look before nodding. He turned on his heel and stalked for the entrance to the fortress. Once he was out of earshot Modera turned and glared at the lich.

“I was joking,” Kel’Thuzad said as he thawed the ice around her ankles.

“It’s not funny.”

“Noted. Just out of curiosity, how important do you think it will be if we don’t find Thrall- like do you think the fate of the world is actually at stake or are the dragons just exaggerating?”

“I guess that depends on the question,” Modera replied, “Can you summon Thrall?”

“In theory, anything is possible,” he said carefully.

“In theory-” Modera bit down on a growl, “what about in practice?”

“Possible…,” she watched him raise his eyebrows until she thought they might escape into his hair, “under certain conditions. For example, if I had the book of Medivh and …”

He trailed off into indistinct mumbling. Modera scowled.

“I don’t suppose you’d fancy being the lich this time?” he asked, “I can’t resurrect myself.”

She decided to take his question seriously, “How would that help?”

He thought for a moment too, then shook his head, “You’re right, we would still need the book. Probably.”

It also just sounded like a lot of work. “Kelly,” Modera said patiently, considering the situation, “Did you speak truthfully when you told the dragons you could find Thrall?”

He looked anywhere but at her, “Like I said- anything is possible. In theory-”

“Holy light! You lied?”

“Technically, I didn’t give a specific methodology.”

Modera sputtered at him, not believing what she was hearing, “not specific- what are you a fairy dragon?”

“Alright, yes! I lied,” he hissed, “I had too, the Bronzes wouldn’t let us in here otherwise.”

He couldn’t find Thrall! They were so screwed. If the council didn’t kill her, the bronze dragons certainly would.

“Now- hold on,” Kel’Thuzad said, “Why don’t you let me see the hourglass? Maybe it has some sort of clues.”

She fished the delicate glass and gold trinket out of her bags and hesitated. Kel’Thuzad had Vael’s hearthstone and a connection to Doomfinger. If she gave him the hourglass he would also have their only means of returning home, should he choose not to give it back. Modera eyed Atiesh. He wanted to stay longer, who was to say he wouldn’t…

She pulled the hourglass away from his expectant hand, “Hand me Atiesh first and I’ll let you examine it.”

Kel’Thuzad balked at the request, "I- why? So you can confiscate it? I just paid good money for this thing. I haven’t even gotten to test it out properly."

“The bird thing?”

“No,” he said petulantly.

Modera rolled her eyes, now she understood what Titus had meant. Despite herself she asked,"What did you end up paying for that anyway?"

"Four thousand gold," Kel'Thuzad replied.

"Four thousand-!" Modera threw her arms up and lost her grip on the sands.

It went flying.

They watched aghast as it sailed through the air in a slow arc. Kingdoms rose and fell, lives lived, loves lost, gracious children becoming loutish teenagers- all of creation contained in that single moment. And yet Kel'Thuzad and Modera were frozen in place.

The hourglass shattered on the cobble.

They lurched into action. Falling to their knees the two mages tried in vain to gather the sand only to watch it slip through their fingers.

Like sand. Or time.

Or magic time-sand.

"Nonono," Modera desperately tried to scoop it back into the broken bulb. Only for it to dissipate.

It was gone.

Modera sat back, broken hourglass in hand. Her mind was completely blank. The dragons said she was the responsible one! Right?

"...it was twelve thousand," Kel'Thuzad said, finally breaking the silence.

Modera blinked. His brows were knit together making him look more concerned than usual. "That’s still a good deal," she said weakly.

Kel'Thuzad pulled her to her feet, "It's not that bad."

"Kel-"

"Modera," he said calmly, "we can figure it out."

Her heart hammered in her chest, it felt like he was the only thing keeping her standing.

"We're clever enough," he said with a pained grin, “What's the point of being an archmage if you can’t magic your way out of a sticky situation?”

For a split second she believed him, even as a blood vessel in one of his eyes burst and slowly turned it red.

Then the left side of his face slumped.

"What," Kel'Thuzad asked. His eyes searched her face for clues to her horrified expression.

“N-n,” Modera couldn’t get anything out.

His grip on her spasmed, and he slumped forward. Modera’s legs buckled at the sudden weight but she managed to stay upright. She grunted and adjusted her grip to his middle. But he was so heavy.

Kel’Thuzad tried to regain his footing but stumbled on the slick cobbles. White flashed in her eyes as the back of Modera’s head slammed into the ground. Her vision swam and a metallic taste filled her mouth. It took her a moment to realize she’d bitten her tongue. With a groan she pushed herself up, Kel’Thuzad had gone limp.

Blood. There was blood everywhere. It ran out of his ears, his eyes, his mouth. Modera cupped his face but his skin had lost all its firmness and her hand left a black smudge in its wake. She looked at it and found she was covered in some unspeakable putrefied liquid. He was rotting, she realized with a gasp.

Just like the last time he died.

Panic shot through her, cold, electric panic. She’d killed him. “No,” she gasped a plea, she’d just gotten him back.

Kel’Thuzad grabbed her arm, his knuckles were red and swollen like they might burst open any moment. “Modera,” he groaned, voice regaining its unearthly reverberation. Each of his breaths was a wet rattle.

He whimpered like a kicked dog as his back arched. Modera heard a wet ripping.

Behind them voices grew louder. She couldn’t let anyone find him like this. So she did the only thing she could think of. Modera drew up her magic and teleported him away. The spell spun and stretched before snapping suddenly, reverberating back through her. The backlash slammed into the archmage and Modera fell back as darkness overtook her.

++++++

No matter how much water Vael drank her mouth still felt dry. Each swallow was like sandpaper inside her throat.

“You need food!” Doomfinger hissed into her mind, “More than that rabbit food you’ve been picking. ”

She was eating, but her conjurations just made it worse. And now the stupid cupcakes weren’t even filling the hole in her stomach. Foraging wasn’t helping, Thrall moved too quickly for her to get enough. The nettles she gathered needed to be processed and boiled but Doomfinger said any food cooked over its fire would make her sick.

Right now Thrall had stopped to test the wind. At least she could collect some of the wild parsnips in the area. Vael stooped to pick one, the white flowers bobbed in the breeze.

“Stop it- put that down. It is water hemlock,” Doomfinger’s voice rang out again.

Vael frowned and looked it over. Of course the leaves were all different. Pointy. She dropped the weed and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. The lack of food was making her brain foggy.

“Your magic is eating you alive without proper replenishment. If you continue the consequences will be…dire.”

The last meal she ate was lunch at Aunt Mimis and she didn’t even really eat that, only pushed the leftover chicken and barley around her plate until she could sneak away.

She would do anything for leftovers right now.

“We’re close,” Thrall said.

Vael frowned, close? Close to where? “Are we going to Tarren Mill?” she asked. The town had been taken by the forsaken soon after the first war. It was where they launched their attack on Southshore. Vael shivered.

“No, we aren’t going that way. I figured we’d go north, follow the river.”

“Good. Maybe he can catch you something.”

Vael ignored the wand. North ment the plaguelands. “What about the Scourge?”

“I wouldn’t be too worried about that,” Thrall replied, “I ran into a trader a day or so before you arrived. Told me he’d never heard of any kind of undead anything. When we get to Andorhal we can take a boat down the canals to Dalaran.”

Dalaran? Maybe the mages of this time could send them back. Vael’s stomach growled. Or give her food.

Or fresh clothes.

The mountains had been draped in a misty rain ever since she got here. And the fire from Doomfinger was hot, but left her clothes covered in a greasy film and an acrid reek of burnt mana.

Four days of cold, wet, chafing clothes. Four days without real food.

“I know of a place we can camp out,” Thrall said, “it's close, maybe an hour’s hike, if you think you can make it.”

An hour.

Vael took a deep, centering breath. She could do an hour.

-So anyway, three hours later, Thrall was tapping his chin and muttering to himself. They’d finally broken the tree line and reached the river.

“There are some ruins up ahead,” he pointed to a bare hill that crested in the distance. Vael couldn’t see any. “It’ll give us a little shelter from the wind.”

Vael was about to ask, can’t you do something about the wind, when Thrall froze. More disconcerting, she could feel Doomfinger grow quiet as well.

“What is it?” she whispered.

He was silent for a moment, the wind snapping his overcoat. Then he turned towards the eastern flanks for the Alteracs.

“Is it the dragon?” Vael asked.

“No,” Thrall replied, “whatever it is, we don’t want it to find us.”

+++++

Dying the first time was actually very painful. Scratch that, the road to his first death was painful.

Fel poisoning ravaged his body and filled his guts with hard tumors. They pressed against his spine, stealing his appetite and mobility. It was only the will of the lich king that kept him upright as his natural life came to a close.

Then of course there was Arthas, who's stupid warhammer smashed his leg. The shattered femur had sliced his femoral artery, spelling his temporary doom. Kel’Thuzad recalled a sense of apathy. Everything had gone so wrong since he got on that boat north.

He’d been in agony for so long that he just wanted it to be over.

Apathy. And cold. He’d felt horribly cold as he bled out into the mud.

Coming back…

If death was cold, rebirth was heat.

A new body had been forged by the sunwell, his soul stretched and tempered into a new shape. And that’s how it usually went. A painful death, quick if he was lucky, and a rebirth in flame.

But not this time.

One minute they were discussing something, he couldn’t even remember now- the next was blinding pain and the sensation of falling.

Kel’Thuzad felt like his body was full of mud and ice so cold that it burned. Every movement, no matter how slight, sent something oozing and squishing between his joints. He was drowning in the stuff. He had to get out. He flailed blindly, feeling resistance and opened his eyes.

Shafts of light pierced the gloom, interrupted only by the wispy black tendrils that seeped out of him. He was underwater. Kel’Thuzad clawed his way upward, desperate for air. No urgency burned in his chest, he only felt the plugged up pressure as he broke the surface and tried to pull a breath.

Eyes wide, he splashed fighting to keep his head above water.

He dragged himself onto the shore, hands and knees sinking into the red mud when he felt a shudder go through him and the sudden sensation of gravity as chunks of moldering flesh sloshed out of his chest and into the water. His claws looked like they exploded out of his skin, leaving twisted ribbons of black flesh to twine around the bone.

He was a lich. Again.

That solved that problem.

Kel’Thuzad flopped onto his side, not caring that he hadn’t cleared the puddle of himself. Everything seemed…jiggly. Which was a fun quality for jello but not his insides.

Everything hurt. Things throbbed that weren’t even there anymore.

He’d died. Again. Truly died, not like he usually did. And he’d been horrifically conscious through the whole ordeal.

Kel’Thuzad could confidently say that this was the second worst day of his life. Which was saying a lot considering his overall situation.

A catastrophic disaster. A cataster?

The alien stillness of undeath reasserted itself over his senses, chasing away the life he had been temporarily granted. Kel’Thuzad tried to hold onto the sensations which had once been so real: the warm buzz of wine; how Modera’s smile filled him with hot electricity. Even the dull pain in his leg receded and was forgotten.

He thought he might hold his daughter with his own human hands.

A tinkly melody chimed in the back of his mind. Atiesh. Kel’Thuzad ignored it. He wanted to wallow- forever. Which was totally within the realm of possibility now that he didn’t need to eat or drink.

A sigh bubbled out of him, the rush of air expelling muck from his skull. The vile stuff oozed out of every bit of him. Disgusting snot and tears from death’s perfect servant.

As if in response the staff conjured a blue fire. The cold flame burned the rot off his bones until they shone with their normal silvery luster. They would be spotless, if he wasn’t still laying in the mud.

It tinkled again. And again Kel’Thuzad ignored its gentle prodding. He would not be bossed around by the staff. He was its master, not the other way around-

Kel’Thuzad yelped at the sudden zap in his rear. He sat up and glared at the carved raven. Its amethyst eyes gleamed in the sun, revealing nothing, but he could feel its irritation through their bond.

Why was it irritated with him? He didn’t do anything-

“Ow!” Apparently this was not a productive train of thought because it earned him another zap.

He cleared his mind and watched the raven warily. It was trying to help him, Kel’Thuzad reminded himself, so he reigned in his temper. “Yes?” he asked politely.

Something yellow flashed before his eyes before a thin membrane materialized before him. No longer smudged and filmy, the scry was clear. Vael!

Kel’Thuzad shot up.

She was alive! And she looked like hell. Vael’s hair was a tangled mess. Her clothes were filthy, they didn’t look like they had been dry in days. He watched through the scry as she shivered against a rough stone wall. A wall that no doubt was sapping away any warmth she could get from the dark fire.

Pride welled in his chest, Vael was using wand fire! Clever girl.

She had to be close if the scry was picking her up clearly. That wall…it looked like the Troll ruins along the Thondoril. But where exactly was ‘here’?

Kel’Thuzad cast about for a clue. A pond, now cloudy with the remnants of his body- he pointedly ignored that. Other landmarks included a fallen log next to the cluster of boulders and the mountains beyond. He was at their secret hiking spot. Modera sent him to the next leg of their search!

He was almost a stone’s throw away from where she was!

Kel’Thuzad took a step then hesitated. Should he wait for Modera? Vael knew her mother, she didn’t know him. At least not in a positive sense.

He slumped. There was no way he could approach her like this. His glamor was out of the question, his mana was all but drained in the transformation. He’d be lucky if he could muster the short jumps he’d have to cast to get to her location. And then what? He was a monster. Technically an abomination. Modera said it herself! What if Vael ran away? It would be the sensible thing to do.

He should wait.

But…he looked back at the scry. She looked so sad. And cold. And hungry. She needed help! He was her father, he had to do something. It was so close Modera would be able to find him just from his passive aura.

Kel’Thuzad tightened his grip on Atiesh and the mist in his chest spooled tight in his chest. He couldn’t be afraid, he told himself. The lich looked at the raven again. The staff helped him before. Maybe it actually liked him. “What can I do?”

Atiesh sent a sympathetic pulse through their link. The staff was certainly more gentle than the other artifacts he had interacted with--

There was an explosion of mist. Kel’Thuzad felt a sudden sense of vertigo and pressure as the world grew around him. He coughed and waved away the magical residue when he froze.

A wing?

He had wings! Kel’Thuzad looked down at himself and gasped. “I’m a bird!”

This was perfect! Birds aren’t scary. He could just flit down there in a jiff.

This was a great plan, he thought, very little chance for it to blow up in his face.

Kel’Thuzad frowned (metaphorically speaking).

“I don’t know how to fly.”

Another blip of irritation from the staff resonated through their link before Kel’Thuzad felt an enormous hand push him up and forward. After a few panicked, uncoordinated flaps his body got the message and smoothed everything out.

He was flying! He barked a laugh. Titus and Modera were going to be so jealous!

After a triumphant lap around the pond he set off up the river to the ruins.

Finally, Vael would be safe.

+++++

A long gurgle brought Vael out of her stupor. A second later she realized it was her stomach.

Hungry.

Vael didn’t bother with the cupcakes. She didn’t even think she could bear to eat them. Just thinking about the bitter pink frosting made her stomach twist. Why did red flavors have to be so bitter anyway? She always pictured strawberries!

Why didn’t it taste like strawberries?

“They recommend beginners have fruit on hand if you want the flavor incorporated in the conjuration,” Doomfinger said.

“So I can make swiftthistle favored icing,” Vael said. That didn’t sound particularly appetizing. What would that even taste like?

“You’d be better off making that into a tea with the goldthorn you found. If you had a real fire that is. Or a pot”

Helpful.

“Your father usually conjures a free floating sphere of water when he’s in the field.”

Water conjuration without a container. Vael wondered if that was much harder than usual. It probably had a levitation spell associated with it that helped it keep its shape.

Her stomach grumbled again. Vael sighed and shifted into a more comfortable position. She was getting tired of sleeping outside. She wanted a warm bath. And food. Maybe something like a warm stew with a fruit cobbler for dessert.

It was getting harder to keep her eyes open. She let them close as she thought of dinner.

“Vael.”

Her mother asked if she wanted seconds.

“Vael.”

She woke with a start, drool coated her chin. A nap? How long had she been asleep? Her brain felt like it was trying to turn over. The sun had just dipped over the mountains. It didn’t feel like it had been that long.

Thrall was next to her, Doomhammer in hand, his eyes glued eastward. “Quiet,” he murmured.

Any lingering sleep flushed through her in an instant. She strained her ears listening for something, hearing nothing. No birds, no bugs, not even the wind. Just the sounds of her heart pounding in her ears.

“Put out the fire,” Thrall said quietly, “follow me and stay low.”

Vael obeyed. Her hands shook so badly it took two waves to get the fire to die out. She suspected Doomfinger may have cut her some slack on the technique.

What was out there? Had the dragon returned? She said she would leave them alone, so why go back on the deal now? Did…

Did something happen to her parents? Did her mother manage to get to this timeline only to be gobbled up or worse?

Thrall turned and grabbed her arm, yanking her up so he could sprint to the tree line. They dove behind a thicket and waited. Vael watched the clearing through the tangle of leaves, she could barely see the rock wall through the bush.

Above them came a low whistling, wing beats but not like the ones from a dragon. Those had been slow booms of wind and the snap of leather. Whatever this was was much smaller and had feathers.

It came closer and closer until it passed over them with a freezing breeze. Vael shivered. Then it touched down. She squinted through the leaves at something sort of squat and round. Was that…?

“Holy shit,” Thrall breathed.

“A goose?” Vael asked. She stood up.

There in the clearing was a goose. It had chocolatey brown feathers, a cream underside and black legs and feet. Someone had tied a lavender ribbon around its neck. “It’s a goose,” she said again.

“Get down, don’t let it see you,” Thrall hissed.

Vael gave him a look. What she couldn’t know was the childhood full of honking, hissing and biting Thrall had endured at the ‘hands’ of the feathered snakes. “That’s not what you sensed, is it?”

“It has a great aura of darkness about it,” Thrall said, “The elements told me it’s an evil spirit.”

“I don’t know about evil…” Doomfinger said. Vael thought it might say more but it trailed off into indistinct muttering.

“The elements said the goose was evil?”

“Yes- look at it. It's watching us menacingly.”

It was just standing there, “I’m going back.”

If Doomfinger wasn’t afraid of it, she wouldn’t be either.

Vael marched out of the thicket. She was tired and hungry and she wasn’t going to be bossed around by a dumb goose of all things. Doomfinger was bossy enough.

She stopped before it with her hands on her hips. The goose took a step back. “See?” she looked over her shoulder towards Thrall, “you just have to look bigger than it.”

“Good idea,” drawled a familiar voice behind her.

“Of course it…is,” Vael stopped herself and looked back down at the goose. He cocked his head and watched her with one red eye. She didn’t know what color their eyes were supposed to be but she was pretty sure they weren’t red.

“Did you just talk?”

“Maybe,” said the goose.

“It talks!”

From the bushes Thrall swore and wrestled his way out of the thicket.

“Haven’t you ever talked to a bird before?” the goose asked.

The voice was familiar, but Vael couldn’t quite place it.

“None that can talk back.” Briefly, she wondered if this was something like a fairy tale. Was she going to have to give it three loaves of rye bread under a full moon or something?

Thrall appeared at her side, Doomhammer at the ready. He eyed the goose warily, but when he noticed the ribbon he lowered his weapon.

“Are you the Guardian?” Thrall asked.

“Am I…?” the goose looked down at himself, “I’m not sure, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I suppose I could be. Oh- the Kirin Tor would hate this.”

He laughed, a laugh that should not come from a goose, “Suppose I am the Guardian, Mr. Orc.”

“You’re Medivh then?”

“Well, I didn’t say that-”

There was an explosion of arcane mist, the byproduct of large enchantments breaking all at once. Vael coughed and waved at the cloud, behind her Thrall swore.

She blinked hard then gasped.

Because what stood before her wasn’t a goose.

A skeleton loomed, dressed in necrotic robes and freezing mist. The once red and black fabric was stained rusty brown in places and dark green in others. He wore no shirt to show off his silvery bones. They looked tarnished near the spine where the nooks and grooves were caked with muck.

Vael took a step back and still had to crane her neck to look at his face. Tusks jutted out from under his cheek bones. Horns sprouted out of his brow. Fangs and carnivorous teeth filled his mouth. Scarlet witchfire burned in hollow sockets, the white dot at the center was trained on her face.

Slowly, he slid to one knee and held out a hand of bare bone tipped with inch long claws that could tear through her like tissue.

Vael didn’t know if she should cheer, scream, cry or laugh. So she did them all.

Vael darted forward before Thrall could stop her and wrapped her arms around his boney neck. She didn’t care that he was cold, or that he smelled bad. Really bad actually. He was here.

Her father was here.

Chapter Text

Vael had two specific images of her father in her mind. The first was the living man she saw in Better Botanicals, or the old albums her mother had buried in her closet. Middle aged, a kind or knowing smile, elbow deep in soil.

The other was put together from illustrations from Argent texts or the Scourge bestiary. Skeletal, dressed for war and standing behind a legion of zombies.

It never occurred to her that they were the same person.

“Give it up,” Thrall called out, “just use magic.”

“Just watch and learn,” Kel’Thuzad replied.

Kel’Thuzad, Archlich of the Scourge and former member of Dalaran’s secretive Council of Six, was trying (and so far failing) to catch a fish. He crouched, shirtless, in the river. His expensive looking pants were rolled up over his knobby knees.

Vael doubted she would ever see something like that in the Argent Dawn’s bestiary.

The water was shallow and rocky in this part of the river. Its placid surface sparkled ruby and topaz in the setting sun. Kel’Thuzad was still as a statue as he scanned the water, only the strange mist that filled his chest moved in the breeze.

“He’s crazy,” Thrall muttered.

Vael glanced over at the warchief. He sat with his back against a boulder, arms crossed, thumbs stuffed into his pits. Thrall hadn’t taken his eyes off her father since he appeared. He probably didn’t trust him. Or her, since she’d lied.

A sky blue fish broke the surface of the river, scattering amber drops. The lich lurched into action, hunched as he fought to keep his footing and his prize within snatching range. He lunged, one arm extended, the other propping himself up out of the water. Kel’Thuzad barked a triumphant laugh, then swore loudly as he splashed forward onto his ribs. After a bit of thrashing he stood, claws hooked up into the fish’s gills.

“See that?” Kel’Thuzad grinned, “easy.”

“Hmp,” Thrall’s lower lip bunched up against his tusks, “show off.”

Kel’Thuzad may have heard him because he flicked his wrist and teleported the still struggling fish into Thrall's lap. The fish caught him off guard and managed to slap him in the face with its tail before he could get a grip on the slippery thing. Vael stifled a laugh, unsuccessfully. Thrall only glared at the lich as he pulled his way up to where they sat on the rocks.

The lich’s claws skittered against the stone as he hauled himself up in one fluid motion. He was soaked, but the water didn’t drip off him. Most of it slumped away as slush. Vael even saw some of it had started to form icicles between his ribs.

“Aren’t you cold?” Vael asked, then winced. Dumb question.

“Oh yes, very,” Kel’Thuzad replied. He rubbed his arms, the bones made a clicking sound, “Can you hand me my robe?”

Vael nodded and pulled the heavy garment towards her. The lich had since washed it in the river and it now had the pungent reek of anise and tea tree, the tell tale sign of liferoot oil. Offensive, but the field-made soap still smelled better than putrid flesh.

A spell flickered red as he shrugged on the robe. The trick melted the ice and slush into steam, leaving him dry. Kel’Thuzad sighed, a picture of lich-y contentment exaggerated for her benefit. “Much better, thank you.”

Kel’Thuzad turned to look at Thrall. The warchief’s stern expression was unchanged. The short silence sapped away any of the lingering warmth from before. “Are you going to clean that?” Kel’Thuzad asked.

The lich didn’t wait for Thrall’s answer before sliding off the boulder, “Let’s go see what you were able to gather, eh? We might be able to make a nice dinner.”

The rocks were high. Kel’Thuzad stood with his arms raised, expectantly, so he could help her down. Vael was struck with how odd the sight might be. He was still barefoot (Vael could see his toes were clawed like his fingers) and he didn’t bother rolling his pants down. In fact the archlich looked a bit… silly. It reminded her more of the photo in Better Botanicals than the bestiary.

She only hesitated because of the height before sliding after him.

He caught her easily, but instead of putting her down, Kel’Thuzad shifted her to one arm and bent to retrieve his boots. Privately, Vael was grateful for the ride. Her legs were still leadened from the march earlier.

The trek back to the ruins was short, but it gave her an opportunity to get a good look at him. To see his long, sharp teeth, the pearly ivory of his tusks, and how his gray hair swirled and fell around his horns. He was becoming more than the person in her books.

“What?” he asked. He watched her out of the corner of a scarlet eye.

“You’re green,” Vael said. Between the nooks of his spine and the little hard to reach spaces of his skull was a greenish stain.

“Green!” he was careful not to knock her with a tusk or horn when he turned his head, “First I stink, now I’m green?”

“I think it's from the liferoot.”

“Ah,” he picked at a little pit on his face then shrugged, “Well, I suppose that’s not so bad.”

“Are you mad at Thrall?” Vael asked.

There had been a bit of a fight after Kel’Thuzad revealed himself. Well, to be accurate, Atiesh dispelled the polymorphic effect- she had a feeling if her father had his way he would still be a goose.

He’d been furious when he learned that Vael had spent the last four days cold, wet and with her magic dangerously depleted. A cold fury, the kind that leached into the ground and gilded the plants around him with hoarfrost. He didn’t yell. Her mother hardly yelled when she was truly angry too.

Vael thought that made it scarier.

His voice had been cool and steady. But there was an edge to his questioning. Why didn’t you have a natural fire? How far have you been marching per day? It's been how long since you had fresh water? I see…

Thrall did not enjoy his interrogation.

“Because I threw a fish at him?” Kel’Thuzad asked.

“Before that.”

He grunted, red eyes studied her face. “It was irresponsible of him, that's all. He’s friends with Jaina. He should know better than to rely on your conjured rations.”

“I was only trying to be helpful,” Vael said, her cheeks burned.

“You were,” he said as he gave her a little squeeze, “but you were the one who needed help.”

They’d arrived back at the camp. Kel’Thuzad let her slide down then he sat next to his pack and pulled out a squat roll of cloth. Vael watched as he tied one end to his shin and began to wrap down his leg.

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t look up as he wrapped his ankle with a practiced efficiency, “My feet slide around in my boots too much if I don’t wrap them.”

“Can’t you wear socks?” Vael asked. Socks seemed sensible.

“They just get shredded.”

Vael looked at his clawed feet again. She could imagine them poking through and quickly ruining any cloth. “Oh.”

She watched him tend to his other leg.

When he rolled up his sleeves he asked, “Why don’t you show me what you gathered?”

Vael obeyed. At first she pulled out the plants one by one. Then handfuls. Then she opted to turn it over and dump everything out. It took only a few minutes for her to organize everything into little piles and by that time Kel’Thuzad had wrapped his hands.

He looked over her cache and made a satisfied noise. “Lot of cranberries,” he said, mostly to himself.

“They were hurting my stomach,” Vael explained. She hadn’t had the energy nor the tools to process most of what she gathered. As a result most of it went uneaten.

Kel’Thuzad looked up, the white dot in his eyes roamed over her face. Looking for something, the truth behind her words. After a moment he let out a long breath which blew a large cloud of mist out of his skull.

“Well, this is a great collection. I think it will make a grand feast, what do you say?” he swept a hand over her organized piles, “would you like to help?”

Vael nodded, a smile bloomed. Kel’Thuzad gave her a handful of golden sansam and directed her to place the fat tubers directly on the coals, “But not too deep, don’t make me hunt for them in the fire.”

Next he pulled a short, straight knife off his belt and handed it to her. When Vael took it she could feel the static rush of magic jolt up her arm. It was a mageblade! A nice one too, its hilt was inlaid with mother of pearl and dark amber. “Can you break down these swiftthistle paddles? Here like this- watch,” he took back the mageblade and deftly popped a few thorns off the edges before handing both back to her.

But…it was so nice! Her mother would never use one of her mageblades to do something like this.

Apprehensive about nicking it, Vael was about to ask if he was certain. When she looked up the question died on her lips.

Kel'Thuzad was using his own claws and teeth to peel sticks of mageroyal.

She blinked once before looking down at her hands.

Honestly, she had no idea what to expect if they ever met, but it wasn’t this. She thought he would have been like how the Argent’s described him, cold, cruel, inhuman. Her mother had certainly thought he would be that way. In a sense, Vael believed them. The idea that he wouldn’t care to know her ate a pit in her stomach.

But then Ironforge happened. Kel’Thuzad had looked and acted like she imagined the man in her mother's photos might. He was nice to her even though they were strangers. It gave her a glimpse of what it might have been like to have a normal family.

Maybe that was why she had cried.

She got to work. The dagger was heavy and unwieldy but she did her best to preserve as much of the plant’s flesh as possible. Its neon sap stuck to her fingers and filled the air with a strong grassy smell.

Kel’Thuzad thanked her when she was done. He shredded the swiftthistle into long strips before dropping them into an old dented teapot along with some twists of goldthorn and nettles.

He had produced a few pans she noticed. All blackened with use. Vael knew that mages and wealthy adventurers often had bags that were enchanted to hold many things. Her mother had some, she was certain this was a similar case.

In one pot he tipped in a generous portion of the cranberries as well as the mageroyal hips Vael had crushed with the flat of the mageblade. He covered it and let it simmer.

“I think we can cook that fish with these wild onions,” he said, “do you like sagefish?”

Vael nodded. Sagefish weren’t very abundant down south. But in Dalaran and the surrounding townships pan fried sagefish was a common supper.

“Good-” he paused and examined the onions, “these are death camas. See how thin the bulbs are? Probably shouldn’t eat that. I don't think Modera would be very happy with me if you actually became a lichling.”

He chuckled to himself and tossed the offending plants into the fire.

Thrall rejoined them, the fish, now descaled and cleaned, dangling by its tail. “What do you want to do with this?”

Kel’Thuzad crooked a finger under his jaw and thought for a moment. “I don’t have much in the way of any spices, just salt,” he shrugged, “It’ll have to do,” he rummaged around in his pack for a moment before pulling out a bag and tossing it to Thrall, “here, but don’t go too crazy with it.”

Soon their little camp was filled with the sound and smell of sizzling fish. When the kettle whistled Vael and Thrall had a tin cup of tea. Sweet, grassy and minty, the thistle tea invigorated Vael and she was already starting to feel better than she had in days. She looked up at Kel’Thuzad who was chewing on one of the mageroyal sticks. “What's that?”

“Mageroyal absorbs magic from the ley lines. This helps me speed up my recovery,” he replied.

“So you’re weak right now?” Thrall asked.

The lich maneuvered the stick to the other side of his mouth, “If that’s what you want to think.”

Vael’s brows knit together. She’d sort of hoped they would get along- especially after Thrall had said nice things about him. Of course, the Horde and the Scourge had just engaged in a long war in Northrend…that the Scourge lost.

Maybe it was a stretch…

“The green dragons gave Thrall a magical artifact,” Vael said. She thought it might pique her father’s interest. Her mother called him a packrat by habit.

He did indeed perk up, red eyes alight with curiosity, “Did they now?”

Thrall’s lower lip bunched up against his tusks again, “It's nothing.”

“If it's a dragon made artifact it could help us get home,” Kel’Thuzad said reasonably.

Thrall scowled at the fire, debating with himself no doubt. Kel’Thuzad cocked his head and watched him like an owl might watch a mouse before striking.

Was it really so important that he didn’t want to share? Or maybe Thrall thought the Scourge having knowledge of it was dangerous for the Horde- or Azeroth as a whole. Eventually Thrall puffed out a sigh and fished through his pocket, pulling out a small drawstring cloth bag.

He tossed it in a slow arc over the fire. Kel’Thuzad caught it easily.

Vael watched his examinations. First, he held the bag in his freshly wrapped palm and poked at it with a finger. When it didn't react he loosed the drawstrings and picked it out with the tips of his claws.

She wished she could read his face for a clue to the acorn’s nature. She thought hard and imagined his thoughts -

Round with a tapered end, nutty brown, a cute woody cap.

“An acorn?” he asked after a long moment.

Thrall crossed his arms over his chest, “The dragon said it was very important.”

“I see,” he replied. Kel’Thuzad continued his examinations, tapping it to his tusk before giving it a sniff. Satisfied, he placed it back in its bag, “How did you come across this?”

Thrall recounted the story of how Ysera approached him with the plight of the Kaldorei in Feralas and how the green dragon, Desharin, gifted it to him before bringing him to the Caverns of Time.

Vael could see the lich’s eyes glaze over.

“It's just an acorn,” Kel’Thuzad said.

“Desharin said it contains all the knowledge of the tree that came before, and the one before that, going back to the birth of life!" Thrall said, “You just don’t get it because you're undead.”

“I am a botanist, I know how reproduction works.”

“This one is magic,” Thrall jumped up and Vael could see color darkening the bridge of his nose as he began to pace, “Why else would Ysera want me to go on that errand?”

“It’s an honor to be approached by a dragon aspect,” Kel’Thuzad offered.

“I am- was the Warchief of the Horde,” Thrall spat. The way he paced behind the fire reminded Vael of a lion she’d seen at the zoo. He’d seemed embarrassed to be there but certain it was only temporary. “I don’t run errands for anyone.”

“If an aspect asked me for help, I would gladly give it.”

“Feh, what would a dragon want from you? To raise the dead?”

Vael glanced at her father. His face was just a skull, but she could tell he was making a face at Thrall.

“I can do other things, you know,” he said dryly, “Just last year I grew a pineapple in Naxxramas. I dare you to find anyone else north of Stranglethorn who can do that.”

Thrall rolled his eyes. His back was turned to the lich but Vael could still see it. This wasn’t really turning out like she thought it might.

Eventually, Kel’Thuzad cleared his throat. “I don’t know if it's magical per say, but it might be about magic of the spiritual variety. As in, you’ll watch it grow and appreciate that the tree will continue on after you pass away. Like, how your deeds will live on after you,” Kel’Thuzad tossed the pouch back, “maybe Ysera thought you needed to hear that lesson.”

The ex-warchief looked a bit crestfallen at that.

“What if it’s just off?” Vael asked.

“Off?” Kel’Thuzad asked. They shared a look. Vael couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but she hoped he might get her gist. He ran the curve of his claw down a tusk, “I hadn’t considered that.”

“Can that happen?” Thrall asked.

“It’s possible for an enchanted artifact to lay dormant unless exposed to certain conditions,” he reached over and carefully flipped the fish, “Maybe it's just waiting for that special time.”

Thrall tucked the acorn back into its special place in his jacket next to his heart. Maybe it really was magical.

Dinner was served shortly after. Vael stared at her loaded tin plate of seared sagefish, buttery roasted sansams with a tart cranberry sauce. Kel’Thuzad even conjured some rolls for them, crunchy on the outside and pillowy soft on the inside (with butter).

They tucked in with gusto, thankful for real food after days of mana cakes. Vael wasn’t sure what she liked the most, but she did like the combo of the bread, sauce and fish. Sort of got all the flavors at the same time. She looked up, still chewing, only to find her father staring at her. Chewing slowed. Then she swallowed.

It was weird.

“...How is it?”

“A little bland,” Thrall said.

Kel’Thuzad ignored him.

“Good, I like it,” Vael said, “I wish you could have something.”

He made a thinking sound, head tilted to the side, “I must confess, all this running around has got me positively famished. Thrall says your conjurations are top notch. Can you make me one?”

Vael blinked. He wanted her to conjure him food? “You can eat?”

“Some things better than others.”

She didn’t know that. Where did it go? Vael wondered. She stole glances at his ribs and the frigid mist floating within. Did it just hang in there?

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine. I suppose I can just… starve,” he sighed dramatically, expelling a plume of mist.

Again she wondered what that might look like, he was already a skeleton. It's not like he could get much thinner.

Vael brought her hands together and drew the magic from within herself. A belly full of mana-enriched food lended her an abundance of power to draw upon. She felt better than she had in days and when she conjured the cupcake she felt none of the worn, hollow feeling that usually followed.

Kel’Thuzad accepted the pastry with the tips of his claws. Like with the acorn, she watched him sniff it and bring it close to one of his tusks then look at it this way and that. Her eyes went wide when he opened his mouth and brought it close to his sharp teeth. Was he really going to take a bite?

No. He paused, red eyes glancing at her expression and chuckled. “You just want to see me make a mess.”

He swiped the icing with a claw and Vael watched him rub it into the bone on the inside of his jaw. Little bits of pink squished out onto the other side of his back teeth. The rest of the cupcake dissolved into a tiny mote of mana that sank into his palm and became part of his subtle glow.

“Very good, thank you,” Kel’Thuzad rested his chin on his palm and thought for a moment. Vael couldn’t help shake the feeling that she was being studied.

“The icing is bitter,” she offered.

He tsked, “Don’t do that. Let your teacher- or me or your mother, tell you first,” he replied, “Most instructors don’t grade on taste. They might not have commented on it at all, except now they have a reason to because it's been brought up. That could be the difference between a pass and a fail.”

Vael hesitated, then nodded. He wasn’t actually hungry, she realized, he was trying to teach her something. She brightened up. They were having a magic lesson!

“What I was going to say, is that I see no issues with it structurally. It would already get you a pass on your first year examination.”

Vael beamed, he was impressed!

“But it is bitter and a little on the weaker side. I can see why you had to make so many,” Kel’Thuzad said, “What is the icing supposed to taste like?”

“Strawberry,” she replied, “Aunt Mimi uses jam in hers. Doomfinger said red always turns out bitter if you don’t have fruit on hand. It also said that we can make the icing any flavor- even swiftthistle if I tried.”

Kel’Thuzad sniffed a laugh, again mist puffed out from between his teeth, “That's true. We can try to change the flavor if you like.”

Vael nodded, then hesitated, “What would we use?” They had eaten all the cranberries and she didn’t have anything else that wouldn’t taste like grass.

More thinking as he tapped a claw against a tooth. His eyes brightened and the lich rummaged around in his pocket before pulling out a little wrapped candy. “Here,” he said, dropping it into her hand, “we can try with some of these.”

It was one of those strawberry candies with a gooey center. Her mother has these in her office… and she realized that's probably where it came from. Although… he was old. Old people were known to carry hard candies around with them.

But, she never considered that a lord of the Scourge might.

There were a few extra steps she had to go through before she could even attempt to fix the frosting. First Kel’Thuzad had her draw out the spell diagram for conjured food, then he quizzed her on how each of the steps in the chain worked together. She must have passed because he then gave her a little lecture on two ways to add things to conjurations.

“So you can’t have fruit and a very powerful conjuration?” Thrall asked. The orc lounged against a stump and watched Kel’Thuzad scratch out an equation in the dirt.

“The spell does have a tendency to unravel if the caster tries to do too much with it,” he explained, “that’s why more seasoned mages claim to make ‘sourdough.’ Their focus is on replenishment not taste, and magic can taste sour.”

Kel’Thuzad turned back to her and once again the dissonance of the situation struck. Again, he was a lich. A creature of death. Supposedly a sophisticated one. But he was also sitting cross legged in the dirt with pink frosting sticking out between his teeth. There were green smudges on his bones and his gray hair was windblown into disarray. Vael thought he looked more like the photos in her mother’s books.

Next to her Thrall crunched down on a candy and made a face, “The inside is waxy.”

“The syrup congeals when chilled,” Kel’Thuzad did not turn and his reply was flat. He motioned to his chicken scratch, “What do you think? Ready to give it a go?”

She nodded.

“Good. Make sure you unwrap it first, wouldn’t want it to taste like paper.”

Vael took a breath and drew her magic again, this time taking care to let it pass over the candy in her hands. The cupcake she conjured looked the same as every other one she had created. White cake, pink frosting. She gave the frosting a lick. Instead of a bitter, chemical taste, the icing was sweet. But it didn’t exactly taste like strawberry. “It tastes like fruit…wax.”

“Let me see,” Kel’Thuzad rubbed another bit of it into his jaw, “That is interesting. Try again, I think you’re getting close.”

So Vael conjured three more, the second one was somehow worse, bringing back the waxy texture and the astringent taste. The third one had the correct strawberry candy taste and the last one had the taste and the proper texture.

“I did it, I did it!” she leapt up and threw her arms around his ribs, “Did you see?”

Kel’Thuzad chuckled, “Of course, with practice and study you’ll be an archmage in no time.”

She looked up, his jaws were parted a bit and she thought it might be a smile- at least different from the normal rictus he sported. Vael tried to swallow her own smile. She couldn’t help but feel a little proud. Maybe a bit more than a little proud if she was honest with herself.

+++++

Kel’Thuzad could feel the slight pressure from Vael tightening her hold on him. She had a good grip, but she was a far cry from Patchwerk. The abomination was a firm believer in bone crushing hugs. He had to be gentle though. She was just a child and he didn’t want to hurt her or scare her.

Well, she wasn’t just a child. She was his child.

And she was a quick learner. “I wish I had more students like you,” he confessed, “students these days can be so tedious.”

He frequented all the major hubs of magical learning within and outside of the Scourge. Most mages had small goals, and lacked curiosity - a terrible quality. By his observations most of the students were either grubby ham radio enthusiasts or preoccupied with their own perverse fixations. Like Cassy’s friend Eugenia.

Kel’Thuzad never had a true apprentice during his time in Dalaran. He’d wanted Jaina, badly. But Antonitas caught wind of his intentions and out maneuvered him. Then when he founded the Cult, his position prevented him taking an apprentice, lest it be a mark of favoritism.

Now, he tutored Ghastly and the drake was a joy to teach, but he would spread his wings soon to leave his little nest. It would be the same with Vael. Modera would never let him teach her. But even if he could, Vael would have to fly away some day to be taught by someone ‘respectable’.

“If you work hard you might catch the eye of one of the other councilors,” Kel’Thuzad said, “Hopefully Ansirem if he sticks around for a few more years. Stay clear of Drenden and Aethas.”

Vael looked up at him, “You don’t like Aethas?”

“I just don’t think he is a very good teacher,” he deflected with a smooth half-lie, “I do hate Drenden though.” Stupid name, too.

Vael watched the mist in his chest swirl, “Mom wants to send me to Stormwind. I want to study in Dalaran.”

“I know,” he rubbed her back. Vael looked bone tired. The excitement from their little lesson had drained whatever second wind she had been granted by his arrival. The thistle tea would be perfect as a morning pick-me-up.

Night had fallen before dinner and it was late for someone who had ruck-marched all over the foothills. Vael was soon tucked away into an old quilt to sleep. Better than Thrall’s oilskin that she’d been using for the last few days.

He returned to the ‘kitchen’ fire where Thrall sat in apparent meditation. Kel’Thuzad sat too and considered communing with Atiesh. He wasn’t tired and assumed since he didn’t need to sleep he would be the one keeping watch all night. But before he could do anything, Thrall opened his eyes.

The two men stared at each other, quiet for a long moment. Irritation still sparked at the thought of Vael draining herself to the brink because of his negligence. But Vael also worried he would ‘be mean’ to the warchief.

He sniffed, a small puff of mist escaped between his teeth. He had done much meaner things to Thrall than throw a fish at him during his tenure as Archlich.

But, for her, and since they all needed to cooperate to get home, he would make an effort to get along.

“If you’re wondering if I am going to kill you, don’t. The Bronzes were explicit when they said I was to retrieve you alive,” Kel’Thuzad said in orcish, “I must confess I was quite pleased when I found you two together, because I really had no way of locating you otherwise.”

“Oh, good.”

“Indeed,” Kel’Thuzad leaned forward and rested his chin on his palm. Here was Thrall, ex-Warchief of the Horde. Liberator. Technically they were enemies. On paper at least. Kel’Thuzad had no real reason to dislike Thrall personally- or the Orcs in general. Sure he’d fought them in the Second War. But they drew his curiosity. He liked things that drew his curiosity.

As far as the Horde was concerned, Kel’Thuzad only really harbored negative feelings towards the Forsaken. They were unstable and dangerous.

He didn’t know if he could say the same for Thrall. Jaina was Thrall’s friend, she called him betrayer. Sylvanas- Kel’Thuzad doubted Thrall knew of their secret dealings. But even those weren’t enough to garner any sort of good will towards him. Plus…there was the time that he had led an assault on the Horde’s forward outpost in the Tundra.

And of course the recent destruction of Venomspite.

Kel’Thuzad suppressed a shudder. So maybe there were a few reasons for Thrall to dislike him. The lich had a feeling that he was going to have to do more than make him a home cooked meal if he wanted his trust.

“You have a strange accent,” Thrall said.

“I suppose there aren’t many orcs from the Shadowmoon Clan left,” Kel’Thuzad replied. He looked down and flicked a few pebbles with a claw, “that’s where all my teachers were from.”

“You used to see Bart in the keep,” Thrall said, “He would sneak cookies to me and tell me stories from Draenor. And about Rek’az the mage who was going to get himself in trouble.”

Kel’Thuzad huffed a laugh, expelling a cloud of mist. Silly human, “A good orcish name for me, wouldn’t you agree?”

Thrall, perhaps wisely, didn’t answer.

They fell silent, the babble of the river and calls of the night birds passed for conversation. Kel’Thuzad looked down at his notes from the earlier lesson. The symbols were still etched in the dirt.

The magical language stripped down to its base shared its vocabulary with many schools at this level. But not every tradition wrote their spells down. A fact the lich had to deal with when he was first pressed into Ner’zhul’s service.

Kel’Thuzad motioned to the diagram, an idea, a curiosity, percolating. “I saw you were following along with the lesson earlier. Who taught you to read a spell diagram?”

He furtively looked away, “Why do you think I can?”

“It’s not a secret language,” Kel’Thuzad said with a chuckle, “no one will punish you for knowing.”

“Jaina. She’s the best magic user I know and I wanted to understand how it worked.”

“Your teacher's answers were unsatisfactory?”

“No- they were fine. Well, I didn’t have much time for their council back then,” Thrall rubbed the back of his neck, no doubt running the Horde interfered with his spiritual growth. “They had their own problems too. Most had been cut off from the elements for so long…”

Kel’Thuzad nodded. Few old shaman remained from before the rise of the old Horde. Whatever Gul’dan did to sever their connection to the elements was permanent. At least for those who drank the blood of demons.

And now…Deathwing’s madness threw Azeroth’s elements into disarray. At least according to the reports he read. Kel’Thuzad’s gaze slid to the fire. If Thrall couldn’t communicate with the elements or his connection was out of balance then it could explain why they had relied on Vael’s wand fire.

He tapped a tooth. Of course that didn’t exactly explain why they hadn't started one the old- fashioned way…

“Ner’zhul’s severance was a common point of conversation. He dreamed often of their guidance,” which became his own dreams for a time, “Here let me show you something.”

Kel’Thuzad scratched out an equation, paused, smoothed it out and re-drew it. Another examination before he was satisfied. He scooted to the side and looked up expectantly. Unfortunately Thrall was forced to leave the comfort of his stump.

Thrall rested his chin on his fist and furrowed his brow. Kel’Thuzad watched Thrall’s eyes roam through the diagram, recognition and realization clear. He looked up sharply, “What is this?”

“Have you ever tried to map out a shaman’s spell?”

“Is that what this is?”

“Yes. It’s the base form for a fire spell. Here is where the modifier goes if the caster is deep in nah lok’osh,” Kel’Thuzad replied as he indicated a section with a claw.

“You know about that?”

“Naturally,” spirit-song's dance, a trance-like state that allowed the shaman and his elemental patron to synchronize their power on the physical plane. Dangerous long term, but few could maintain the state for long enough to burn out. Kel’Thuzad had been on the receiving end of a few gouts of lava enough to know its potency.

“Vael did say her father knew about orcish shamanism. I shouldn’t have been surprised when turned out it was you.”’

Kel’Thuzad crossed his arms, “Of course it was me,” he said, full of faux outrage, “Who else could it have been? And don’t say Arthas. That boy knew appallingly little about it even after they merged.”

“She also doesn’t look like him.”

“That too.”

“What is this part here?” Thrall asked, pointing to three triangles, the one in the center missing its bottom, “I’ve never seen this.”

“Ah, that is the caster acting as a bridge between the leyline and fire,” Kel’Thuzad explained, “It shares the shape of fire with the other triangles but operates on a different level of matter. The caster essentially takes the role of the missing elemental patron. Metaphysically speaking. See- I even included this limiter so the caster can’t overdraw from the leyline and combust.”

The lich lord looked up from the diagram to find Thrall examining the spell’s casting parameters. 

“I always said, ‘if you can map it you can cast it.’ When you have to make an army of necromancers fast you start thinking of ways to make magic more...intuitive,” Kel’Thuzad said with a shrug, “There's a reason why almost anyone can pick up and cast the spells we commonly associate with death knights. They’re designed that way.”

“You’re saying you could actually teach me how to do that purple, grabby lasso thing?”

Boiling blood, harnessing the winter wind, summoning hordes of zombies- and Thrall’s first choice was how to magically pull things towards him. Kel’Thuzad chuckled. He would probably be an excellent death knight. He was tempted, briefly, to disobey the bronze dragons but thought better of it. Modera would be too cross. “Yes, if that's what you want.”

For a moment Thrall seriously considered it, before growing grave. He shook his head, “I shouldn’t. It would be wrong. Even this,” he motioned to the map, “If I tried to circumvent the elements my teacher would call it a perversion.”

“Ner’zhul felt the same way. Said it was ‘unnatural’,” Kel’Thuzad replied with a shrug.

“Why are you showing me all this?”

“It’s interesting. I thought you might want to see a different perspective. Ner’zhul was stuck in a block of ice. His view was limited.”

“Perspective…” Thrall pulled the small drawstring bag out of his breast pocket and gently tipped the acorn into his palm. He stared at it for a long moment. “This has all the knowledge of every tree that came before it.”

Kel’Thuzad nodded. It was a seed after all.

“Someday it could grow into a tree,” he closed his fist around the acorn, “but it doesn’t need to be told how, it already has that power.”

“Correct.”

Thrall looked at the spell map again before placing the acorn back into his pocket. Kel’Thuzad watched the wheels turning in the orc’s head and smiled to himself. It looked like Thrall may be an interesting student too.

Chapter Text

Teradormi folded the fabric of space. The world bunched up around her like a rumpled tablecloth. Matter collided: trees, streams, little farmsteads, until it was an unintelligible blur of beige that stank of pine and manure.

Then.

She stepped forward into a courtyard. With a rush of sound the world snapped back into place. It was easier for a bronze dragon to travel this way. Without an anchor a portal would be almost impossible. Those were for mortals anyway.

Teradormi donned her mortal guise. A high elf. She drew a hand through long, auburn hair. All self respecting dragons should have high elven visages. Many of her bronze cousins, and some of her new family, preferred gnomes (gnomes). They claimed the small size made the form ideal for traveling within the time streams and observing what was beneath the notice of elves and humans. Perverts!

Action trumped observation. That’s why she would win her master’s favor.

Teradormi let the last strands of her hair slip through her fingers. To her chagrin it still mirrored her original scaleage and not her current electric-white mane. No matter.

There was time on the wind. But it wasn’t the ripe scent of possibility, savory, pruney. Her eyes widened.

“No,” she hissed under her breath.

It was wrong! The magic that pulled her here was supposed to be vibrant! Shining bronze in the sunlight! Instead, there was… nothing. It was stale and spent. A long sigh in a municipal building. The dead time that sank to the dank corners of the Caverns where the culled timestreams withered.

Where was the focus? Teradormi paced the courtyard, her strides long and smooth despite her rising panic. The focus had to be here. The signature wouldn’t be so strong if it weren’t. It wouldn’t be so wrong.

She closed her eyes and concentrated. Waiting for the tell tale pricks along her lips and jaw that signified magic. It only took half a turn before she felt it- there to her left. Just a hint of gold among the grass.

She knelt next to a greasy black smudge that reeked of organic putrefaction. Carefully she brushed her hand against the green, letting the specks of bronze cling to her fingers. One by one they winked out, evaporating like morning mist. Teradormi let her hand drop onto the hourglass’s bronze frame.

Broken.

Teradormi stopped time and screamed.

+++

Trapped! They were all trapped! There was no telling how long the bronzes would leave this timeline in operation before they cycled it.

Teradormi glared at the patrolling soldiers. Hidden in a subtime bubble nothing would be able to detect her. She was a ghost, half a step out of phase. She took in a deep breath, held it, and exhaled.

There was no need to panic. The bronzes still needed Thrall. She doubted they would substitute such an important Prime. She suspected they learned their lesson with Kael’Thas after ‘the incident’.

But that didn’t mean the bronzes would help her! Not that they could because the timeway was sealed. Sealed! Heat crept up her neck. Teradormi thought she might vomit. She sat on the bench for a moment before electric anger shot up her spine.

How dare those mortals! Those - those children! Careless children! She growled, a lion trapped in a gilded cage. Unfortunately one of her own making. The irony was lost on the dragon as she prowled the courtyard.

But- she stopped and stood stock still as inspiration struck. Children they may be, but the mages were powerful. Maybe they could help each other? Teradormi still had their whelping. She could give her back.

Teradormi sat heavily on the bench, the wood creaked against her. She was really trapped here. She…failed. Her master would never see the genius of her design if she was locked in this backwater offshoot.

She kicked at a rock and watched it stutter away, caught between her time dilation field and real time. Bronze (and Infinite) dragons were masters of time magic. Unfortunately, this came at the cost to other disciplines. Besides that, the magic drew from the caverns itself. She could rip a hole in reality, yes, but only with the power and support of the master’s hourglass. Cut off from its power here, her skills were reduced to mere party tricks. For a dragon at least.

But, Kel’Thuzad and Modera were trapped too. She leaned forward, elbows propped up on her knees and steepled her fingers. They were powerful archmages…masters of their own magical traditions. How would they escape?

Teradormi didn’t know much about how humans understood magic. But, that might not be necessary. Instead of thinking about how she focused on the where.

They would no doubt want to use a place where the planar fabric was already weakened for a ritual. And it would need to be in an isolated place- an endeavor like this would need space and privacy. It would also need to be near a confluence of power, such as several intersecting ley lines. A few places came to mind:

Coldarra in Northrend, Malygos’s seat of power. But there was no way for them to travel there quickly.

There was an Emerald Waygate over the mountain, but none of them were druids or green dragons. Teradormi did not know enough about the Emerald Dream to navigate its vagaries without help and doubted they would risk it.

Karazhan? They would have to clear the entire tower of demons and ghosts.

That left just one option.

A smile crept across her face. Of course, it was perfect. Another reason why she was her master’s favored pupil. She just needed to guide the mages to this conclusion. As if they would ever have figured this out on their own.

She eyed the shattered hourglass and smiled. All the players she needed were right here.

It was just a matter of approaching them. For that, Teradormi would need to run her models. It was a simple task for a bronze dragon to create a small bubble of reality and test the causal loops within it. But she would need to be careful with how much power she fed into the spell now that the way to the caverns was sealed off.

In her mind’s eye, Teradormi would enter the keep- easily. There were no places where dragons didn’t belong. It would be a simple task to track down the mages, a swarthy, older man leaning against Atiesh, Kel’Thuzad, and a stern woman, Modera. Except, Teradomi frowned, they did not seem convinced of her story. In fact- Teradormi gasped, she was being arrested! Pinioned by two burly orcs wearing suppressor gauntlets!

She blinked and ended the simulation. Something wasn’t right. No, that’s not true. It was just the first pass. Almost no plans survived the first model.

Assured, Teradormi ran a second pass. This time she allowed the mages to approach her. She was mindful of the delivery of her plan, steering clear of any language that could tip her hand. This time it went on for five more minutes before the orcs came to haul her away.

Drat! Maybe they were the key to this? Third try, Teradormi skulked about in her bubble until she located the orcs and dealt with them. Now there would be no issues convincing the mages. She was almost certain she identified their hesitation points in her scheme. This time she would be less aggressive. When she arrived in the drawing room to confront the two she stopped. Their whelp was with them?

But that meant-

Teradormi was ripped from her simulation by a pair of dark iron gauntlets. The orcs! The dampening power of the metal clamped down on her magic, shutting it off. As long as they held her she couldn’t even shift back into her draconic form.

“This courtyard is just so interesting today,” came a now familiar voice.

Tall, lean and severe. He had that lethal aspect some human mages developed as they grew into their power. Of course to a dragon, one human was rarely dangerous. Even a lich with limited offensive capabilities should be no threat. Teradormi’s gnawed wings itched in protest.

Kel’Thuzad smiled. It brought no warmth to his eyes.

“First I find a second wife. Then we happen upon a dragon with the same magical signature as the one found at Blackmore’s last known location. What do you think of that Varok?”

A third orc, this one dressed in a kimono, rubbed his thumb along his jaw, “I think they’re connected.”

“I think you might be right,” Kel’Thuzad said, “but I’m curious as to how.”

“You found the second Modera,” Teradormi said. Maybe she didn’t need the Primes after all, maybe this world’s Kel’Thuzad would help her, “but aren’t you curious about the second Kel’Thuzad?”

“That beast squatting in the old troll ruins?”

He knew where the prime was? Teradormi paled, how long had he been tracking… himself?

He raised an eyebrow, “I suppose I am. But he hasn’t done anything except visit a few townships and rack up a tab at the Bayberry. You, however, have much to answer for.”

Beside him Varok motioned for the orcs to move. Just like in her simulations, Teradormi was being arrested.

++++

Modera held her breath, tongue stuck between her teeth. She was an archeologist. She could crack any arcane encryption and outsmart any ancient enchantment. A hairpin and a spark of power would help her short this barrier. She just needed to feed it into the corner like so-

Snap.

Modera swore under her breath. Across the hall Rivendare groaned.

“You know why they didn’t take your bobby pins? Because that doesn’t work.”

It worked on Titan fields - and in the books! She flicked away the broken pin and scowled at the shimmering purple barrier. She and Rivendare were in jail. Apparently he was a famous wanted bandit. She was just an unexplainable second Modera, in unexplainable armor with unexplainable weapons. Those were all confiscated, leaving her with nothing but her union underwear.

Rivendare was just stripped of that clown suit he called armor. It wasn’t fair.

“Can’t you contact Kel’Thuzad?” Modera asked.

“How would I do that? You killed him.”

“I did not,” she was almost certain he was alive- undead, again. She pointed to her temple, “Telepathically? I thought you were all psychically connected.”

“It doesn’t work that way. It just goes downstream for him. Besides, I'm independently undead. We aren't even connected.”

She pressed the heels of her palm into her eyes and groaned. This was not going well at all. Modera had spotted James Vishas (the interrogator) on the way in. She did not want to get tortured!

She winced at a sudden sharp throb. The headache was just more proof that Kel’Thuzad was alive. Undead. Still among the living, whatever. There wouldn’t have been as much of a backlash for teleporting a living mage, even someone as powerful as one of them. The bronze dragons said that the timeline would conform to them if the hourglass broke. In all likelihood, that's what she experienced.

“How are we going to escape,” she said, mostly to herself. Modera looked over at the death knight who was practically lounging in his cell, “do you remember how you got down here?”

Rivendare glanced up at the damp stones and shrugged, “I didn’t need to. We’re in the Scholomance.”

“Really?”

“Well. No, it doesn't exist here. We are in wine cellar-two though. If this was Scholo it would be full of exploding zombies.”

Modera frowned, “Why would there be a room full of exploding zombies?”

“Gotta put ‘em somewhere.”

Obtuse arse. If they were actually in the ersatz-Scholomance then that also meant they were close to the Barov family crypts. “Can you raise some zombies to get us out? Perhaps some of the exploding variety?”

He didn’t answer right away. Modera watched him poke the barrier in his cell. It sizzled at his touch and illuminated his ghoulish face with flashes of purple, but he did not pull away.

“Making zombies isn't the answer to everything,” Rivendare said.

“So…you can’t?”

“Don’t you have some sort of moral compunction against this sort of thing?”

“I thought you were one of the best death knights in Naxxramas- no the world.”

Rivendare tapped the barrier again and grinned, “So maybe I’m not a master necromancer. But I bet you I’ll get out of this cell first.”

Modera blew one of the flyaways off of her face and went back to planning her escape.

How would Kel’Thuzad escape this magical cell? Maybe she could tap into his outside-the-box thinking. Kel’Thuzad did creatively use a void zone to phase through the floor near her office. Modera paced, the purple light from the barrier flickered across her face. She’d never cast anything like that. And it was shadow magic. Not typically taught in Dalaran’s halls and outside of her studies.

Maybe she could try fabricating a rudimentary lathe with one of her bobby pins.

“You know when I beat you, you’re going to have to do something for me,” Rivendare called out, “That’s how bets work you know.”

“I’m not going to lose,” Modera replied. She didn’t look up, instead she unfocused her eyes and tried to work out the barrier’s cycle pattern, “Do you think Ghastly is alright?” The boy hadn’t been with Rivendare when she came to.

“He slipped away in the scuffle. That boy’s smart. He’s probably in the middle of a SIC right now.”

“That's- what?”

“You know,” Rivendare shrugged, “doesn’t the Kirin Tor have recon protocols?”

Modera looked up with a glare, “For commandos not children!”

He waved her off and went back to examining the shimmering barrier. Modera scowled. What the hell could he even do to-

A filmy green bubble sprang up around the death knight. Sickly runes flared as he passed through the holding spell, unscathed.

Rivendare barked a laugh, “It worked!”

“What- how did you do that?” Damn it!

“Not much of a mage hunter are you?” Rivendare asked, “don’t look so surprised, I am the best.”

“Can you get me out?”

He sauntered up to her cell and pretended to think, “You? With this? Maybe. Interesting thought. Unfortunately you’ll have to answer my question first.”

A sour expression was not much of a deterrent when one was locked in a magical cell and magically drained. Her feet were starting to freeze on the damp stones. She stood on one foot and waved for him to ask his no doubt degrading question.

Rivendare steepled his fingers together and thought for a moment, then pointed to her, “How did you get into Naxxramas?”

Maybe not so degrading? “What do you mean?”

“Answer the question please, this is official Party Planning Committee business.”

“What-”

“You don’t want to know,” he said, darkly.

Modera explained how she found Kel’Thuzad’s scourge stone in Vael’s room and used it to teleport directly into the lich’s apartment at the top of Naxxramas. To her surprise Rivendare was relieved.

“Good. I was worried he had done something rash. We’d just had a row about- you know,” he waved off the thought.

That must be why his flat looked like it had been ransacked by mercenaries. When she first appeared, Modera almost thought the teleportation runes had been defective. It wasn’t until she happened upon the lich in his underwear did she realize it was his apartment. She never did learn what the hell he was doing.

“You thought Kel’Thuzad abducted me?”

“Yes,” Rivendare said with a shrug, “Although, I suppose you two wouldn’t be making goo-goo eyes at each other if that were the case.”

“We are not,” she said evenly. Modera would not debase herself by saying ‘goo-goo eyes’. They were not doing that in any case. She just… had a lapse in judgement.

“No? Why don’t you tell me what happened the other night then?”

She scoffed and threw him a lopsided smirk, “You’re going to have to win another bet if you want any more information.”

“That should be easy-” The scrape of a lock opening down the hall cut him off. Rivendare summoned his spell again and jumped into Modera’s cell.

“Oh, goodie. Now we’ll both be tortured.”

He shushed her and waited while someone shuffled down the hall.

Shuffle was the correct term. It took an intolerable long time for their jailor to appear. Modera’s eyes widened at the sight of James Vishas.

He was a horror. Blood soaked his leather apron; it looked like he had taken a direct hit from an arterial spray. Several of them. He was a Tel, like Kel’Thuzad, but his skin was ashen and dull. Perhaps administering the royal dungeons kept him out of the light?

“How did you two get in the same cell?” he asked, his voice was a step above a gurgle.

Modera paled, she didn’t think of that. Rivendare only scowled.

“No matter, everyone talks after processing.”

Processing? Processing! Rivendare scoffed and rolled his eyes, “Give it up, Ghastly.”

James’s eyes widened, “No fair, how did you know?”

He stepped into the light of the barrier and Modera could see the large rents in his throat disappearing under the bloody apron. The man was dead! His corpse was being necromantically piloted.

“Only the Scourge threatens to process people,” Rivendare said, turning to Modera he added, “Naturally, everyone talks when they’re a corpse.”

Vishas’s body leaned forward with a twisted smile as Ghastly explained how he found a drowned rat in a rain barrel-- and Modera decided she didn’t need to hear more. The claw marks on Vishas told her enough. She shifted to one foot, her feet were cold and wet in the cell. Why the hell didn’t she realize it was a zombie?

Or was Ghastly’s spellwork just that sophisticated? She shifted back to her other foot. Exactly how early did the Cult of the Damned start their children’s magical training? Modera recalled the demented science fair Ghastly had mentioned with a frown. Another child Vael’s age won with a presentation on innervation. Advanced.

And here she had done precious little training with her own daughter. Of course a small part of her had hoped Vael might pursue a more mundane career- but the fact that there was a ten year old out there that could raise a skeleton with a pristine nervous system and hers couldn’t was vaguely unacceptable.

Ghastly pushed a food tray through. On it were two sets of manacles, one spelled for magical repression.

“Put those on while I unlock the cell,” he rasped, “I’m on the roof, we can fly away.”

Modera balked at the manacles. Dampening so soon after experiencing a backlash would hamper her recovery. They might even drain away what little mana she had been able to replenish, “Do we need to?”

Ghastly hesitated and looked to Rivendare for help. The effect was ghoulish on the puppeted Vishas. “Yes,” Rivendare replied, “For the illusion. He has to look like he is in charge.”

It barely looked like he could stand up properly. It was possible this was the limit of Ghastly’s abilities as a novice. Modera doubted this farce would stand up to scrutiny should someone encounter them. She put the cuffs on.

The dampening effect was immediate. And itchy. There wasn’t much she could do, magically, to get these off, “Do you have the keys for these?” Modera asked.

Ghastly patted the corpses' pockets, “I think so. We should hurry, I don’t know how long my spell will last.”

Maybe it was a good idea to keep her bobby pins close, just in case.

The barrier fell once Rivendare’s restraints were in place. Ghastly stepped back and allowed them to walk ahead of him like a good little jailer.

They weaved between the cramped rows of the wine cellar. It was hard to believe this place might be filled with exploding zombies. Before the Scourge, it was the sort of place people used to sneak off to to kiss at parties. Modera wondered if the students of the Scholomance still came here for that.

“I’m sure the rotten flesh helps with the ambiance” Modera muttered as they began to climb a set of stairs.

“What?” Rivendare asked.

“How are we going to get up to the roof?” she asked, “the keep is still on top of us.”

“I can get us up there, I’m the chief interrogator,” Ghastly said.

Rivendare stopped and turned to look at him. He frowned, “Wait, hold on now. What does Kel’Thuzad always say?”

“A better world is possible,” Ghastly replied.

“Try again.”

“...Never take the first offer?”

Modera sniffed a laugh, he did say that.

“No, Blighterghast,” Rivendare admonished, “Always have a Plan C. Do you even have a Plan B?”

“Yes!” When Ghastly crossed his arms, the corpse’s head lulled to the side, “We can go through the servant's entrance.”

“That’s on the other side of the building!” Rivendare threw his manacled hands up, “why don’t you meet us at the balcony?”

“I can’t. The spell will break if I stop channeling.”

And then there would be no escort. They were stuck. Modera maneuvered a bobby pin into the lock of her manacles. Vael would never get us into this situation.

“Oi, Gaffa!”

They froze, and the blood drained out of Modera’s face. It had already been drained out of the mens’. Two of the largest orcs Modera had ever seen were walking towards them. Their necks were almost as thick as her thigh. They wore ornate gauntlets made out of a dull brown metal that went up past their elbows. Dark Iron. It was rarer nowadays with the situation in the dwarven kingdoms, but the mysterious metal was known for its magical damping properties. Which meant the high elven woman they were frog marching towards them was probably a dangerous caster.

“Where are you taking these ones then?” the orc with a tusk piercing asked.

Ghastly placed a scarred hand against his throat, “The Doctor’s room for interrogation.”

The orc guffawed and leered at Rivendare, “I guess your papa’s not playing any games, pretty boy.”

Modera couldn’t help but look at their elvish prisoner. Her auburn hair was un-coiffed, and if a look could kill her poisonous blue eyes would be stabbing her. Modera let her brows knit together. Why would an elf need these restraints? Modera was an archmage, a powerful one, the manacles worked fine.

Unless she wasn’t an elf.

The other guard frowned and took a closer look at Ghastly, “You feeling alright, Jamie? You look a little green around the gills there.”

Ghastly cleared his throat, something dark and green oozed out between his fingers. Uh oh. Sensing the conversation was about to take a turn for the worst, Modera fiddled with her bobby pin.

“Oh that?” he slurred, “Er, just some bad chicken.”

“Why don’t you let us take the prisoners?”

“No I’m working-”

“I know things are rough with Nancy but- erragh!” The guard's hand sank into the flesh of Vishas’s shoulder and came away black, “What’s wrong with you!”

Then something terrible happened. The orcs let go of their prisoner.

++++

With a surge of unholy strength Rivendare wrenched the manacles apart and shoved the decaying Vishas into the elf, “Get to the balcony!”

He grabbed Modera and ran towards the archway at the end of the hall. Behind them came the dismayed cries of the guards and the wet splatter of what Modera could only assume was an exploding zombie.

She didn’t want to look back.

But she did.

It was awful.

“Keep up!” Rivendare yanked her forward.

But she couldn’t take her eyes off the elf- no dragon. Teradormi stood and wiped the viscera off her face. The guards lay unmoving at her feet. A grey mist shrouded their forms and Modera knew they were dead. Just like they would be if they didn’t get out of here.

“How far is the balcony?” Modera gasped as Teradormi started after them.

“It’s just through-” Rivendare hooked a right through the arch and into a room full of guards, “Shit.”

It was a cramped halfway turned office space. If it was the Scholomance there would probably be piles of bones everywhere. Instead two rows of desks lined the walls, several of them noticeably unmanned. No doubt the now expired orcs used to sit there, Modera realized with a guilty twinge. That still left three men and one elven mage blinking at them.

Rivendare was the first to act. He flung his arm out and summoned his weapon from the back of the room. With a low hum the demonic blade was reunited with its master.

“Well?”

The guards sprang into action.

A click later Modera was finally able to unlock her shackles. The flow of magic returned like a rush of blood to the head. Sensing this, the mage at the end of the room locked eyes with her. A mistake. Alas not everyone was a three time All-City Dueling Finalist- Modera punished him with a counterspell, extinguishing the red glow around his hands.

Grinning, Rivendare pulled the mage towards them with a lasso of purple energy. The elf was caught unawares. With no death knights in this timeline there was no way to brace oneself against their favorite trick. He fell back and slid along the ground to them.

Modera was quick to latch the shackles around one of the mage’s ankles, the other onto the desk’s leg.

With the main threat dealt with and the other three guards focusing on Rivendare, Modera made for the equipment rack. Only for the elf to grab her ankle and bring her down. With a frantic kick Modera was able to make contact with his nose, breaking it. He released her with a pained yelp.

Finally free she could sprint for the end of the room. If she could get to her equipment she could-

A lasso of purple cinched around her waist, dragging her back.

“Titus!”

“What the hell are you doing!” he said as he ducked a haymaker aimed at his head, “we need to go left.”

“My equipment-”

“No time!” He kicked the man away.

Another took his place. He closed the gap with the death knight, hoping to limit the reach of his sword. The guard landed a blow in the gut, to little effect. Rivendare grabbed the man’s arm and with another surge of unholy power, he twisted it back. A snap was heard over a cry of pain. Rivendare finished him off with a quick punch to the head.

The sword’s gnashing teeth bit down on the man’s face and, unfortunately, it did not let go.

“I told you so!” Rivendare said as he shoved the guard into his comrades, abandoning the blade. They tumbled to the ground. With one fluid motion, Rivendare threw Modera over his shoulder and summoned a foul spell.

A web of necrotic energy fell around him, painting the stone and the men in scarlet lace. A moment passed before the magic sizzled exposed flesh and moldered leather armor.

Rivendare didn’t wait to see the effects of his magic, he sprinted towards the stone alcove at the eastern side of the chamber.

The balcony.

It was nothing special, just a small space with a few stone benches overlooking the Lordamere. He shrugged Modera off and set to pulling two of the desks over to block the entrance. “Get ready to jump, she’s coming.”

Modera rushed to the edge of the balcony. Below them was a forty foot drop and a mess of sharp rocks. She didn’t even know if she could clear them to hit water. “Where’s Ghastly?”

In the other room the sounds of the screaming guards stopped. There weren’t even echos. Just a ringing silence followed by the soft patter of Teradormi’s slippers.

The desks were no obstacle. They crumbled to a grey powder with the barest touch as she stepped into the room. Modera and Rivendare backed towards the balcony’s edge.

“Imbecile!” she hissed, leveling an accusatory finger at Modera, “you broke my hourglass!”

Modera’s heel hit empty air. They were trapped.

Teradormi’s fist glowed with a grey-blue corona, “You’re history!”

“Nuh uh,” Rivendare blurted. He leaped back into the void, pulling Modera along with him.

The archmage felt her stomach drop. She didn’t even have time to scream as the sharp rocks rose to meet her. Maybe she could summon enough power for a last second blink. It might at least arrest some of the momentum. Poor Titus, she thought, going through head transplant just to be splattered against the rocks.

But, before she could orient herself, a pale blurr passed between her and certain death and Modera landed on something scaley. With a snap of leather, they were moving forward instead of down. The mage just managed to hold onto the bushy white mane as they glided over the glassy surface of the lake.

"Good show Gas!" Rivendare called out from below. Modera peeked over the drake, he had caught the death knight by the belt, “You think you can haul me up?”

“Need altitude,” Blighterghast grunted.

The lake was slowly rising to meet them. There was no way they would be able to clear the shore!

An enraged roar rippled the water’s surface. Modera turned to see a dark shape shift as it fell from Caer Darrow. It lengthened and grew until Teradormi’s serpentine form asserted itself. Her wings flared meters away from the lake and she sped after them like a silvery bullet.

Blighterghast flapped frantically, desperate for speed and lift, but the two adults were weighing him down.

They couldn’t out run Teradormi. Modera tightened her grip on the drake’s mane, her own hair whipping in the wind. She took a deep breath and called up every dreg of her remaining magic.

“I’m going to make a portal,” Modera said, “But you need to fly straight.”

“Do it quick Modera! We don’t have any time,” Rivendare called out.

In an ideal world, a portal has a set anchor and the caster is standing still on their own feet. They would have magically augmented armor and a casting implement. This was not an ideal world. But it was the separator between an archmage and a member of the council of six.

The dragon screamed.

“Modera!”

Modera’s head pounded in protest and she pressed her hands together. Power surged. She squeezed Blighterghast’s flanks, clenching every muscle in her back as she fought against the fabric of the universe. Portals could be temperamental without the proper anchors. It didn’t want to open, so she pushed against it. Fingers curled into claws as she wrenched the edges apart.

Before them the space itself opened, allowing the golden light from the other side of the mountain to shine through.

Blood pounded in her ears. It was too much too soon. Modera tried to blink away the dark spots forming at the edges of her vision, to concentrate on the cool scales under her palms-

xxxx

A rush of sound.

“You’re crowding her.”

“I might be able to call the elements-”

“Can you get the kettle, please? There should be some tea from this morning. Give me that.”

“What’s wrong with her? Is she going to be okay?”

Modera flinched. Something wet and cold pressed against her forehead.

“Yes, see? She’s coming around already.”

Modera groaned. Her head felt like it was full of mud. She tried to shrink away from the icy fingers pressing against her neck. This time her eyes fluttered open.

“Mummy!”

Vael threw her arms around her neck.

Relief crashed down as Modera choked back a sob. Vael was alive! Her daughter was alive! She tightened her grip. The dragon, the hourglass, the council- those problems melted away. Because finally, finally, her heart was back in her chest.

Chapter Text

Kel’Thuzad returned with the kettle and a few tin cups. Thrall and Titus were too distracted by scowling at each other back at the fire to be of much help. He told Ghastly to keep an eye on them.

“I’m fine, it’s just a little overdraw,” Modera pulled back and rubbed a bit of schmutz off Vael’s cheek, then frowned, “Why do you look like you’ve eaten nothing but mana cakes for a week?”

He scooted closer and offered what he hoped was an enticing cup of hot tea. Perhaps he could placate her. After all, there was no reason to throw Thrall from the wagon. Yet.

“I fed her real food last night,” Kel’Thuzad said smoothly as he handed the cup to Modera, who accepted the offering, but not before narrowing her eyes. She wore a scowl until the cup reached her lips, then she gave the tea a suspicious sip. Kel’Thuzad met her glare, somewhat grateful that his expression gave little away.

He knew that look. Now there was a mystery afoot. And Modera had made a career out of getting to the bottom of things.

“Kel’Thuzad caught a fish-- with his hands,” Vael said.

Modera’s eyes flicked to their daughter, “That must have been quite the sight.”

Kel’Thuzad drew himself up and let himself bask in the feat. Let’s see Aethas do that! “Yes, well, you’ll be happy to hear our girl is a good little survivor. Even if she doesn’t always know her limits,” he said, placing a hand on Vael’s back.

Modera’s mouth tightened.

“Do you like it?” Vael asked, “I gathered all the plants, and Kel’Thuzad showed me how to make it. It’s just like the tea bandits make, except we put mageroyal hips in it.”

“Bandits?” she raised an eyebrow.

“She had scrounged up about ten golds worth of swiftthistle when I found her,” Kel’Thuzad said, “We put a bit of it to use.”

Modera grunted a non-response. Swiftthistle was a mild stimulant and an ingredient in many speedy, boosty, and quickening potions. In addition to some teas for those burning the midnight oil. “It’s perfectly sweet.”

Vael wiggled happily, perfectly proud of herself.

Modera took another sip, “Do you have any bread? It's strong.”

And probably making her empty stomach hurt, “What kind do you want?”

“Oh, um, something on the crustier side I think?”

Before Kel'Thuzad could raise his claws, Vael jumped up, “Wait! I can make flavored icing now.”

She thrust a hand out, expecting a candy. What she couldn’t know was that all the candies the lich had in his possession were stolen from Modera’s desk. When he didn’t move her smile slid away, “...can I make her a mana cake?”

“Er,” the lich tapped two of his claws together, “shouldn’t you be conserving your magic?”

“I would love one,” Modera said rather unhelpfully.

“I feel fine.”

“It could be a false wind-”

“Kel,” Modera glared. She knew. How did she know!

The lich let out a tiny huff as he fished one of the strawberry candies out of his pocket. As soon as he passed the sweet to Vael, Modera let out a theatrical breath, followed by a muted “I knew it.”

Vael frowned at the strawberry candy in her palm for a moment before a flicker of recognition, “These are from mummy’s office!” Vael pointed, “You stole them?”

“I did not.”

“Yes you did. All the candies were taken from the dish the day you fought the dragon,” Vael said, “and the office smelled bad.”

It did not smell - that was a bad day! Kel’Thuzad crossed his arms, not at all liking the turn this conversation had taken, “You stole my scourgestone,” Vael went scarlet; Modera even barked a laugh, “Ah, don’t think I’d forgotten about that.”

Vael drew herself up and comported herself with more dignity than her red face would suggest, “It was easy.”

Insolent-! He bit off a growl. Thank the light Titus was not in earshot, or he would never hear the end of it.

“Vael, don’t say things like that,” Modera said, “and you. Can’t you see what your kleptomaniacal ways have done to my daughter.”

“My! I’m not the one with two rooms piled full of titan-” he didn’t want to say crap. Well, that’s not true. Kel’Thuzad just knew that if he did insult her giant, unorganized piles of mystery refuse it would turn into a row, “er, artifacts.”

“I saw your lair.”

Kel’Thuzad grunted. He did not have a lair; he had an apartment. And not even the biggest one in the fortress! She’d just seen it on a bad day.

“We are mages, maybe she is following in our footsteps,” Kel’Thuzad replied, trying to spread the blame. He motioned to Vael, who set to conjuring a mana cake. Her movements were a little unsure now that she was under the supervision of both her parents. Practiced mages, they would be more critical of the small things. But Kel’Thuzad was pleased to see that she had retained everything from their lesson the night before. He even caught Modera glance at him from the corner of his eye.

Modera accepted the cake and gave it the same standard examination he had before giving the icing a lick. She frowned and looked down at it, “I suppose I knew you could change the flavor to anything, but I never thought to use candy.”

“So you like it?”

Modera nodded, “It’s good. If I hadn’t watched you conjure it I might think it was a professional ration. If a little on the weak side.”

Kel’Thuzad felt a blip of warmth and pressure around his middle. Vael was hugging his ribs. His return was a gangly one-armed affair. Still, he caught a glimpse of Modera’s wan smile that made the mists fizz near his collar.

Hope bloomed before he had a chance to squash it. He could have this.

But not if they were stuck out of time.

And if they were going to escape, he needed Modera to recover.

Kel’Thuzad rummaged his pack for one of the emergency mana potions. They were supposed to be used in case he needed to repair his body, but her poor condition was reason enough to share.

“I don’t think you’ll like what I have for your overdraw.”

“Doomfinger says the best cure for overdraw is a mana potion and a greasy sandwich,” Vael said.

“Maybe if you want heartburn,” Modera muttered under her breath. That is, until she noticed the gnarled wand sticking out of Vael’s boot, “and give me that thing! It doesn’t belong to you.”

Vael’s eyes widened in protest, “But I-”

“Vael,” Modera said, stern again. She would hear no protest.

There was a whiny whimper, a frustrated defeat. In an act of defiance, Vael handed the wand to her father instead.

Kel’Thuzad accepted it and immediately wished he hadn’t. Not because of the scrunkled expression he got from Modera- scrunkled was the only word for it, but because of the horrible deja vu that came with it. That sucking behind his breastbone the mists cringed away from. There was a familiar wrongness to it which he had only felt in a few artifacts: the Helm of Domination, Frostmourne and his phylactery.

The lich probed the wand with a bit of magic, looking for the foreign consciousness that had been communicating with his daughter. He found nothing but a dark wall.

Interesting. Kel’Thuzad slid his gaze to Vael. Allegedly communicating? Children could have active imaginations…

“Are you sure it talks?” he asked nicely. All the magical artifacts he owned communicated in other, more subtle means. Like Atiesh, which sent an irritated pulse down their bond.

Vael didn’t buy his act, “Yes,” she said as she crossed her arms.

He stared at her for a moment, “I don’t hear anything.”

“Maybe it doesn’t like you anymore because you lost it.”

Kel’Thuzad gasped. Lost it!

“Stop antagonizing him or he’ll sulk,” Modera said. Kel’Thuzad shot her a glare but caught her in time to see her swallow a smirk.

Modera reached over and took the wand. She frowned as she gave it the same cursory examination that he had. She smoothed a thumb over one of the whorls, “This thing is powerful. I’m surprised you were able to use it at all.”

Arms still crossed, Vael sat up straighter, “Maybe I am powerful, both of my parents are.”

Her parents each made a noncommittal noise. Kel’Thuzad rested his chin on his fist. That was a good point. Modera was right, hell- he wasn’t even sure if Ghastly would be able to wield Doomfinger yet. Unless there was something in it.

“I’ve never heard of an implement having a will of its own,” Kel’Thuzad said.

“What about Frostmourne?”

“Well… it mostly acted as a conduit for the Lich King’s will,” Kel’Thuzad had only handled the blade to place it inside the cavern where it waited for Arthas to collect it. He never had the opportunity, nor interest, to study it. There was a nasty rumor that even a paper cut from the blade could steal one’s soul. False, of course, but why risk it when the lich had precious little of his own left.

The closest he came to creating a cursed weapon was the Corrupted Ashbringer. And most of the work for that came from the betrayal Alexandros faced at the hands of his son. Kel’Thuzad shook his head, “I’m not a demon, no matter what the Argents say. I wouldn’t even know where to start to create something like that.”

Modera rolled the wand in her hands, thinking. A mystery. There was no way he could have accidentally made some kind of demonic weapon. Right?

“You had it for over a decade, maybe-” Modera yelped and dropped the wand, “It talks!”

“Really?” he scooped it back up. The feeling of unease returned. It did not speak to him. Kel’Thuzad even brought it up to his ear and gave it a shake. Nothing. He eyed the other two.

Were they playing a trick on him? They must be, “I still don’t hear anything.”

“Maybe it really doesn’t like you,” Modera said with a shrug, “You did lose it after all.”

“I did not,” he said hotly. Kel’Thuzad muttered something about it being stolen. The irony was the mercenaries didn’t even seem excited about taking it. Cretins! He turned to Vael, “Here. Keep it until we’re out of this mess.”

She looked happy to have it back and was quick to return it to her boot. Modera, on the other hand, looked less than pleased.

“Kel.”

“Oh, right. Keep it in your pocket, not your boot. It could backfire and hurt you.”

He grinned, though part of him was relieved to be rid of the thing. But why? It was just a wand.

“We’re not out of the fire yet,” he said.

“You don’t think we are enough to protect her?”

“It’s not that, Modera. Our foe is a time dragon; she could stop us in our tracks for all I know.”

And, if Vael had Doomfinger, they could at least track her. Kel’Thuzad caught Modera’s eye, inclined his head towards the wand, and gave her a meaningful look.

Modera stared blankly and the lich deflated internally. Damn his face. Kel’Thuzad cleared his throat and shook his head a little more vigorously this time.

“Oh,” she finally caught on. Modera pursed her lips, still unhappy with the thought of their daughter carrying around such a powerful implement, “Fine.”

Agreement at last.

“Now, I have a mana potion,” Kel’Thuzad said. He showed Modera a vial of brilliant blue liquid, “Do you want it on its own or mixed into the tea?”

“Mixed in,” Modera said before changing her mind as he pulled the stopper out with his teeth, “wait, what’s it made with?”

“Er, whiptail, lichbloom, a little goldclover for color,” he replied, jaws still stuck together, “I wanted to experiment with some of the new, exotic reagents coming out of Uldum.”

“If you made it then it should be palatable,” Modera took the bottle before he could protest.

“Well-”

Mana potions were universally horrible. When he was alive, Kel’Thuzad had made a hobby out of developing tastier versions. But, the circumstances of his life were different now.

Modera gulped down a swallow and made a face like she’d had a shot of cheap Troll hoodoo, “Ugh- Kel! It tastes like an engine.”

“I was going to warn you.”

“How can you drink these?”

“I can’t. Not like you anyway,” he replied, “This may sound self-aggrandising, but my draw pool is much larger than yours. I have to concentrate the mixture if it's going to affect me.”

The awful fact was that they did taste good to him.

Modera blinked tears from her eyes and shook her head before jolting upright, “Bit of a kick at the end.”

The potion was stronger than what they made in Dalaran. He gave her leg a little shake, “You’ll be right as rain after some bread.”

There was a tug at his sleeve, “Can I try?”

Kel’Thuzad and Modera shared a glance. “It might give you a stomach ache,” Modera said as she handed her the vial.

Vael sipped it timidly, determined to let the smallest possible amount hit her tongue. When it did she screwed up her face like she had sucked on the tartest lemon on the planet. They both laughed, but Vael only glared at him, “Meanie!” before darting off to where Thrall and others were. No doubt to inflict his potion on them.

“Suppose I deserved that,” he sat and watched Vael try to hawk her ware, when something warm and soft pressed against his cheekbone.

“Thank you,” Modera tightened her grip on his arm, “for saving her.”

The proximity of Modera’s magical aura made the base of his tusks tingle. He blinked at her and ghosted his claws over the spot to catch her fleeting warmth. That hope again.

“Of course we did,” he hesitated a tick, then bent down and bumped her forehead with his teeth. Kel’Thuzad drew back, watched her rub out his kiss and frowned.

“Um,” something was not quite right, “where are your clothes?”

“Oh,” Modera, suddenly conscious of her state of dress, crossed her arms, “We were in a hurry- Titus wouldn’t let me grab my things.”

Kel’Thuzad grunted as a bit of color dusted the bridge of her nose, “Titus was not stripped,” he said, mostly as an observation.

“Titus had on a bunch of crap.”

“Right.”

Well, she couldn’t very well go about in her knickers. He shrugged out of his robes and passed them to Modera before untying his boots. She accepted them with minimal comment.

“These smell like Roquefort,” Modera sniffed the inside of one of the lapels, “definitely Roquefort.”

That was only because he’d died in them. He stood back and took her in. It was a sorry sight. Modera looked like a child trying to fit into her father’s robes. At least the boots were enchanted to fit the wearer. Kel’Thuzad helped her roll up her sleeves, “I did what I could; it’s not like we have a laundry out here.”

“I know,” she reached over and gave his hand a quick squeeze as they walked over to the rest of the group, “I’m sorry I killed you.”

An…apology? No one ever apologised for killing him before. “It’s alright, it would have happened eventually.”

“It wasn’t as cathartic as I thought it would be.”

He had heard that one before. Kel’Thuzad chuckled, “You know, I think Arthas said the same thing.”

Back at the camp, it looked like the boys had done a good enough job of putting things in order. Blighterghast spread the ashes of their fire with a few back wings, and all the cooking implements were cleaned and stacked. With an absent wave, they were transported back into the lich’s pack.

Kel’Thuzad checked to see if his mageblade had been cleaned properly before being placed back in its scabbard (it had) and tossed it to Modera. It was a poor substitute for her missing staff, but better than nothing as far as casting implements went.

“Should we go to Dalaran?” Thrall asked, “Maybe the mages there can help us get out of here.”

It was an interesting idea, one that Kel’Thuzad had not considered. Unfortunately, with how this timeline’s events paralleled their own, he wasn’t sure if it existed at the moment. Plus, he was very visibly a lich and not in the mood to answer questions about it. He shook his head, “A good idea, but unfortunately, these two,” he motioned to Titus and Modera, “were captured. I doubt our doubles will just let us walk away.”

He knew he wouldn’t.

“Are we…” Thrall trailed off, not wanting to give voice to the question on everyone’s mind. No one seemed interested in picking up where he left off though, “stuck?”

“No,” Kel’Thuzad said. He pulled Atiesh from his back. The staff’s power warmed his hands as he drew upon it. He thumped the staff against the earth twice and a portal flared to life, “Get in.”

+++++

They stepped through into a new land. Grey, depressing, extremely dry - “Karazhan?” Modera craned her neck at the crumbling tower before turning to the lich. Her hands were firmly planted on her hips.

Vael grabbed his arm and hid her face, “There’s ghosts.”

“Ghosts?” Kel’Thuzad picked her up and scanned the area.

He had only been here a few times, and not in almost two decades, but Kel’Thuzad did recognize the area near the town’s meager chapel. It was up on a small hill close to other ruined structures. On the narrow game paths that connected them shimmered the blue outlines of spirits.

They were all that remained of the villagers who once lived here.

“I don’t think they can see us,” Kel’Thuzad said, “look, they’re just going about their days. They wouldn't bother us.”

Vael watched as one ranged close to them, eyes focused somewhere else as it marched past, “Why are they doing that?”

Because they don’t know they’re dead. Kel’Thuzad made eye contact with one of the ghosts, who scowled back as he walked towards a ruined apple cart. “Mages,” he muttered under his breath.

Maybe they could see him?

“Kel’Thuzad said he’s the Guardian of Tirisfal,” Thrall said, jerking his thumb at the lich, “are we going in the tower?”

Modera looked like she was suffering from a brain freeze as she processed this information. Kel’Thuzad shot Thrall a nasty look as he let Vael slide down, tattletale.

“I did not say that,” Kel’Thuzad said, “You insinuated it and I didn’t correct you. There is a difference.”

“You are not the Guardian of Tirisfal,” Modera said, “it’s not possible.”

“And, why is that?” Kel’Thuzad asked as he folded his arms, “I have Atiesh.”

“That’s not how that works and you know it.”

The ‘way it worked’ was: the Council of Tirisfal (a body that didn’t even exist anymore) was supposed to transfer a bit of their power to the nominated member of their group. Then that person would be the guardian.

“It hasn’t been done that way in over a thousand years,” Kel’Thuzad countered, “Aegwyn saw to that when she hoarded the power and transferred it to Medivh, or whatever,” he waved the thought away, “I have her staff, his book and their tower- badges of office. That gives me the authority to set the parameters for guardianship.”

Even in the gloom he could see Modera’s face pale with fury, “You have no right- the Council of Six will never-”

“The Council that recently banished me has no say in this. Besides, the council can’t do this!” Kel’Thuzad spread his arms dramatically. There was an explosion of mist and he unfurled his wings.

A brief moment of silence.

They each had their own reaction. All of them were hiding their laughter poorly. Thrall’s lips were pulled tight against his tusks as he struggled not to guffaw. Modera hid her glee behind her fist. Titus.

Titus.

His face slowly split into a wide grin. Then he pointed. Finally, his laughter escaped as a loud bray. It wasn’t long before Titus and Modera howled with uncontrollable laughter. Their cackles echoed off the tower walls like a pack of hyenas.

“You’re - you- OUCH!” Titus exclaimed as the lich-turned-goose bit his finger.

“Why do you have a cute little ribbon?” Modera gasped.

Kel’Thuzad drew up his long neck in a dignified manner, “I rest my case.”

“What case- you bit me!”

Blighterghast reached out to pet the goose, not unlike a dog trying to manipulate something with a forepaw. He dragged his claws down Kel’Thuzad’s back too heavily. “Careful!” Kel’Thuzad squawked, “Remember what we talked about, Ghastly, gentle.”

Modera took a few breaths and wiped a tear from her eye, “That doesn’t explain what we’re doing here. I don’t,” she said haltingly, “want to explore a haunted castle.”

“Well…it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick look around,” Kel’Thuzad said.

“Kel, no.”

“Maybe we’ll find something-”

“Absolutely not!” she threw her hands up, “and I will not argue with a goose!”

He grumbled to himself. With another explosion of mist, the lich reverted to his true form. But not because Modera told him to, arguing up at her weakened his position.

“Atiesh can create this portal from anywhere. As it happens, this is the closest I could get to our destination,” Kel’Thuzad said with a wave.

Modera’s brow furrowed, “Which is?”

“The Dark Portal.”

His proclamation was met with less aplomb than he expected. “We can use it to get back to our timeline.”

“I don’t want to suggest that you are not powerful, Kel’Thuzad,” Thrall said, “but it took Gul’dan and Medivh’s combined powers to open the Dark Portal the first time. How can you do it on your own?”

“Easy,” Kel’Thuzad summoned something from his bag and held it out to the group, “I have this.”

“Gnomish teleporter?” Thrall took it from the lich and turned it over in his hands, “says ‘Heigan Roth’ here on the bottom.”

Kel’Thuzad pointedly ignored Modera’s accusatory smirk. This just proved her point, even if he wasn’t the one who stole it.

“That’s not what's important. It had a miniature focusing iris in it,” Modera took it and examined it herself, “I thought you said it would blow up if we tried to use it.”

“Only if we use it as a teleporter.”

Modera turned the device over and stared at Heigan’s name inscribed in the base plate, contemplating, before realization lit her eyes, “We just need it to focus the power from the intersecting ley lines.”

“Exactly.”

She looked like she might even compliment his magical acumen when Titus cleared his throat, “That's all fine and dandy, but how are we going to get there? The portal is a five-day walk through ogre country and a horrible swamp.”

“We can fly,” Kel’Thuzad replied.

The group turned to look at a suddenly nervous Blighterghast.

“Not him. A different dragon,” Kel’Thuzad placed his hands on his hips, “Incidentally, who wants to see me raise a dragon?”

Vael brightened at the suggestion, but her enthusiasm was quickly bridled by Modera’s stern hand on her shoulder.

“Pass,” Titus said, “seen it.”

Ghastly glanced at Vael and Modera, “I’ll stay.”

At least some of the people present couldn’t read his body language. After being at war with the Scourge for a decade, he could understand not wanting to see a ghoul or something pedestrian. But a dragon was pretty impressive!

“I’ll go,” Thrall said with a shrug, “Seems interesting enough.”

With a disappointed sigh, Kel’Thuzad departed, Thrall in tow.

The ex-warchief waited until the lich found a narrow deer path up a steep hill before breaking the silence.

“So, you and the councilor?”

Kel’Thuzad did not reply. The less people knew about their relationship - past or, hopefully, future, the better.

“She seemed happy to see you,” Thrall offered. Kel’Thuzad turned to glare at him but held his tongue, “How long has that been going on-”

“We’re not together.”

“Right, right,” Thrall scratched at the side of his nose, “Complicated. I have a complicated situation too.”

Kel’Thuzad growled, the love of Thrall’s life and his daughter wasn’t out of his reach, but he reigned in his temper and remembered - Jaina. “War has a way of complicating things,” he replied sagely.

“I just wish I could do more to help. I need to do more,” Thrall nudged a rock off the edge of the switchback. It clattered down the gully. “She’s so- so demanding! I don’t know if I could ever measure up.”

Kel’Thuzad frowned; he’d never figured Jaina would be the impatient type. “Have you tried talking to her?”

“Talk? She expects me to be an orc of action,” Thrall let out a long sigh, “What would he do to impress her?”

What would Arthas do to impress Jaina? Kel’Thuzad recalled running into them once in Dalaran. Jaina was explaining, in way too much detail, the process for translocating matter across short distances. Arthas didn’t even have the courtesy to have a faintly glazed-over look; instead, he interrupted her mid-stream with an unrelated observation.

They were completely hopeless. Okay, maybe it did make sense for her to be a bit impatient.

But, he was still trying to be cordial with Thrall. They had to work together. So Kel’Thuzad threw him a bone.

“I think he used to do this little pinch at the end she seemed to like. Personally, I always found a swirl to be more effective,” he replied, “have you tried something like that?”

Thrall's only response was a baffled expression. Kel’Thuzad mimed a counterclockwise action with a finger, then shrugged.

“I meant Ner’zhul.”

“Well, he never thought about Jaina except idle thoughts of conversion,” he was completely lost.

“I’m talking about Aggra!”

“I knew that,” who the hell was Aggra? “Oh look, we’re here,” Kel’Thuzad motioned to the half-buried dragon skull.

Once upon a time, Medivh held a grand ball, with an opera and a banquet-- everything. Kel’Thuzad had not been invited. A fact he had been somewhat salty about. But, it was probably for the best because, famously, everyone had been killed. Including this dragon.

The lich tapped one of his teeth with a claw, “I think this dragon’s name was Azuregos? Medivh fought him in an epic duel that shook the very foundations of the tower.”

What a glorious fight it must have been. The most powerful human wizard the world had seen, facing off against a scion of the blue dragonflight.

“Azuregos? I heard that dragon was trying to woo a spirit healer in Azshara,” Thrall said, nudging the skull with a boot, “I thought this dragon’s name was Nightbane.”

“They’re the same dragon. Mercenaries just gave him that name when they ransacked the tower two years ago.”

“No they aren’t, you’re thinking of Netherspite.”

“I am not- listen, this dragon is big enough to carry us all to the Black Morass.”

Kel’Thuzad waited for Thrall to comment on the fact that he still called it the ‘Black Morass’ and not the ‘Blasted Lands’. He did not. Instead, the warchief bent down and placed a hand on the dragon’s snout.

“I feel…fire. His spirit is in agony,” he looked up at the lich, “can’t you feel it?”

Kel’Thuzad grunted. He didn’t need to touch the remains. The scent of burning mana was all around them. Medivh had used a modified version of the endless hunger spell. The magic in the dragon’s body ignited and burned him alive from the inside out. An unpleasant way to go. He thought back to the diary in Modera’s office.

Poor Freddy had been subjected to it. Multiple times, apparently.

“It wouldn't feel anything when I reanimate it,” Kel’Thuzad said.

“He’ll be at peace?”

Kel’Thuzad pretended like he didn’t hear the question. The soul did not need to be attached. In a way it was superfluous. He just needed the bones. Luckily, they were fairly close together, not having been scattered by time and scavengers. They would naturally arrange themselves as he cast the spell and then they could be off.

It would throw off the scent for any would-be pursuers. If the dragon (or the other him) reopened his portal to Karazhan, they would hopefully think the group would be inside the tower. They would never suspect this.

The lich congratulated himself on another clever plan expertly executed. When he opened his eyes, Thrall was scowling at him.

“What?”

“That's an evil thing you’re doing.”

Kel’Thuzad snorted, expelling a cloud of mist. If he had a gold for every time he heard that, “Sometimes to do good we must engage with evil. Or are you suggesting we walk to the Dark Portal?”

“Not that. Hell, I don’t care what kind of magic you wield,” Thrall shook his head and pointed to Atiesh, “What’s the point of having all that power if you're not even going to use it to help someone?”

He bristled, even though he knew what Thrall was saying was correct. But necromancy required separation from the subject. Flesh and bone had to be reduced to material. Even the soul became another component. The things he created might have come from people, but they could never be considered as such.

Kel’Thuzad looked at the skull and saw Ghastly. He would want someone to help the little dragon if he were in pain. Atiesh sang its song in his head. It wanted to help too. The lich eyed it. Perhaps the staff felt guilty for its part in the dragon’s demise.

The soul of the dragon remained, and it was trapped in agony. He could practically taste its madness in the air. Kel’Thuzad could bend a spirit to his will, even that of a dragon. But binding it wouldn’t bring it any relief. Perhaps it was time to think outside the box. So he turned to Thrall.

“How would you do it?

“Me?”

“Shamen have to quell elemental spirits,” Kel’Thuzad said with a shrug.

Thrall rubbed the stubble on his head, making a dry scratchy sound, “You could try talking to him.”

Kel’Thuzad could have figured that out on his own. “That’s it?”

“What did you think I was going to suggest? Cunnilingus?”

“Why, do you think that would help?” Kel’Thuzad asked dryly.

Thrall snorted a laugh, “It’s not something you can draw on a piece of paper. The elements are about balance,” Thrall put his hands together, “he’s on fire, you’re made of ice.”

He was not. He was made out of magic. It just expressed itself with ice. Not that Thrall would appreciate the difference.

So he should literally soothe the pain away? Kel’Thuzad closed his eyes and reached out-

“Did you really think I was talking about Jaina?”

Kel’Thuzad ignored him. He was still trying to figure out how to communicate effectively. It was all so…metaphysical. Usually he blocked out actual ghosts and the like. They never had nice things to say to him.

No clue why.

He placed a hand on the blackened skull and let his mind’s eye fill with smoke and ash. The world around him blurred and became less substantial as he slipped into a realm of shadows.

The sun’s bruised light barely filtered through the haze, giving the land a sickly pallor. The tower stood unblemished in its canyon below. A room at the top still emitted a dull glow. A beacon of fel energy, beckoning to something beyond.

Kel’Thuzad stared, for the moment distracted. Something thumped in his head, his heart? Someone was in the tower. A rock clattered away as he took a step forward. Did Karazahn look like this in his own world?

Atiesh’s golden song blared, wringing his attention away. Kel’Thuzad looked down at his hands fisted in his shirt. Another step would have taken him into an abyss.

He turned away and took a centering breath. This plane resented perception and would try to ensnare any wanderers who dared traverse it. Logic in the realm of shadows was like a poem where the metaphors of magic were substantiated. That was what made it so dangerous to novice spirit binders.

And to those whose curiosity could lead them astray, Kel’Thuzad thought as the lurid glow pulsed behind him.

The dragon’s bones had been replaced by a burning gateway. A keening pierced the veil of flame, setting his teeth on edge. Something shimmered beyond. A lost soul, ringed in fire.

There were some advantages to being a lich. A normal necromancer wouldn’t be able to breach the dragon’s prison without proper preparations and the right sort of charms. Kel’Thuzad crossed the threshold, flame grabbing ineffectually at his bones. His body was cold as stone. The fire could not hurt him.

Inside the inferno the little soul pitched like a white boat on a turbulent sea. Kel’Thuzad reached out and caged it in his claws. It cringed and shivered like a wounded animal. Which he supposed it was, in a roundabout sort of way.

For a moment he stood in contemplation. A dragon’s soul was a rare and powerful thing; the scourge rarely put them to waste.

Resurrection was not wasteful if they gained a powerful ally, he reminded himself. Especially if the dragon agreed to help. But first, Kel’Thuzad would need to talk to it.

+++++

“And that’s how I beat Karthok,” Blighterghast said, “Really! His wounds were much worse than mine. And I heal quicker than him because I’m half a red dragon.”

Modera gave Titus a sidelong glance and noted his skeptical expression. It confirmed her suspicion: the young drake was trying to impress them.

“I didn’t realize there were so many black dragons in the Scourge,” Modera said. The dossiers said the frost wyrms were all raised from blue dragon stock, felled en masse during the War of the Ancients.

“There aren’t, not really anyway,” Titus replied, “They’re refugees, Kel’Thuzad granted them clemency.”

Modera raised an eyebrow. Clemency in exchange for what?

“There’s a dragon-hunter called Wrathion-- he’s killing members of the black dragonflight. Even whelps,” Blighterghast dug his claws into the earth and flexed his wings, “It’s not right. If I were stronger I could stop that egg smasher.”

Modera fiddled absently with the lapel of her borrowed robe. She had only heard sparse rumors about such events. There was so much work left cataloguing Ulduar, the councilor had hardly kept up with recent events.

Before she could ask more, a blue light flickered up on the cliff. The wind kicked up as they turned to watch it grow into a steady pulse.

“That’ll be Banana,” Titus said.

“How many bones do you think needed to be fabricated?” Ghastly asked.

“That can happen?” Vael asked.

Modera squeezed her shoulder, but Vael’s protests were drowned out by a deep sound that vibrated up from the earth. The ghosts of the villagers stopped what they were doing to point up at the glowing pillar of light.

The crescendo came with a burst of light, and a scream ripped from a grave. Vael squirmed against her mother’s iron grip as something vast took off from the cliffside.

It rocketed towards them, blue wings unfurling at the last moment, kicking up a cloud of grey dust.

In the square a ghost muttered, “Mages.”

Chapter Text

It took most of the day to fly down from Karazhan. Modera was shocked at how much the landscape had changed in only twenty years. The Dark Portal was sunk in a swamp when she led her first expedition.

Off the eastern coast squatted a monsoon. It threatened thunder but sent a cool, humid wind inland. A blessing after their foray into the desert. The red earth was peppered with deep blue shadows cast from scrubby bushes or shallow pools from the night's rain. From the air it looked like beaten copper.

The black stone structure at the heart of the landscape was the source of all this change. Modera stood in the shadow of the dark portal. It loomed, even as the structure had depressed the substrate around it in a large crater. Beneath her feet Modera could feel the creep of magic. The Kirin Tor now knew the leylines had been redirected for hundreds of miles to power Medivh’s grand spells.

How had Medivh managed to create such a thing in secret? Well, mostly secret if Arcanagos’s, their blue dragon escort, story was anything to go on.

She spared a glance at the watchers carved into the pillars before ascending the shallow steps. A powerful sense of deja vu claimed her. She had been here before, walking towards a mysterious man examining the column, his hand pressed against the dark stone. Was he friend or was he foe?

“Excuse me, sir, but this area is restricted,” Modera said.

Kel’Thuzad turned, as changed as the land in the years following, “I don’t remember what I said,” he admitted, “I think I was a little tongue-tied.”

“That's hard to imagine.”

“I do remember you licking the column rather suggestively--"

The bridge of Modera’s nose burned, “I did not!” She was never going to live that down.

“What! Yes you did. Like this,” it took a moment for the lich to maneuver his head in such a way that his tusks couldn’t interfere. He pressed his misty tongue against the stone and gave her, what Modera could only assume, his best attempt at a saucy look, “thee?”

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth; she couldn’t help it, it was silly. Doubly so when he recoiled at the horrible taste.

“Sulfer?” she asked, recalling how it tasted.

“No, something rotten,” he turned back to the column and tapped a tooth with a claw, “It feels different. Almost like it's alive. I wonder if we were ever equipped to understand what Medivh did here.”

Modera placed a hand next to his. The stone was glacially cool, despite the surrounding heat. And in this humidity it shouldn’t be dry either. In fact, it almost seemed to suck the warmth out of her. But it didn’t feel alive; it was inert.

She glanced up at him. His expression was severe…or contemplative. She wasn’t quite sure. At one point they had been on equal footing. Kel’Thuzad had stood in this very spot and felt what she did. But, now?

“Is it really so different, now that you’re a lich?” she asked. Modera reached over to trace the bones of his hand. They weren’t quite smooth, but not exactly rough either. Maybe this was an adaptation meant to help him grip things.

“It's the difference between seeing and unseeing,” Kel’Thuzad grabbed her wrist, bringing with it a tingling sensation, “Remember what it was like before you could read a spell diagram, or perceive a spellweave? It’s another step towards greater magical understanding.”

Another step. He might make it sound simple, but those were major milestones in a mage’s development. Modera watched his thumb smooth over the burn on her palm as the tingling began to reach her elbow. It was difficult to think about the amount of magic that now made up his body. It wasn’t supposed to be possible. But then again, when had the impossible ever stopped Kel’Thuzad. Of course, being made of magic would unlock new doors.

“Should I become a lich?”

Kel’Thuzad let go of her so fast she thought he’d been burned. He was definitely shocked. Modera saw the fog in his chest shoot up towards the top of his ribcage. She stifled a laugh, “You know, you’re a lot more expressive than you might think.”

He grumbled a response, sounding suspiciously like I know I am, before clearing his throat, “Why are you asking this? Are you considering, er, retirement?”

“Retirement!” Modera planted her hands on her hips, “I’m in my prime, thank you. I’m asking purely from a professional development stance.”

This time, Kel’Thuzad crossed his arms, “You want to become a lich so you can put some letters after your title?”

“It sounds crass when you put it that way,” Modera drawled.

“It is crass. Those are the exact sort of people I try to screen out.”

“And yet, Cassandra Fairbreeze is counted among your number,” Modera reached up to scritch at one of his tusks. With a grunt of displeasure, Kel’Thuzad jerked his head out of her reach and spoiled her teasing, “I thought you liked being touched there.”

He made a noncommittal noise and dug through his pack, producing the teleporter, “I need your help.”

Back to business then. Modera accepted it but eyed him, looking for signs that she might have wounded his vanity. Perhaps she couldn’t discern his moods as well as she thought she could.

“What did you have in mind?”

“I need you to extract the iris without breaking the firing mechanism or power source.”

Modera frowned down at the device. It was a shame to dismantle it. Heigan had done such a nice job on it. Although it would be more interesting to see how he did it. One problem: “I don’t have a gyromatic micro adjuster.”

Kel’Thuzad inclined his head, “You mean a screwdriver?”

“It’s in gnetric,” Modera said more defensively than she would have liked, “I don’t have any tools actually.”

The lich let out a little puff of mist, “I have a Gnomish army knife. Should have everything you need- plus a back scratcher and a whirly thing.”

“You mean a corkscrew?”

“Modera, if I meant the corkscrew, I would just say corkscrew.”

At least the army knives were in gnetric. She tucked the teleporter under her arm. It might take her the better part of the afternoon to take it apart. “What about this?” she placed her hand back on the column.

“Shan’do!”

They turned as Ghastly ran up to them, Vael in tow. It was uncanny how similarly they looked; the two could be siblings! Except for Ghastly’s hair. They needed to do something about that. She stole a glance at Kel’Thuzad out of the corner of her eye. The drake had obviously modeled his visage after the lich.

“Can we go explore?”

“No,” Kel’Thuzad said.

Ghastly let out an exasperated huff, “See, I told you.”

“Thrall said he would come with us,” Vael offered.

“It’s still too dangerous,” Modera said, “we really don’t know anything about this place.”

“What if we stayed close and collected firewood?” Ghastly asked.

Modera looked out past the dias to the lip of the crater. Beyond that, there were no trees for at least a mile.

“Let Thrall and Titus handle that,” Kel’Thuzad said, with an off-handed wave, “We need assistants in any case. Stay here.”

The children’s faces lit up at the thought of being involved in such a grand project. Modera almost pitied them. One for each of them then? Modera glanced at the lich, who watched her expectantly. It was her choice.

She motioned to the drake, “Kel’Thuzad tells me you study under Heigan sometimes.”

Ghastly nodded eagerly and followed her.

“What are we going to do?” Vael asked brightly.

“First, we are going to meditate.”

Modera could hear the disappointment in whatever expression Vael was making behind her, in addition to Kel’Thuzad’s chuckle, “None of that, now, I thought you wanted to be a mage?” he asked, “This is an important skill to master.”

++++

Thrall had his own assignment to complete: meditate. It was time for this elemental dysfunction he was experiencing to come to an end. They weren't even that unruly here- nowhere close to how they were at home. He squeezed his eyes shut and reached out to the wind. A few spirits came, curious, they slipped around him, probing before losing interest; gusting away before Thrall could communicate.

He ground his teeth. It didn’t used to be this way. Before the Cataclysm, before he was warchief even, the elements were eager to assist. They practically leapt at his call. When he brought the lightning down upon the walls of Durnhold to free his people, it was everything. A symbol of what his people could be. A new way forward.

But now? Thrall looked up at the Dark Portal. The black stone had no luster; it almost ate the light that hit it. Something was different. It wasn’t just Deathwing’s madness throwing the elements into disarray. The Horde had changed. Was it him? His own weakness?

He didn’t feel weak. But he’d lost the confidence of his people. Aggra said he was talented, but he couldn’t even muster a fire in a drizzle.

A sound of discovery drew his attention to the magi. Kel’Thuzad and Modera sat huddled over a notebook, pointing and scribbling.

Kel’Thuzad tried to help him. An idea struck him. The lichlord held the knowledge of Ner’zhul within him. But he was busy… Thrall’s eyes slid to the children. Vael was brushing matts out of Blightergast’s mane. He sidled over. Maybe there was another way he could get more help.

“I think I got most of this one,” Vael said, “we should braid some of it. Oh! Have you ever done that? I bet it would look so nice.”

Blightergast winced at another tough yank, “How many more are there?”

“We’re done. On this side.”

The drake rumbled miserably. When Thrall cleared his throat, they both turned.

“Do you want to help?” Vael asked.

“Er, no. I was wondering if I could borrow your wand for a little bit?”

“I don't think it likes you,” Vael said, “But maybe if you helped brush out that side?”

So Thrall found himself conscripted into combing out the other half of Blightergast’s mane. He was the warchief, he fumed as he carded through the tangles, I shouldn’t be combing a dragon’s hair!

Twice, the drake tried to get up and walk away, only to get wrangled back. After the second time Vael had to show him how to detangle the mats properly, “Not like that, start at the bottom.”

It was eerie how much she was like her father, he realised as Vael demonstrated the proper technique. Something about how she carried herself, or the look in her eyes, was reminiscent of the lich’s. Maybe if he had paid attention he could have sussed out her parentage.

“Can I talk to Doomfinger now?” he asked.

Vael motioned to the drake with the comb, “But you’re not finished.”

“Just give it to him,” Gastly moaned, “he’s too rough anyway.”

With an exasperated huff, Vael fished out the gnarled old thing and shoved it at him. Thrall took his prize and scooted away, but not before he overheard her grumble, “It’s all frizzy now.”

He felt an irritated pulse from the wand as well, “Oh, great, what do you want.” It wasn’t a question so much as an accusation.

“I wanted to ask you about Ner’zhul,” Thrall said.

“So go ask my master.”

“He’s busy,” Thrall glanced over at the two wizards again. It was mildly disconcerting to see Modera’s eyes light up so much when she smiled. Not necessarily because Kel’Thuzad was a lich, although that was certainly a factor. Thrall steered his mind away from that thought. It was because Modera was Dalaran. What if they became allies? What if they aligned themselves against the Horde? “Should I be worried?”

“I thought you wanted to talk about the Lich King,” Doomfinger said innocently, “so ask your questions.”

Thrall looked back down at the wand. Now that he had the opportunity, he wasn’t sure what he wanted, “Er, what was he like?”

He could practically feel a glare boring a hole through him.

“He was a horrible pest! A careless hog rooting about in my master’s mind,” the wand seethed, “But he so adored my master. The Lich King would parade him before his coterie of witless goons, those first liches. They were his old students. All ex-shamen, turned warlocks or what have you.”

Thrall had the impression of a hand wave. “Did he ever teach your master anything about shamanism?”

A dark chuckle echoed in his mind, “Don’t you want to know why Kel’Thuzad showed you that spell?”

“Er,” not really, “he wanted me to look at things in a new light.”

“Isn’t my master so polite? He showed you that because you lack discipline. You’re entitled!”

Thrall’s eyes widened. Entitled! “I am not!”

“Yes you are! Look at the hack job you did on Ghastly. My master is half a monster, and even he knows you have to be helpful,” Doomfinger snapped, “You didn’t even want to help the dragon aspects!

“The elements, the light - even demons, grant their power. But have they ever truly given you their strength, or have you been taking it all this time?” Doomfinger asked, “Perhaps that is why my master showed you that. You have been more like him, taking power, than a good shaman should be. Ner’zhul would be displeased; he hated talented students. He would tell you talent is the enemy of discipline. Now, give me back to the girl and go meditate on that.”

Thrall returned Doomfinger to Vael with a muttered thanks. For a moment, he stood, arms crossed, mulling (and steaming) over the wands’ rebukes. He was not entitled. But the drake’s frizzy hair caught his eye as it swayed in the breeze, and Thrall felt a pang of guilt. He could have done a better job.

His lower lip bunched up against his tusks, and he sat. “Here, let me help.”

++++

Kel’Thuzad knew he was an idiot, but he didn’t think he was stupid. Or at least not maliciously stupid.

He hoped not. Otherwise, he was in for a very bad time. And in this case, ‘he’ meant both himself and the other version of him running amok. A chill ran down his spine as he thought of that creature he’d scried the previous evening.

That was... him. Or, the him that could have been, had he taken that boat to Northrend. Kel’Thuzad fiddled with his whiskers. He wasn’t quite used to having a beard, but Modera seemed to like it.

He hadn’t thought about his mysterious ‘friend’ in quite some time. When it became clear he would not go north, his friend became increasingly angry. Kel’Thuzad had horrible headaches for almost a year until one day they vanished.

“I had plans for you,” was one of the last things he bitterly whispered. Kel’Thuzad shivered again and tried to focus on the task.

The magical signatures were unusual at Karazahn. More so than usual, Kel’Thuzad reminded himself. They were always rotten, but now there was something else, just under the surface. He craned his neck to look up at the ruined tower. A dull light glowed in the master’s chambers.

It was definitely still in there.

“Are they in there?” Saurfang crunched over and motioned to the tower. The old orc was a lifesaver. He was one of the few people who saw all the doubles before they escaped- even the one of him.

Kel’Thuzad didn’t take his eyes off the distant window, “I don’t know.”

If they were, it would be a disaster. He sealed the place for a reason. For all their sake, he hoped they were still intact.

“Where’s Julian?” Kel’Thuzad asked.

“Round back, checking the perimeter."

Kel’Thuzad nodded, then stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. Two gravely croaks rang out in response. With a few gangly flaps, his mount stuttered over.

Most called them wolf-bats, since it looked like a two-headed wolf with the body of a bat. In truth, they were Rylaks, creatures native to Draenor brought over by the old Horde. Nowadays, they were exceedingly rare and mostly kept as status symbols for the military’s aristocracy.

Kel’Thuzad patted one of Thistle’s pitch-colored necks. Of course, as one of the top minds in their new order, he was basically forced into having one of the biggest ones. In case anyone could mistake his rank, there was also the spiky olive and brass armor to point it out.

“I need to check the side entrance,” he said as he mounted. Behind him, Varok let out a series of yips to summon his own beast. They took off in the direction of the observatory and the attached gatehouse.

The air was gloomy and stiff. From the sky, the desolation was stark. Rotten and collapsing roofs, brick chimneys, and flickering, weird lights - ghosts more like, were all that were left of the village that used to support the tower. But it was hard to take in the scenery. His mount’s roiling flight pattern always made him feel like he was being thrown about on the ocean and made him sky-sick.

At least this was a short jump.

As the narrow bridge came into view, Kel’Thuzad braced himself for the inevitable landing. He leaned back, gripped the reins, and managed to keep his seat as Thistle skittered to a halt on the slick stones. Varok for comparison, landed quite softly and leapt off his mount with a practiced ease.

“What do you think?”

I think I wish I had a gryphon. Kel’Thuzad dismounted and crossed to the servants' entrance, using Atiesh to steady himself. He hesitated, then, with the back of his hand, flicked the door and watched a purple barrier spring to life with an ominous thrum. “It's intact,” he said, taking a quick step back. He didn’t want to get blasted off the ledge.

“So where are you?” Kel’Thuzad murmured.

“Oi! Kelly!”

Julian.

They hopped back on their mounts and made for Rivendare’s position. As they rounded the observatory, Kel’Thuzad could see fresh rents in the earth. As if some god had reached down and drug his fingers across the rocky hillside. Julian and a squad of men-at-arms stood around it, and interestingly, so did a faint cluster of ghostly lights.

Kel’Thuzad touched down as gracelessly as before, though no one commented on it. “This is new,” Julian said wryly.

Almost no one, then.

“Indeed,” Kel’Thuzad eyed his oldest friend, thinking of the man’s late son. They were almost mirror images of each other. Julian’s short hair was still dark despite his age, and his features had a sharp, aquiline quality that contrasted Titus’s boyishness.

How odd it had been to see his sardonic smile again. Only now rendered in waxy flesh, risen as some sort of undead servant for his double. They had gotten away before he could question them. No matter. They would all be reunited soon enough.

Kel’Thuzad fished about in the ‘miscellaneous’ pocket in his bag until his fingers found a spectral focus. Red glass surrounded an etched emerald; he thought it looked like one of those cinnamon candies that were popular around Hallows Eve. He squeezed it in his fist, allowing a shadowy realm to come into focus.

He hated planes-walking this way. Especially here, close to Karazhan. Many demons and shadowy fiends lurked waiting to ensnare unwitting mages. Kel’Thuzad looked over his shoulder at the pulsing green light at the top of the tower. That mothlight held no interest for him.

The faces of his squad became smudged and indistinct while the ghostly villagers popped into sharp relief. They stood away, eying him with suspicion or otherwise examining an old stone archway. He approached slowly. The stone was blackened as if by fire, yet it radiated a cold that made his bones ache.

He reached out to touch it when a warning blared in his head. Atiesh. Kel’Thuzad summoned the staff and let its golden song fill his mind. A tale of Medivh, a dragon, and-

“Interesting…” Kel’Thuzad let go of the focus. The material world imposed itself instantly. But what did it mean? Was he going to try and herald in a new invasion? Curious if so. Part of him wanted to see if that creature would be able to open it at all.

“Kel, what is it?” Julian asked.

“South, something very interesting indeed.”

++++

“From the dungeons of Karazhan to the heights of Deadwind Pass, I fought him- a death knight of Gul’dan," Kel'Thuzad leaned over the fire and flexed his claws. Modera thought it made him look like a campfire monster, "Until at last I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside.”

“Wow,” the children (and Thrall) hung on the lich’s every word. Enthralled as if spellbound by his story and the hypnotic flicker of the fire. Modera might have believed the Argent Dawn’s tales of the archlich’s supernatural charisma… if she didn’t know the story herself.

Modera rolled her eyes at the newer embellishments. Kel’Thuzad caught her eye and flashed a grin. The Battle for Deadwind Pass was usually a crowd-pleaser.

“If you liked that, then you’ll love this one, it’s about the time I beat Antonidas in a debate-”

“Oh please, you’re not still on that, are you?”

“What? It’s true,” Kel’Thuzad said, “I won!”

“We were at a garden party- a formal council event. Kel’Thuzad ate all the shrimp just like he always does,” Modera explained. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Rivendare nodding, “He and Antonidas got in a shoving match over it, and Antonidas tripped and rolled down a hill.”

It didn't happen exactly like that, but that was basically what happened. "I'm sorry, I didn’t hear anything about me drunkenly tripping over my robes and falling down a hill," Kel'Thuzad said.

Modera turned to the children (and Thrall), "There was no ‘debate’."

“It does sound like you pushed an old man down a hill,” Thrall said.

“He wasn’t that old,” Kel’Thuzad snapped, “It's more fun when I tell it. You take out all the drama.”

“I have a dramatic story,” Titus said, “Kel’Thuzad loves the Fire Festival-”

“No,” Kel’Thuzad said loudly, “It’s late and time for mortals to sleep.” When no one moved, he added, “and I have a lot of work to do tonight.”

“Are you finally going to reveal the secret to how we’re getting home?” Thrall asked.

Kel’Thuzad trailed his claws down a tusk, “What’s there to reveal? It’s not a secret. It’s just some boring ‘ol magecraft.”

Thrall turned to Titus, “See? I told you he’s still figuring it out.”

“I am not,” Kel’Thuzad said hotly. He sat back and clicked his claws against the flat stone, thinking, “Mages do dabble in time magic, though it is not a well-studied field. I doubt Modera and I know more than a handful of tricks between us.”

Modera grunted her disapproval. He was right, but he didn’t have to make such assumptions.

“Being that I don’t sleep, it allows me to set my mind to the greater mysteries. To ponder the-”

“Kel,” Modera raised an eyebrow.

“Fine. I have a lot of time on my hands when everyone’s asleep. I think I’ve figured out how the Bronzes manipulate the timesteam,” Kel’Thuzad brought his hands together, leaving a few inches of space between them, “Picture two planes, the prime timeline and this one that we are in.”

He wiggled his hands, “They run next to each other, but they don’t touch.”

"They're parallel,” Thrall said.

“Isn’t there a point of common convergence?” Titus said, he made a V shape with his hands, “Shouldn’t it look like this?”

“Technically,” Kel’Thuzad said haltingly, “There are an infinite number of differences between the two timestreams. For the analogy, they are parallel,” Kel’Thuzad clenched his fists briefly, then continued, “If we consider portals, they operate by moving an object through one point in space to another, yes? If you were to enter a portal from Stratholme at sunset with a destination of Orgrimmar, what time would it be there?”

The group frowned at him, not happy to be presented with a math problem while camping. Finally, Ghastly offered an answer, “It would be morning.”

“Correct,” Kel’Thuzad said, “There is a ten-hour time difference. But does it take ten hours to step through the portal?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Another long silence. As was the case when an answer seemed too obvious to be correct. Ghastly answered again, “Because it’s instantaneous.”

“Correct. But think for a moment on how the traveler feels. To him, it’s still nighttime, even if the desert sun is rising. Has he time-traveled?”

It wasn’t just the children who frowned at the scenario. Modera was beginning to see the shape of his argument. Portals moved objects through space, but over a great enough distance, they appeared to move through time as well.

“You’re proposing that there is no difference between a bronze dragon’s time portal and a mage’s portal,” Modera said.

“Yes, in a way,” he let the finger on one hand connect to the palm on the other, “They are just opening a portal from one place to another place in the timeline. They use the magic from the hourglass like the Nerubian arches in Naxxramas. It’s just a slightly more robust tunnel.”

Modera gave him an appraising look. It was an intriguing theory. Thrall was not convinced, “If it's so simple, what is stopping you from just opening a portal to Naxxramas right now?”

“Well, for one, that would take a lot of energy. Probably more than even I could muster,” Kel’Thuzad motioned to the dark portal looming over them, “that’s why we are here. We need a doorway to go through. We’re going to open the dark portal… to the Dark Portal.”

+++++

The next morning, Modera was poring over his evening calculations. Kel’Thuzad glanced over his shoulder and watched her scribble away at something.

A sharp tug at his hand brought him back to their task.

“Hold it tight, Ghastly,” Kel’Thuzad called out. He looked down the string and watched Vael snap it in a few spots, leaving a shimmering, pink, arcane-dust-infused line of chalk behind, “Good.”

They straightened. Ghastly let go of his end of the twine so Kel’Thuzad could reel it back in.

So far, the ritual area was coming along nicely. The work was tedious, measure twice, paint once, and all that, but it kept the children engaged. At least they were learning good habits. He watched them race towards him. Vael had a head start, but Ghastly was gaining fast. Both collided with his legs at full speed. The winner was too close to call.

“What’s next?”

“Next, we have lunch,” Kel’Thuzad said.

Ghastly frowned, “I like Modera’s conjurations better.”

This was a scandalous admission. Kel’Thuzad was pleased to find Vael in agreement.

“You do? I think they’re too sour sometimes,” Vael said before realization dawned, “Oh! That means she puts more magic into them, right?”

Kel’Thuzad nodded, “Yes, remember there is a negative link between palatability and satisfaction.”

“So Modera’s are more filling,” Ghastly said with a shrug, “Shan’do’s are bland.”

A second dagger to the heart. Bland. His conjurations. Kel’Thuzad absently licked the sweet, sweet arcane dust off his knuckles and recalled the first time he conjured rations after becoming a lich. Half the cultists threw up because there was too much mana infused into the cakes. Everyone, including himself, had to pretend like it wasn’t completely embarrassing that their leader had to relearn how to cast a beginner's spell.

All this food talk was making him hungry. Maybe he could gnaw on a crystal while the others were eating, or something. That would probably satisfy him… at least until the mortals started talking about food again. Being a lich was such a headache. Modera had no idea what she was asking.

Beside him, Vael frowned at her own chalky fingers. She gave one a tentative lick and screwed up her face, “Gross!”

“Don’t waste it,” Kel’Thuzad said. With a dark chuckle, he flexed his claws at her, “come’ere.”

Vael squealed and darted out of his reach.

A triumphant whoop from Modera stopped his lurching. 

Kel’Thuzad looked up in time to see her rush towards him, papers in hand, “Did what? What’s- oof,” he had a second to react before she leapt into his arms. He caught her easily, but almost dropped her when she grabbed his tusks and kissed him. 

“Oh, nothing, just applied the mechanical to the theoretical,” her lopsided grin dazzled, “We’re going home.”