"Huh? Didn't you say you had a year off?"
Alleria snorted, folding her arms as if holding back a punch she'd rather throw. "Trolls are acting up near Quel'Thalas. Those spineless old council fossils shoved an urgent order into my hands and kicked me out the door like a stray murloc."
Duke's heart sank. She had just walked into his life like a dazzling meteor—golden thigh, divine aura, and all. And now she was leaving? The sudden news hit him like a blunt axe to the chest.
"Well... I wish you a safe journey."
Alleria blinked. Of all things, that phrase—"safe journey"—coming from a human, pierced her like an arrow through chainmail. For a Windrunner, that was more than a farewell. That was a benediction.
"You little fox... tricked me again without even trying." Her smile returned, sly and wistful. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed something small through the air.
Duke caught it: a delicate silver trinket engraved in elegant High Elvish script.
He frowned. "I can't read this."
"Then learn it!" Alleria declared with the pomp of a thousand-year empire behind her. She puffed out her chest proudly. "I may be a Windrunner and a child of the forests, but even I say—High Elf magic reigns supreme!"
Duke nodded solemnly. Of course, of course. Big chest, bigger authority.
"Yes, yes, absolutely. High Elf magic, numbah one!"
"Hey! Don't look so relieved to see me go!" she snapped.
"No, never!" Duke cried, a picture of mock betrayal.
Alleria leapt into a tree with the grace of a cat and sat on a thick branch like it was her throne. Her voice softened, thoughtful. "Actually... I envy you."
"You're young, wild, reckless. You've got nothing to lose. I'm a general, sure. But to those smug councillors? I rank somewhere below a mop in a mage tower. When I saw you slap that noble brat..." she sighed, then laughed. "I wanted to cheer."
Duke's eye twitched. "You saw that!?"
"Oh, I saw everything. I wished I had your guts. But I can't afford to. I'm the Windrunner heiress. My every eyebrow twitch gets scrutinized. I'm not allowed mistakes, or emotions, or fun."
Her voice had dropped into something bitter and sad, like the last notes of a song played on a cracked violin.
"So the version of me you've seen these past couple of days? That was a rare vacation. The moment I return, it's back to tight armor, cold orders, and colder faces. I'll probably never see you again. But thanks... for reminding me that life can still be interesting."
Duke grinned slyly. "So... are we friends?"
Alleria shook her head slowly. "No. High elves avoid befriending humans. Not out of arrogance. It's... time. Your whole life is a weekend to us. Making friends just means saying goodbye too soon."
Damn, so this is a Himmel situation...
Duke was quiet for a moment. Then he smirked. "What if we meet again... in five years?"
Alleria snorted. "Highly unlikely. I'll probably be rotting on some frontline for the next fifty. Humans don't get close to our battle lines."
"Then let's bet. If we do meet again in five years... you have to become my friend."
Alleria's eyes sparkled mischievously. "Hmph. You've got yourself a deal. But don't get your hopes up, kid."
She vanished into the treetops, like a silver shadow melting into the stars.
But as she vanished, she thought to herself: 'Cheeky little human.'
What she didn't know was that she'd just walked straight into Duke's long-term strategy. If his mental calendar was correct, the Dark Portal incident would open the floodgates of chaos—and fate would drag her right back into the human world.
The following morning, Duke was back in the bone-rattling wagon, bouncing around like a potato in a sack.
He'd grown more used to Azeroth's harsh realities—less puking, more glaring out the window. But that didn't mean it got easier.
"Elwynn Forest," he muttered. "Most peaceful place in the kingdom... and still a deathtrap."
Old man Norton wasn't traveling light. Three wagons, thirty horses, twenty-some people including guards, servants, and two apprentices besides Duke.
Night two, they got swarmed by forest wolves. Only Norton's blinding Fire Wall saved them.
Duke watched in horror as one of the servants—just a boy, really—was nailed through the throat by a gnoll crossbow. The servant's eyes bulged. Blood gurgled out. He reached up as if to speak. Then collapsed.
Duke couldn't breathe. Death wasn't a game mechanic anymore. It stank, it screamed, it bled.
And it never got easier.
He glanced at Daniel and Anya. Neither even flinched.
"That's just how it is here," Daniel said with a shrug.
"Yeah. Monsters are normal. Death too," Anya added, voice flat.
Duke felt like he'd been punched in the soul.
Yet, somehow, three days later, they rolled into Stormwind—muddy, bruised, half-exhausted, but alive.
Duke gazed at the towering city walls, the sunlight gilding the stone like a halo.
He'd made it. Stage one of survival: complete.
He clenched his fist.
There was still a long, bloody road ahead.
But he wasn't just any human anymore.
He had allies. He had ambition. And, by the Light, he had plans.