In the sprawling Kaldorei Empire, the ancestral halls of hundreds of castles stood eerily empty. The lords, abandoning their estates, had flocked to the fortresses of their regional leaders, their voices shaking the very foundations of the ancient stone as they furiously debated the grim intelligence from the Sisterhood of Elune.
"Queen Azshara has consorted with demons for new power?" one lord thundered, his fist slamming a table. "This is a damnable lie! The Queen is not a fool; she would never invite beings so powerful they could unmake her!"
But as the lords reached a fever pitch, their enraged arguments were silenced by a shared, silent horror. Across the entire empire, in every hall, every keep, every home, every eye widened in disbelief. They all felt it at the same moment: the Well of Eternity had gone silent. Its immense, life-giving magical current, once a roaring torrent, was gone.
The loss was felt by every night elf, and by every creature on the continent of Kalimdor. They had all, in one way or another, been drinking from the Well’s infinite spring. Now, in a single, terrifying instant, that connection was severed. The power they had once reveled in had evaporated into nothingness, leaving a chasm of emptiness in its place.
Panic, raw and unbridled, spread like wildfire. Many civilians, along with the city guards and even some of the Moon Guard who had refused to evacuate Azshara, now found themselves cut off, disoriented. They turned to the one person they had always revered for guidance, the one who was meant to be their eternal beacon: Queen Azshara.
The military and populace began to gather before the gates of Azshara’s inner city, first in hundreds, then in thousands. The sentries on the walls remained impassive, their faces like stone, neither opening the gates nor calming the surging, increasingly frantic crowd.
By the dead of night, most of the remaining elves had converged on the four inner city gates. Tens of thousands gathered at each one, a sea of desperation. Duke, who watched the scene unfold through the unblinking eye of a captured demon, sighed grimly to himself. He had believed, in his heart, that despite the inevitability of history, he could spare some of the innocent. Now, he saw the terrible truth.
The people remaining in the outer city were far from innocent. They were junkies, addicts, their every move driven by a ravenous, soul-deep need for magic.
"Magic! Give us magic!" a voice shrieked from the crowd.
"Give it to me now, you bastards, or I’ll go mad!" another screamed, clawing at their own face.
The people had begun to riot. Some, in their fury, hurled what little arcane energy they could muster at the gates of the inner city, the same city they had revered as holy only hours ago. Weak, sputtering fireballs splashed harmlessly against the shimmering magic shield, dissolving into pathetic clusters of sparks. Others tore at their robes and skin, their nails scratching deep, bloody furrows into their purple flesh. A few shrieked and cried, tears of blood streaking their faces, before they lunged at their neighbors, biting and tearing in a monstrous, panicked frenzy.
The madness was contagious. As Duke watched, more elves began to set fire to the houses around the inner city, a furious act of protest against the Queen who had abandoned them. He took a slow, deep breath, the taste of smoke and despair acrid on his tongue. Like the high elves who would later become addicted to the Sunwell’s energy, these elves, their beautiful faces now a distorted, hideous mask of rage, were addicts. And their fix was the magic of the Well of Eternity, a drug thousands of times more potent than anything in the future. When the craving hit, an addict would trample on every shred of decency and kill any beauty in the world to get what they wanted. Duke finally understood the true, terrifying reason for the fall of the once-proud Kaldorei Empire.
Beside him stood Queen Azshara, her face a mask of porcelain perfection, her golden eyes fixed on the spectacle outside.
The city was no longer the one she knew. Buildings were consumed by flames, the blaze spreading, an ocean of fire that swallowed everything in its path. And through it all, her people, once so perfect and devoted, were killing each other. She looked up and down the inner city’s walls, still pristine and untouched, and a single, delicate tremor shook her frame.
"Are those truly my beloved people?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Xavius stepped forward, a smirk playing on his lips. "Your Majesty, you see them for what they are. They are the wretched untouchables who only pretend to obey your rule. They are a disgrace. Everything out there is worthless. For a more perfect world, all imperfections must be swept away."
Removed? The word tasted like poison in Duke’s mouth. You are the ones who abused the magic of the Well of Eternity and turned these million people into ravenous addicts!
Azshara turned her trembling gaze from the window to Duke. "Forgive me, Lord Infernal Affairs, the most trusted servant of the Creator Sargeras, commander of the Celestial Realm. Do you agree that this... is what must be done?"
Duke’s disgust for Azshara deepened. This was a ruler so obsessed with perfection, she couldn’t even admit to making a mistake. She couldn’t stomach the idea of purifying her own subjects, so she was trying to force him, the fake Void Lord, to take the blame.
Duke’s lips curled into a sneer. "Isn’t it your right as the Queen to decide what happens to your subjects?" His tone was utterly flat, dismissive.
Azshara and Xavius, however, took this as a sign of full approval. Xavius bowed his head. "If Lord Duke says it must be so, then it must be so. Besides, Lord Mannoroth, our other celestial commander, also believes that purification is necessary. Sacrifice is inevitable in the pursuit of glory, and these are but rabble-rousers who have tarnished the honor of Her Majesty’s holy city!"
Azshara had briefly met the unforgettable Mannoroth and his towering frame still held a certain fascination for her. Seeing that both celestial commanders "agreed," she gave a stiff, almost imperceptible nod. The latest_epɪ_sodes are on_the ɴo(v)elFɪre.ɴet
Xavius bowed again. "Your wisdom spans the stars, my Queen."
Azshara accepted the empty flattery with regal grace, a queen who had grown accustomed to a daily diet of such compliments. As if she could not bear the coming slaughter, she turned her face away from the window. "Will this take long? Will the Creator be here soon?" she asked, her voice a fragile whisper.