Thrall was too disheartened to argue. Nothing was real. The glittering scales that lured him from timeway to timeway, an assassin who shouldn’t exist, some deep draconic mystery—his head was swimming, trying to keep track of it. Taretha’s hand on his shoulder wasn’t real, yet it was. What was dream? What was reality? What was—
And then suddenly, with the gentleness of breeze and the force of an explosion, Thrall understood.
He saw again the black bird Medivh speaking to him: This place is full of illusions. There is only one way you can find what you truly seek—only one way you can find yourself.
And Krasus’s words: Though you must be very careful. It is easy to be trapped by illusions. … This timeway is, frankly, something that should never have been … an illusion, as it were. …
The timeways were not full of illusions. This timeway was not an illusion.
It was time itself that was the illusion.
Historians and prophets made much of the past and future. There were tomes aplenty written about old battles, strategies, historical events, and how they had changed the world. And there were prophecies and predictions, hopes and wonderments and speculations about the next five hundred years, or the next five minutes.
But the only true reality was now.
Scholars would have debates raging over what he was wrestling with now, but in his mind it suddenly seemed so simple, so obvious. There was only ever one moment.
This one.
Every past moment was a memory. It was gone. Every future moment was a hope, or a fear. It had not yet manifested.
There was only now, this moment, and even it slipped away into the past, and the future moment became this moment.
It was so elegant, so peaceful and tranquil, and Thrall found himself letting go of so many things he could barely understand them all. They slid from his shoulders like a pack dropped to the earth. The obsession over past actions. The worry about future ones.
And still the need to plan, the need for regret—wisdom dictated that even in this moment such things were necessary. To understand the past was to be the best one could be in this moment. To anticipate the future could shape the next this moment.
But all that became so much easier—became light as a feather and magical and innocent—once he finally understood.
He was trapped in time, yes. In this seemingly endless path of revisiting his past—or, most recently, in glimpsing a possible future.
But all he needed to do was step out of the cycle by truly being in this moment. And Nozdormu—
Thrall blinked and trembled with the vastness of the understanding that broke upon him. Now he understood both how it was that he was so mired in these timeways that felt so personal, yet he saw Nozdormu in each one of them. Thrall had been trapped in a single moment—a vital moment of his own past. The mighty Timeless One was trapped in all moments of time.
But with his newfound ease, Thrall knew that he now could find the great leviathan.
Krasus was smiling at him. Thrall knew that the red dragon was dead in the real timeway, but that was not truth; that was not reality. This was. And Taretha, too, was real, and alive. He could almost feel her breath slipping into her lungs, hear each sweet heartbeat as if it were the only heartbeat ever to exist.
Which it was.
“You have figured it out,” Krasus said, a slight smile curving his lips.
“I have,” Thrall said. He turned to Taretha and smiled into her eyes. “I am glad to be with you.”
Not glad to have been. To be.
He closed his eyes.
* * *
When he opened them, he knew he was in a place completely and utterly out of time. He was floating, unanchored even by gravity, the darkness around him illuminated only by the soft glow of a truly infinite number of portals. And through each one, Thrall could glimpse the glitter of golden scales.
It was a startling, unsettling image, yet Thrall felt complete peace in his heart as he drifted in a nothingness surrounded by everything. His mind was calm and open, holding something that it should not be able to hold for more than a moment—but he knew a moment was all that was needed. All that was ever needed.
And then his body fell with a gentle thump onto the cradling embrace of soft sand, and he realized he was once again in the Caverns of Time. He opened his eyes and gazed upon the Timeless One.
But not only upon a single being, however magnificent. On each of those scales, those glittering things that had taken him on so amazing a journey, Thrall saw moments.
His moments.
All the great deeds of Thrall’s life were playing out on the scales of the Timeless One. There, he donned the armor of Orgrim Doomhammer. Here, he fought alongside Cairne Bloodhoof, protecting that great tauren’s village. Over there, he called the elements for the first time; over there, he stood alongside Grom Hellscream. Countless moments, moments that had made a hero, a legend. Moments that had truly changed his world.
“Do you sssee?”
The voice was a deep rumble, deeper than any Thrall had heard from a dragon before. It thrummed along his blood, sang in his soul.
“I—see,” he whispered.
“What … do you sssee?”
“The most important moments of my life,” Thrall said, his eyes darting from one to another. So much, he could hardly take it in. But the moment could hold it, and it did.
“The deedsss that changed the course of hissstory,” agreed Nozdormu. “I hold them all. All the great deedsss, of all beingsss who have lived. But that is not all there is.”
Thrall was enraptured by the scenes, dancing and beautiful, and felt himself yearning to be swept up in them. Gently, with compassion for his yearning, he nonetheless rooted himself on the sand, Thrall-in-the-now, regarding Nozdormu-in-the-now.
He turned his head to regard the dragon’s face. The wisdom in the gleaming, sun-colored eyes was almost unimaginably ancient, and yet oddly youthful. Powerful, beyond Thrall’s comprehension. Beautiful.
“There is more to a life than the great moments, the ones the world sssees,” Nozdormu continued. “You must sssee those for yourself.”
And Thrall did. The discovery of Taretha’s first enthusiastic note, and the glimpse of her waving to him when she was just a girl. The quiet evenings in camps after battles, drinking and laughing and telling stories around a fire. Running as a ghost wolf, working with the elements.
“This strong hand in mine,” he murmured, the memory of Aggra’s brown fingers clasping his.
“It is there that we are receptive, and learn. Where we take in. Glory, battle, great momentsss, are where we give to the world. But we cannot give without receiving. We cannot share what we do not have inside. It is this quiet, the pause between breathsss, that makes us what we truly are. Gives us ssstrength for all our journeys.”
Aggra.
The moments shimmered, ceased, and Thrall was looking at nothing more—or less—than the beautiful golden scales of the minder of time. He realized, too, that he and Nozdormu were not alone in the Caverns. They were surrounded by several silent but happy members of the bronze flight who had come to sit quietly beside them.
Nozdormu looked at each of them, including his son Anachronos, then back to Thrall. “I owe you a debt I do not think I can repay,” Nozdormu said. “You brought me back. I wasss everywhere, and nowhere at once. I had forgotten the Firssst Lessson. I, the Timelesss One.” He made a rumbling noise, part self-deprecating amusement, part annoyance. “One would think that, surrounded by the grainsss of the sssands of time, I would remember the small thingsss more.”
This strong hand in yours.
“I know why you have come,” Nozdormu continued. Thrall suddenly felt sheepish. “Or rather … all the reasons you have come, some of which are not necessarily ssso. Speak, my friend.”
Thrall did, starting with the visit from Ysera, and all that had occurred since then. Nozdormu’s nostrils flared and his great eyes narrowed at the description of t
he ancients.
“They, too, are keepersss of time, in their own way,” he said, but would not elaborate further.
Thrall continued, speaking of the mysterious assassin and his experience with the various manifestations of the timeways. “I learned that my pursuer was none other than possibly my greatest enemy,” he said quietly. “Aedelas Blackmoore—an Aedelas Blackmoore who was strong, and cunning, and determined.”
“And,” Nozdormu sighed, “an agent of the infinite dragonflight.”
“How do you—?”
Nozdormu held up a commanding forepaw. “In a moment. I have listened to your ssstory, and knowing what else I know … I have come to a very disturbing conclusion. A conclusion,” he said, addressing not just Thrall but the gathered bronzes, “that will be difficult to accept. But accept it we must. My children … everything is connected.”
The bronzes exchanged glances. “What do you mean, Father?” asked Anachronos. “We know that meddling in the timeways can have dire repercussions.”
“No, no, it isss far bigger than that … farther reaching … almost inconceivably so. And this connection concerns usss. The dragonsss. Good, at least, has come of my being trapped in each moment. I have been held captive by the illusion of time. And in that captivity, I bore witnesss. I have ssseen things germinate, gain strength, and manifest. And I tell you, it is no accident.” He took a deep breath and regarded them steadily.
“All the events that have occurred to harm the Aspectsss and their flights over the millennia—they are not coincidence, or simply random happenssstance. This altering of the timewaysss, the construction of a monster out of Blackmoore. The Emerald Nightmare, which harmed so many. The attack of the twilight dragonflight, the madness of Malygosss and even Neltharion—they are all intertwined. Perhaps even entirely orchestrated by the same dark handsss.”
For a moment, no one spoke. So many events—connected? Part of a far-reaching conspiracy so vast, it had taken aeons to manifest?
It was Thrall who broke the silence. “To what end?” he asked. Some of these incidents he hadn’t even known about. It was almost too huge for him to even comprehend.
“To destroy the Aspects and the flights forever. To eliminate all chance of order and stability.”
He turned to Thrall, bringing his great head down to the orc’s level. Sorrow was in those amazing eyes as he spoke.
“I had become lost in the timeways, Thrall. Trapped in every moment. Do you know why I was there in the first place?”
Thrall shook his head.
“I was there to try to understand how sssomething dark came to be. How to prevent that. You asked me how I knew that the infinite dragonflight was behind Blackmoore’sss creation and liberation.”
He hesitated, then looked away, unable to meet Thrall’s blue-eyed gaze.
“I know this because … I sssent him after you.”
TWELVE
What?” Thrall at first thought this was some kind of joke, a draconic attempt at mortal humor. But Nozdormu seemed very serious. Thrall was both furious and completely confused. Even the other bronzes drew back and murmured among themselves.
Nozdormu heaved a great sigh. “It was given unto me to know the very hour and method of my own death,” he said. “I would never sssubvert it. But only one of the pathwaysss to my destiny can be correct. And in one unfolding future, I became the leader of the infinite dragonflight. That was why I became lost in the timewaysss, Thrall. I was ssseeking understanding of how such a thing came to be. How I, who have always striven to honor the great duty the titans charged me with, could have fallen so far astray.”
Thrall nodded, though he was still shocked and more than a little wary.
“Did … you discover how to prevent such a thing from happening?” he asked.
Slowly, Nozdormu shook his massive head. “Unfortunately, not yet. One thing I do know, and that isss that all the flightsss must unite against this current menace. Ysera was right: you have certain abilities, waysss of thinking, waysss of ssspeaking, that move others. You have helped so much already, yet I must ask you to help more.”
Help the future leader of the infinite dragonflight? Thrall hesitated. And yet, he could sense nothing of evil in Nozdormu. Not yet anyway. He sensed only worry and chagrin.
“For Ysera, and especially for Desharin, who gave his life that I might find you, Timeless One, I will help. But I will need to know more. I fear I have been operating in the dark most of this time.”
“Considering Ysera sought you out, that does not sssurprise me,” Nozdormu said, dryly but with affection. “She is ssseldom clear. Thrall, son of Durotan and Draka, you have my deepest thanksss. We will share with you what we can … but you must undertake this alone. This theory, this conviction—I must know more if I am to truly know what we must do. Do not worry: I will not forget that which you have reminded me to remember. I will not get lost in the timeways a sssecond time. It is a difficult task I ssset before you, but one that could sssave everything. You must find Alexstrasza the Life-Binder, and rouse her from her grief.”
“What happened?” Thrall inquired.
“I was not present, yet I know,” said Nozdormu. Thrall nodded. If Nozdormu had been trapped in every moment, of course he would know. “There was a meeting of the various flightsss at Wyrmrest Temple not very long ago. It was the first sssuch since the death of Malygosss, and the end of the Nexus War.
“Alexstrasza’s mate, Korialstrasz, whom you knew as Krasus, lingered behind in the Ruby Sanctum. Each flight has a sssanctum, a sort of … dimension that is jussst for them. The meeting was interrupted by an attack from a flight known as the twilight dragonflight—who ssserve Deathwing and the Twilight’s Hammer cult.”
Thrall frowned. “I know of this cult,” he said.
“During the battle, there was a terrible implosion. Every one of the sssanctums was destroyed. With them went Krasus … and all the eggs in every sssanctum. He killed them all.”
Thrall stared at the bronze dragon. He thought of what he had seen of Krasus: calm, intelligent, caring. “He … he murdered them? All of them?”
“So it would seem,” growled Anachronos. His tail lashed and his eyes were narrowed.
Thrall shook his head firmly. “No. I don’t believe it. There must be some reason, some explanation—”
“The Life-Binder is devastated,” Nozdormu interrupted. “Imagine how she mussst feel. To think that her dearest love had either gone mad, or been in league with the cult—it has shattered her. Without their Aspect, the reds will not lend their aid to fight the Twilight Cult. And without the redsss, there is no chance of victory. All will be lossst.”
He turned his great eyes upon Thrall and said intently, “You must remind her of her duties—of her heart’s ability to care for othersss, even when it is wounded. Can you do this, Thrall?”
Thrall had no idea. It was a daunting task. Could no dragon accomplish it? He had no personal connection with her. How in the world could he convince her to put aside such powerful grief and rejoin a battle?
“I will try,” was all Thrall could answer.
Alexstrasza did not remember where she had been for most of the last several days. Nor did she have any thought as to where she would go. She simply flew, blinded by pain and a desire to escape from it, and let her wings take her where they would.
She had flown over empty gray expanses of ocean, over elven lands and corrupted forests and winterscapes, until she reached this place which seemed as lonely and broken and empty as she was. Her final destination, she had decided, would be in Desolace—a fitting name, she thought bitterly.
She transformed and walked on two feet south from the Stonetalon Mountains. She passed a battle between Horde and Alliance, and gave it no heed; let the short-lived races destroy themselves. It was no concern of hers any longer. She passed a scarred vale pulsing with lava and temperatures only a black dragon could endure, and spared it only a dull glance. Let the world destroy itself. Her love was
gone—her love, who had, perhaps, betrayed her and all she had fought for.
Alexstrasza cursed herself, her flight, the other flights; she cursed the titans, who had bequeathed such a burden upon her. She had not asked for it and now realized that she could not bear it.
She removed her boots, wanting to feel the hard, dead earth beneath her feet, and paid no mind to the blisters that formed. The rocky path grew no less rocky, but the land surrendered any memory of grass and became dull and gray. It was oddly powdery beneath her sore feet, comforting in a way the rock had not been. She sensed fel energies here, but merely acknowledged this and moved forward, step by step, leaving smeared bloody prints as she walked.
The dead were here. She saw countless bones of kodos and other creatures, bleached white with age. The skeletons dotted the landscapes as trees did in other places. What living creatures she did see seemed to feast on death—hyenas, vultures. Alexstrasza watched dully as a vulture wheeled over her. She wondered if it had ever tasted dragon before.
It would, soon. This place suited her. She would not leave it.
Slowly, the dragoness once known as the Life-Binder ascended a jutting peak to look down upon the wasteland. She would not eat, nor drink, nor sleep. She would sit atop the peak and wait for death to claim her, and then her suffering would, at last, be over.
Thrall almost missed her.
Even atop the back of one of the great bronze dragons, he could not see everything. He was looking for a red dragon, presumably easy to spot in this empty place. He was not looking for a slender elven female, huddled alone atop a stone peak.
“I will set you down a short distance away,” Tick said. One of the dragons who had guarded the Caverns of Time, she had volunteered to bear Thrall wherever he needed to go—starting with this forsaken place. “I think my presence here will not be welcome.”
She spoke this not in hostility but in deep regret. Thrall imagined that all the dragonflights mourned for what had happened to the Life-Binder. If they had any sense, Thrall thought, every sentient being would mourn it.
Thrall Twilight of the Aspects Page 13