Chapter Text
Bonich was a rich, lush world, its towering trees spanning every imaginable variety, its temperate climate reminiscent of Elwynn Forest in winter. The air was clean—untouched in a way Thalia had not felt since before the Legion had begun tearing worlds apart.
That alone should have been impossible.
Of course, the Legion had come for it.
And of course she was here—with Varian, Selena, her children, and the Illidari—to stop them.
The battlefield was quiet now. Fel ichor soaked into living soil that resisted it stubbornly, smoke thinning beneath a wide blue sky. The Legion Commander lay broken among his guards, the Harbinger reduced to ash, every demon that had set foot here slain before they could finish their work.
A victory. A clean one.
Varian rested his sword point-down in the earth, both hands braced on the hilt. He did not look relieved—only thoughtful, his gaze moving across the forest as though measuring what hadn’t been lost.
“They barely had time to dig in,” he said quietly. “No fortifications. No scorched ground.”
“They were interrupted,” Thalia replied. “Or they were rushing.”
Neither answer comforted her.
“Another successful Legion invasion point conquered,” Kayn said with a sharp grin. “Lord Illidan will be pleased.” The Illidari murmured their agreement, tension bleeding away now that the fighting had ended.
“Such a beautiful world,” Selena said softly, shaking her head. “And the Legion’s first instinct was still to destroy it.”
Thalia’s attention had drifted to the valley below. It was too still. No roads, no smoke, no obvious settlements—but also no sense of abandonment. Her skin prickled, the faintest whisper of awareness brushing against her senses. Not hostile. Not afraid.
Present.
“I don’t think this world is empty,” she said at last. “The Legion doesn’t waste effort like this unless there’s something here worth claiming.”
Varian’s eyes narrowed. “You’re right, my love. Kayn. Scout the area. That ridge should give you a view of the entire valley.” He gestured toward the rise behind them. “Look for anything out of place.”
“We can spare a few hours,” Kayn nodded. “The portals will hold.”
He leapt skyward, wings snapping open as Illysanna Ravencrest and Tirathon Saltheril followed—disciplined, silent, lethal. Below, the others spread out. Asha vanished into the tree line. Cyana, long since cleansed of Legion corruption, just like Illysanna and Tirathon, glided low alongside Vandel and Altruis, scanning the land with practised precision.
Selena invoked Eyes of the Beast, her awareness lifting above her body as her vision soared high over the valley.
And still, no settlements.
But high above, deep within the canopy of an ancient tree whose roots drank deeply from Bonich’s leylines, a figure remained perfectly still.
Battle-scarred armour dulled and darkened to avoid reflection. Daggers secured, not drawn. Breath controlled. Watching.
He had learned long ago the difference between demons and demon hunters.
These were the latter.
The portals opening in the sky had been seen long before the fighting began. Legion energy—yes—but not only Legion. The arrival of the Illidari carried echoes he had not felt in years. Echoes of Outland. Of the Black Temple. Of a war that was supposed to have ended.
He withdrew soundlessly; a signal passed through arcane runes and subtle motion alone.
They were not alone on Bonich anymore.
Below, Thalia exhaled slowly, her fingers curling into Varian’s sleeve. “Someone’s watching us,” she murmured. “Not Legion. Not hostile.”
Varian did not look surprised. His grip tightened fractionally on his sword. “Then let’s hope,” he said quietly, eyes on the treeline, “that whoever they are remembers why the Legion was driven from this world.”
Far above, unseen, the watcher allowed himself a faint, knowing smile.
As they descended into the valley, after Kayn gave them the ok, the forest did not resist them.
That alone told Thalia everything.
The path opened without clearing, branches bending just enough to allow passage, roots subtly redirected rather than cut. This was not wilderness shaped by chance—it was land tended, guided by hands that understood both magic and restraint.
Blood elf hands.
She slowed, her breath catching as familiar harmonics brushed against her senses. “They’re still here,” she murmured—not in disbelief, but in quiet certainty.
Varian glanced at her. “You were expecting this.”
She nodded once. “I was hoping.”
They crested a gentle rise, and Bonich finally revealed its heart.
Stone and crystal structures were woven seamlessly into the landscape—elegant arches grown rather than built, spell-focus pylons etched with Sin’dorei sigils older than the Legion’s recent war on Azeroth. Wards hummed softly, layered and precise, tuned not to dominate the land but to protect it.
Selena drew in a sharp breath. “These wards… they’re not fel.”
“No,” Thalia said, her voice thick with emotion. “They never were.”
High above, unseen by mortal eyes, a brief pulse of arcane light flared and vanished, woven so precisely into Bonich’s leylines that even Selena’s spell barely registered it. A signal, not a spell. Old Sin’dorei code, layered beneath concealment wards that had held for years.
A heartbeat later, a figure stepped from the shadows ahead.
He did not leap. Did not glide. He simply was there, as though the forest itself had decided to acknowledge him. Dark leathers dulled against the greenery, posture relaxed but alert, every movement disciplined.
“Of all the ways I imagined this moment, my Lady," Veras Darkshadow said quietly, bowing deeply at Thalia, “this was not one of them.”
Thalia smiled, warmth and relief flooding through her. “Still dramatic, Veras.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Still alive, my lady. That alone makes this a good day.”
Thalia exhaled a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding, a soft smile breaking through the tension. “You took your time.”
“I had to be certain,” Veras replied. His gaze flicked briefly to Varian, then back to her. “But when I saw you on the battlefield… There was never any doubt.”
Varian stilled beside her, surprise flickering across his face—not at Veras’s presence, but at the familiarity between them.
“You recognised her,” he said.
“I recognised her the moment she stepped onto the battlefield,” Veras replied evenly. “There are not many who move as she does. Fewer still who carry themselves like someone who has already died for many wars and came back anyway.”
He inclined his head to Thalia, rogue to priestess, survivor to survivor. “Kael’thas’s former consort does not go unnoticed—even across worlds.”
Silence fell—not awkward, but heavy with meaning.
He stepped aside—not retreating, simply making space. “Lower your weapons. You are among friends here.”
Thalia’s eyes closed briefly as she reached out with her senses.
The wards shifted.
Not breaking. Opening.
A low, harmonious hum rippled outward, and the world seemed to… unfold.
Stone terraces shimmered into existence, elegant spires and sunlit walkways revealing themselves as concealment enchantments were gently withdrawn. Arcane pylons flared gold and crimson, their sigils unmistakably Sin’dorei. Structures grown from crystal and stone emerged from the land as if they had always belonged there.
And then the people appeared.
Rangers stepped from hidden overlooks, bows unstrung but ready. Warriors in burnished armour took up respectful positions along the paths. Magisters, Priestesses and Priests gathered in small knots, murmuring excitedly as they assessed the newcomers. Vendors pulled back awnings, artisans paused mid-work, hands dusted with crystal filings and enchanted metal.
Children—so many children—peeked out from behind columns and robes, eyes wide with curiosity rather than fear.
Alive.
Thriving.
Selena’s breath hitched. “Light preserve us…”
“This world was never empty,” Thalia said softly. “It was protected.”
A ripple of movement passed through the assembled Sin’dorei as a path cleared down the central terrace.
The air warmed. The light seemed to bend.
Kael’thas Sunstrider stepped forward.
He was radiant—not with madness, not with fel fire, but with the quiet, controlled brilliance of a prince who had survived betrayal, exile, and near-erasure. His crimson-and-gold robes caught the light as though the sun itself had chosen to follow him across the stars.
Behind him stood those who had once been scattered, vilified, and hunted.
High Priestess Malande stood calm and watchful, a still centre of faith and discipline. Her presence radiated quiet resolve, a healer’s patience masking the lethal certainty of reflected judgment and holy reprisal.
Gathios the Shatterer was stern and unyielding, a living bulwark. His posture spoke of relentless martial order, blessings and seals ready to be unleashed in crushing judgment upon any who dared stand before him.
Zerevor watched with arcane eyes bright with restrained triumph, raw power coiled tightly beneath his composure. Frost and flame answered his will in equal measure, precise and devastating, as though the battlefield itself were a calculated experiment.
Lord Sanguinar stood with arms crossed, his presence formidable and oppressive. A smirk tugged at his lips, promise of chaos in his gaze—he thrived on panic, on fear made manifest, sowing confusion as effortlessly as breathing.
Grand Astromancer Capernian observed with a sharp, measuring gaze, already mapping trajectories and distances in her mind. Gravity bent to her calculations, stars themselves seeming ready to fall at her command.
Master Engineer Telonicus radiated pride in his craftsmanship, brilliance bordering on obsession. Every device, every mechanism was perfectly placed, each one a testament to his belief that superior engineering would inevitably grind all opposition into ash.
Pathaleon the Calculator steepled his fingers, his mind racing through implications faster than anyone else could follow. He stood apart even from his peers, already anticipating outcomes, probabilities, and the precise moment when annihilation would become inevitable.
Commander Sarannis stood fierce and commanding, power rippling through her every movement. Her strikes were swift and merciless, amplified by arcane surges that punished proximity and rewarded aggression, marking her as a relentless frontline executioner.
High Botanist Freywinn lingered with unsettling serenity, a druid in all but name. Living growth obeyed his will—vines, spores, and rampant life twisting into weapons—nature’s abundance turned violently against those who trespassed.
Not enemies.
Leaders.
Survivors.
Kael’thas’s gaze found Thalia immediately.
For a heartbeat, the years fell away.
“Thalia, my sweet priestess,” he said, voice steady but thick with emotion. “It seems fate has finally exhausted its attempts to keep us apart.”
Thalia stepped forward, tears bright in her eyes, smiling through them. “I knew you would not only survive the Nathrezim but actually emerge triamphant,” she said softly.
He inclined his head, sunlight catching in his hair. “And you were right. As always.”
Time froze.
“Annda!”
Serenya barreled forward, nearly toppling him. Kael caught her instinctively, laughing, and lifted her off the ground. She squealed with joy as he twirled her once, then twice, spinning the firstborn he had thought he would never see again.
“My radiant star,” he murmured, voice thick. “You survived.”
“So did you,” she laughed, pressing her forehead to his.
He set Serenya down just long enough to sweep his gaze across the other daughters beside Thalia: Lysera, the ranger, and Myralia, the warlock, both battle-worn but radiant with pride.
“My brave ones,” he said quietly. One by one, he drew them into his arms, lifting and twirling each, spinning them with the fierce joy and relief of a father finally reunited with his family.
When all three daughters were safe on their feet, Kael turned to his two sons, Kaelen and Therion, who approached more cautiously, awe and pride in their eyes. He embraced them both firmly, hands on shoulders, foreheads touching in a quiet, unspoken acknowledgment of their shared survival and strength.
"My sons!" he murmured.
Only then did Kael lift his gaze again to Thalia.
“My sweet Thalia,” he said softly, a warmth threading every word. “It seems the stars finally tired of keeping our family apart.”
She smiled through tears, Varian’s hand firm and reassuring in hers. “They never had much success with that.”
Kael inclined his head to Varian—acknowledgment without rivalry, gratitude without possessiveness. “You kept her safe.”
Varian answered with a quiet nod. “She kept us all alive.”
Around them, the colony watched in reverent silence—not witnessing a political moment, but a family made whole again.
Above, Bonich’s sky remained clear.
The Legion had come seeking conquest—
And instead, had borne witness to a reunion written into fate itself.