Into the Light

40 | THE FINAL HOURS

Krasus's Landing bustled with activity, hundreds of Alliance and Horde airships hovered outside Dalaran in long queues, waiting patiently, their massive propellers rotating, filling the air with a powerful, rhythmic thrum. Under Malfurion's feral paws, the surface of the Landing vibrated. He had been at the Landing since dawn, watching the preparations of both factions led by Anduin and Sylvanas. They stood together in full view of their forces with their commanders, presenting a united front.

Malfurion paced, impatient, glancing for the thousandth time at the distant blackened island, longing for the assault to begin on the Broken Shore so Khadgar's group could journey to Hope's End, and he to Tyrande.

A horn bellowed, low and deep, signalling the airship parked at the Landing's imminent departure. Crewmen on board pulled back the walkway connecting the hovering Alliance ship to the Landing. Moments later the ship peeled away, its propellers speeding up, thundering, deafening, to take its holding position along with the others over the coast of Azsuna. Another airship came to take its place, this time one from Orgrimmar. A dozen portals opened, orcs, blood elves, undead, goblins, trolls and tauren poured out, hastening to organise behind their captains.

Malfurion had to admit as he watched the troops board, orderly and disciplined, the operation was flawless. Once Anduin and Sylvanas had put their heads together with Khadgar, they had become unstoppable. He thought of Jaina and what she would think if she could see how much things had changed between the Horde and Alliance since suffering the losses of their last assault. He shook his head. No, it would be better if she did not see this. She could cause a lot of trouble when she wanted to. He was glad she had gone away. He hoped she would stay away for a long time, too. Seeing how much could be accomplished when the factions worked together moved him in a way he couldn't explain, but whatever it was, it meant much to him to finally see something he never thought he would see. He was certain Varian would be proud of his son if he could see him now, standing over a command table and conferring, serious, with the Warchief of the Horde, nodding with her as they made their last minute decisions.

The ships continued to move up one at a time, to take on board the thousands of troops being portalled to the Landing by the Kirin Tor mages from all across Azeroth. Joining the Alliance and Horde forces were Valarjar warriors and Highmountain Tauren, even an impressive contingent of Nightborne rebels and Nightfallen had arrived, to provide medical support behind the lines with their tinctures and healing remedies. Malfurion was ashamed none of the Dreamweavers had come to aid in the fight, not even to provide healing, but they believed their fight against the Nightmare to be the most urgent. They had sent an emissary to apologise, but a part of him resented their lack of support. They could have spared at least a dozen to help Azeroth.

He wondered if perhaps this feeling he felt was similar to how Tyrande had felt when he had spent all his time in the Emerald Dream. He shook his head, why had she stayed with him? He had neglected her so much. He looked once more at the far side of the towering Tomb of Sargeras, at the place they would soon travel to, the island called Hope's End. Once he got her back, he would never neglect her again. He had learned from his mistakes, and wouldn't make them again.

There was still hours to go before the assault would begin. Even so Malfurion intended to stay and watch, willing them to hurry. For every airship that departed, he was that much closer to reaching Tyrande. He could do nothing else, and somehow watching them prepare, helped.