Emerging from the suffocating shadow soup that was the Twilight Forest, the sky finally yawned into view again. Fresh air, stars, and no suspicious whispers from invisible forest horrors—it was almost a vacation.
After surviving the soul-sucking darkness of Duskwood's creepiest cousin, the rocky Headwind Trail felt like a spa day for the senses. Sure, the wind was enough to make a hatless man cry, but at least it wasn't trying to eat their souls.
Two days of trudging, with boots smeared in dirt and hope, led the group to a frustrating realization: there was no decent campsite anywhere near Karazhan. On Day Three, faced with creeping night and nowhere to hide, the assault team did what any seasoned soldiers would do—they camped on a cliffside trail.
Picture this: On one side, a vertical mountain wall so steep it made vertigo scream; on the other, a cliff plunging into what could only be described as an abyssal "don't-fall-here-or-you're-dead" pit.
Lothar gathered his 200+ warriors and formed them into a living snake, stretching out along the precarious ledge like some very tense parade float.
"If Sargeras sends a squad of his hellspawn to ambush us here, it's lights out," Anduin said, voice low and serious as the wind whipped around them.
Duke cracked a grin, the kind reserved for people who don't fully believe in the apocalypse. "Would you run dozens of kilometers just to swat a mosquito?"
Anduin blinked. "If he actually underestimates us like that, we're golden."
"He will." Duke's smile didn't waver. "Because even if Sargeras is technically fallen, he's still a freaking Titan of Creation. For a cosmic demigod like him to be stuck squatting inside Medivh's body? That's already a slap in the face from the universe. He won't bother wasting a single infernal minion on us mere ants."
Titan. The word felt heavy. Divine architects of the cosmos, creators of worlds, rulers of stars.
Over 150,000 years ago, the Titans forged the Pantheon—celestial gods who shaped Azeroth like clay, made servants to tend their experiments, then bounced, leaving the planet to "figure things out" on its own.
But then came the Old Gods—ancient parasites that hijacked the Titans' labs and turned Azeroth into their chaotic playground. Their corruption infected the Titans' perfect creations, birthing the infamous Curse of Flesh.
Fast forward 25,000 years, and Sargeras, once a noble Titan warrior, went full rebel and formed the Burning Legion—a demonic cosmic wrecking crew bent on obliterating all creation.
"Arrogance," Duke said slowly, voice dropping like a sermon, "grows when you're too powerful and victory is just routine. Sargeras stole Medivh's body, slaughtered the Council of Tirisfal, and crushed Aegwynn's spirit—that's his version of 'showing mercy.' So honestly? We don't have to be too scared going into Karazhan."
Lothar nodded, though his eyes held a flicker of worry.
Duke's own heart was a storm of doubt, quietly praying that history would repeat itself: that Medivh would fall, and the darkness would be pushed back.
Because his fate was tangled up with Stormwind's—and Azeroth's—threads.
He glanced up. The night sky was jeweled with stars, except for a sinister red glow pulsing from the distant Swamp of Sorrows, brighter than a thousand moons and darker than a necromancer's humor.
The red light fought the night itself—an epic battle of shadow versus flame. The stars above Elwynn Forest dimmed as if bullied into hiding by some colossal scarlet shadow. Even the Storm Star in the northwest seemed ready to fall, weighed down by dread.
And here they were: three tiny shooting stars holding the kingdom's last hope—Lothar, Garona, and Duke.
Would they blaze briefly and vanish into the void? Or become stars that would forever burn bright across Azeroth's sky?
Lost in thought, he drifted into sleep.
Morning broke. Yes! The attack was set for dawn.
As they neared Karazhan, the first light of the sun spilled from behind the tower like molten gold, burning away the lingering mists like a celestial cleansing flame.
Lothar turned, eyes shining. "The darkness recedes. The dawn comes. That's a good sign, right?"
Garona's voice cut in, sharp and unshaken: "I don't believe in luck. Only strength decides winners."
Anduin and Duke barely blinked at the orc's blunt honesty.
But Duke's mind immediately went tactical: "So, front door or back door?"
Anduin frowned. "Back door? You mean the griffin landing pad? Medivh knows we're coming. If we parade in on griffins, it'll be a flying meat target."
"No, not that back door." Duke's lips twitched nervously. How do you explain that you know secret entrances because you've been in the game version of this place? And that the real Karazhan might as well be a labyrinth on steroids?
Lothar's 200-plus troops couldn't just march in like the Legion's welcome committee. Doing so would be like poking a slumbering bear with a rusty spear—and not the cute kind of bear.
In the game, Karazhan was huge—but the real tower was a cosmic joke of impossible geometry. Inside spaces folded on themselves, rooms bigger than cities, and a master wizard's playground of spatial magic.
Now it was occupied by Medivh, and Sargeras was driving the car. No easy bosses, no sneaky minions—just raw nightmare fuel.
So, avoiding the slow, painful grind of fighting every small boss was the plan. Straight to Medivh.
"Follow me." Duke gave up trying to explain.
Outside Karazhan were empty servants' quarters and silent houses—ghosts of the wizard's followers.
Ignoring the front gate, Duke led the group across a shallow, sluggish river beside the tower, pushed open a half-ajar door of a three-story house, then breezed past a staircase.
Soon, Lothar spotted a bridge arching high above the ground, connecting to a sub-tower of Karazhan.
Only problem: a locked iron door barred the way.
Lothar's face went pale like he'd seen a banshee. "How did you know about this?"
Duke shrugged, cool as ever. "Well, here's the thing—I'm terrible at lockpicking. I just like to roll the dice. If this doesn't work, back to the front gate."
The door unlocked behind him.
Garona raised an eyebrow. "Door's open. Now what?"
Duke just grinned and went: