King Llane had always known Bolvar Fordragon to be a paragon of knighthood: disciplined, upright, and so pure of heart it was as if he were forged from holy light and knightly codes alone. Bolvar's opinion wasn't just a voice in the room—it was a verdict from the court of honor itself. And when even Bolvar bore a grim look and spoke with wary words, Llane knew the winds of fate were shifting toward a storm.
Llane exhaled wearily, his voice like a sigh given shape: "Very well. If no one has anything new to add, then all non-cabinet personnel, please vacate the chamber. We shall proceed with an emergency council meeting."
Duke, along with the various nobles and gawkers who were clearly out of their political depth, were ushered out by the royal guard. One of them was still throwing Duke stink-eyes, clearly unsettled by the young mage's "prophetic hallucination."
But Duke had other things on his mind. He barely felt the ornate marble floor beneath his boots as he walked. The cold night wind greeted him like a slap as he stepped out of Stormwind Fortress, but he welcomed it.
There, looming in the moonlight, was the towering statue of Medivh, Guardian of Azeroth, arms outstretched as if cradling the very world he once swore to protect. Built to commemorate two decades of unflinching service, it now stood like a cosmic joke. The great protector of the realm was about to become the very monster its people feared most.
Duke stared at the statue, his lips twitching. Was that... was that a spicy tang in his mouth? Great. He was so stressed he was tasting phantom chili peppers.
Old man Norton sauntered up beside him, looking like he was preparing for a lecture.
Duke cut him off, his voice sharp: "Let's go. I still need you to tell me how to become a master wizard."
Norton blinked. "Duke, isn't that... a bit fast?"
"We have exactly one hundred days. That black hourglass is a countdown. And the end of it? The first crack in the world. The Dark Portal. The creatures. The beginning of hell."
Norton stared. Duke didn't flinch.
Time was a fuse already burning.
Behind Duke, within the fortress, ministers shouted, fists slammed on tables, and egos collided like jousting knights. None of it produced a single useful solution.
Three days passed. Then, without fanfare or ceremony, Duke was summoned to the secret chamber deep within Stormwind Keep.
There were only five men in the room: King Llane, Anduin Lothar, Bolvar, Duke, and a very tired-looking court mage with robes that had seen better centuries.
Bolvar, still youthful but with bags under his eyes big enough to carry siege supplies, spoke first. "Sir Edmund, normally you'd be the last person we consult for matters of national crisis. But Lothar insisted. Try not to make us regret it."
Duke raised an eyebrow but nodded. He got it. Rookie mage, flashy magic tricks, some coin-generating illusions... not exactly statesman material. He was only here because of that ominous little vision.
Anduin looked like a storm in human form—eyes sharp, jaw set, hair tousled from sleepless nights. "We sent three waves of messengers to Karazhan. The first rode griffins, flying high, waving the kingdom's banners. They were struck down by lightning—charred meat and bird alike. The second wave found their remains."
He paused. When he spoke again, his voice was iron. "The third wave followed from a distance. They saw the second get annihilated. Magic missiles. From the tower. The messengers were shouting, holding the King's own token—the Summoning Ring. Medivh ignored them. Then, oddly, allowed the third group to recover the bodies."
"He allowed it," Bolvar repeated, voice grim. "As if he wanted us to know."
Llane had his fingers pressed against his temples like he was trying to hold his skull together. "The worst-case scenario is upon us. Our Guardian... may have become our destroyer. We must inform the Council of Tirisfal."
Anduin slammed his fist into the table. "Damn it! We don't even know what the hell happened to him! If he wanted to wipe us out, he could've. So why toy with us?!"
Duke, of course, knew the answer. Because Sargeras wasn't here to just kill. Oh no. The dark lord of the Burning Legion wanted a show—a tragedy. This was just the opening act. He wanted the people to hope... and then suffer.
One hundred days of despair before the curtain dropped and the world was drowned in fire.
Llane rose, stepped down from the dais, and placed a firm hand on Anduin's shoulder. "Duke, two questions. One, have you seen anything more in your visions? Two, Anduin said you might have a plan to prepare without causing widespread panic. We can't have the people knowing their beloved Guardian is about to go full apocalyptic."
Duke nodded. If the old wizard had broken the rules by playing dirty, then Duke had no reason to hold back either. He'd bring out the big guns—the black technology from beyond time.
He drew in a breath and spoke clearly: "We need to act on three fronts: propaganda, early warning, and military readiness."
Llane raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Go on."
"Propaganda first. We report that monsters in Elwynn Forest have mutated. I recently took down a gnoll named Hogger. He was over twelve feet tall. Other gnolls are growing too. It's a credible threat. We claim Stormwind is reinforcing the area for public safety."
"Twelve feet?! That's not a gnoll, that's a siege weapon!" Llane blurted.
"It's in your reports, Your Majesty. You skipped it as 'routine monster trouble,'" said a court scribe, peeking from the corner like a mouse with paperwork.
Bolvar smirked. "It's a perfect excuse. We increase local garrisons, expand militias. Once the farming season ends, have them drill an hour a day. Self-defense training."
"What about arming them?" Llane asked, narrowing his eyes. "We can't hand out swords to every pitchfork-wielder."
Anduin nodded slowly. "We move stockpiles of arms to key towns. Assign loyal officers to oversee them. The weapons stay locked unless there's an emergency."
Duke exhaled slowly. The dominoes were lined up. All they could do now... was brace for the fall.
The Guardian was watching.
And the clock was ticking.