Chapter Text
Shattrath, A Month Later
Voren’thal’s Private Quarters at the Scryer’s Tier
Over the next month, Voren’thal would visit Kael’thas to serve him a couple of meals a day and provide fresh robes from his personal wardrobe. Neither would talk for long stretches at a time and mostly kept to themselves. With each gesture, Kael became more suspicious of the seer’s odd generosity. After all he had done to them, Voren’thal should’ve delivered him to Silvermoon in chains, or executed him himself. Though he did his best to bury the unease, simply grateful for each morning he awoke alive and well.
Food and drink had slowly but surely strengthened him physically. Kael’s ghostly white skin had warmed back to a healthy, fair tone and his hair no longer resembled dry hay, but returned to its naturally silky, golden hue. Catching a reflection of himself on an empty silver platter, he’d noticed that the once fel green glow of his eyes was now golden. Whether from the light of the naaru’s restoration powers or the newly restored Sunwell he couldn't be sure. Regardless, he looked and felt…. alive . It was yet another privilege he didn’t deserve. Straightening his posture, the prince took a deep breath and felt the tingle of arcane magic pulse through his veins like blood. Compared to chaotic fel, the arcane felt light, with a familiarity that seemed welcoming. Kael cast several incantations—conjuring wards and barriers, enchanted various items around the room to hover in the air, and used his fire magic to light the candles in his quarters. He warmed his bath water and tea. At times, when Voren’thal had not arrived with a meal before his hunger set in, Kael’thas conjured food and drink to tide him over. There loomed many days in which he ate very little, especially when guilt clouded his mind. Sleep wasn’t always easy, and his bed could either resemble at best, comfort, or at worst, confinement.
Weeks passed with little change in his routine, until one evening when Voren’thal did not leave immediately upon delivering the prince’s meal. With furrowed brows, the elder lingered beside his chair with an expression on his face that seemed to Kael he warred with himself on whether or not he should sit. “Eat,” he finally said gently, gesturing for Kael’thas to sit at the nearby table. The prince frowned, typically preferring to wait until Voren’thal left to help himself.
“Stubbornness will get us nowhere,” the seer remarked.
And right he was. Kael’thas sighed and put aside the book he was reading, making his way to the table. He broke off a small chunk of bread and bit into it.
“You are showing improvement, that much is certain,” Voren’thal said.
“I can breathe more easily. It is a relief not to feel the insatiable hunger that had driven me for so long.” Kael’thas took another sip of wine and, lowering the edge of the glass, could see the seer gazing at the floor in deep thought. “Does it still weigh on you—my being here?”
“Considerably,” he frowned. “Though it is quite interesting what discomforts one can grow used to.”
Kael’thas sighed at what sounded like the beginning of a conflict he lacked the energy for. His body tensed in defense of confronting any issues between himself and the people he failed. He’d known that sooner or later he would have to face it and up until now preferred to prolong it as long as possible. Suddenly sensing that time very near, part of him wished to escape and flee...but to where? And no matter how far he managed to get, he could never escape himself. Despite his fear, the other option of meeting his fate in being handed over to his people, to be judged in whatever way they saw fit seemed...freeing, in some way. And should they choose to sentence his second chance at life to death, perhaps it would do the world a service if he allowed that. Perhaps the purpose of his resurrection was not for him but as an opportunity for his people to finally have justice, in something at least. At last.
Kael’thas took a deep breath and let it out slow, resigning himself to acceptance of this fate. At least in death, he could serve his people well. Taking another sip of wine, the prince set the glass down as his eyes flicked to his old advisor, his voice soft.
“If you would have me imprisoned or even executed, Voren’thal, then I will not interfere.”
Frowning, the elder looked at him in disappointment. “Your penchant for the dramatic has not changed, young prince. Silvermoon does not and will not , yet know of your presence here.” Voren’thal stroked the stub of his shaven chin, lost in thought for a moment. “The forces of the cosmos are… shifting in ways I am unfamiliar with. I can feel their conflict, and have been monitoring their change. Your miraculous return is of great importance, that much I know. Though in what way, I cannot yet say.”
Voren’thal then fell quiet and walked to the bookshelves, adjusting any books that looked in disarray. A few scrolls and other small items—an astrolabe and a bottle of incense—blocked the display of some books. While silence filled the air, Kael’s eyes fell upon a crate of runestones that had been sitting on the floor in the corner of the room since his arrival. The runes glowed a bright blue, and he vaguely recalled the seer’s plans to experiment with transposing tomes into such materials.
Kael’thas watched as the magister lifted his palm toward the crate, silently summoning one of the runestones from the pile. It flew into his hand with graceful ease as he snatched a tome off the shelf seemingly at random. Holding the stone several inches above the leather-bound cover, he whispered an incantation and a pale blue current of magic flowed from it to the runestone, consequently destroying the book in the process. It seemed to shrivel in the elder’s hand, turning to dust. Kael frowned slightly as that dust then settled on the floor of his quarters. And in one brief moment, he suddenly had one less book to read, and dirt to clean off his floor.
“You seem to have perfected it.”
Voren’thal smirked. “Yes. An intrinsic spell. Why pour over long-winded texts when you can have all the knowledge you could ever need right here in this stone? All you simply must do is focus your energy on the stone, and the skills are at hand.”
“A clever technique, but ah, I do prefer turning physical pages,” Kael’thas said.
Smiling faintly, Voren’thal stepped closer, setting the runestone in front of the prince. “The naaru A’dal requests an audience with you.”
His wide eyes flicked from the stone to the elder. “A’dal wishes to speak with me? Is he truly so wise as to wish an audience with the enemy?”
Voren’thal chuckled. “Wiser than I, and most certainly wiser than you. Not that you set the bar high, as they say. Since you will be venturing on public ground, an illusion is in order. You will create one, and I will place wards around the City of Lights.” The seer walked to the door and opened it, turning to flash him one last look of disappointment before bed. “This is an opportunity to prove yourself less of a fool than you were previously. Impress me.” The door slammed shut as he left.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Shattrath, That Evening
Inside the Terrace of Light
Voren’thal led the disguised Kael’thas inside the Terrace of Light. Radiant, sky blue crystals hung from the ceiling, their soft glow soothing. Several priests were scattered nearby, whispering prayers or tending to the wounded in their presence. In the center of the terrace hovered the massive crystalline being of Light, the naaru A’dal. Kael knew the name well, having once mocked it.
As he stepped before A’dal, the prince’s gaze remained on the ground for a moment before lowering the hood of his cloak, revealing the gold in his eyes and now coal black hair that trailed past his chest. All around him, he felt silence descend like a deadly premonition, making him feel as though he and A’dal were alone in the terrace, despite knowing otherwise. He closed his eyes and awaited the naaru’s oncoming judgment to strike him like lightning - painful and merciless.
But what greeted him instead was celestial music pouring into his mind like perpetual rain falling from the heavens. The angelic hymn grew louder and constant, calming his anxiety and lifting his weary spirit. An ethereal voice that wasn’t his own entered his mind.
“Even the most troubled souls are welcome in the Light, Kael’thas Sunstrider.”
“A’dal...” his voice trailed off, unsure of what else to say.
“ You no longer wish to bring harm, and carry the weight of shame and regret in your heart.”
Kael’thas nodded, remaining silent as he spoke through thought. “In my….madness, I caused suffering. Some of my most loyal sought solace with you instead of their own prince. I was ashamed. Angry. Jealous of their having chosen to serve you instead of me. And I damned the one called M’uru to the void. I… made some regrettable decisions. All of it.”
“The possible fate of the one known as M’uru was known to him long before you were born. It was a path of purpose his soul agreed upon ages ago. This sacrifice led to the renewal of the Sunwell, and your people are taking the first steps of healing. When one is plagued with despair, it is difficult to recognize the lessons Darkness may bring.”
“I almost doomed my people to the Legion.”
“Yes. And through suffering, they have gained wisdom. All have a role to play. The Darkness ultimately serves the Light.”
His lips trembled. “Surely I am but demon’s fodder.”
“They laid your body to rest on their most sacred soil.”
He shook his head, as if to ward off the statement, a statement that was in ways, more painful than condemnation.. The implication did little to ease the heaviness in his heart. “ I can only think you and your kind must want to punish me, A’dal.”
“Through the Light, we encourage the path of redemption and purpose. You must grow to forgive yourself, learning from the part you played. In service to others, to the Light, will you find hope, peace, and healing.”
Service. Kael’s face remained calm, his voice soft despite the intense heaviness of guilt in his chest. “I thank you for your words. I do wish to atone, though I feel…..unsure of how. Of what’s being asked of me.”
Silence filled the space between them for several long seconds before A’dal spoke again.
“Light and hope go with you, Kael’thas Sunstrider.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Shattrath, Winter of Year 26
Voren’thal’s Private Quarters at the Scryer’s Tier
Kael’thas peered out of the window, his illusion enchantment still in place and drink in hand. Canopies of trees loomed ahead, the lush foliage of Terokkar Forest tempering the familiar, blistering heat of Outland. As if braving the world’s dusky and perilous skies, massive golden statues of female elves towered over the Scryer’s Tier in a posture of graceful extended offering. Red and gold banners decorated buildings, lighted windows and magical energy signaling distant chattering of merchants and other magi. In between the top of a flight of stairs, a large pair of golden wings majestically rose from the ground as a red and gold carpet paved the way up.
That was the normalcy of a place that reminded Kael’thas bitterly of home. Situated in various areas rested small, white tents housing soldiers of various races--humans, orcs, draenei, and even his blood elves. He recognized Horde and Alliance banners flying overhead and a denizen of troops making way for portals. By the manner of their farewells and embraces, it appeared as if they were going home.
He envied them, all of them. No doubt they would be welcomed home with open arms and fanfare. To families and loved ones. To people who cared for them. Even before his own transgressions and the actions of Arthas Menethil, he was not a popular monarch. His long-tenured service in Dalaran had made his people feel neglected. Though in truth, the harsh fact was that Kael had favored his studies and duties to the human mage city over his obligations as the future ruler of the Quel’dorei.
If he went home now, his kin would kill him on sight. The Scryers represented only a handful of those particular kin, and powerful foes at that. He glanced over at Voren’thal sitting on the floor in the center of crystals lined up for his meditation. In that moment, he found himself fortunate to be among the likes of the seer, who treated him as well as he could, despite his betrayals. Voren’thal had always treated him as more of the son he wished his father had treated him. The two elders were roughly the same age, with Anasterian the more agile and powerful battlemage, and the seer a potent if the more physically ailing magister. His skill in divination carried a heavy reputation, valued in times of uncertainty about the future. He would give lectures to the young prince on divination magic, bittersweet memories that prompted Kael to accept the seer’s desire for recruitment when he’d asked to join him in Outland.
“War is coming to Azeroth,” Voren’thal said, opening his eyes to meet Kael’s. “The Horde and Alliance are en route to battle the looming Scourge threat. They travel to Northrend.”
Kael’thas turned away.
Northrend. The setting of that fated battle. A symphony of frost and fire like a chorus fallen into discord. Illidan and his naga against the Scourge. Kael’thas against Arthas Menethil. His free hand clenched into a fist at his side as he lifted the glass to his lips, taking another slow sip of wine. His chest tightened in rage. The memories and pain that accompanied them came rushing back into his forefront of his mind, just before a warmth overcame him. It was a soothing feeling, one that was becoming more familiar the more often he found himself in the presence of naaru. There was no ethereal voice in his mind, no celestial chimes in the air nor crystalline being manifested before him yet…..a connection was present. Soothing him. Reminding him. Was this the Light? His thoughts drifted to the conversation with A’dal.
All have a role to play . What did that even mean? He almost preferred not to know, struggling to push away his innate curiosity. But he could sense the warmth pouring over him like sunlight on his skin as his emotions balanced. Kael sighed softly. He could not afford to lose concentration to the point where the enchantment of his disguise faltered. Despite the atonement he knew he owed, whatever service he was to give, he still had business with Arthas Menethil. The Lich King. And a second chance to take his vengeance.
But how? And with what army? He had nothing but his wits. Even the clothes he wore were given to him. Kael frowned. He had his magic, talent, and power and yet even that had proven weak against the damned former prince of Lordaeron. Sun’s Light there was nothing he wouldn’t give to plant the bastard’s head on a pike outside the gates of Silvermoon. It was a crass thought yes, and yet - satisfying. And such an act was something to prove to the blood elves that rested in those tents, who were about to throw their lives on the line again that their prince had been reborn stronger, more competent and wise. That he vowed to atone. A sudden sorrow and determination swelled inside him. He owed it to them.
Kael turned back to face the seer. “I wish to join their cause.”
Voren’thal choked on his wine. “Suicide so soon after a naaru—yes, a naaru —revived your undeserving corpse? You won’t come back a second time, I promise you that!”
Fire brimmed in Kael’s eyes, but the words that danced on the tip of his tongue would not surface. “I... never asked what your purpose was for doing all this.”
“Kael’thas Sunstrider,” Voren’thal sighed, as if seeking patience with an unruly child. “In all the long years I have known you, I held nothing but respect for you….cared for you. To the Scryers and I, the naaru’s vision is worthy of our trust and loyalty. I will not turn a blind eye from the prophecies presented to me. It is my duty to understand them as best I can, relay the messages and act on them when guided.” His expression softened as his voice lowered. “Even when it meant we had to slay the prince we trusted...loved.”
Kael said nothing for a moment, gaze falling to the wine in his glass before he took another sip. “I must do this. For the first time since my awakening I feel as though I have a path before me - a direction.”
Voren’thal’s brows furrowed. “ I feel certain your crimes will not go unpunished though it is not I who will see it done. It is a task best left to Lor’themar and his council. Though I know not when you will face it.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I will respect your decision to leave, if you feel you must. I pray to the Light you truly mean us no harm.” He met Kael’s eyes and the prince could see the pain in them. The wounds not yet healed. “Where will you go, exactly?”
“If what’s left of our warriors are being called to Northrend then I shall accompany them….in disguise, of course. At least for the foreseeable future. I will aid them in what ways I can. I do not know where this path will lead me, just that I must take it. Whether my destination be of death or elsewhere, I suppose I will know when the time comes.”
Voren’thal looked away, eyes focused on a long crack running through the mortar of the stone wall across from him that he’d somehow never noticed before. When he did speak it was with a voice that sounded older and more frail. “Light guide your judgments, Kael’thas Sunstrider.”