Chapter 34: Deren Speaks of Dalaran

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A dazzling radiance of arcane magic flashed in the central courtyard of the Violet Citadel, tearing a brilliant blue rift through space. Jaina Proudmoore stepped out of the portal, the scent of sea wind still clinging to her cloak. Deren hurried after her, looking around with keen curiosity at the magical capital.

“Master Antonidas,” Jaina said impatiently as she led Deren into her teacher’s office, “forgive our sudden visit, but the situation is urgent.”

The old mage lifted his head from the weighty tome before him, his gaze passing between them. He looked at Deren—a slight young human who hardly appeared capable of wielding magic.

Jaina quickly introduced him. “This is Deren Losen, my tactical adviser.”

“Such a young lad.” The old mage’s tone betrayed no emotion, but Deren knew he had been dismissed out of hand.

“Jaina,” Antonidas said slowly as he rose, “what brings you here from Theramore?”

“The wind of the undead, Archmagus.” A grave note flickered through Jaina’s blue eyes. “Quel’Thalas is burning. Kael’thas has already sought my help. My adviser believes we should take action.”

“It seems,” the old mage said, his voice deep as thunder, “that we have much to discuss.”

Inside the council chamber of the Violet Citadel, heavy magical tomes cast shadows across the long table, while a crystal orb reflected the burning skies of distant Quel’Thalas. Antonidas stood before the window, his aged knuckles tapping lightly against his staff, his expression grim.

Jaina stood before the table with Deren, anxiety written across her face. “Master, Quel’Thalas cannot hold out much longer.”

Antonidas did not turn around. “Dalaran does not interfere in the internal affairs of other nations.”

“But if Silvermoon falls, who will be the Scourge’s next target?” Deren countered. “Lordaeron has already fallen. Gilneas has sealed its borders. Kul Tiras lies far across the sea. Can Dalaran truly remain untouched?”

Antonidas was silent for a moment before finally turning. His sharp gaze fell upon the letter in Deren’s hand.

“Prince Kael’thas has not formally requested aid. If we act without authorization, we will only drag the Council into a political dispute.”

Deren’s lips curved faintly as he spread the parchment across the table.

“No. He already has.”

The handwriting on the parchment was neat yet hurried, the sweeping signature at its end clearly written under extreme pressure. But what drew the most attention was the seal beneath it—not the official royal seal of Quel’Thalas, but a private emblem: a phoenix wreathed in flame, the personal mark of Kael’thas himself.

“This is… the prince’s private seal?” Antonidas asked, frowning.

“King Anasterian and the Silvermoon Council have lost contact. Their fate is unknown.” Deren’s voice was low and resolute. “At present, Kael’thas is the highest authority in Quel’Thalas. His seal should be considered a formal state writ.”

Antonidas stared at the mark, his knuckles tightening slightly.

“How do you know this letter is genuine?”

Deren drew a faintly glowing phoenix pendant from inside his robes and placed it gently beside the letter.

“This is Kael’thas’s token. He gave it to me personally. With Silvermoon under siege, the official royal seal may already be lost, but this emblem is sufficient to represent his will.”

Antonidas’s gaze moved between the letter and the pendant. At last, he slowly exhaled.

“Even so, Dalaran’s neutral position…”

“This is not interference in internal affairs, Archmagus,” Deren interrupted. “It is the fulfillment of our obligation to aid fellow practitioners of magic.”

Antonidas fell silent. His fingertips tapped lightly against the tabletop, his eyes resting on the plea for aid Deren had brought with him. After a moment, he finally spoke, his voice low and cautious.

“Even if Kael’thas’s letter is genuine, Dalaran cannot enter the war directly. We are not an army, nor are we obligated to hold back the Scourge in Quel’Thalas’s place.”

Deren had expected this answer. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly.

“Archmagus, we do not need to enter the war.” He leaned forward, his tone certain. “We need only send an elite squad of mages to open a portal and evacuate the surviving high elves.”

Antonidas knit his brows, evidently weighing the advantages and risks. Deren gave him little time to think before adding:

“For every elf we save, there will be one fewer undead.”

The words struck Antonidas’s blind spot like a precisely aimed arcane missile. His fingers paused, and his eyes flickered.

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Deren pressed his advantage.

“Especially the elven mages. For every one who dies, the Scourge gains another necromancer.”

Antonidas’s breath caught almost imperceptibly.

What did a necromancer mean? It meant the Scourge’s strength would continue to swell. It meant Dalaran would one day face an even more formidable enemy.

Watching his expression, Deren continued to raise the stakes.

“And there is more. Many of the high elven civilians in Silvermoon are magical artisans. For centuries, they have crafted enchanted orbs, rune-forged weapons, arcane cores… There is no one else in the Eastern Kingdoms who possesses their skills.”

Antonidas’s expression finally changed.

Magical artisans.

That was precisely what Dalaran lacked most.

The craftsmanship of the high elves was irreplaceable. Their enchanting methods, rune-forging, and techniques for cutting and charging mana crystals were priceless. If such people died in Silvermoon—or worse, were raised as undead to serve the Scourge…

“These artisans will need somewhere to make a living afterward,” Deren said meaningfully, his tone as casual as though he were discussing the weather.

“Perhaps Dalaran… could give them an opportunity?”

Antonidas’s fingers finally stopped tapping.

His eyes narrowed, becoming sharp and unfathomably deep, as though he were already seeing the future: in the workshops of Dalaran, high elven artisans would bend over their work, carefully shaping magical crystals. Their skills would bring unprecedented prosperity to the Violet City.

“…You are right,” he said, nodding slowly. His voice was low and firm.

“This is not entering the war.”

“This is… recruiting talent.”

Deren smiled.

Antonidas lifted his gaze from the plea for aid, though his frown had not eased.

“Even if we send a squad of mages, venturing deep into enemy territory without sufficient melee protection would still be reckless.” His fingers stroked his staff lightly, his voice heavy. “The high elven ranger forces have collapsed, and the streets of Silvermoon are packed with undead. If our mages are engaged at close quarters, the consequences will be disastrous.”

Jaina quickly added, “That problem… has already been solved.”

Antonidas raised a brow. “Oh?”

“I have borrowed an elite contingent of royal guards from my father,” Jaina explained. “They are currently standing by in Theramore.”

Antonidas’s gaze settled on Jaina, who nodded in confirmation.

“The royal guard of Kul Tiras?”

“The finest among them,” Deren said with a nod. “Admiral Daelin’s personal guard. Every one of them is a veteran, specially trained to establish defensive lines around spellcasters.”

Antonidas pondered for a moment before asking slowly, “Admiral Daelin also supports your plan?”

Deren shrugged. “What do you think?”

Antonidas narrowed his eyes. “He would not dispatch his personal guard without reason. There must be something behind this.”

Deren smiled without answering and continued:

“If you approve the operation, Jaina can lead the force herself and join us through the portal with the guards.”

Antonidas tapped his fingers lightly against the table, lost in thought.

Kul Tiras’s royal guard, combined with Jaina’s support… That would indeed greatly improve the operation’s chances of success.

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“Jaina’s position…” he murmured. “Does Admiral Daelin know?”

Deren’s smile faded slightly, and his tone grew serious.

“Lady Jaina knows exactly what she is doing. Rather than wait for the Scourge to reach Dalaran’s gates, it is better to weaken them in advance.”

Antonidas nodded slowly, a trace of approval finally appearing in his expression.

“Very well,” he said gravely. “With Kul Tiras’s royal guard present, our mages should at least avoid being overwhelmed in close combat.”

Deren bowed slightly, triumph glimmering in his eyes.

“Then, Archmagus, shall we begin drawing up the evacuation list?”

Antonidas turned his gaze once more toward the burning image of Silvermoon in the crystal orb and slowly spoke a single sentence:

“Convene the Council.”

In a quiet conference room of Dalaran, several core members of the Council listened to Deren’s report.

One of them demanded in a low voice, “Teleporting an elite squad to Silvermoon and then returning with a large number of refugees… Do you have any idea how many mana crystals that will consume?”

Deren was prepared. He drew a roll of parchment from inside his robes, its surface densely covered in writing.

“A promissory note bearing Prince Kael’thas’s signature. He will reimburse the entire cost of the rescue operation.”

“What utter nonsense!” Archmagus Mores sprang to his feet, his robe knocking over the inkwell on the table. “All this, just to save a handful of elves…”

“Without those elves, will Quel’Thalas continue to exist at all?” Deren interrupted calmly. “Only by saving these mages and civilian artisans can the high elves have a future. Otherwise, what is a prince with nothing left to rule—a mere figurehead?”

The council chamber fell silent.

Antonidas’s fingers stopped in midair, a sharp light flashing through his eyes.

“Continue,” the old mage said, his voice suddenly unnaturally calm.

Deren took a step forward and lowered his voice. “Besides, the undead have already seized the Sunwell. They will not leave such a treasure unused. It has most likely already been corrupted…”

Antonidas’s knuckles whitened slightly.

Everyone knew what that meant: the undead would possess even greater magical power.

“But the expense…” Treasurer Lester began haltingly. “Will Quel’Thalas be able to repay us after the war?”

“We can put it on Theramore’s account for now,” Deren said quickly. “Lady Jaina has agreed to provide a temporary line of credit.”

Antonidas suddenly gave a cold laugh. “Use Kul Tiras’s gold to fill Dalaran’s coffers? What will Daelin think when he hears of it?”

Deren offered a sly smile. “That is why I had Quel’Thalas pledge the Sunwell and Silvermoon as collateral.”

A collective gasp swept through the chamber. Even Archmagus Mores’s beard trembled.

“Have you lost your mind? That would amount to…”

“It would amount to ensuring that we have a stable supply of mana for the foreseeable future,” Deren said calmly. “And it is only temporary collateral. Once Quel’Thalas is rebuilt, the Sunwell will still need to be purified, but I believe the arrangement is worthwhile. What do you say?”

Antonidas abruptly raised a hand, silencing the debate.

The old mage rose slowly, his staff striking the floor with a heavy thud.

“A few mana crystals,” he said solemnly, “in exchange for temporary access to the Sunwell. This transaction…” A keen light flashed through his eyes. “is perfectly fair.”

Deren bowed deeply, a nearly imperceptible smile tugging at his lips. He knew that he had won another round in this game.

“I will contact Lady Jaina at once and have her prepare the teleportation coordinates.”

As he turned, he heard Antonidas’s final words:

“Remember, Deren. We are saving the future of magical civilization… not taking advantage of a disaster.”

Deren’s steps faltered slightly, but he did not look back.

“Of course, Archmagus. It is purely for… academic exchange.”

When the doors of the council chamber closed behind him, Deren finally allowed his triumphant smile to spread across his face. He touched another pledge agreement hidden inside his robes, one he had prepared long ago. The clauses concerning the distribution of the Sunwell’s magical power were something Antonidas still knew nothing about.