At the very top of the Violet Citadel.
Allen and his group were surrounded by more than twenty Kirin Tor battle mages. From the moment they entered through the city gates, they had been "escorted" all the way here—marching in perfect formation, silent, their gazes locked firmly on Allen the entire time.
Allen felt a bit wronged. He hadn't used any shadow magic for days, and he had even sternly warned Xal'atath to behave as if she were dead. And still this triggered an alarm? Was he really that evil?
After learning of Jaina and Allen's distinguished identities, the battle mages didn't dare act rashly. They simply "invited" the group here.
The top terrace of the Violet Citadel offered the best view in all of Dalaran.
Sunlight passed through the barrier created by the Eye of Dalaran, scattering into countless pale violet motes—like drifting stardust.
A large round table sat on the terrace, with a pot of red tea steaming gently.
Two people were seated beside it.
One was an elderly man with white hair and beard. His face was lined with the marks of time, yet his eyes remained bright and gentle.
He was Antonidas—leader of the Council of Six of the Kirin Tor, the most powerful mage in Dalaran, and a legendary figure respected across the Alliance.
Across from him sat a high elf—Krasus, also a member of the Council of Six.
In truth, he was the consort of the Red Dragon Queen Alexstrasza, a dragon living in Dalaran under the guise of a high elf.
Paval Reethe stepped forward, composed and unyielding.
"Archmage Antonidas, is this how Dalaran treats the daughter of Admiral Daelin of Kul Tiras? We escorted Miss Jaina here all the way, and this is the welcome we receive—staves drawn and surrounded?"
Jaina wasn't worried about herself. Her gaze flicked toward Allen, concern evident.
Antonidas stood, a gentle smile forming on his face.
"Miss Proudmoore, please accept my apologies. The gates of Dalaran are always open to you. Using magic to scan everyone entering the city is merely standard procedure—no different from how other cities inspect travelers."
He tilted his head slightly, a hint of amusement flashing in his wise eyes.
"That fellow Andromath from Stormwind's Arcane Sanctum has written me three letters—each one praising your talent. In them, he said, 'I've never seen a prodigy like this in my life. Keeping her in Stormwind is a complete waste.' So I've been waiting for you."
Jaina gave a slight bow, the tension in her expression easing.
Then Antonidas' gaze slowly shifted to Allen.
It was still gentle—but beneath that gentleness, something tightened.
"However… this young man who triggered the anti-demonic alarm—who might he be?"
Allen looked at Antonidas expressionlessly.
Fine. This wasn't necessarily a bad thing. At least it brought him face to face with the one who truly held power in Dalaran.
That had been his goal all along.
He had promised Vereesa to protect the Eye of Dalaran. He needed to find a way to make Antonidas take the matter seriously.
The old man was a good person—but far too stubborn. His arrogance would indirectly lead to Dalaran's destruction.
Someone like him couldn't be persuaded directly. The only way was to guide him—let him arrive at the conclusion himself.
Before Allen could speak, Jaina cut in first.
"He is Allen Prestor. Prestor of Alterac. He is the Royal Arcane Advisor of Stormwind, and he is my—"
She hesitated.
"…friend."
When she said the word "friend," Jaina glanced at Allen somewhat awkwardly.
Antonidas had heard of the Prestor name. Its patriarch was a noble lord of Alterac, and his tone softened noticeably.
"Oh? Then perhaps this Mr. Prestor would care to explain?"
Allen had considered something before—
If the Horde was going to take the Eye of Dalaran anyway, it might be better for him to keep it instead.
Given Dalaran's security track record, any artifact stored here was practically doomed to be stolen.
Dalaran had already been overrun by orcs once, ravaged by the blood mage once, destroyed by the Scourge once, crushed into dust by Archimonde of the Burning Legion… and in the distant future, it would crash again.
Since that was the case, he might as well let the great Allen Prestor take over the entire city first.
Of course, that was impossible—just a joke.
In that case…
It had been a long time since he last lied.
"I don't know what exactly those Arcane Eyes detected, but actually…" Allen lowered his gaze, his voice turning low and slow, as if recalling something heavy. "I carry a curse. Since many years ago, I've been having the same dream over and over again."
Antonidas's brows twitched slightly.
"In the dream, there's a raven." Allen's eyes grew distant, as if truly staring at some faraway scene. "A pitch-black raven, always perched on a withered branch, completely still, watching me. Then it turns into a man—dressed in black mage robes, pale and gaunt, his beard untrimmed for a long time, his hair hanging messily over his forehead. His eyes…"
Allen paused for a moment.
"There are always tears in his eyes."
Antonidas and Krasus exchanged a glance. They could see the shock in each other's eyes, both of them straightening in their seats.
"He apologizes to me," Allen's voice grew softer and softer. "He keeps apologizing. He says he made a terrible mistake. He says it's too late—too late for everything. He says—"
"He says flames will rise from the south, and the undead will shatter the gates of the north. He says the kingdoms of kings will turn to ash, and you—every one of you—are not prepared."
Allen raised his head, his gaze locking directly onto Antonidas.
"He says only by uniting all races can anyone survive. He says he chose me—to atone in his place."
Antonidas could no longer sit still. He kept glancing toward Krasus, both of them fully understanding what the other was thinking.
Medivh?!!
The Last Guardian—Medivh?
How was that possible? Wasn't Medivh… dead?
Krasus spoke for the first time.
"Young man," he leaned forward slightly, a warm smile on his lips, "when did you start having these dreams?"
"Five years ago."
Three years after the opening of the Dark Portal—precisely the year Medivh fell.
Most ordinary people only knew fragments of what had happened to that powerful Guardian. But Antonidas and Krasus, as members of Dalaran's Council of Six, naturally knew the full truth.
There were very few who knew these secrets. Aside from those involved, the only outsider who might know would be the Dark Titan Sargeras, who had once possessed Medivh—and he doubted the lord of the Burning Legion had the time to play such a pointless game with them.
Antonidas swallowed. If what this young man said was true…
If Medivh himself had stood before him and said these things, he would never have believed it.
But Medivh haunting this young man like a curse—the strange coincidence, the familiar traces… this was a conclusion Antonidas had arrived at on his own. And in his own judgment, he had absolute confidence.
Allen then took out that unremarkable wooden stick from his chest.
A fragment of Atiesh.
He held it in his palm with reverence, as if cradling a sacred relic.
"Five years ago, a meteor crossed the sky. This thing appeared outside my house. I never knew what it was—only that it felt warm, as if it were alive."
He lowered his head, looking at the wooden stick with a gentle, bewildered gaze.
"All these years, I've carried it with me. I don't know what it is—but I know it's waiting for me."
Standing behind him, Stella had originally been moved.
So her benefactor had gone through so much, carried so much. Her nose tingled, her eyes turning red.
Then she saw the wooden stick.
Why did it look so familiar?
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