While Nefarian was frantically cleaning up the mess on Forbidden Isolated Island, on the other side of the sea—
The Emerald Dream was as peaceful as ever.
This was a green world without beginning or end.
Trees undulated like waves, and vines grew, intertwined along unseen Veins, weaving into a vibrant tapestry of life.
The air was filled with the fresh scent of dew, resin, and flowers, and the light and shadows were so soft that it seemed as if time itself had fallen into slumber.
Malfurion Stormrage was walking in the heart of the dream.
He was tall, with large antlers perched on his head, and long emerald hair cascaded down, covering his ancient Druid robe.
He ran his hands over the trees beside him, maintaining the balance of the dream's energy in his own way.
Suddenly, the wind direction in the dream abruptly changed.
A low horn blast, like muffled thunder, quietly exploded in the dream, approaching from afar.
The sound was indistinct, clearly not belonging to this dream world—it was a call from the real world.
Malfurion's brow furrowed slightly, and he turned to look at the boundary at the end of the dream.
This was the signal he had agreed upon with Tyrande: when she encountered something she couldn't resolve, she would use the horn to awaken him.
A second horn blast followed closely, this time clearer and more urgent.
He raised his right hand, summoned a Dream Claw, and mounted it.
"A storm is coming," he whispered softly, his gaze seemingly piercing through the veil of the dream, directed towards the real world. "I should wake up."
The next moment, he urged his mount, galloping along the faintly visible path in the forest, directly towards the rift at the dream's boundary.
The Archdruid's consciousness was returning to reality.
The dream's radiance slowly faded, and Malfurion opened his eyes, the cool air of reality greeting him.
He was still lying in the den on the eastern side of Moonlight Forest.
It was in the deepest part of the night, beneath a large tree that even the pale moon could not penetrate, where gnarled roots formed a natural dome, sheltering his body within.
The scent of fresh grass mixed with the dampness of the soil, and in the distance, the sound of wind intertwined with insect chirps.
Outside the den, two Feral Druids stood quietly on guard.
"Shandris," one of them called softly, his tone both respectful and cautious.
"Shandris" means "respected mentor" in Darnassian, and it is the most common honorific used by the Night Elves for Malfurion.
Malfurion nodded slightly, stood up, took the long cloak they offered him, and casually draped it over his shoulders.
"What is so urgent that you had to wake me so hastily?"
"The High Priestess could not come in person," the Feral Druid said in a low voice. "She asked us to convey a message."
The other Druid immediately continued, clearly relaying Tyrande's words:
"She said that the visitor might not be an enemy, but what he requests can probably only be judged by you, Shandris, whether it can be granted."
"A visitor?" Malfurion asked in a deep voice.
The first Druid stepped forward, lowering his voice even further: "A Wild God claiming to be from the distant Northrend, he requests a meeting with you and the High Priestess."
"As for what they will discuss, the High Priestess did not inform us."
Malfurion was silent for a moment, his gaze falling upon the moonlight flowing through the forest, as if listening to nature's revelation.
Then he slowly spoke: "I understand."
Malfurion walked out of the den, spread his arms, and emerald light flowed around him. His form transformed into a giant eagle, which soared high into the sky.
The two Feral Druids followed closely, also transforming into raptor forms.
The three of them flew across the Moonlight Forest, speeding towards the southeast.
Their destination was the World Tree—Nordasir.
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