Homecoming

Valaar's mooring was quiet; the quay was empty, and the sun over there was drowning in the sea, casting its last fires through heavy rain clouds, forming a melancholic picture. The crew were chatting in a separate spot, without a glance at the travelers.

"Is it normal for it to be deserted?" asked Thiwwina. I mean, are there still people in the Exodar?"

Stropovitch nodded and took the path that led into the island. The gnome followed him, casting curious glances around her, on the lookout for the slightest unfamiliar, exotic element of scenery. The draenei was so overcome with shame at daring to reappear among his own people that, had the gnome's presence not forced him to contain his feelings, he would surely have turned back.

At last, above the trees, she spotted a point of light.

"Waaaaaaaaaaah!"

It was clearly the top of a gigantic building. In the twilight gloom she couldn't see clearly, but the walls of the spaceship seemed encrusted with huge crystals emitting a diffuse pink light.

"I don't believe it, it's all magic, this thing. I can feel it, it's just a big mass impregnated with magic, the biggest condensation I've ever seen! I wonder where you got those crystals. Is there really no machina in there?" Stropovitch expressed ignorance. Thiwwina's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "I'll have to go back to Outland, I must have missed something, towards Netherstorm, I found the region ugly so I didn't really explore, but it smelled of magic, I'm sure I'll find some info there."

Stropovitch stopped dead in his tracks. Had this gnome been to Draenor? He continued on his way, pensive. Fate had decided that he should reconnect with his past sooner rather than later.

"What's the matter, Stropo?" she chirped, bouncing up and down beside him.

He scribbled a few words, handed her the sheet.

She squinted, trying to read despite the darkness. And laughed.

"Well, as they say, exchange of courtesies, my dear blue friend, I'll be happy to guide you to Outland after our visit here!"

Stropovitch, forcing himself a little, gave her a grateful smile.

"Ah yes, it's quite impressive actually."

The emerged part of the ship rose to a point some thirty meters high, all glittering metal and pink mineral fragments that sang a little crystalline tune.

"It's pretty, I think, and it's big, so there's room for a few folks in there, but it's not much for a whole people, so there mustn't be many survivors."

The gleam in Stropovitch's eyes faded. He beckoned her in.

The guards nodded and stepped aside. Stropovitch nodded with dignity in response, relieved not to be recognized; followed by a thunderous "Good evening, burly gentlemen!" The guards, having recovered from their astonishment, burst out laughing. As for the warrior, it was the first time he had taken the measure of the crash damage - he fought furiously against the tears welling up in his eyes.

The tourist and her guide entered the bowels of the ship through a long corridor lined with metal debris and crystals - which illuminated it. " Oh, my goodness, it's so much bigger than it looks from the outside! That was quite a fall you took to get that deep into the ground!" The draenei gritted his teeth.

They could hear the confused hubbub of ship life growing louder. Two draenei accompanied by two heavily-laden elekks passed them, casting an astonished glance at the gnome.

"I guess they've never seen a gnome here before! Mind you, the first time I saw those tentacles you use as beards, I nearly threw up - don't take that personally, eh?"

They emerged into the ship's hall.

The hall was a vastness for which Thiwwina was unprepared: speechless and with eyes like saucers, she looked for once without speaking.

From floor to vault, it was at least fifty meters. The room was also a good sixty meters in diameter. In the center, springing from a wide shaft lined with enormous crystals, was a column of pink light with a crystalline song. The violet walls reflected this light while diffusing their own. The whole hall was bathed in a haze of magnificent light, blurring all contours and all the life that animated it.

For below, around the well, Thiwwina could see dozens of draenei conversing, trading, strolling, bustling, young, old, men, women, idle or hurried, serene or worried. All around the arches, entrances to other parts of the ship - whose dimensions she couldn't make out, but which seemed just as vast.

A piece of paper fluttered in front of her.

She blinked, as if emerging from a dream, and thoughtfully read the note. "I'll let you visit, and you can ask me all the questions you want afterwards. Just be respectful. I have to go and see our Prophet, so you can't come with me. We'll meet at the big inn opposite you."

She looked up at Stropovitch - she was knee-high to him - smiled and nodded enthusiastically. Suddenly, she disappeared. Stropovitch sighed. A mage, of course. There's nothing like teleporting around for snooping.

He took a deep breath and walked down the ramp to the hall. The draenei watched him as he made his way through the crowd, trying to appear relaxed. Some nodded politely, others stared impassively. A few stared at him suspiciously, even moving away as he passed.

A thick metal-gloved hand suddenly came down on his shoulder - which didn't even flinch.

"Look who's here! Back home?"

Darotan.

Extreme anger swept over the draenei, and his first impulse was to leap at his enemy's throat. But he held back, his eyes glowing with the embers of hatred.

I MUST contain myself. Absolutely. In respect of Velen. So as not to stain the light of the Naarus with blood. And it's too soon. I'm not ready.

At last he turned, with a terrible look in his eyes - the look you'd give to the being who'd murdered your child - towards a draenei clad in magnificent, ornate golden armor, armed with a huge, glittering mace at his back, all intricately carved and set with gems of flawless brilliance. The whole outfit weighed heavy enough to tire an elekk, but the paladin wore it with ease.

"It's been a long time, old brother!" he exclaimed, crushing his shoulder, looking sarcastically cheerful. The whole hall could hear him - and even listened. "What a coincidence, I'd come to report to Velen on the progress of the Light in Outland - and my modest participation in it," he added fattily. And I find you, my good comrade! We studied together! Well, not for very long, actually," he added with a grating chuckle.

A few people in the audience chuckled.

"Have you come to tell him about your exploits too? Let me guess, you've successfully completed your major deratting campaign on the Deeprun Tram?"

He laughed out loud. Many smiled at the paladin's pique.

"C'mon, c'mon," he said, tears in his eyes from laughing so hard, "don't take it the wrong way my brother, a little good-natured teasing, nothing but very affectionate! Let's go and find Velen together!"

He put an arm around his shoulders and joined his stride, taking care to lean on the warrior. But Stropovitch's back didn't sag one iota.

"He'll be very happy to see us, I'm sure. He loves all his people, whatever they do, whoever they are, hmm? What matchless goodness, isn't it, to which we can only aspire!"

He leaned in mockingly to catch an expression on Stropovitch's face, which remained closed, jaws clenched.

One day, I'll kill you, Darotan. I swore an oath, and on that day, I took the Universe as my witness.

Escorted by half a dozen guards, Velen appeared. This was the moment Stropovitch had dreaded: only Velen could know what he had done. Only Velen could know why the warrior had exiled himself after the crash, without looking back. Only Velen could accuse him in front of all his people, who didn't like him anyway, and have him executed with general approval.

The two visitors dropped to their knees.

"I salute you, O great Prophet, declaimed Darotan.

- Stropovitch..." replied Velen without a glance at the paladin.

He looked worried. If he could guess why the paladin had come, the warrior's visit did not augur well.

Stropovitch faltered, but pulled himself together. One could only think that he had bent over with an expression of deep respect.

At last, Velen turned to the paladin, who was stunned to have been invisible for a few seconds.

"And you, Commander Darotan..."

The Prophet nodded in greeting.

"Commander, would you be so kind as to leave me alone with Stropovitch first? I'll be happy to see you later today.

- Thank you for doing me this honor, O great Prophet," Darotan replied spitefully, rising to his feet and turning to leave.

Velen and Stropovitch, silent, crossed the corridor and sat down in the center of the back room. Just like ten years ago.

A few seconds later, the quill, the inkwell and a blank parchment appeared on the table.

Velen scanned Stropovitch's face, trying to read him. I'll never understand this solicitude, Great Prophet. I don't deserve it. You're too good - infinitely so. I need your help, but why would you do me the honor of granting it? Can you even help me now that I've almost succumbed to the demon? If you couldn't purify me when I was a child, how can you do it now?

The voice echoed. Stropovitch closed his eyes to hear his body vibrate with every syllable.

"Stropovitch, I've been very worried about you... If you've come back... it's because he's manifested himself..."

The warrior nodded fatalistically.

"I want to know every detail."

Stropovitch handed him a dozen sheets of paper already written out. Velen read them carefully. Then he placed them on the table and looked into Stropovitch's eyes.

"Very well, let's review together."

There was a brief silence as he gathered his thoughts.

"When we took you in at Zangarra, your parents were dead; and although a sentry saw your father collapse at the moment of the attack, no one could testify to what had happened to you, you were out of sight. From your symptoms you seemed to have become the host of a demon, but using the Light I didn't detect it. When I used purification formulas, I didn't dislodge him, as if he had no link with the Shadow - but all demons have a link with the Shadow. So Londan and I talked about "fire" while we waited for new evidence. Once revived and on your feet, you were able to tell us what had happened, and your account lent credence to the theory that it was a demon. But some members of the Council recalled that this was the testimony of a traumatized child who had just come out of a long period of unconsciousness," he added with a conciliatory look.

Despite the great confusion in his mind, Stropovitch wrote: "I've heard warlocks in recent years, I've recognized their soul-scratching accents. Even if I can't transcribe any of the words, I can assure you that on that day my assailant did indeed hurl an incantation in a demonic tongue at me."

Velen nodded. "Well then. So all along, this demon has wanted to take over your body, it's been lurking, lurking somewhere, but where? There are many planes of reality outside and inside ourselves. Does he have the ability to change planes at will?"

Please, deliver me.

Velen sighed, "Whatever the solution to the riddle, your enemy is within you, Stropovitch. Perhaps he's still in gestation; perhaps he's growing stronger with the years, until he's born. In any case, if one day it breaks the barrier of your will, it will be the end of you."

The warrior took his head in his hands. None of this was new, it was always the same dead end; but constantly coming up against this same fatality maintained and aggravated his chronic psychic suffering.

Velen picked up an impressive book with a cover overloaded with gems and gilding. He leafed through it.

"I've always thought that this orc, if he existed, wasn't just any warlock. He was probably looking for a host for a powerful demon. It's an unusually long and devious process to create a Legion soldier."

And this demon isn't just any demon either...

"The Legion may have been experimenting with a new form of demon creation... Since you're the only case of its kind that I'm aware of, this demon must be the unique fruit of an exceptional experiment. I'm not taking too many risks in imagining that this demon growing inside you is destined to be one of the prides of Sargeras's army."

Velen put the book down and looked into Stropovitch's eyes again.

"Or maybe he's not destined to be... he was already one of the prides of his army, defeated, and they're trying to bring him back by giving him a new body. New or old demon lord? And why choose the body of a Draenei child for this? I don't know, though I've thought about it..."

Aaaaaah, that trembling hand, those shameful tears running down the parchment! Stropovitch handed the Prophet an amalgam of badly drawn signs on a sheet crumpled by his feverish movements. The warrior contained his emotions everywhere, except in the presence of the Prophet. It was as if he knew, unconsciously, that the demon would never manifest himself in Velen's presence.

The wise man read and sat down. He lowered his eyes and remained silent for a few moments.

Answer! Say something! After the crash, after Van Cleef, can I still be left at liberty?

Velen raised his head and looked at Stropovitch with sadness and compassion.

"My child, I'm so sorry... If you'd caused damage as a child, I'd have put my heart and soul into healing you. But between your awakening and... the spaceship crash..."

A mournful silence interrupted this sentence.

"... between those two moments there was no warning. The Council even considered it likely that during your coma, your outburst of power was caused by a temporary spell, an ephemeral curse. To this day, no one knows why you left, Stropovitch, except me. I read your soul that day..."

I remember the way you looked at me, Prophet. Our eyes met, I turned and fled. Fled until today.

"Stropovitch, I had no idea where you were... Yet you're the only one who can answer a question that's been nagging at me for two years."

The warrior finally lifted his tear-streaked face.

" Darotan... did he lie? Does he deserve our trust?"

Stropovitch was stunned by this question. If Velen had asked it, it was because he trusted him, the mute outcast, the exiled murderer, more than the champion of the draenei. So much honor, so much consideration made him dizzy. He wrote, hesitated, crumpled the paper into a ball, started again, crossed out, deliberated, then concluded. The Guide was patient, then received the warrior's reply with a serious air.

"Great Prophet, Darotan did not lie. He was sure he had done the right thing."

If I tell him the whole truth, he'll take it upon himself to put an end to Darotan's career. He won't let me. This is MY revenge. I must prevent Velen from getting between me and my prey.

"Revenge is not a noble goal, Stropovitch."

The warrior gasped and stared at Velen in amazement. The latter stood up and declared solemnly:

"I wanted an answer to my question, and I got it, I thank you; but now I'll answer yours. Can we leave you at liberty? No, Stropovitch. For you, the road ends here, my child. We can't take any more risks, after so many mistakes, false hopes and tragedies. Trust me, I who have always cherished and loved you."

He took the warrior's hands in his own.

"The fall of the Exodar confirmed that a demon of the first order resided within you, and that he wanted to break his chains. After two years on the run, you've finally surrendered to my judgment."

He closed his eyes for a second to ensure his connection to the Light as he pronounced the sentence.

"This, then, is my judgment: you must die, Stropovitch! To kill the enemy before he's born."

To die... The draenei didn't react, staring into space, as if suddenly detached from things. Even his desire for revenge was suddenly suspended. Had the Prophet cast a spell on him?

"Die on your feet, Stropovitch!" said Velen with divine firmness. "You're noble, you're proud, you're Draenei! What does it matter what your brothers have said so far? Today, prove you're a hero, become a symbol of your race's worth! Stand up!"

The warrior stood up slowly, still in shock. To die. To die so as not to risk lands and peoples being swallowed up in the demon's fire. To die after eleven stolen years, which I would not have been granted if the consequences had been foreseen. After all I've lived through, to realize that it would have been better... never to have existed.

Stropovitch's gaze broke through the mists that enveloped him and met Velen's.

Both draenei were overcome with emotion. The Prophet placed a hand on Stropovitch's forehead. They gazed into each other's eyes during the incantation. The warrior's face finally expressed a kind of relief as the column of sacred flames fell upon him.