Kapitel 20: Chapter 2
"You've made the right choice," the being's voice resonated within Thorwin's mind, its timbre carrying a weight that transcended mere words. Thorwin regarded the entity with a mixture of awe and curiosity, his heart pounding in his chest as the being that promised slumber appeared once more in front of him.
As if responding to the unspoken questions that swirled within his mind, the crystal-being began to speak. Its words flowed like a melodious stream, carrying with them the secrets of a realm beyond his own. It spoke of the Light, a force that existed beyond the confines of doctrine and dogma, a force that could be harnessed not through rigid rules, but through belief and connection.
Thorwin's brow furrowed in both intrigue and confusion. "But the archbishop—"
"—has a limited perspective," the crystal-being interjected gently. "The Light is not bound by the walls humans have constructed around it. It is a force that resonates within the very core of existence, waiting to be tapped into by those who possess the strength of conviction."
Thorwin hesitated, the weight of this revelation settling upon his shoulders. "But why me? Why am I different?"
The crystal-being's form flickered, its radiant light pulsating with an enigmatic rhythm. "You carry within you a unique essence, a fusion of mortal, light, and arcane energy. The arcane orbs you encountered were not merely artifacts; they were conduits of power, merging with us. This fusion, child, is what sets you apart. It grants you the ability to not only wield arcane magic but also to channel the Light itself."
Thorwin's eyes widened, a realization dawning upon him. "You mean… I can use the Light, like I use the arcane?"
The crystal-being nodded, its form shimmering like starlight. "Indeed. The Light and the arcane are not as disparate as they may seem. They are both manifestations of the energies that flow through the cosmos. And with my guidance, you, Thorwin, have the potential to bridge that gap."
As the crystal-being's words settled within him, Thorwin's heart raced with a mixture of trepidation and exhilaration. "What are you? And why have you chosen me?"
A soft, almost melodic chuckle emanated from the entity. "I am a naaru, an ancient being of light. As for why I have chosen you, know that your cries of grief and turmoil reached beyond the skies, resonating with those who heed such calls. Your potential, your spirit, has not gone unnoticed."
Thorwin's voice quivered with uncertainty as he voiced his questions to the being of light before him. The weight of the decision he faced hung heavily in the air, and his doubt was palpable. "I do not know what to feel. This power of the light you speak of, will I be able to wield it to smite my enemies and protect my people? When all I feel right now is hatred against those blasted orcs." The turmoil within him was evident, a storm of emotions churning beneath the surface.
The naaru's luminous presence exuded a sense of patience and understanding. Its response resonated like the gentle whisper of a cosmic breeze, carrying the weight of ages in its words. "Your kind's doctrines have been greatly instilled in your mind, child. It is true that the path of wielding the Light often requires discipline and emotional control, but it mostly relies on you. Your belief in yourself. The potential within you is vast and complex, and as I slumber and recover my strength, so shall your power grow."
As the words reverberated through Thorwin's consciousness, they held a sense of reassurance and guidance. The naaru's presence, though serene, was like a beacon of wisdom, illuminating the path ahead. "For now," the naaru continued, its voice resonating in the depths of Thorwin's thoughts, "listen from those of the archbishop's teachings. I may be in slumber, but even in this state, I can hear the currents of this world. Trust in your instincts."
Thorwin's doubts still clung to him like a persistent shadow, but the words of the naaru had struck a chord within his heart. The concept of merging their essences, his mortal self-intertwined with the celestial light, was both overwhelming and awe-inspiring. The fusion spoke of a destiny that extended far beyond his own existence, threading him into the tapestry of a larger cosmic design. The doubts and uncertainties that had plagued him seemed momentarily eclipsed by the potential that this union offered.
The naaru's departure was as swift as its arrival. Yet, today held a subtle difference. When the naaru's radiant essence merged with Thorwin's, he experienced something new. A sensation of warmth, like a gentle embrace, encircled his entire being. The touch of the celestial energy was comforting, a reminder that he was not alone in this journey. Yet, beneath that comforting warmth, there was also a faint twinge of pain. It was as if the merging of their energies brought with it a transformation that was not entirely painless, a metamorphosis of body and soul.
His fingers lightly touched his chest, as if he could physically sense the presence of the naaru within him. The experience left him with a mix of emotions — uncertainty, wonder, and trepidation. The path ahead was shrouded in mystery, but his grandfather's belief in him gave strength to trek this path. To be a man his grandfather could be proud of. But amidst all the complexity, one thing was certain: his existence had become entwined with a being beyond his understanding, and the choices he made would ripple through the very fabric of existence.
…
Two years had slipped through the hourglass, each grain marking the passage of time with a sense of transformation that was palpable in every corner of Thorwin's world. At the cusp of adolescence, now thirteen years old, he found himself ensconced within the profound teachings of Alonsus Faol. The venerable Archbishop had chosen to remain within the embrace of Brennadam, a steadfast guardian of both Thorwin's journey and the burgeoning site of a chapter from the Knights of the Silver Hand that had taken root in the city. The knowledge that Faol imparted was not merely about swordsmanship and battle strategies, but a holistic understanding of the interplay between faith, strength, and compassion.
Thorwin's growth was not just in physical stature, but also in the expansive expanse of his mind and spirit. Under Faol's sage tutelage, he embarked on a journey that traversed the intricate landscapes of philosophy, ethics, and self-discovery. Though the principles of the Light were being engraved within him, he however did not let it hinder his own judgement.
Brennadam itself had evolved, mirroring the changes that Thorwin had undergone. From a city in its expansion, it had blossomed into a thriving city, its architecture bearing the imprints of progress and unity. The fully constructed towering walls stood not only as a bulwark of defense but also as a symbol of a community that had weathered storms together. The harbor, once frequented by a handful of ships, was now a bustling hub of trade and connectivity. Ships from different lands unfurled their sails, their masts dancing with the promise of exploration and camaraderie.
As the Light's teachings took root, a transformation was set in motion that rippled through the very soul of Kul Tiras. The initial skepticism harbored by the tidesages and the native inhabitants began to yield to a broader acceptance. The refugees, who had sought refuge in Brennadam's embrace, brought with them the stories of the Light's transformative power. With each tale shared, the doctrines of the Light found fertile ground to take root, intertwining with existing beliefs to create a tapestry of harmony and unity.
Within this dynamic backdrop, Thorwin found himself not just a student of the Light and arcane, but also a practitioner of the tidesages' ancient wisdom. The magic that coursed through his veins was a convergence of diverse energies — the radiant Light, the fluid arcane, and the whispering elementals. With an open heart and mind, he delved further into the teachings of these three, embracing the trinity that made of his existence. And while his progress with the arcane and the Light was evident, he couldn't help but chuckle at the irony that his proficiency in elemental magic seemed to progress at a more leisurely pace. Alonsus had reasoned that Thorwin's body could not properly channel the elemental power inside because of the arcane and light are already overloading him, but the real answer seems to still be unfounded. The archbishop had even remarked that being proficient in both arcane and the light is impossible by itself, that no one had ever done so.
Thorwin's breathing was still heavy as he entered the courtyard, sweat glistening on his forehead and his training sword still gripped firmly in his hand. The clang of metal against metal had echoed through the training grounds as he had sparred with several opponents simultaneously. He had faced the odds stacked against him, but his determination and skill had prevailed. As he caught his breath, a voice pulled him from his reverie.
"My lord," called Gavinrad, once Anduin Lothar's lieutenant and now a steadfast servant of both the light and the Stormsongs.
"Sir Gavinrad."
Thorwin shifted his attention towards Gavinrad, a figure who stood not only as a paladin but also as a beacon of leadership within the Knights of the Silver Hand. Gavinrad's role extended far beyond being a mere commander; he embodied the very essence of the Brotherhood of the Lion. This distinguished chapter, born from the legacy of Anduin Lothar, was a bastion of honor, strength, and unwavering dedication, and its allegiance was not pledged to King Terenas unlike the knights of the silverhand. Instead, their loyalty was intricately interwoven with the lineage of the Stormsongs, the relatives of the valiant hero who had left an indelible mark on Azeroth's history.
The Brotherhood of the Lion had evolved into more than a band of loyalists under Lothar; it was a living testament to his enduring legacy. Comprising paladins and soon to be ones, this illustrious organization operated as a shield and sword, safeguarding not only the Stormsongs but also the ideals and values that Lothar had held dear. Their code of conduct, drawn from the teachings of the Silver Hand, was etched with a commitment to justice and unity.
Gavinrad approached Thorwin with a knowing smile. His arms bore the marks of countless battles, a testament to his experience in the war. "A rough fight, it seems," he remarked, his eyes assessing Thorwin's condition.
"They went all out against me, 4 against 1, and even Sir Yargen challenged me after a little bit of rest," Thorwin replied, a mixture of pride and exhaustion in his voice.
"And yet you took them all out," Gavinrad observed, his tone filled with genuine admiration.
"If Sir Yargen used the power of the light, I would have lost easily," Thorwin humbly admitted, acknowledging the support he had received from his fellow trainees.
"Yargen speaks otherwise, my lord," Gavinrad countered. "You have been besting every trainee since you started your training here. Your progress is even more remarkable now by beating a paladin."
Thorwin's exhaustion momentarily gave way to a sense of accomplishment. His journey had not been without its challenges, but his dedication and perseverance were beginning to yield results. He nodded appreciatively at Gavinrad's words.
"And what brings the Highlord here?" Thorwin inquired, his curiosity piqued. "I rarely see you except on the weekends."
Gavinrad's eyes twinkled with a hint of amusement. "I have been busy overseeing the construction of the Lion's Fort up north, my lord."
Thorwin's curiosity deepened as Gavinrad continued, "As to why I returned to Brennadam abruptly, the archbishop called for an assembly in the chapel. He looks forward to your presence, as it seems he has prepared a surprise for you." Thorwin's interest was now fully piqued. A surprise from Lord Alonsus was a rare occurrence, and he wondered what it could possibly be. He couldn't help but chuckle as Gavinrad added, "But I think it is better for you to wash up first. Lady Adriana would not be pleased with your current appearance."
"Absolutely," Thorwin concurred with a grin. "If I showed up at the assembly looking like this, my mother would have a field day scolding me."
Thorwin's curiosity was undeniably stirred by the unexpected gathering orchestrated by Alonsus. The fact that even Gavinrad, stationed up north at the valley, had been summoned spoke volumes about the importance of this assembly. However, the news of the lion's fort being established held a particular fascination for him. This fort would serve as the fulcrum for the Stormsong army, a strategic nucleus of operations. What held Thorwin's attention even more was the knowledge that this fort would be under the capable command of his close friend and mentor, the newly appointed General Cedric. Knowing that the forces there were led by someone both loyal and a trusted ally of Thorwin himself gave him a sense of reassurance.
After a span of more than half an hour, Thorwin emerged, his appearance transformed. Freshly bathed and adorned in regal attire, he now exuded an air of dignity. The grime and exertion of his earlier training had been replaced by a newfound sheen, reflecting not just his physical cleansing but also the significance of the occasion. With swift yet composed steps, he made his way to a nearby cathedral. This grand edifice, a structure of both faith, stood as a sanctuary for many. Today, however, its doors were sealed to the outside world, its inner sanctum veiled from prying eyes. The presence of Stormsong guards stationed around its periphery signaled the exclusivity of the gathering that was about to take place.
As he neared the entrance, he was met with a respectful nod from one of the guards, a silent acknowledgment of his identity. Stepping inside, the cathedral's vast expanse unfolded before him. Intricate stained-glass windows bathed the interior in a kaleidoscope of colors, casting ethereal patterns on the polished marble floor. The pews were filled with a diverse assembly, a congregation united by their connection to the Stormsongs and their shared beliefs. At the front of the cathedral stood an ornate podium, flanked by rows of candles that flickered like stars in the dimmed light. The scent of incense lingered in the air, lending an air of sanctity to the proceedings. At the podium, a figure of authority awaited, his demeanor a blend of wisdom and kindness.
Thorwin's gaze meandered around the opulent hall, taking in the appearance of the attendants before him. His attention was drawn to his mother, Adriana, a woman of regal poise and grace, seated beside a girl whose cascading blonde hair seemed to catch the light itself. Ah, Jaina, he thought, recognizing the familiar face that held a multitude of memories. His observant eyes didn't miss the imposing figures of Lord and Lady Proudmoore, standing as pillars of authority beside them, while the air hummed with the presence of esteemed dignitaries from the esteemed Proudmoores and illustrious Stormsong families.
Caught in a moment of familial connection, his mother's gaze turned to him, prompting Thorwin's chest to tighten with a mixture of guilt and affection. A subtle inclination of his head conveyed his contrition, as if beseeching her to not pursue his matter of being late. Her response, a tender smile that held love and understanding, briefly enveloped him before she turned her attention back to Alonsus, the centerpiece of the evening's discussions. Adriana's attire was a masterpiece in itself, a gown of pristine white that flowed like a gentle cascade to the floor. Its simplicity was deceptive, for upon closer inspection, one would discern the meticulous artistry of delicate patterns adorning the fabric.
Finding a seat slightly behind the assembled dignitaries. Thorwin's subtle movement caught the attention of a few curious eyes, but his focus was soon drawn to Jaina, positioned a few rows ahead, glanced back at him, her expression a mixture of surprise and delight. In response, Thorwin playfully motioned for her to remain quiet, accompanied by a mischievous grin that painted his lips. Jaina's response was a playful retort, her tongue peeking out in jest as her eyes sparkled with shared amusement. While the archbishop Alonsus delivered his sermon with the weight of solemnity, Thorwin and Jaina engaged in a silent exchange of gestures that spoke volumes in their own way. The sacredness of the occasion was punctuated by their lighthearted banter, an echo of their innocence amidst the formalities of the gathering. However, their light-heartedness shifted abruptly as Alonsus' tone turned grave, the air heavy with the weight of his words.
"In this solemn moment," intoned Archbishop Faol, his voice resonating with gravitas, "we gather to pay tribute to the valiant souls of the expedition that embarked upon a journey into the uncharted realms, a world unknown, to quell the orcish invaders that encroached upon our lands—" His words carried a weight that seemed to reverberate through the hall, holding the assembly in rapt attention.
With a marked change in demeanor, Thorwin straightened in his seat, his previous casual posture giving way to one of utmost attentiveness. The atmosphere shifted as the memories of sacrifice and valor were recounted, and Thorwin's ears caught a stifled cry, a sound that held profound significance for him. In that poignant moment, he whispered a name, soft as a breath of wind, yet laden with concern and affection. "Lyanna," he called. As the archbishop's narrative and Lyanna's cry unfold before him, the truth dawned upon Thorwin – the news entailed the passing of Khadgar, his teacher and mentor, recently elevated to the rank of archmage. The knowledge that Khadgar had emerged as a commander of the alliance army against the orcish incursion was a double-edged sword, brimming with pride for his teacher's unwavering dedication, yet shaded with the grim acknowledgment of the risks he faced. His hands involuntarily clenched, the sting of his nails piercing into his palm as his emotions converged into a potent mix of sorrow and anger. The orcs had claimed too many lives, and the personal toll it had exacted on him lay hidden beneath layers of resolve. The undercurrents of his anger, long suppressed, surged like a dormant river suddenly unleashed, threatening to overwhelm him.
"—Through their selfless sacrifices, they triumphed in severing the portal that once bound our world to the realm of the orc. Let their names be etched in the annals of history, their deeds a beacon of hope that shall illuminate every corner of our kingdoms. For it is through their unwavering dedication that the blessings of peace have been bestowed upon our lands. As we stand united under the Light's watchful gaze, may their legacy serve as a testament to the power of unity, and may the Light itself guide their souls on their eternal journey."
The archbishop's words held a divine resonance, as if each syllable was imbued with the fervor of a devoted servant of the Holy Light. Thorwin instinctively drew upon the reservoir of Light within him, allowing its warmth to envelop him. The embrace of the Light was like a balm to his emotions, a soothing salve that eased the tumultuous waves of anger that had surged within him. The same anger that had been forged from a history of loss and pain, brought by the tragedies that the orcish invasion had wrought upon his life and the lives of those he held dear. As his fingers unconsciously unclenched, he could almost sense the Light's gentle fingers brushing away the tendrils of rage that had threatened to consume him.
The moment was a fleeting respite, a temporary truce within himself. The Light's touch granted him a clarity that allowed him to momentarily set aside the weight of his grievances, focusing instead on the sacredness of the occasion. The archbishop's proclamation echoed within his consciousness, and Thorwin whispered to himself, "May your spirit guide me, teacher."
"And let us all humbly request the Light," Alonsus's voice, imbued with a tranquil authority, reverberated through the hall, "to provide guidance and safety for Lady Jaina Proudmoore." Thorwin's gaze, like many others, shifted to Jaina. Unlike them, however, Thorwin was oblivious as to why Jaina needed such prayers.
"May her studies in Dalaran be well," the archbishop's words carried a gentle benediction, a wish for prosperity and growth. "And in her role as a mage, may she stand as a steadfast guardian for her people, guiding them with wisdom and conjuring the Light's grace to illuminate their way."
Lord Daelin had, at last, granted his sanction for Jaina's pursuit of studies in Dalaran. In the realm of Thorwin's imagination, the sight of Jaina's face, suffused with a radiant smile, materialized vividly. The interval since her discussions on these ambitions with him and her parents had been considerable. Yet, the memory of her resolute enthusiasm persisted. It was not difficult to surmise that Lady Proudmoore had been instrumental in orchestrating a compelling narrative that had swayed Lord Daelin's decision, paving the way for Jaina's imminent departure because of her lovely smile that was shown towards Jaina as Thorwin watched from behind.
"And may we pray for our young lord Thorwin Stormsong—" The reverberation of these words was like a stone tossed into a pond, creating ripples of contemplation within Thorwin's consciousness. A sense of curiosity mingled with a twinge of apprehension as he considered the significance of his name being woven into this sacred invocation. His brows furrowed imperceptibly, the thoughts gathering like storm clouds in his mind's horizon.
In the wake of this proclamation, his inner dialogue began to churn. What news could be significant enough to warrant such a public intercession? His position as a Stormsong came with its share of responsibilities, but the archbishop's words seemed to hint at something more, something momentous that had escaped his immediate awareness.
"—That he become a valiant protector of Lady Jaina Proudmoore in her journey and may the light… and the tides provide wisdom upon him during our tour around the neighboring kingdoms." As the archbishop's sentence reached its culmination, the shroud of confusion lifted, revealing the truth with the clarity of dawn's light. The connection between his name and Jaina's journey became apparent. A flicker of understanding illuminated his gaze as the pieces fell into place, like a puzzle slowly revealing its full image.
Jaina turned her attention towards him. Her eyes, a mirror reflecting her vibrant spirit, held a mischievous spark as her lips curved into a playful smile. Then his gaze shifted towards Alonsus, the archbishop whose gaze had briefly met his. Their eyes locked, and within that unspoken exchange, a myriad of unvoiced sentiments seemed to pass. A tacit understanding passed between them, an acknowledgement of the conversation that awaited them once the sacred proceedings had concluded.
As the final strains of the assembly's resonance subsided, the air seemed to hold its breath, caught between the echoes of whispered hopes and the impending dispersal of the gathering. Amidst the gentle rustle of departing attendees, Thorwin found himself ensconced in a reverent stillness, a sentinel observing the gradual ebb of the congregation. One by one, the participants rose from their seats, the cadence of their departure like notes of a melancholic melody fading into the expanse.
His gaze remained anchored to the heart of the scene, watchful as the attendees took their leave in a manner that was both orderly and dignified. And then, in the graceful cadence of the exodus, his mother arose from her seat embarking on a deliberate path towards him. In a tender convergence, she enveloped him in her embrace, the gesture brimming with an affection that transcended spoken words. Her arms encircled him with a protective tenderness, and for a moment, time seemed suspended, the space around them a sanctuary where only their hearts could converse. Her words, when they finally came, were like whispers of love that kissed his ear.
"You'll be leaving us once again, my son," her voice, a gentle murmur, carried the weight of both her maternal pride and the ache of separation. Her fingers brushed his hair with an intimacy that only a mother's touch could hold. "Always remember that your father and I await you here," she continued, her words a reassurance that extended beyond the present moment. The sanctuary of their home would always welcome him back, a haven where his presence would forever be cherished.
Her gaze turned towards Lyanna. "Lyanna needs you more than ever, my child," she addressed him, her voice a delicate veil that concealed a mother's unspoken concerns. "Be there for her…" The unspoken weight of those words resonated, echoing like a promise etched into the core of his being.
Beside them stood Jaina, looking at him with a subtle yet meaningful gesture. Her lips parted in a promise that transcended the confines of words, "I'll talk to you later, Thorwin." He replied back with a nod, and a bow towards the Proudmoores and his mother as they began to navigate towards the exit. Following behind them; Raelor, Gavinrad, and officials from the two families bowed towards Thorwin, and he reciprocated with a nod. In time, there was but one fragile figure that remained sat on a bench not far away from him. Amidst the lingering cadence of Alonsus' discourse with a fellow priest, Thorwin found himself drawn toward a figure that embodied vulnerability amidst the solemnity of the assembly. As he approached Lyanna, his footsteps seemed to echo the delicacy with which he intended to tread upon her delicate emotions. The space beside her was an invitation he accepted, settling in with a sense of presence that was both gentle and respectful.
Each tear that traced its path down her cheeks etched a poignant story upon the canvas of her face, a narrative of grief that was both individual and shared. The drops bore silent witness to the pain that her heart held, staining the fabric of her skirt with evidence of her emotional journey. The subtle touch of his hand intertwining with hers was a gesture of solace, an offering of support that needed no words to convey its intent. At the contact, Lyanna started slightly, her movements a reflection of the vulnerability she felt. Slowly, her gaze shifted, meeting his eyes as though for the first time.
"I apologize for showing you such a sorry sight, Thorwin," her voice, a tremulous whisper, was like a fragile strand of music within the symphony of their surroundings. Her words held within them a blend of regret and gratitude, a recognition of the space that he had offered her amidst the sea of gathered souls. Her apology, however, was met with a gentle shake of his head, a subtle dismissal of any notion of discomfort.
"There is no need for apologies," he responded, his voice a soothing murmur that seemed to echo within the chamber of their conversation. The words held within them a note of understanding that ran deeper than mere empathy. "You need not bear this burden alone," he continued, his voice an unspoken promise that resonated within the gentle pressure of his hand against hers.
But as his gaze settled upon her tear-stained visage, a silent acknowledgment passed between them, a recognition that the outward manifestations of grief were but symbols of an internal struggle that both knew too well. While her tears flowed freely, he knew that his own grief had carved an alternate path within him. With each passing of a loved one, a peculiar transformation unfolded within him. Where tears might have been expected, anger emerged as his response - a smoldering ember that consumed the pain he was often reluctant to acknowledge.
"Lyanna," Alonsus' voice a soothing river that carried the weight of condolences and understanding. "I offer my deepest condolences for the passing of Khadgar. His departure from this realm is a loss that resonates with us all." His eyes, expressive and tender, held a silent affirmation of the depth of his sentiments. "I apologize for the sorrow that his passing has brought upon us," Alonsus added, his voice a poignant admission of shared grief. "In times like these, words often fall short in offering comfort, but please know that my heart shares in your sorrow."
Lyanna's response came in the form of a gentle nod, a fragile affirmation that seemed to emanate from the depths of her grief-stricken heart. A faint smile accompanied the gesture, and her eyes, though tinged with sorrow, held within them a glimmer of gratitude, a silent acknowledgment of the support she was receiving from those around her.
"Thorwin, may I have a word with you?" The request, tender and resonant with purpose, emanated from Alonsus. His voice carried within it the wisdom of a counselor and the compassion of a friend. The intricacies of grief were not foreign to him, and his presence seemed to provide a beacon of understanding for those who sought solace.
Thorwin's response was immediate, rising from his seat with a readiness that mirrored his inclination to heed Alonsus' call. As he prepared to follow the archbishop, his gaze momentarily flickered towards Lyanna. A silent exchange passed between them, a shared understanding that transcended words. "Wait for me here, Lady Lyanna," he assured her, his voice carrying within it the echo of their mutual support.
The hallways, bathed in the soft glow of flickering candles, seemed to envelop them in a cocoon of reverence. The passage towards Alonsus' room was a pilgrimage of sorts, a journey that held the promise of a conversation. Upon entering the sanctum of Alonsus' room, a sense of serenity seemed to emanate from the very walls. The atmosphere was charged with a solemn understanding, a reflection of the conversations that had transpired within its confines. Thorwin's gaze settled upon Alonsus, the archbishop had wrinkles on his skin, the passage of time seemed to have taken its toll upon him.
"My words earlier may have come upon you as a surprise," Alonsus began, his voice a resonant tapestry that wove the threads of sympathy and explanation together. The archbishop's gaze, intense yet tempered with a measure of empathy, seemed to seek a connection beyond the surface. "I would have chosen a more private venue for this conversation, but the dire news that reached us today compelled me to share it during my sermon."
The gravity of Alonsus' words hung in the air like a heavy curtain, a shroud of sorrow that seemed to envelop the room itself. Within the boundaries of that moment, Thorwin found himself a captive audience to a tale that was interwoven with the fabric of both loss and uncertainty. The archbishop's purpose was clear - to bridge the gap between understanding and acceptance, to offer insight into the reasons behind his earlier proclamation.
"It grieves me to know that one of my students is lost in a foreign world, with no knowledge of any possibility that he and the expedition may return," Alonsus' voice, though calm, carried an undercurrent of lamentation. The weight of his words conveyed not just his role as a mentor, but also the sense of shared responsibility that rested upon his shoulders.
Amidst the somber exchange, Thorwin recognized the name that lay unspoken - Turalyon, the archbishop's finest student. The emotions that stirred within Alonsus seemed to mirror the complex tapestry of mentorship - a blend of pride, sorrow, and an innate desire to protect and guide. And yet, as Thorwin listened, he found that he could not fully empathize with the depth of Alonsus' grief. Thorwin's understanding remained silent but discernible, his gaze a reflection of the complexities that swirled within him. Turalyon, a name that held significance within the confines of Alonsus' heart, was a figure that Thorwin couldn't summon any affection for. The enigmatic history between them had carved a path of bitterness and resentment, emotions that had taken root long before their paths had crossed.
But Alonsus, with the discernment of a sage and the compassion of a father figure, continued undeterred. "Now, you have become my only and last student, Thorwin," he stated, his voice carrying within it both affirmation and a poignant undercurrent of a loss that transcended the present moment. "Like Turalyon, I have seen in you something different, something greater than your predecessors. I pray that the light would forever shine upon you, and that unlike them, it would not take you upon their embrace."
The archbishop's words held a dual significance - they were a recognition of Thorwin's potential, an affirmation that he bore qualities worthy of guidance and mentorship. Yet, beneath the surface, they also seemed to echo a lament for what had been lost. However, the sincerity in his words warmed Thorwin's heart, these years of learning from Alonsus had formed a semblance of a family between them, and in the back of his mind, he had learned to see Alonsus like a caring grandfather.
And then, amidst the cadence of their dialogue, the conversation took an unexpected turn, veering towards future plans and prospects that lay ahead. "Now, I have acquired your father's permission to allow you in accompanying me to Lordaeron, and to Stormwind," Alonsus announced.
The mention of Stormwind stirred a spark of curiosity within Thorwin, prompting him to interject, "Stormwind?" His tone held a blend of intrigue and genuine surprise, a testament to the unexpected twist that Alonsus' words had taken.
"Prince Varian will be crowned king next summer," Alonsus explained, his voice a wellspring of knowledge and understanding. "He has extended an invitation for us to attend, and Lord Stormsong, regrettably, is unable to represent your realm in person. Hence, he entrusts you with this significant role, to stand as his representative on such a grand occasion."
Varian, Thorwin mused, his thoughts drifting back to the tumultuous days when they had navigated the chaos-laden streets of Stormwind, a city under siege by the relentless orc horde. Those were the moments etched into his memory, moments when survival was paramount, and their paths were marked by resilience and determination. Back then, the kingdom lay in ruins, its future uncertain, and his friend Varian had just lost his father. Recollections converged like a tapestry woven with threads of shared history. Amid the ruins, they had sought refuge in the welcoming embrace of Lordaeron, a realm that offered a haven amidst the storm. It was during those times that Thorwin had glimpsed the transformation of his friend into a prince - a mantle that had been thrust upon him by the unforgiving currents of fate. He remembered Varian, not as a prince of grandeur, but as a companion who had stood beside him amidst trials and tribulations. Back then, titles and crowns were distant aspirations, overshadowed by the immediate need for survival and the bonds of camaraderie that had solidified amidst the chaos.
Now, as the passage of time carried them forward, Varian's journey had taken an unexpected trajectory. "He is to be a king of a kingdom rebuilt," Thorwin smiled, his thoughts carrying a mixture of awe and pride. The very kingdom that had once crumbled beneath the weight of destruction was now on the cusp of rebirth, a phoenix rising from the ashes. The transformation of Varian, from a prince without a realm to a king at the helm of a restored kingdom, symbolized the indomitable spirit that had shaped their world.
"However, most of our stay will be at Lordaeron," Alonsus continued, his voice a conduit for plans that bore the weight of purpose. The mere mention of Lordaeron invoked yet another memory for Thorwin, he remembered the Menethil siblings and their time in the palace. But will he be able to treat them as friends with his anger against their father. "I have matters to attend in Stratholme," Alonsus continued, his tone a blend of gravitas and determination, "and your father also entrusts you to familiarize yourself with the ventures of the trading company under your family."
Thorwin's mind raced, absorbing the intricacies of the path that lay ahead. The prospect of overseeing the family's trading endeavors, an intricate web that spanned across kingdoms, was a responsibility that carried both pride and weight. He envisioned himself navigating through bustling marketplaces, negotiating in the harbors, and ensuring the prosperity of a newfound legacy that has become inextricably intertwined with his lineage.
"Of course, that is only to be done in your free time," Alonsus interjected, his voice a gentle reminder that amidst the tapestry of responsibilities, there were moments to be seized for personal growth and shared experiences. "There is much for me to teach you, and for you to learn even just by observing," he added, the words carrying an implicit promise of wisdom and knowledge yet to be bestowed. Thorwin was surprised, Alonsus, though not explicit, had officially given him the mantle of a formal student, to be by the archbishop's side even at important meetings.
As their conversation continued, the atmosphere seemed to shift, as if the boundaries between mentor and mentee became softer, more malleable. Alonsus, his countenance a portrait of both authority and compassion, approached Thorwin with a smile that held within it the essence of a father's pride. Gently, he laid his hands on Thorwin's shoulders, the touch a reassurance of the bond that had grown between them.
"And as I have previously mentioned, you are also to accompany and protect Lady Jaina Proudmoore in her travel to Dalaran city," Alonsus declared, his voice carrying the weight of future possibilities. The very mention of Jaina's name seemed to stir a flutter within Thorwin's chest, a blend of emotions that he had yet to fully understand. "I cannot wait for the day to conduct the ceremony between the two of you."
A rosy hue colored Thorwin's cheeks at the archbishop's words, materialized by the complexities of emotions that had been steadily building within him.
AUTORENGEDANKEN 
eliot_green
eliot_green I am back! Fully rested and ready to continue the story forward, however, I have a full clinical schedule of 16 hours a day next week. It sucks, but I will try write as much as I can by that time. I will also start uploading Side Stories to fully connect the transition in time skips.
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein