Chapter Text
The first growing light of dawn is a time of awakening. The promise of a new day slowly rouses daylight creatures, drawing them gently into wakefulness with the sound of cheerful birdsong, serenading a gradually brightening landscape.
Unless a certain daylight creature has an important day ahead of her that she’s trained for her entire life. In that case, the first light of dawn is merely a reminder that she’s already been awake for hours, fighting a growing knot of anxiety in her stomach. I tossed moodily onto my side, nestling deeper into my blankets. I wished the birds would shut up.
I was too nervous to sleep. Or too excited. Or… something. Today was the day I finally left my training behind, accepted my first mission, and became a champion of the Horde.
I sighed into my pillow. The title still felt strange and unfamiliar. I thought that by now I would feel differently. I felt like Alerica, a warlock of Silvermoon. But a champion? Trusted with important missions, independently moving through the world as the Warchief directed, lending my aid wherever it was needed? The whole idea seemed meant for someone else, not me.
But things were already in motion. Meetings made, recommendation letters signed. Even Talionia, the tight-lipped head of Fel Magic studies in Silvermoon, had been willing to approve my commencement. That is, of course, after she had personally witnessed my entire examination series with a stern face that gave nothing away.
Compared to my exams, meeting Lor’themar Theron in person and obtaining my official commission had been relatively simple. It had helped, of course, that the Regent Lord of Quel’Thalas was an amiable soul. His passing knowledge of warlock magic allowed him to ask minor questions about my studies, but he’d seemed more interested in learning about what kind of person I was than in gauging my magical knowledge. And when his steward rang a bell to signal the end of the audience, he’d obligingly signed the document assigning me to the Warchief’s direct service. Then he scanned the mission details and raised an eyebrow.
“What’s this? An urgent mission alongside Rokhan of the Darkspear and… First Arcanist Thalyssra?” He gave a low whistle of appreciation. “Two of the greatest champions the Horde has to offer! I commend you, Miss Summersong,” he said to me, “it will doubtless be a mission to remember. Pay close attention to anything the First Arcanist has to teach you. Though her magic runs a different path, she has a wealth of experience to impart.”
New champions were not typically able to choose their first mission, so when the call came from Orgrimmar for a champion with my background, I leapt at the chance. It was rare to know any mission details in advance. This one appeared to have been planned carefully, and I was lucky to qualify.
Lor’themar drummed his fingers on the desk thoughtfully, then leaned forward as if he’d made a decision. “And,” he added, “if the moment ever arises, I hope you will extend my invitation to the First Arcanist to visit Silvermoon. We met once before, you see,” he explained, “and I found her knowledge of the arcane fascinating, as well as her curiosity for the world. I believe she would enjoy a visit to the Sunwell.”
I promised I would.
The response to my application was prompt and cryptic: I was to use the portal to travel to Orgrimmar, where I would be vetted by the mission commander personally. If I was found lacking, the scroll read, another suitable post would be found for me.
Grand Magister Rommath cursed softly when he read this, and for the second time since he’d first glanced at me, scribbled his signature on my application letter and swept imperiously away, he fixed me with an aggravated glare. “Irregular. Most irregular. They’ve no respect for procedure anymore! How am I to be expected to send forces to the Warchief—” his lip curled contemptuously at the title, “without knowing what post they will actually take? Blast!”
He turned his glare on the offending document, scanning it once more. When whatever he read offered no more information than before, he snorted and thrust it back at me. “You will leave in three days’ time. Halduron tells me that is when the next contingent of Farstriders departs. You are to accompany them.”
“But…” I faltered. “The letter does say ‘immediately’. Are you sure…?”
That earned me a withering look. “Do not question me, warlock. Our few remaining portal mages are stretched thin enough as it is without devoting additional time transporting champions on a whim. Those insufferable fools in Orgrimmar can cool their heels for a bit longer.” And with that, he strode away.
Despite his arbitrary demeanor, the Magister had a point. The loss of Undercity had been a major blow to the Horde’s operations in the Eastern Kingdoms. Silvermoon was the last major Horde city on the continent, and our vessels were primarily trade ships, ill-suited for infantry transport. Besides the goblin zeppelins and a few minor portals dotted across the continent, our portals had become the primary method of travel in the area. And with the reallocation of many of our most powerful mages to the Warchief’s armies, maintaining our own portals had become a grueling prospect. Portal use had become strictly regulated until we could replenish the teams of mages that maintained them.
Our mage shortage was a point of singular contention for Rommath, who had trained many of them himself. His refusal to make a special case for my mission was certainly political, but it was practical as well. Maintaining a consistent portal schedule prevented our mages from burning out and ensured that Silvermoon’s support remained regular and reliable. As urgent as my mission seemed to me, if the Magister ordered me to wait, there was nothing for it.
And so it came to be that I would be lying in my bed, wide awake before the sun had even touched my window, three full days after my order came to leave for Orgrimmar. I sat up with a sigh. I certainly wasn’t going to get any more sleep. I might as well pack.