Chapter 3

The outer gate of Thalassian Pass was not what Arvis had expected.

He had imagined something grand but practical, like the fortified gates of Lordaeron’s capital. Stone walls, iron portcullis, murder holes, arrow slits. Maybe fancier than the walls of Lordaeron due to elven culture, but otherwise similar.

Instead, what he found was a work of art, and a statement.

Two pillars of white stone rose from the forest floor, so tall that their tops vanished into the canopy, somehow looking organic, the intensity of magic they were radiating overwhelming. There were no walls. Just two towers in front of a gate.

He would have assumed them to be the source of magic, if it wasn’t for Bloom allowing him to feel the true nature. Every single tree was somehow connected to the giant towers, providing them with energy.

There were no walls extending from the gate. There didn’t need to be. The forest itself was the wall. The trees on either side of the pillars grew so dense, their trunks so massive and close together, that trying to pass between would be impossible. He would bet everything that they were stronger than the walls of the capital.

As long as the forest stood, so would the gate. Safety guaranteed.

He was feeling much better about his choice.

Compared to the connection, the glowing runes along the surface of the pillars didn’t look particularly impressive.

His two escorts. A pair of rangers who had introduced themselves as Thaelen and Soris, and had spoken exactly four words to him since introducing themselves, led him through the woods. They didn’t even activate the gate. The trunks shifted open at their presence, just large enough for them to pass, tightening again behind them.

Arvis glanced back. The gap was gone, as if it had never existed.

“Impressive,” he said.

Neither ranger acknowledged the comment, not that he minded. It was already an improvement compared to his time in Stratholme.

On the other side of the gate, everything was different … including the forest. He would have noticed even without Bloom. The air felt cleaner, carrying a faint sweetness that reminded him of honeysuckle, but the biggest difference was easier to spot.

Mana density. Apparent even to someone like him with only elementary magic training. Outside, he would have needed to meditate carefully to even start sensing mana. Here, there was no such need.

He took a deep breath, feeling renewed.

As they moved deeper, he observed his surroundings. The trees looked ordinary, but he could sense that they were radiating power thanks to Bloom. Every single one of them was strong.

The undergrowth wasn’t the wild tangle he was used to. It was cultivated, though ‘cultivated’ felt like the wrong word. Guided, perhaps. Every fern, every flowering bush, every moss-covered stone looked as if it had been placed with deliberate intent, creating a landscape that was simultaneously wild and perfectly ordered.

It was beautiful. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

He sighed as he reached out with Bloom. Merely a tentative brush rather than trying to control. It turned out to be a perfect decision, as he felt like he was poking a sleeping bear. It wasn’t exactly intelligence like a horse, but still, it was an alien kind of awareness.

The tree noticed his touch. He felt a brief connection with their alien presence of mind before he felt a gentle but immovable push, and his connection was severed. Not painfully. Like he was a kid, sent away by a kindly but elderly neighbor.

Interestingly, the rangers didn’t comment or give any sign of noticing his momentary connection.

He took a note, but said nothing. He was more than happy having the most comfortable nature trip of his life, even Thunder acting mellow. Even better, he could feel his exhaustion dissipate as his body absorbed mana passively, replenishing the reserves that he wasn’t even aware he possessed.

They didn’t travel for long. An hour after passing through the outer gate, the forest gradually thinned, not into open ground, but into something less clustered. A small settlement, though likely a ranger outpost considering how minimalistic it was.

Small rooms hang from the branches as if they were grown, with walkways spiraling up through the canopy, connecting platforms and enclosed spaces at various heights.

As he got closer, he saw several elves moving along the walkways with an easy grace, though with a hint of hurry. A clear sign of mobilization … or so he hoped. The history of the Second War had made it clear that it took the Horde targeting Quel’Thalas for them to join fully.

They wouldn’t be as stupid this time, especially not against an enemy that grew stronger with each kill rather than weakening.

The walking figures noticed him, but only a few stopped enough to even send a proper glance toward him, and even they were mostly dismissive, occasionally hostile.

Not a shocker. A human in the elven settlements was not an everyday sight, and his battered appearance didn’t exactly inspire confidence. He sat straighter in the saddle and kept his expression neutral.

They didn’t stop at the settlement. His escorts led him past it without a sideways glance, following the path as it got tighter, almost like back to the wilderness, only bunches of wildflowers giving a feeling of being curated and loved to his Bloom ability suggested otherwise.

Arvis’s stomach tightened, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since the apples on the road. His body was starting to remind him, forcefully, that mental exhaustion and physical hunger made poor traveling companions. He considered asking his escorts for food, but decided against it.

Another noble lesson, one relevant for minor houses. Sometimes, a little pity went a long way.

His escorts led him to an opening where another ranger was waiting, her head lowered as she was reading a scroll. Someone important, he guessed, as for the first time, his escorts tensed.

“Ranger-General,” one of them spoke, and the woman raised her head.

Arvis tensed as he recognized her, with a touch of fear. Not because he had any personal reason. It was simply about her identity.

Sylvanas Windrunner.

He’d heard stories, not just hers but about her family. A part of his lessons as a minor noble, teaching him who he could insult, and who he could not. Windrunner family was firmly in the latter category.

She was striking in the way a drawn bow was striking, all tension and controlled power, beautiful in the manner of something that could kill you before you registered the threat. It wasn’t that other elven rangers were weak, but she was something else.

The kind of threat that could intimidate an army.

Her hair was blonde, almost silver, pulled back from a face that held the ageless quality common to all high elves, but sharpened with a focus and intensity that was entirely her own.

She studied him with pale blue eyes that reminded Arvis of a hawk examining a little rabbit that had wandered too close to the nest.

She gestured, and her escorts left without saying anything. Understandable, as he was not the only one who was horribly outclassed. “Captain Godwyn,” she said. Her common was perfect, without the accent the others carried. “Sit.”

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He followed her request as if it was an order, sitting a rock across her.

“I’ve read Ranger Nerethor’s report,” she said, folding her hands. “A captain from Stratholme’s garrison, riding alone through ghoul-infested territory, carrying intelligence about a potential assassination of King Terenas, obtained through an artifact he couldn’t reproduce.”

Ironically, her sharp, interrogative tone relaxed him. Questions meant she was curious; which meant he could bargain. Well, not openly; he wasn’t a merchant. Trading favors required a softer touch.

“It probably doesn’t help that I managed to detect the approach of an undead force before the rangers did,” he completed.

“Exactly,” she said, and he caught the slightest smile on her face. “It’s a remarkable story, Captain.”

She had focused on two different words. Remarkable. And story.

“I understand how it sounds, Lady Windrunner.”

“Do you? Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like a chain of coincidences, or a cover story that’s missing several key details.” She leaned forward slightly. “I’m going to give you the opportunity to provide those details. I suggest you use it wisely.”

Arvis took a breath. He had known this was coming. Luckily, he had his reasons.

“You’re right that I’m not telling you everything,” he said. “Some of what I’m holding back is personal. It’s mostly about why I chose to reach Quel’Thalas rather than trying to return to Stratholme.”

“My full name is Arvis Godwyn, heir to House Godwyn of Lordaeron.” He paused. “My mother was Elena Garithos.”

There it was. The reaction was small. A slight narrowing of the eyes, a tension in the jaw, but her distaste was clear. “Marshall Garithos,” she said flatly.

A beat of silence. The temperature in the room dropped. Arvis had been exposed to Garithos enough to know his very visible hatred toward anything non-human. Her reaction made it clear that it was not exactly a secret from them as well.

He gave her a soft smile, entirely devoid of joy. He didn’t need to fake any emotion. “Grand Marshal now. He’s my maternal uncle, and currently the ruling regent of my house.”

“And you’re telling me this because…”

“Because it explains why I preferred to return to Quel’Thalas rather than trying to return to Stratholme.”

“Explain.”

“I lost my father three months ago. My ‘lovely’ uncle immediately abused his military rank to have me assigned to Stratholme. While I’ve been guarding the ruins of a graveyard, he’s been draining House Godwyn’s coffers under his authority as regent.” Arvis kept his voice even. Facts, not complaints. “He’s spread rumors to ensure I have no allies in the garrison. No one is willing to make an enemy out of a Grand Marshall for the heir of a minor house.”