Chapter 58: Very Important

Hearing Onyxia's question, Chromie proudly puffed out her chest and pulled out a gold coin, flipping it playfully in her hand. "Ever since I got the Lucky Coin granted by Lil' A-chan, Nozdormu hasn't given me a hard time anymore."

"Every time he comes to check on the timeline with me, I just casually pull out the Lucky Coin, flip it, and toss out some goblin excuse. He goes from confusion to a daze, and then to sudden realization. Those expressions are just too hilarious."

Delen slapped his forehead, thinking to himself that it was over—this bronze dragon was completely beyond saving.

On the other side, Jaina witnessed the shimmering coin in Chromie's hand, and a long-lost sense of familiarity and warmth welled up in her heart. Especially when Chromie mentioned the name Lil' A-chan, the questions Jaina had originally wanted to ask were swallowed back down automatically.

Instead, she activated a magical barrier to ensure that their conversation would not be captured by any potential eavesdropping or scrying.

Delen noticed Jaina's caution and nodded slightly to show his gratitude. Onyxia also sensed that Chromie was starting to get carried away. She grabbed Chromie's ear, pulled her close, and whispered, "You little squirt, what are you blabbering about? Can things like this just be said out loud so casually?"

"Oops, I forgot!" Chromie immediately realized she had spoken out of turn; she shouldn't have casually brought up Lil' A-chan. As she spoke, she turned her head to look at Jaina. Seeing that Jaina was merely responding with a smile, she gave a silly, awkward chuckle as well.

Jaina thought to herself that there must be secrets unknown to her between these three humans and dragons. But it seemed they held no apparent malice toward Theramore or herself.

She cast her gaze into the distance, seeing several young elven women helping human farmers sort seeds, while older elves repaired houses. Their movements were practiced and earnest, as though they had completely integrated into this new home.

Jaina suddenly grasped what Delen meant. She softly asked, "Those who left..."

"Will never have a chance to come back," Delen's smile deepened. "Theramore citizenship is only granted once."

The sea breeze gently caressed Jaina's golden hair, carrying away the sailing ship bearing the elven nobility. On the deck, Alleria was still loudly holding forth with grand speeches about "restoring the glory of the Quel'dorei," completely unaware of what she had lost.

With the arrival of more elven immigrants, Theramore became more prosperous, vibrant, and full of vitality. Ships at the port arrived in an endless stream, people on the docks were busy yet orderly, and the entire city overflowed with a positive, uplifting atmosphere.

Sylvanas Windrunner stood on the seaward ramparts of Theramore, her hands pressed against the rough edges of the stone bricks, her knuckles white from the pressure. The salty sea breeze whipped up her long golden hair like a tattered flag struggling in the gale.

In the harbor below, the last ship carrying the elven nobility was weighing anchor. Silk robes and jewelry boxes glittered in the sunlight, stinging her eyes with pain.

"Look at them," her voice was like a poison-tipped arrow. "When Silvermoon City was burned to ashes, they hid in the palace cellars. When the Scourge tore through the defense lines, they used civilians as human shields to save their own skins. And now—" she sneered, "—now they stand tall and straight, as if they were still some noble Quel'dorei."

Delen leisurely walked up beside her, toying with a gold coin in his hand. Sunlight danced across the metal surface, reflecting shifting spots of light.

"Where is your sister?" he asked, his gaze sweeping over the guards on the ramparts.

Sylvanas's mouth twitched. "Vereesa? That foolish girl finally let go of that red-headed mage." She pointed toward the training grounds beneath the wall—the young ranger was instructing elven refugees on how to use human-standard longbows, her movements clean and decisive without the slightest hesitation.

"A few days ago, she was still crying, wanting to go to Northrend to find her little red-headed lover." Sylvanas's tone carried a rare hint of relief. "Now? She nearly tore Kael'thas's invitation to pieces with her own hands. She's finally returning to normal."

Delen chuckled softly, the coin flipping between his fingers. "Because she finally realized Kael'thas couldn't save the elves?"

"Because she saw this." Sylvanas pulled a crumpled letter from her waist and tossed it onto Delen's chest.

On the parchment, Kael'thas's elegant handwriting read:

"To the Windrunner Family:
Enclosed are three arcane crystals, to be prioritized for nobles with military achievements. We hope you will return to Dalaran to serve in the revitalization of Quel'thalas, and avoid getting too close to humans."

Delen let out a whistle. "How generous, three whole pieces. Wanting to win over the Windrunners? What were you all thinking—wanting to go to Dalaran to swear loyalty to Kael'thas and then restore the glory of the high elves?"

Sylvanas's fingernails scratched a harsh sound against the stone bricks. "When my father and mother were killed by orcs in Eversong Woods, these parasites were drinking morning dew wine at banquets, happy and carefree. When I was fighting desperately against the undead in Silvermoon City, they were still arguing over whose bloodline was more orthodox."

"When Quel'thalas was already destroyed and they were sponging off Dalaran, they still didn't forget to maintain their damned nobility and elegance."

Her voice grew lower and lower, eventually turning into a dangerous hiss. "And now, they still want to use this so-called 'noble bloodline' to continue enslaving us?"

Delen suddenly grabbed her wrist. Sylvanas jerked her head up, only to meet his unusually solemn gaze.

"You're certain you aren't going to Dalaran, right?" Delen asked earnestly.

"Are you that reluctant to part with me and my sister?" Sylvanas teased.

"You could say that. Having you sisters alive is important to me," Delen brushed it off smoothly. "Even more important to Azeroth." He was simply afraid that the power of plot armor might be too strong. At least Theramore was under his own watch, and Arthas wouldn't cross thousands of miles across mountains and seas just to come here and kill someone to resurrect the Banshee Queen.

If she went to Dalaran, an accidental mishap might lead to Sylvanas's demise, and the plot would just revert right back to the tragic path of the Banshee Queen and her dark destiny.

Sylvanas looked at Delen seriously, trying to discern truth from falsehood in his eyes. Yet the clarity in his gaze proved that everything he said was genuine. Her heart stirred, and she managed to calm herself down, replying, "Fine. I won't go to Dalaran. There are still so many of our kin here who need me to protect them. It's just a pity those nobles ran back to grovel at the Sunstrider family's feet."

"That's why I helped Kael'thas get those crystals," he released her hand, his tone casual. "To give them a tiny sliver of hope. Dalaran is about to face the undead assault. By then, they'll be weeping with regret that they didn't stay in Theramore today."

"Hahahaha—" Sylvanas laughed heartily. Just imagining the expressions of those nobles trembling in fear before the undead brought her a deep sense of satisfaction.

She remarked, "Back in Silvermoon, they thought the Sunwell barrier was foolproof and could repel everything. Now they think Dalaran is better. If the undead strike at the gates again, I wonder what kind of expressions those people will wear."

In the distance, cheers rang out—Vereesa had just hit the bullseye a hundred paces away, and human soldiers and elven refugees applauded together. The sea breeze carried fragments of conversation:

"...the new training schedule..."
"...can join the patrols by next week..."