Don't Poke The Bear! (Warcraft/FurbolgSI)

A creature carved seemingly from golden bronze walked decisively upon the pearly white sand of a timeless desert. Thousands of polished metallic scales on her body shone under the constellations of the Great Dark Beyond, bathing the Caverns of Time in eternal crepuscular light.

She was a reptilian behemoth. Her armored body stood proudly on four thick legs ending in massive black manicured claws, complemented by a spiky, club-like tail and a large pair of leathery wings. A similarly reptilian head with magnificent horns was at the end of her serpentine neck.

Ignorant mortals would flee in terror at the mere sight of her.

But one glance was enough to distinguish her from a lesser beast. Her slitted pupils glowing a pale blue spoke of eons past, ancient history older than almost all mortal civilization. Around her horns were ornate rings, and nested between them above her scaley eyes ridges was a crown composed of deep aquamarine gemstones thrumming with power.

She was a dragon, an ageless creature of legend elevated to an existence above the lesser species by the Titans to be the guardians of Azeroth. As of recently, they were perceived as monsters of fire even if it was circumstances forcing the life-loving ones enslaved to commit atrocities. 

She shared the burden of this prejudice even if she was from a different flight, though she wasn't guiltless regarding the former. It must happen. Her appreciation had no role to play.

She was of the Bronze. She was Soridormi, the Prime Consort of Nozdormu, the Timeless One and Aspect of Time. She was the second in command of the Bronze Dragonflight. 

Her movements suddenly reached a standstill, stopping in one of the rare few areas that could be considered clean among the residual echoes of a multitude of timeways seamlessly merging with the Caverns.

As such, it wouldn't be uncommon to observe in this desert a cluster of estranged pine trees with snow on their branches, the fragments of a human village, and kaldorei ruins with only their tips left unburied. Each was ever-changing; one moment, it could be one, and the other another, or even something entirely different.

It depended on the flow of time—what was being done. It was why, until recently, the theme had been intensely lively in vegetation. But none of the unique aesthetic quirks of the bronzes' dwelling were of the matter. It was mundane, yet they were a sign of a most recent incomprehensible disturbance to the True Timeline.

"You slumber still…" Soridormi whispered softly, her wings curling around her body in anxiousness as she gazed at the Timeless One. Anxiousness could be seen by any familiar in draconic body language, her wings held tight around her body.

His scintillating body dwarfed hers–a true leviathan–as he lay there in a profound state of meditation. An oppressive pressure emanating from his serene was potent enough almost to make her bow her head and kneel out of sheer instinct.

Nozdormu state wasn't worrying by itself. He was not wounded or ill, neither of body nor mind. He was studying, searching for the source or sources of these unforeseen changes, and protecting time from the schemes of countless as was his eternal duty.

Time was easily swayed and led astray if not for his presence by the efforts of baleful Infinite Dragonflight–who had been worryingly discreet as of those time irregularities–wishing all the opposite and others such malevolent entities. Though it wasn't exclusively that, his mission was broader. Still, the smaller tasks, such as fixing the time anomalies generated by foolish mortals playing with forces outside their understanding, were usually the tasks of far lower flight members. 

Unless it was critical, none of that was the source of worry. It was something familiar but entirely different, temporal anomalies that were never seen before, and the many ripples spread chaos in the primary timeline and its timeways.

Calling them temporal anomalies was less than an accurate representation of what they were, yet there was an absence of an equivalent. For all intent and purpose, they were natural in all points–they were the purest expression of free will and not a violation of the timeline by anyone or from anything–yet they had no reason to exist.

Every second that went by with these anomalies' existence. They resulted in unpredictable changes where they shouldn't have been.

It was quite a bizarre conundrum.

Time had little it could be compared to; a river was one of the closest contenders. It was one of incomprehensible depth and size, and only a fraction of it was for the bronze dragons to protect, understand, and perceive—a current within a stream of endless current.

This current was centered around Azeroth but was the foundation of much more. And upon this, they were to fulfill the grand vision of Aman'Thul, the True Timeline, the intended fate. 

For that, they were to orchestrate a future that would stop the Hour of Twilight, to make the end of all not come to pass, and the river kept flowing, pure and unaltered. The Bronze Dragonflight's most noble and important duty was their purpose, cause, and mission.

The True Timeline wasn't to be mistaken for proof of the existence of more than one; it was finite in its infinity. It was why their mission was of the highest importance. It was the only path to enforce among countless false and undesired possibilities the primary timeline could flow.

Timeways were what could be, the if and maybe of histories that have not happened. Some were absolutely parallel to the True Timeline with little distinction, and others were unrecognizable, such as everyone being murlocs.

They were ephemeral, lacking the continuity of this strand of the endless river. They were unstable rivulets prone, if left unattended, to vanish spontaneously. It may take a second to a decade, but there wasn't an average. It didn't mean they were false, unimportant illusions, however. They were as real as the primary timeline but remained fleeting, as was everything within and as they should, for the opposite was dangerous.

The Caverns of Time was situated above this river–still intricately tied to the present of the True Timeline–aiding the dragons in studying and swimming through it.

It was an observatory and beacon in those turbulent pasts, presents, and future waters to maintain the timeline in its perfect state and stop any timeways from spilling where it didn't belong. 

The river was a constant, the upper for the past, the middle for the present, and the lower course for the future were one singularity existing in synchronization, the first affecting the highest rippling through all following.

Time travel was no elementary matter, regardless of how omnipresent its use was for the dragons of bronze. It had severe limitations and sported immense danger. 

Many points were blank, metaphorical sediment blurring the crystal clear water, others inaccessible, a cascade rendering the swim impossible. Lastly, they weren't the sole creatures treading those waters. None were mutually exclusive, and that scarcely was all.

'Yet none of that corresponds to what we have seen.' Soridormi walked away after a few seconds of pondering, her destination to get the report of younger dragons. 

Time hasn't been altered in any way that could be perceived by her or the Aspect of Time, the two most in tune with this facet of the world. If they couldn't sense it, then little of anyone else could.

Yet something had evidently been altered. 

The first signs were of Ursol cleansing Vordrassil of its corruption, but nothing was done at the time, for nothing could have been done. 

The Bronze Dragonflight couldn't trick the Wild God with their available resources; nevertheless, there weren't any arguments to give that would stop his rational and rightful action without raising alarms. 

This left violence, and similarly, it wasn't a viable option. Ancients were among the few creatures the dragons needed to be extremely mindful of, and Ursol was among the oldest, strongest, wisest, and most knowledgeable. Of course, aside from the Aspects, not everything was a nail to hammer.

It was without diving into his importance to the True Timeline or the repercussions an attack would have on his person and the chance of it failing with its price. Again, the bronze dragons weren't alone, and moves of that magnitude were indiscreet.

Unless there was an existential crisis, going this extreme route was unnecessary. Only certain critical points in the timeline were absolutely required to happen, and this wasn't among them.

Scenarios flawlessly proceeding were the exception, and a similar result can happen through distinct chains of events.

This event was arguably positive in the end; even with how late it had been noticed, Nozdormu had chosen to focus on more pressing concerns, and Soridormi agreed—a mistake. It had been a mistake to believe the Bear Lord had one day sensed the corruption and decided to rid his territory of it.

It might remain true, but whatever it was, Ursol possessed knowledge he shouldn't have had. The Wild God's voyaging to Kalimdor by using Dream Portals and giving warnings of the second invasion of the Burning Legion to Cenarius was frighteningly alarming. And this scarcely was the only anomaly.

It was proof enough that something was incredibly wrong, and Ursol was unknowingly used as a vehicle for it. Yet no abnormal energy trace was on his person, be it time magic, Void tainted, or anything of its likeness.

The Bear of Wisdom was normal, free of mind, body, and soul, unaffected by any outside force. Nothing was wrong with him.

It was confusing.

What wasn't were the results.

The Long Vigil of the night elves immediately stopped at this revelation. Many of the druids awakened, the sentinels sharpened their arrows, and the priestesses blessed their fellow warriors.

It couldn't be fully halted. It had been too sudden to react. It has never happened in any timeways and future they have studied. It couldn't have been foreseen—an infuriatingly omnipresent occurrence as of late.

'Yet no trace of chronomancy can be detected… it's as if there is none. How? It cannot be.' The Prime Consort frowned, her many teeth showing as anger and confusion flashed over her draconic visage.

It could be an extensive vision given to Ursol or one he had, but that possibility was rendered null. 

The Timeless One's sense couldn't have been duped. He would have sensed it; how minute it might have changed nothing. Prophetic visions sent ripples. Pebbles made splashes; be the thrower a child or an Old God. One of such magnitude couldn't have passed through the net. Yet it did the impossible and continued to do so.

It should be impossible without leaving any evidence. Besides some very precise exceptions, it couldn't be avoided, and even then… it shouldn't be possible.

The Bronze Dragonflight held no authority over dimensions estranged from the physical world like the Emerald Dream and Elemental Plane.

They were blindspots, but be that as it may, traces would have been left behind–they, as everything, even the Twisting Nether, were part of the stream, the velocity of its flow of no effect–and Ursol partly being of the Dreaming would and should have left hints. 

Against all accounts, there wasn't anything to search for what was wrong in the fabrics of the time continuum. Nothing was amiss. The stream's flow had suddenly diverted without rhyme or reason yet was as virgin of violation as possible. The True Timeline was slowly evaporating, and all they had consisted of non-answers.

It was absurd and anathema to logic itself. It was why time travel wasn't a solution. It was a response sent to instabilities in the flux of the time continuum; doing it in most circumstances was wishing for an unpredictable catastrophe to happen.

It was a complex mathematical equation with a result needing to be as close to neutral as possible; moving through time would push it to the positive or negative and be an exploitable twist in time.

The few explanations implied a grim reality–a failure of their mission–be it a being equal to the Titans at worst and at best vastly superior to Nozdormu or discrete enough to slip past his preternatural perceptions effortlessly. 

Was it the Light? It wasn't unlikely. Then… was it Elune? If so. Shouldn't it be her High Priestess or Cenarius, the receptacle of this knowledge? The Titan Keepers, perhaps? 

Odyn was one of the principal suspects; his entrapment in the Hall of Valor was not absolute, and he could have sent Avatar to commune with Ursol, who wouldn't ignore his words, false or not. This realm was also nearly impossible to glimpse as it was sealed off by magic, similar to the one used for the Elemental Plane. 

Additionally, the once Prime Designate of Azeroth vehemently abhorred the dragons–judging them foolish, unworthy, and dangerous–and was one of the rare few that would possess this vast amount of information. He was not unknown to the Light as well, quite the contrary.

The slippery ever, plotting Blade of the Black Empire was not void of suspicion. It might be an ancient scheme stretching before the rise of the Dragon Aspects, for all the bronze dragons were aware.

Alas, this all remained proofless conjectures. No decisive conclusions could be drawn nevertheless acted upon. The risk was simply too great to shoot in the dark.

Though dreadful as it was, they may be blind and deaf, but they weren't wingless, toothless, or clawless, and the timeline wasn't to permanently derail further than it already did. No matter the cost.

It was Soridormi's mission; the utter absence of any modification of the timeline, even if it had been, didn't stop the Bronze Dragonflight from reacting adequately to realign the timeline to its true path.

Speaking of… perfect timing as was expected of a bronze.

"Mother!" A smaller if bulkier wyrm than her called loudly, and she restrained herself from smiling fondly at him. The present wasn't prone to be used for pleasantries, and his call was sharp and full of tension. Emotions were for the future.

"I was just searching for you, Anachronos," Soridormi said, her head tilted to the side as a younger female dragon hastily arrived in her field of view from behind. The smaller one bowed deeply and was acknowledged with a curt nod. 

"Sorry, sorry, I'm late!" The youngest dragon of the three cried out, wiping her wing out to kill her momentum, nearly causing her to eat a mouthful of sand and make a small cloud of it.

"You as well, Chronormu, and I understand. I hope you both are well." The Prime Consort added warmly, sitting on the sand before deeply sighing, exhaustion clear in her voice, "Nozdormu remains searching, and I must repeat not to disturb him… Now. Please give me your report."

Anachronos went first, with a heavy frown over his scaley eyebridges, "The kaldorei are receptive to our recommendations and can be endeared on the correct path forward. From my estimation, intervention at critical time points to dissolve the anomalies remains necessary. Avoiding Tyrande waking her mate had not been an easy matter."

The male wyrm paused, "The mortals are not blind. To be truthful, Mother, the price to pay will be heavy. The chaos of the war and our visage form agents will help diffuse the worst of the fallback, but the mortals' trust as our actions are irrevocably unraveled will be broken regardless. It could prove problematic later."

"Indeed, yet so be it." Soridormi declared her tone, holding no place for arguments, "If the Hour of Twilight came to pass, then we would lose more than the trust and friendship of mortals. That can be regained. They are forgetful. Sacrifice must be made. And you, Chronormu, anything you have noticed I need to be aware of?"

"Yes. And it's big and furry."

"Go on." The female wyrm said, with a keen interest and a hint of urgency, and the younger female abided, her cherry self jarringly shifting to seriousness. 

"A young furbolg under the name of Ohto, the student of Ursol from my investigation. He exists in other times but never like this, even when he isn't stillborn. He is directly responsible for the Grimtotem deviation, and that's the least noticeable aspect of his. Ursoc and Ursol love him, and the latter kind of adopted him. Most importantly, he wields Life, yes, LIFE and, well, Nature too, but that one is normal. He is exceptional at wielding them. To be blunt, he might be the greatest mortal healer alive, ever, and I would bet very few red dragons are remotely comparable to his skills. Of course, if there isn't any exaggeration and my spell to see fragments of the past is correct and the rumors more than rumors. I didn't get close. I like my inside, where they stay warm!" She shivered at that part and immediately went on again with her rapid-paced, pause-less tirade.

"You know how sensitive and skittish those adorable murder fluffballs can be in our presence at times, even under mortal form. Speaking of, they are words with Ursol and Ohto cooking up something big to save the furbolgs from madness. I don't know a lot aside from the fact that it involves Nordrassil, and many druids are not happy with that." Chronormu finished, and the pregnant silence she earned spoke volumes to know it was taken with mixed results.

A furbolg wasn't what was anticipated, one favored by two Ancients, running around with magic that should be virtually unique to the Red Dragonflight even less so. It opened many questions and answered none.

He was an additional variable, a logical retroactive result of the warping in the timeline, and a subject for later debate. Healers were… double-edged swords. Anyone could kill, but a healer, an exceptional one at that, can defy death in a way common necromancy never could.

His fate was for the bronze to ponder.

"He is to be carefully watched then. The same applies to your last point, but it won't be easily done. They can tell us apart from smell alone." Soridormi declared, and the three continued as more dragons joined and they planned. Planned to fix the beldam and chaos of the present that simultaneously was here and wasn't. 

It couldn't be fixed until Nozdormu awaken, and so they will adapt; the road would differ, but the destination remains. Or so it was by their desire for the True Timeline to come to pass.

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