Supreme Beings of Azeroth

Disguising her true reason for visiting Stormwind was effortless for one such as her. Jaina's presence as Anduin's 'aunt' offered a perfect cover, and she embraced the role wholeheartedly, despite their tenuous blood relation. Their meetings were infrequent, but the boy's genuine affection always brought her great joy.

As she approached the throne room, a smile brightened her face and she carried a small box in her hands. Anduin, perched on the throne, could barely contain his excitement at her arrival, shaking in place.

Bolvar Fordragon, ever watchful and composed, regarded her approach with warm approval. His demeanor stood in stark contrast to that of Katrana Prestor sitting nearby. The noblewoman wore a strained smile that didn't reach her sharp, calculating eyes, half-glaring. Her perceptible displeasure only reinforced Jaina's growing suspicions; Katrana, along with certain other nobles, might have played a hand in Varian's disappearance, but nothing concrete. She probably wanted minimal foreign influence.

"Aunt Jaina!" Anduin cried out, leaping from the throne before she could take another step forward. He ran toward her with abandon, his youthful exuberance, momentarily shattering the formal decorum of the hall.

"Your majesty, such behavior is inappropriate!" Katrana called after the boy, her clipped tone betraying her irritation as she too stood up.

Her scolding fell on delightfully deaf ears. Anduin flung his arms around Jaina, and she knelt to embrace him, patting him on the back.

"Anduin!" she greeted warmly, pulling him close as he squeezed her tightly.

"I'll watch over the King, Prestor." Bolvar interjected, his firm glare cutting through the tension.

"You are letting him forget his etiquette again!" Katrana hissed, her hands clenched into fists as her pale knuckles strained against her skin. "You are supposed to aid him!"

Bolvar didn't flinch, "His Majesty is greeting his aunt for Light's sake! There is time and place for etiquette, Prestor, now is private time." He waved her off with deliberate dismissal. Turning to Jaina, he inclined his head. "Lady Jaina, it's a pleasure to see you again."

"Likewise, Lord Regent," Jaina replied with a respectful nod.

Katrana, clearly outmaneuvered, gave an audible huff. "Inform me if there is anything of consequence," she snapped before turning on her heel and storming out of the hall, heels ringing across the room.

"Please excuse Lady Prestor," Anduin stated earnestly, his young face clouded with concern. "She is under a lot of stress. There's been so much bad stuff happening and she really does help, even if she's grumpy sometimes."

Jaina placed a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. "The world is becoming more turbulent by the day," she replied, "In fact, that's one of the reasons I came."

Bolvar ushered them to Anduin's private quarters, ensuring they wouldn't be disturbed. As they walked, Anduin tugged at Jaina's arm, venting his frustrations.

"Being king is so boring!" he lamented. "I barely have time to play anymore, and none of my old friends come anymore."

Jaina suppressed a smile, doing her best to sound stern. "I know you don't like it, but you're the king. It's your duty to look after your people, Anduin."

Her words weighed heavily on her heart. She longed to tell him the truth, to reveal that his father was alive and recovering, so he only needed to hold on for just a bit longer. But the political landscape was treacherous, and the timing wasn't right, nor was she sure of the intelligence's safety. For now, it was better that Anduin remained unaware until she could safely return with Varian in the future.

"I know, Aunt Jaina…" Anduin replied with a resigned sigh. He slumped slightly, the weight of the crown far too heavy for a mere boy of ten.

Jaina's heart ached for him. No child should have to bear such burdens, yet Anduin had no choice but to do so. Born into the royal line, his life was one of sacrifice, just as hers had been. She had once tried to escape her own destiny as the daughter of the Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras, seeking refuge in the Kirin Tor and the pursuit of magic. But fate had drawn her back, placing her at the head of Theramore with all of its powers and responsibilities and she almost married into Menethil line before prince Arthas betrayed everyone and everything and killed his father. They had called off the weeding by that time to advance their studies first at that time.

The boy's struggle mirrored her own, she saw her past self in him. Fate might be unyielding, but she had learned to accept her role. Anduin would have to do the same, though she vowed to support him however she could along the way.

She smiled softly, reaching for the small box in her hands. "Here," she continued, handing it to him. "something to let you visit me."

Anduin's eyes lit up with curiosity as he eagerly opened the box. Inside was a smooth, white stone etched with a glowing blue rune, hanging from a delicate silver chain. He held it up, marveling at its craftsmanship as it caught the light, reflecting unique patterns across the room.

"What is it?" he asked, wide-eyed in awe.

"It's called a hearthstone. This artifact returns its user to a predestined location. In the case of this stone, my tower in Theramore is the set location. This artifact can serve as both a means to visit me and to escape danger in case things go wrong." Jaina explained. Heartstones were very rare, but given the circumstances, if there was one person who needed it, it was Anduin.

"Thank you." Anduin beamed, his earlier gloom momentarily forgotten in his delight.

For a while, Jaina let Anduin talk, his words flowing with the unguarded honesty of a boy burdened far beyond his years and in desperate need of an equal. He spoke of how much he missed his father, how tiresome it was to be king, and how he envied the children he saw playing in the streets during his inspection tours of the city. She listened attentively, offering soft reassurances and sympathetic nods. It was tempting to vent about her own struggles, but she held back. She was the adult, and Anduin carried enough weight on his small shoulders without her adding to it. He just needed a shoulder to vent on.

Before long, duty called. A courtier arrived to summon the young king to address yet another matter, and Anduin left reluctantly with his guards, casting a wistful glance back at Jaina as he went. Once the door closed, Jaina turned to Bolvar, who remained behind.

"You mentioned you had a reason for coming beyond bringing Anduin a bit of happiness," Bolvar stated, his brows furrowing as he leaned against the wall.

Jaina nodded. "Yes, multiple reasons, actually. First, I wanted to warn you - something big happened near Blackrock Mountain. The Kirin Tor detected a disturbance and sent a team to investigate, but I don't have all the details yet. I thought you should know, given Stormwind's proximity to the area."

Bolvar let out a low grunt, the sound heavy with weariness. "As if we didn't have enough problems already. Complaints and pleas from Redridge come in daily. The last thing I need is a rampaging horde of orcs escaping whatever is happening. Do you have any theories?"

Jaina hesitated, choosing her words carefully. Bolvar was a man of reason, but he was also a warrior. If she spoke rashly, he might act prematurely on her suspicions.

"There is a chance that the Firelord has awakened." She finally uttered.

Bolvar stopped mid-step, his armored boots clinking as he turned to face her. "And what would it mean for us?" he inquired. His voice was calm, but his eyes searched hers for any sign of exaggeration. "I've heard the stories, the Dark Iron dwarves summoned something centuries ago. Beyond that, I know little."

"I am not entirely sure," Jaina admitted. "But if Ragnaros has truly awakened, it could pose a threat far greater than Stormwind alone can handle. If it comes to that, know that the Kirin Tor and I will stand with you. However…" She drew a deep breath. "That is not the main reason I came."

Bolvar's expression darkened. "So, this was just your way of easing me into something worse!?"

Jaina met his gaze evenly. "Varian is alive."

The words hit Bolvar like a hammer. His composure cracked, and his voice trembled. "Alive? Thank the Light… He's alive!"

Jaina gave him a moment to process before continuing. "He arrived at Theramore - collapsed at the gates, barely conscious. He's alive, but in terrible shape. It may take him time to recover. I wasn't sure whether I should tell Anduin, and I certainly couldn't in the throne room."

Bolvar shook his head, his voice steadier now. "No, it's better the boy doesn't know. Not yet. And no one else, either."

Jaina nodded. "I've heard rumors suggesting someone from his own court may have orchestrated his disappearance."

Bolvar's expression hardened. "Shaw and I suspect Katrana is behind it, but we have found no proof. I sent a team to follow a lead in the Burning Steppes, but they were captured by Dark Irons, never to return. Every rescue attempt has failed - the teams vanish without a trace. If something big is going on near Blackrock, it could all be connected. And Katrana…" He paused, his jaw tightening. "She has been disappearing from the castle more frequently. We suspect she is a sorceress, but again, no proof."

"If she is behind the kidnapping and your missing teams, then it might be best to organize an investigation without her knowledge," Jaina suggested.

Bolvar sighed, running a hand over his face. "Easier said than done. Katrana has her claws in everything - her influence is deep, and without evidence, I can't act against her openly."

"Then let me help," Jaina offered. "I can hire an independent group of adventurers to investigate. With so many rising stars lately, it won't raise suspicion."

Bolvar considered her suggestion, nodding slowly. "That could work. But we need to tread carefully. If Katrana truly is behind all this, she's more dangerous than we realize."

Jaina's thoughts raced. Something about this conspiracy felt larger than either of them could yet comprehend. Still, she knew this wasn't the time to let paranoia take over. For now, her priority was clear: uncover the truth and prepare for Varian's eventual return.

"We'll get to the bottom of this, Bolvar," she declared firmly. "Before Varian comes home, we'll have answers."

Bolvar nodded, his determination matching hers.

There were no words in mortal tongues to describe the fury Ragnaros felt. For three centuries, he had labored tirelessly, gathering strength and tearing at the veil between the Firelands and physical reality. His efforts had let the fiery energies of his realm seep into the scorched earth beneath the mountain he slumbered, claiming the domain as his own.

When the foolish Dark Iron dwarf had attempted to summon him, the ritual had gone disastrously awry. Instead of restoring him to full strength, he had been dragged back into the physical plane greatly weakened, his once-boundless power diminished to a mere pittance of what it had been before. Yet, even that indignity paled in comparison to what he faced now: an affront of unparalleled scale.

Vast swaths of fire energies he had poured into the Burning Steppes had been stolen, warped, and reshaped against his will in an instant. Where his flames had once reigned over all, lush forests now flourished in abundance, and clear waters flowed where there should have been only molten rock. Half of what he had claimed as his domain had been wrested from him in a single, cataclysmic act.

Rising from the lava lake at the heart of the Molten Core, Ragnaros unfurled his colossal form, a hundred meters of searing heat and molten fury. His blazing essence radiated outwards, causing the very walls of his cavern to soften and melt in his presence. The servants gathered in his domain quailed before him, their forms flickering as his overwhelming presence washed over them, reminding them of who they served.

With his hammer, Sulfuras, a weapon as large as a fortress, clutched in one titanic hand, he turned his wrathful gaze downward. His second-in-command, Majordomo Executus, approached with careful deference. The flamewaker bowed low, his serpentine body coiled in submission.

"Lord, you have awakened. We stand ready to follow," Executus declared with utmost submission.

Ragnaros loomed over him, his massive hammer raised a silent threat that oozed his rage. For a moment, he considered smashing Majordomo into a fine paste for failing to prevent the desecration of his would-be domain. But reason prevailed - Executus, though fallible, was invaluable for maintaining order among the flamewakers. Without him, internal dissent could erupt at the worst possible time, and his growth had yet to finish.

"Explain to me what has happened," Ragnaros thundered, his voice a roaring inferno that shook the mountain to its core.

Executus raised his head cautiously. "My lord, powerful entities have claimed both the Burning Steppes and Blackrock Spire. One of them cast a spell with power as great as yours, transforming the Burning steppes into a forest. We have been building your forces for war, but without your might, I'm afraid we would lose this confrontation, Lord."

Ragnaros' rage intensified, the lava beneath him churning violently, "Take my armies! Whip the dwarves into action and send Gedeon out to raze that accursed forest. Burn it to the ground! Reclaim what's mine!"

"It shall be done, my Lord!" Executus exclaimed, bowing low once more.

"Do not fail me, Executus!" Ragnaros warned, his molten eyes narrowing. With that, he sank back into the lake of lava, his massive form dissolving into the molten rock as he returned to growing his power.

Deep in the molten core of his being, his thoughts burned with an unfathomable vengeance. These interlopers, Whoever they were, would pay for their audacity to oppose him. He would burn their mortal forms to ash and their souls would be entrapped in cages of eternal fire, their torment unending as their screams would remind all those in the future of those who dared to stand against him.

His return was inevitable. When the time came, his flaming armies would sweep across the world like wildfire across the plains, destroying everything in its wake. N'Zoth's whispers had cautioned him to tread carefully, to not underestimate his enemies. But cowardice was for lesser beings, for the likes of the Windlord Al'Akir. Ragnaros was the Firelord, the embodiment of destruction, rage, and unrelenting power, and he would have his glorious return.

In time, he would unleash his full might, breaking free his fellow elemental lords and casting down their shared prison for the new order. The old Gods would rise once more, and with them, the Black Empire. Then he could revel in the endless war and chaos of the ancient past, before the Titans' accursed intervention that had sealed them for thousands of years.

But first, there was the matter of the two entities who had dared to disrupt his glorious ascension. They would learn the hard way that those who play with fire are destined to burn. And Ragnaros was fire itself.

Editing by NabeisWaifu and aidan_lo.

Proofreading by IAMTHEPLOKOKIOPO, fvvck, and aidan_lo.

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