The interior of Grim Batol swallowed sound. As Leylin and Vereesa slipped past the shattered outer halls, the roar of battle outside became a distant, muted thunder like a storm heard from beneath deep water.
The fortress breathed with an ancient, malignant presence. Its stone walls were blackened by age and dragonfire, etched with crude runes hammered in by orcish hands, layered atop far older sigils that spoke of a time when dragons had ruled these heights.
Leylin's senses unfurled instinctively.
"Orcs," he murmured.
Vereesa nodded, already moving. They struck without hesitation.
Two Dragonmaw guards stood near a broken archway, arguing loudly over the chaos outside. Vereesa's arrows flew before either could turn, one pierced a throat, the other buried itself between tusks. Leylin followed with a flick of his fingers, a blade of compressed arcane force shearing through the last remnants of resistance as another orc rounded the corner.
The bodies hit the ground without ceremony. They moved deeper. The air grew thick, hot, stale, laced with the coppery scent of blood and something worse: corrupted dragon essence. Leylin felt it tug against his mana, raw and distorted, like a melody played on broken strings.
Then they saw them. Dragons. Or what remained of them.
A massive chamber opened before them, its ceiling lost in shadow. Iron chains as thick as tree trunks hung from above, many snapped, others still taut. Dragon whelps and young drakes lay strewn across the stone floor, some breathing shallowly, others twisted into grotesque shapes by crude magic and prolonged torment.
One blackened whelp tried to lift its head as they passed, a low whimper escaping its throat.
Vereesa's jaw clenched. "By the Sunwell…"
Leylin said nothing. His hands curled slowly into fists.
Some dragons were still chained to the walls, wings torn, scales cracked, eyes dulled by pain and forced obedience. Orcish totems stood nearby, etched with fel-tainted runes, siphoning their strength, bending their will.
"This wasn't just imprisonment," Leylin said quietly. "It was systematic enslavement."
They pressed on, each step heavier than the last. The further they descended, the quieter the fortress became. No more patrols. No clashing voices.
Leylin frowned. "They've pulled everyone outside."
Vereesa glanced back toward the distant echoes of combat. "Deathwing."
"Yes," Leylin replied. "Every orc capable of holding a weapon would rush to that."
Which meant—
"She's deeper," Vereesa said.
Leylin nodded. They followed the pull of power.
At the lowest depths of Grim Batol, beyond broken halls and collapsed chambers, they entered a cavern so vast it defied scale. Molten veins of magic ran through the stone, glowing faintly red, life magic, twisted and bled dry.
And at its heart—
Alexstrasza.
The Dragon Queen hung suspended in the center of the cavern. Chains forged of black iron and arcane bindings pierced into the stone itself, wrapped around her limbs, her wings, her very spine. Runes burned faintly along their length, pulsing in rhythm with her labored breaths.
Her scales were dulled. Cracked. Power bled from her like water from a shattered vessel.
For a moment, Leylin simply stood there. This was no mere dragon. This was the Lifebinder.
As Leylin stepped forward, the cavern trembled.
Alexstrasza's eyes snapped open, burning gold, still fierce despite everything. She felt him. Her voice echoed, layered, ancient, filled with fury barely restrained.
"Another mortal," she growled.
"Another would-be master comes to bind me."
Heat surged. The chains rattled violently as suppressed power lashed out.
"If you have come to claim dominion over me," Alexstrasza hissed, "I will burn this place to ash, even chained."
Vereesa instinctively raised her bow, but Leylin lifted a hand.
"Alexstrasza," Leylin said calmly.
The name alone caused her to pause.
"I am not your enemy."
She laughed bitterly. "All who came before said the same."
Leylin met her gaze without flinching. "Your sister Ysera asked me to find you."
Silence fell. The cavern seemed to hold its breath.
"…Ysera?" Alexstrasza whispered.
The fury in her eyes wavered just slightly.
Leylin continued, his voice steady. "She waits. She believes you still live. I promised her I would bring you back."
For a long moment, Alexstrasza stared at him. Then she laughed again but this time, it was tired. Broken.
"Many have spoken my sister's name to gain favor," she said softly. "Few speak it with truth."
Leylin stepped closer, careful not to trigger the runes. "You can look into me if you wish. I won't stop you."
Her gaze sharpened. Power brushed against Leylin's body, vast, weary, ancient.
And then—
Recognition.
"…You have walked the Dream," Alexstrasza said slowly. "And returned."
Leylin inclined his head. "I know."
The Dragon Queen exhaled, a breath that shook the cavern.
"Then perhaps," she said quietly, "hope has not abandoned this world entirely."
Leylin wasted no time.
"These chains," he said, studying them closely, "are bound to necromantic anchors. Crude, but reinforced with fel and domination magic."
Vereesa frowned. "Can you break them?"
Leylin's eyes gleamed faintly. "Yes."
He placed both hands against the nearest binding. Arcane sigils bloomed into existence, far more intricate than anything the orcs could comprehend. Leylin drew upon what he had learned in Suramar, weaving spatial disruption and mana inversion together.
The first chain screamed. Not metaphorically.
It shrieked as its runes collapsed inward, folding upon themselves. With a thunderous crack, the metal fractured, shards dissolving into raw mana.
Alexstrasza gasped as power rushed back into her.
"Careful," she warned weakly. "If you sever them too quickly—"
"I know," Leylin said. Sweat beaded at his brow. "I'm stabilizing the backlash."
One by one, he dismantled the bindings, not breaking them, but unmaking them, unraveling their existence thread by thread. Each chain that fell sent a tremor through the mountain.
Outside, Deathwing roared again. Alexstrasza's wings twitched, still weak, but alive.
"Leylin," Vereesa said urgently, sensing the growing instability. "We don't have much time."
"I'm almost done."
The final chain, the one wrapped around her chest, resisted fiercely, glowing brighter as it fed on her remaining strength.
Leylin snarled softly. "Enough."
He slammed his palm forward. Space bent. The rune collapsed inward, devouring itself. The chain shattered.
Alexstrasza cried out, not in pain, but in release, as her power surged back, raw and overwhelming. The cavern filled with red-gold light, life magic blooming like a sunrise.
For a brief moment, the Dragon Queen of Life leaned against a mortal mage, exhausted but free.
"…You kept your promise," she whispered.
Leylin allowed himself a breath. "Now let's get you out of here."
Above them, Grim Batol trembled. And Deathwing's shadow loomed ever closer.
The moment the last chain fell, the mountain screamed.
Not in sound alone, but in sensation, stone shuddered, ancient wards shattered, and the long-suppressed magic of Grim Batol rebounded violently through its foundations. Dust rained from the ceiling as Leylin steadied Alexstrasza, feeling the raw heat of her lifeblood magic pulse beneath his palms.
Outside, the world detonated.
A shockwave rolled through the cavern, followed by a roar so immense it rattled Leylin's bones.
Deathwing.
Tyr'ganal's voice cut through the din, carried by a sharp arcane transmission rune Leylin had given him earlier.
"Leylin! The orcs are breaking! They can't hold him anymore—Deathwing's tearing the mountain apart!"
Aminel's voice followed, strained and urgent.
"He's unleashed magma from the lower caverns! The Dragonmaw are being wiped out—this place is about to collapse!"
Leylin closed his eyes for a heartbeat, calculating. Then he turned to Alexstrasza and Vereesa.
"Deathwing's done playing," Leylin said grimly. "He's going to erase everything in his way."
Vereesa's eyes widened slightly. "Can we outrun him?"
Alexstrasza straightened slowly, her massive wings unfurling with a low, resonant groan. Cracks of molten light ran along her scales as her power reasserted itself, still weakened, but unmistakably divine.
"No," the Dragon Queen said softly. "But I can make a way."
She took a step forward, then another, each movement shaking the cavern. Her eyes burned brighter, the weariness in them replaced by cold resolve.
"Leylin," she said, voice steady despite the tremor beneath her words, "when I break this mountain, you must not hesitate. Follow the path I open. Do not look back."
Leylin nodded once. "Understood."
Alexstrasza inhaled. The air ignited. Life magic surged outward, not gentle as it once was, but wrathful, a force born of suffering and righteous fury. She reared back, her wings snapping fully open as molten cracks spread across the cavern walls.
Then she roared.
A column of blazing red-gold fire tore upward, smashing through centuries of stone like paper. Grim Batol split open, a massive rupture forming as sunlight poured into the depths for the first time in ages. The stone collapsed outward. Magma followed.
Alexstrasza launched herself skyward through the opening, wings beating with thunderous force, dragging fire and shattered rock in her wake.
"Now!" Leylin shouted.
He seized Vereesa's wrist, arcane energy flaring around them as they sprinted through the collapsing chamber. The ground buckled beneath their feet, cracks opening to reveal glowing magma below.
They burst through the breach—
And the sky exploded.
Outside, Deathwing had fully unleashed his rage.
The Black Aspect tore free from the remaining Dragonmaw resistance, his colossal form wreathed in molten plates and shadow. Entire sections of the mountain melted beneath his claws as he roared, spewing torrents of magma that consumed orcs, stone, and fortifications alike.
The battlefield was no longer a battlefield. It was annihilation.
Tyr'ganal and Aminel stood atop a shattered ridge, shielding themselves behind hastily raised barriers as fire rained from above. Rhonin and Falstad were already pulling back, Falstad's gryphon shrieking in terror as they fought to stay airborne.
"Leylin!" Rhonin yelled, relief flashing across his face as he spotted him. "You got her out?"
Before Leylin could answer, the sky blazed. Alexstrasza emerged fully, her immense form silhouetted against the sun. Though weakened, her presence alone forced the battlefield into stunned silence.
Deathwing turned.
For a fraction of a second, time seemed to freeze. Then the Black Aspect roared, fury and hatred incarnate.
"ALEXSTRASZA!"
The mountain shook as Deathwing surged forward, magma cascading from his wings.
Alexstrasza did not retreat.
She spread her wings wide, her voice echoing across the battlefield, ancient and absolute.
"Your dominion here ends, Neltharion."
She slammed her claws into the stone. The mountain answered her call. Leylin didn't wait.
"Everyone, move!" he commanded sharply. "Falstad—get Rhonin clear! Tyr'ganal, Aminel—cover the rear! Vereesa, with me!"
They moved as one.
Alexstrasza unleashed a searing wave of life-infused flame, not meant to kill, but to blind, to stall. Deathwing reeled back, roaring as the magic scorched against his corrupted plates.
It bought them seconds. Seconds were enough.