At these words, Princess Calia's face lit up with excitement. Her hard work and dedication over this period had finally borne fruit; she was finally carrying the prince of Lordaeron.
Wait—no, it wasn't certain yet if it was a prince. If it were a girl, then there would simply be another princess. The Princess opened her mouth to speak but hesitated, unsure of how to ask if this holy being could discern whether she carried a boy or a girl.
M'uru seemed to sense her predicament and immediately utilized his telepathic ability. "Peace, Princess. You carry a successor—a boy. He shall inherit this kingdom, and the child possesses exceptional affinity for the Light. His father is the Son of the Light, and you are a chosen of the Light yourself."
The Naaru could see fragments of the future. In M'uru's vision of the original timeline, the Princess of Lordaeron was destined to die unexpectedly ten years from now. Yet even in death, she had never strayed from the Light, remaining so faithful that she was eventually resurrected; though her body was undead, she was infused with the Light. Now, the Princess's destiny had shifted entirely, all because of the Child of Light and Shadow.
"I am deeply grateful to you, Lord M'uru. Welcome to the Kingdom of Lordaeron as our honored guest."
"The honor is mine. May the Great Light guide you, Princess."
"Allow me to introduce you, Lord M'uru. This is Lord Uther of the Order of the Silver Hand, and Alexandros Mograine." With a radiant smile, Calia introduced the Naaru to the knights and the gathered priests.
"May the Light bless you, followers of the Light!" The massive "tangram" pulsed with terrifying waves of holy energy, once again descending a blessing upon the Paladins of the Silver Hand. In that moment, every knight saw a beautiful vision: under Rhodes's leadership and Calia's reign as Queen, Lordaeron was restored to its former glory, the kingdom recovered, and evil was banished.
The arrival of the Naaru caused a sensation not just in Lordaeron, but across all human nations. Invitations poured in; they hoped that after the coronation, the Great Naaru would visit their lands to bless their monarchs and people. M'uru did not refuse, pleasantly agreeing to visit Stormwind, Stromgarde, Dalaran, and Kul Tiras. Every human kingdom—save for Gilneas, which had withdrawn—received an affirmative response.
The following day, Kael'thas Sunstrider arrived with a delegation of Blood Elves. Rhodes and the Prince exchanged warm greetings before Rhodes invited his old friend into the palace for a drink. Meanwhile, Rhodes used his teleportation spells to bring Tyrande Whisperwind and Malfurion Stormrage from Kalimdor to attend the ceremony.
Time flew by, and soon it was the day of the Queen's coronation.
In the Capital City square, the white stone tiles—scarred by war—had been meticulously scrubbed and polished, reflecting the warm glow of the rising sun. New royal banners of Lordaeron fluttered alongside the Alliance war-flags atop the high walls, their blue and gold crests symbolizing the kingdom's unyielding will.
The square was a sea of people. Returning citizens, foreign envoys, Alliance soldiers, and curious onlookers packed the area. The air was thick with a mix of anticipation, hope, and joy. For many, this wasn't just a coronation; it was the official rebirth of a martyred kingdom.
In the VIP gallery, the leaders of the Alliance gathered. King Varian Wrynn stood solemn in his Stormwind royal attire; King Magni Bronzebeard stroked his beard while conversing quietly with High Tinker Gelbin Mekkatorque. Tyrande and Malfurion sat together, their kaldorei serenity a sharp contrast to the surrounding clamor. (The druids had been instrumental in helping the humans regrow crops so quickly after the land was reclaimed.)
The Blood Elf delegation led by Kael'thas was resplendent in their ornate robes. Admiral Daelin Proudmoore stood with his daughter Jaina, looking over the rebuilt harbor with a complex expression. Can this rascal Rhodes really marry my daughter smoothly? the Admiral wondered, shaking his head before looking toward his eldest daughter, Finnall.
Rhodes, acting as Grand Marshal of the Alliance and Regent of Lordaeron, stood at the front of the dais flanked by Uther and Alexandros. His gaze swept the crowd, eventually landing on the palace gates. Jaina, Finnall, and Anveena were in their designated spots; even Onyxia was permitted to watch under strict "supervision." Tyrygosa watched with genuine curiosity, fascinated by the mortal ritual.
As the morning sun fully dispersed the mist, a heavy horn blast silenced the crowd. The palace gates swung open.
Calia Menethil stepped out.
She wore no over-elaborate gown, but rather a simple, elegant white dress embroidered with silver thread depicting the crest of Lordaeron. Her blonde hair was pinned in a graceful bun beneath a delicate circlet—the precursor to the Menethil crown. Her face was lightly made up, and her eyes, which had seen both the fall and the rebuilding of her home, sparkled with hope.
Guided by two elderly Lordaeron nobles in ceremonial robes, Calia walked slowly through the path cleared by the crowd toward the high platform in the center of the square. Along the way, citizens erupted in cheers and sobs. Many veterans and survivors of the Scourge watched with tear-filled eyes as the princess who had led them out of despair approached the throne.
Uther the Lightbringer stood atop the dais holding the artifact The Silver Hand. Today, he was more than just a leader of Paladins; he was the witness and sanctifier of the Queen. Alexandros Mograine stood at attention with the Ashbringer by his side.
Calia ascended the platform and faced her people. Uther stepped forward, his voice amplified by magic:
"Citizens of Lordaeron, allies of the Alliance, and friends! We gather here today not to celebrate power, but to witness responsibility and hope!"
"Lordaeron, our home, was bathed in glory before falling into the deepest darkness. The Scourge nearly destroyed us, but we never gave up! It is the sacrifice of countless heroes, the resilience of the survivors, the guidance of the Light, and the unquenchable fire in our hearts that allows us to stand here today!"
He looked over the emotional faces before turning to Calia.
"Calia Menethil, the last direct bloodline of the House of Menethil, carries the blood of royalty and the hopes of her people. In our darkest hour, she did not flee. She stood tall, uniting our remnants alongside Marshal Rhodes, the Silver Hand, and our allies to lead us on the arduous path of restoration!"
"She has soothed our wounds with mercy, guided us with wisdom, and faced challenges with courage. Her virtue and her sacrifice are known to every soul in Lordaeron!"
Uther's voice grew more resonant. "Now, I, Uther the Lightbringer, in the name of the Order of the Silver Hand and by the will of the soldiers and people loyal to Lordaeron, ask you—Calia Menethil. Do you swear to protect the land and people of Lordaeron, to uphold justice and mercy, and to lead your people toward prosperity and peace until your life's end?"
Calia took a deep breath. Her voice was clear and firm:
"I, Calia Menethil, do so swear! I dedicate my life and soul to Lordaeron, to protect every inch of her soil and every one of her citizens. I shall uphold justice, govern with mercy, and work tirelessly so that my beloved kingdom may shine again. Alongside our Alliance allies, I shall defend the peace and future of Azeroth! This I swear, with the heavens as my witness and the Light as my bond!"
As the vow ended, a deafening cheer erupted. Uther nodded solemnly, raising the crown of Lordaeron—a magnificent diadem of mithril and platinum set with deep sapphires.
"Then, in the name of the Light and by the will of all Lordaeron, I crown you! Queen of Lordaeron."
He slowly placed the crown upon her head. In that instant, her identity shifted—she was no longer a princess, but a Queen.
Rhodes nodded to her from the side. Uther stepped back and knelt on one knee alongside Alexandros. In a wave that swept across the square, every soldier, noble, and commoner fell to their knees. The representatives of the Alliance nations rose to offer their highest respect.
"Long live Queen Calia! God save the Queen!"
"Long live Lordaeron!"
"Long live the Alliance!"
The mountain-shaking cheers reached the heavens, echoing over the capital for a long, long time.