The fossilized cocoon, dormant for millennia, suddenly reacted to the hybrid blood. It began to shift. The stone softened into organic matter, and the ancient shell began to close, sealing the boy within.
The cocoon sealed itself with a wet, final squelch, entombing the boy completely.
Watching this transformation, Kar'Sheen's compound eyes glittered with feverish intensity.
"Rest well, Eryndor," the Insectoid Lord hissed, his voice vibrating with anticipation. "When you wake, the history of our kind will be rewritten."
The South, Blood Elf Territory
Where the elves dwelled, the world seemed to breathe.
To Tristan Greymount, the landscape rolling past him was almost painfully beautiful. The phrase "lush and verdant" felt inadequate. Sunlight filtered through the high canopy, dappling the soft grass and illuminating the wildflowers in a way that made reality look like a painting.
But even the scenery paled when the light caught the hair of the maidservant riding beside him.
