The hallowed slopes of Mount Hyjal, verdant and ancient, cradled the sacred Temple of Aviana. On the sprawling grassland before its grand entrance, an extraordinary assembly had gathered. Not merely the temple's mistress, the graceful sky and raven demigod Aviana, but a pantheon of Azeroth's most revered Wild Gods: the formidable wild boar demigod Agamaggan, the colossal giant bear demigods Ursoc and Ursol (the twin brothers), the swift cheetah Ashamane, the majestic giant eagle demigod Ohn'ahra, the venerable turtle demigod Tortolla, the fierce wolf god Goldrinn, and the profound nature demigod Cenarius.
Cenarius, the very embodiment of nature's wisdom, observed the scene with a quiet intensity. The last time such a multitude of Wild Gods had convened was during the desperate throes of the Burning Legion's cataclysmic invasion. Now, in an era of fragile peace, he hadn't dared hope to summon even a fraction of them. Yet, here they stood, drawn by the call of a disciple he had once scarcely noticed. A complex tapestry of emotions wove through Cenarius's ancient heart.
His favor had always rested firmly with Malfurion. His initial decision to accept Galen, a high elf descendant and a warrior, who had seemingly appeared from nowhere, had been born more out of a quiet dissatisfaction with Illidan's abandonment of the druidic path. How ironic, he mused, that what one meticulously cultivates often withers, while that which is sown without intent can blossom into unforeseen glory. Malfurion, entangled in Tyrande's ill-fated political missteps, found himself semi-exiled to the desolate sands of Silithus, battling the insidious corruption of an Old God. Meanwhile, Galen, his "little disciple," had ascended, not just to prominence, but to become the undisputed leader of the entire night elf race, commanding the unwavering loyalty of countless demigods and the fervent devotion of every night elf.
"I wonder what Galen has summoned us for," rumbled Tortolla, the ancient turtle demigod, breaking the silence. His voice, usually slow and deliberate, held an uncharacteristic tremor. "Could it be that the Burning Legion is invading again?" Tortolla was one of the precious few Wild Gods who had miraculously survived the devastating War of the Ancients, a living testament to Azeroth's tumultuous past.
Yet, at this moment, he lay sprawled wearily on the sun-drenched grass, his ancient face etched with a profound despair.
Seeing the long silence that followed Tortolla's query, Aviana, ever the gracious host, attempted to lighten the heavy atmosphere with a playful jab. "What's wrong, old turtle? Your bloodline descendants, who vanished for ten thousand years, have come knocking on your door! You should be joyous that your lake is now brimming with offspring. Why the long face?"
The "bloodline descendants" Aviana referred to were a unique group of emerald sea turtles, rumored to hail from the recently unveiled lands of Pandaria. In truth, Tortolla, as the very first turtle to emerge on Azeroth, was the venerable progenitor of all turtles. The snapping turtles, spiny turtles, sea turtles, and even the colossal protostegas that roamed the world today had all evolved from his primordial lineage.
These particular turtles, who had journeyed back to his side, were a resilient tribe that had adapted to a life by the sea. They recounted a tale of their ancestors, who had once thrived in the heart of ancient Kalimdor, their territory bordering the burgeoning empire of the Pandaren people. When the War of the Ancients erupted, they had migrated south, seeking refuge from the cataclysm in the tranquil embrace of the Pandaria region.
Then came the Sundering, tearing the world asunder and shrouding the ancient continent of Pandaria in an impenetrable mist. This isolated branch of Tortolla's family had tirelessly sought ways to escape the Pandarian seas, to return to their ancestral lands, but eventually, they had abandoned the impossible dream. Instead, they had adapted, embracing the coastal life to escape the relentless turmoil brought by the Mogu empire within Pandaria. Over countless generations, their forms had slowly changed, evolving into the graceful sea turtles they were today.
"The children still remember me, and that alone brings me immense gratification," Tortolla replied, his voice still tinged with weariness, yet now with a subtle undercurrent of pride. "Moreover, they journeyed all the way back from the South Sea; that fills my heart with even greater delight."
In a society where faith was paramount, demigod families often withered and declined without the direct protection of their divine patrons. The tragic fate of the Quillboar, whose entire race had fallen into savagery and decline after Agamaggan's supposed death, served as a stark reminder. Compared to such widespread despair, Tortolla's descendants, who had not only survived but thrived and returned to him, were truly worthy, bringing him profound honor. He gestured subtly towards the giant bear brothers and the boar god Agamaggan, whose faces remained grim, a silent testament to the less fortunate fates of their own scattered kin.
Despite the burgeoning joy of reunion, Tortolla instinctively drew his ancient head deeper into his shell, a gesture of profound concern. "It's just... there are too many children," he rumbled, his voice laced with a new worry. "The entire Darkshore Lake is filled to bursting, and there's simply not enough food! And they've adapted to the seawater, you see. I fear that prolonged exposure to freshwater will compromise their health."
Cenarius chuckled softly, a sound like wind rustling through ancient leaves, at Tortolla's "happy troubles." "Old friend," he offered, his voice reassuring, "I shall personally see to this. I will instruct Galen to designate a suitable living area within Darkshore, specifically for your kin, ensuring they have ample space and access to the ocean."
"That would be magnificent!" Tortolla's worries visibly melted away, replaced by a wide, toothless grin that stretched across his leathery face.
"Hmph ~ Hey!"
A derisive snort, undeniably porcine, cut through the relieved atmosphere.
"Our generous God of Nature," sneered Agamaggan, rolling from his side to stand, his immense bulk causing the very earth to tremble. "I don't recall you extending such aid to my kin over the past ten thousand years, do I?"
His voice, a gravelly rumble, carried a bitter edge. "My tribe of quillboar languishes in the Barrens, scrounging for raw meat and meager fruit. What, is it because I died and thus became devoid of value?"
The quillboar demigod's words resonated deeply with Ursoc, the bear demigod. Their own bear-kin had, thankfully, received some support from the night elves, but they too had endured millennia without their divine patron. Fortunately, in the ten thousand years since their god's demise, the bear people had cultivated a fierce self-reliance, preventing them from succumbing to the same decline as the quillboar.
"Indeed, Cenarius," Ursoc added, his voice a low growl. "We too bled for Azeroth. We achieved great feats, and many of us even gave our lives. The original agreement between the Dragon Aspects and the night elves was clear: the surplus power of Nordrassil, beyond maintaining the night elves' immortality, was to be channeled into our resurrection!"
Agamaggan and Ursoc's simmering resentment stemmed not only from the neglect of their kin but also from their own protracted slumber. Most of the wild demigods were, at their core, wild animals elevated to godhood. They retained their primal instincts, especially Agamaggan's voracious appetite and Ursoc's innate love for excitement and the hunt. An eternity spent as disembodied souls, endlessly dreaming in the Emerald Dream, was a torment, not a reward.
Ursoc's pointed remarks left Cenarius visibly discomforted. He felt a profound helplessness. While the wild demigods possessed endless lives, he himself was not perpetually awake; as a nature demigod, he too would periodically retreat into the restorative embrace of the Emerald Dream. Regarding the resurrection of the demigods fallen in the War of the Ancients, Tyrande had indeed violated the sacred agreement with the Dragon Aspects, diverting Nordrassil's excess power to bolster the night elf race. This, in turn, had indirectly swelled the ranks of Elune's and Cenarius's own followers, leaving him in an undeniably awkward position, unable to openly condemn the actions that had benefited him.
"Alright, alright, everyone," Aviana interjected, her voice a soothing balm, stepping forward to mediate. "The matter is long past, and most of us have, thankfully, been resurrected from the Emerald Dream." In truth, Aviana, Agamaggan, and the Ursol brothers shared a common cause, their grievances aligning.
Among the many wild demigods present, only Cenarius, the honest and simple Tortolla, and the aloof Goldrinn, along with the White Stag (who remained protected by Ysera in the deepest reaches of the Emerald Dream), had managed to escape the pervasive influence of Galen. The old turtle was too guileless, the wolf god too solitary. The other demigods, out of respect for Cenarius's dual role as mentor to both himself and Galen, were already exercising considerable restraint by not openly joining the chorus of those criticizing him.
Ursoc and Agamaggan still harbored their grievances, but as fellow demigods, they would not openly defy Aviana's attempt at diplomacy.
Just then, a distant hum grew into a chorus of beating wings as a formation of hippogryphs, storm crows, and majestic green dragons soared from the southern sky. The gathered Wild Gods, recognizing the arrival of their host, rose as one to greet them.
Ursoc and Agamaggan, though still simmering with unspoken grievances, held their tongues. As venerable colleagues, they could not openly defy Aviana's plea for decorum.
Just then, the southern sky filled with a symphony of beating wings. A vanguard of hippogryphs soared into view, followed by a swirling flock of storm crows and the majestic, emerald form of a green dragon. The many Wild Gods, recognizing the unmistakable signs of their host's arrival, rose as one, their ancient eyes fixed on the approaching figures.
The hippogryphs descended first, graceful as falling leaves, landing on the verdant grassland not far from the temple's entrance. From their backs dismounted Galen Remar, his presence commanding, flanked by the resolute Shandris Feathermoon and the watchful Maiev Shadowsong. In a swirling cloud of smoke, the storm crows dissolved, revealing the imposing forms of Archdruid Fandral Staghelm and the steadfast Broll Bearmantle. The green dragon, with a powerful beat of her wings, landed beside them, revealing herself as Merithra of the Green Dragonflight.
"Galen, you've finally arrived!" Aviana breathed a palpable sigh of relief, a silent prayer that she wouldn't have to arbitrate a brawl between a disgruntled boar god and an ancient stag.
Galen led his high-ranking night elf entourage to the heart of the assembled Wild Gods, his expression grave. "I apologize for disturbing your sacred rest, revered ones," he began, his voice resonating with solemnity. "But I have summoned you here for matters of grave importance, matters that threaten the very fabric of Azeroth."
As the Wild Gods fixed their ancient gazes upon him, Galen Remar continued, his words painting a stark picture. "The delicate boundaries between the elemental planes and our world have shattered. High King Galen of the Alliance has already led a formidable army to Uldum, where they now cooperate with the local Tol'vir tribes to stem the tide of elemental invasion."
"It seems the forest's warnings were true," Cenarius murmured, his brow furrowed but his expression unsurprised. The subtle shifts in nature had not gone unnoticed by the Nature God.
"Recently, the very air in the forests of Ashenvale and Mount Hyjal has grown unnaturally warm," Cenarius continued, his gaze piercing. "Does this signify that the fire elementals' target is us?"
Galen Remar nodded, a grim confirmation of his mentor's chilling intuition. "According to ancient secrets, when Ragnaros the Firelord first submitted to the Old Gods, he vowed to please his new masters by transforming Azeroth into a raging sea of fire. Now, with the elemental planes unleashed, Ragnaros has renewed that vow. He intends to ignite Nordrassil, the World Tree itself!"
A collective gasp rippled through the gathered demigods. Only a few years prior, in the desperate Battle of Mount Hyjal, Malfurion had made the ultimate sacrifice, detonating Nordrassil to destroy Archimonde. Only a few resilient roots had survived the cataclysm. Though Teldrassil now stood as the new World Tree, the druids had never abandoned Nordrassil. Years of tireless care, day and night, had nursed its roots back to vitality. It would take at least a millennium for it to fully regenerate, a vast cycle, but one that offered the night elves a beacon of hope. They would never, under any circumstances, allow anyone to harm the nascent Nordrassil again.
Old Tortolla grunted, a sound of profound displeasure. "Huh, Mount Hyjal is not merely the home of the night elves, but our home as well! We will never permit it to be destroyed again!"
"Indeed!" Galen affirmed, his voice gaining strength. "Disasters now plague every corner of Azeroth. In recent days, I have tirelessly coordinated the Cenarion Circle and the Sisters of Elune in their efforts to provide relief for earthquakes and tsunamis across various lands. Only now have we finally freed our hands to confront the invasion of the Firelands. Shandris, the floor is yours."
Though Galen Remar now stood as the undisputed leader of the night elves, he had not drastically altered their societal structure. The night elves remained a theocracy. The Cenarion Circle continued its work, primarily guided by Fandral and Broll, while the priests of the Temple of the Moon found their leadership in the combined efforts of Shandris and Maiev.