That night, alone in Elara's cramped room, Kael'thas felt a deep, unsettling dissonance. The constant stream of Elara's memories—the small moments of human compassion, the simple joy of finding a rare pigment, the overwhelming panic over lying to Mina—was not fading; it was resisting.
He stood before the mirror, the single candle casting long, dancing shadows. He focused his will, trying to reach deep into the Arch-Fiend core, to stamp out the remnants of the host.
Instead of absolute control, he felt a pushback—a small, terrified flutter of defiance.
"Stop," a faint, thin voice echoed only in the inner sanctum of his fused consciousness. It was Elara Vane.
You are nothing, Kael'thas projected back, his intent cold and absolute. You are a vessel. I am the driver.
"This is my life. My fear. My hands. You cannot... you cannot burn them all."
He searched the internal landscape of the host body and found, to his shock, that Elara's soul was not a broken shard but a small, persistent fire—one that derived its strength from her own scholarly passion and her deep, if timid, empathy for others. His essence had fused, not subsumed.
"I need your memories," Kael'thas decreed, his true voice a silent, mental roar. "Your knowledge of this age. Cooperate, and you will survive. Resist, and I will tear your consciousness into ambient energy."
"If you tear me apart... you lose the most valuable thing I have," Elara's consciousness countered, the thought weak but precise. "My connection to this world. My ability to read and understand the sanctioned texts without suspicion. You are a Demon. Your knowledge is too loud. You need my silence."
The argument was sound. Kael'thas, the Arch-Fiend of logic and strategy, was momentarily checked by the resilience of a sixteen-year-old girl.
Very well, he conceded internally. We share this form. But you are a servant. You will provide the camouflage. I will provide the power.
The internal battle ended, not in a victory, but a tense, grudging alliance. Kael'thas had to rely on Elara's humanity to navigate the world of mortals. This complicity was humiliating, but strategically necessary. The Arch-Fiend had been forced into an internal partnership with the soul he intended to replace.