The Emerald Dream brimmed with life; apart from the jade sky instead of azure, it mirrored much of Azeroth.
"So this is the Emerald Dream? A realm of vitality—no exaggeration. Wife, where to next? How do we find the Green Dragons and druids here?"
Arthas knew little of the Dream, save that most beings within it were souls made solid—substantial yet still spirit at core.
To enter, druids needed the proper spell and a world-tree; their bodies stayed behind while their spirits slipped into the Dream.
He and Maiev, however, stood out like the living in a land of the dead—true flesh inside a realm of souls, the world's rejection almost visible.
"No idea. Last time I came was under Ysera's personal leave to quell demon-spawned chaos. I marked their scent and left at once."
Maiev spread her hands, a flicker of helpless mischief crossing her fair face.
Arthas blinked. She'd sworn she could help, yet the moment they arrived she produced nothing—how convenient.
"Let me guess: your 'help' is fending off any females who take an interest in me?"
"Exactly. Tyrande ordered it. As high priestess and leader of the Kaldorei, she must be obeyed."
Maiev lied with relish. She usually ignored Tyrande—rivalry and jealousy saw to that—yet the high priestess, ever magnanimous, lent aid instead of scolding.
Now, 'obeying' Tyrande was merely wielding a borrowed authority. If it suited her, she listened; if not, she shrugged it off.
Classic double standards.
"Fine. Just don't come crying to me with a child after this crisis is over."
Arthas snarled the threat, then whistled.
A pitch-black young dragon appeared, docile, resting its massive head against his boot.
"Up. Let's get airborne and check the map."
Rubbing his temples, he almost forgot his scouting tower. He tossed it down; it sprouted to full height in moments.
Maiev stared. Others could perform miracles and she'd stay unmoved—yet this was Arthas, the one she cared for, and surprise showed.
Had it been Varian or Illidan, she would have watched stone-faced, unmoved, even amused.
Seated on the black wyrm, Arthas slipped his arms around her waist—an intimacy indistinguishable from lovers on a outing.
The man remained unfazed; Maiev's cheeks burned, her long pointed ears hot with embarrassed pleasure.
Below stretched endless jade: primal, untamed. Enormous trees floated root-bare, drifting in mid-air.
"Eerie—those trees hover yet still live?"
"Mm."
"Look—eyes in the distance, a vast mountain, those thorns seem familiar…"
"Mm."
"Can you say anything but 'mm'?"
"You're poking me!"
"A-hem. Bear with me; there's only so much room."
They chatted in fits and starts—Arthas speaking, Maiev silent and blushing, the air thick with unspoken warmth.
Time blurred; in the Dream everything felt frozen, changeless.
Though vibrant with rampant flora, a subtle gloom lurked beneath.
Patches of green mist made the dragon whine in fear, asking whether to press on.
"Toxins, confined to set zones—Dryad nerve-poisons. Some lethal, some mild for petty thieves; all dull the mind and weigh the limbs."
Maiev lifted her head, flush still on her cheeks yet mind sharp.
She might fumble at love, but she had not forgotten how to be a warrior; her instincts stayed razor-keen.
The mist barred their way, yet drifted only within strict bounds—dense jade clouds stretching endlessly, hiding whatever lay beyond.
As they flew on, the sense of being watched sharpened.
"Feel that? Something hostile is tailing us."
Arthas scanned but saw nothing; his senses were dulled here, and his scout tower had vanished—destroyed.
The world's rejection grew; even his nascent demigod strength felt it—like a land-creature in water, every move met with drag, ten parts effort yielding barely two.
Maiev shook her head. She stood below demigod rank, a high hero; without some stroke of fate she might never cross that threshold.
"I don't sense it—too weak, perhaps. But I trust your instincts. The Dream was never all benevolence; nightmares were spoken of millennia ago."
"The longer one stays, the more nightmare creeps in, twisting actions. Once a hillside sprouted plants that shouldn't exist; the proper course was observe, test, record, and seek a cure."
But the druids discovered that Lady Ysera herself had scorched the entire hillside with dragonfire, showing no regard for the native life still living there. It happened only once, and afterward she seemed to realize something was wrong—likely influenced by an unknown force, perhaps the Nightmare of legend.
Maiev went on recounting what she knew—secrets even her own Night Elf kin would never share. That she could speak of them to Arthas now showed she placed her feelings above her duty.
Suddenly Arthas pressed Maiev down and sent his black drake into a steep dive.
A strange blast of dragonfire streaked past where they had just been, then curved back, crackling with red-and-black energy.
Four Green Dragons wreathed in black mist burst through the toxic green haze, scales sizzling as the poison ate at them, yet they attacked without hesitation.
"Those are the four dragons who guard the Emerald Dream's portal—Lethon, Emeriss, Taerar, and Ysondre. Each is a mighty wyrm; how could they fall to this?"
Maiev flung a dagger backward; it flew true and would have struck Lethon, but a stray jet of dragonfire melted it mid-air.
"Watch for more threats and track their movements. Leave these four to me."
Arthas surrendered the reins to Maiev and leapt from the saddle, driving frostmourne through a dragon's skull with the full force of his fall.
A sickening surge washed over him as the wyrm thrashed. Pinning it down, he held frostmourne fast, drinking its soul and converting its anima, feeling his own strength crawl upward—tiny increments normally gained only by slaying high demons.
Sensing their kin's death, the remaining three roared skyward, drawing in the wild power around them. Their amplified breath would have gravely wounded even Archimonde inside the Dream.
Arthas dared not tarry; he Blinked away. An instant later three gouts of dragonfire struck the Nightmare-green wyrm, healing every wound instead of killing it.
Sss!
There's actually a benefit like this?
His first reaction wasn't fear—it was elation.
He had only meant to test a kill; even as frostmourne entered the dragon's mind he'd felt his attributes rise.
Checking his stats, he saw no decrease—meaning the gains were permanent, not hollow inflation.
"Kill you! Peace is but a fleeting dream—let the Nightmare rule this world!"
A name appeared above its head: Nightmare Green Dragon Taerar.
So these were the Nightmare's four Green Dragons—Ysera most trusted captains, adult wyrms each stronger than two Maievs combined.
Maiev: ??
"Fine—since you're male, I'll grant you a gentle death."
Arthas sighed; the males were always fiercer and less reasonable. For a dragon unwilling to talk or sit for peace, he would find another way to help.
He Blink-stepped clear of Emeriss's strike, adrenaline flooding him. At peak focus the world's rejection ebbed; he felt free, like a fish returned to the sea.
"Mortal, die—become the Nightmare's slave! Aaah!"
Taerar—smallest of the four—had barely finished the threat before frostmourne entered beneath his jaw. Dizziness surged; deep breaths, dizziness was normal, just sleep.
Divine Shield!
Every ounce of mana became a shield that caught three draconic claws, the white barrier shivering. In the opening he drew an enchanted rod, channeling through its runes.
Regenerated mana flooded the rod, releasing fist-sized ice spheres from its tip.
Bang!
The petty ice orbs struck—and the three Nightmare dragons froze mid-strike as if paralyzed.
Corrupted by Nightmare they still bore true dragonscale, granting immunity to a mage's polymorph.
Yet four-on-one had become three-on-one, and the survivors merely watched. With both the Dream's wild power and Nightmare backing, they rivaled an Elemental Lord on its own plane.
Even the four Dragon Aspects would hesitate and fight evasively.
Arthas needed no retreat; he took them head-on, controlling the field—something others deemed impossible.
And he could burst-kill while he was at it.
They looked on as Taerar's soul was reaped and Nightmare energy purified into raw force. The backlash touched Arthas, but nothing he couldn't endure.
While the stalemate held, Maiev wheeled the black drake upward; she needed bearings to locate the Dream's Moonglade.
This Moonglade was not the one in Ashenvale but the stronghold of druids and Green Dragonflight within the Dream.
The Dream mirrored the ancient pre-Sundering world; matching memory to map took time.
Far away black streaks marked Nightmare territory; by her reckoning they should angle toward Mount Hyjal—Moonglade would lie there.
When Maiev descended, Arthas had already slain the second dragon and stowed its corpse.
"You—you've killed Taerar and Lethon, my lord?"
"Problem?"
"None… but could you spare the other two? Emeriss and Ysondre once aided me.
I can feel their minds fighting the Nightmare. My instinct is never wrong. By elune, grant them calm!"
At her prayer the former Warden—now warrior—called down the moon's light upon the two corrupted wyrms.