Ever since Tyr fled with the Discs of Norgannon, Loken had been terrified that his crimes would be exposed. For many years, he had hidden within the depths of Ulduar, living in constant anxiety and dread.
It was unclear whether Yogg-Saron, who had gradually begun to slip his bonds after the Sundering, had fed him some sort of poisonous rhetoric. Whatever the case, after the War of the Ancients, Loken's sphere of activity had slowly expanded. His blatant appearance in the Grizzly Hills now was proof of that.
"Andreas, although we are sorry, please forgive us for declining."
Though Alexstrasza's tone was gentle, her refusal of Andreas's proposal was firm.
"We cannot confirm whether the betrayal of Loken you speak of is fact. Even if it were, it is impossible for us to proactively launch an attack on a Titanic Watcher."
As expected...
Andreas let out a soft sigh. "Even if Tyr—the one who gathered you to resist Galakrond and bestowed the Aspects' powers upon you after the war—died at Loken's hands, you still won't act?"
"What?!"
Ysera stood up in shock. "Andreas, are you saying Tyr is dead?"
Andreas nodded solemnly. "I would not joke about such a matter. You should know that Tyr lost an arm during the war against Galakrond; later, Mimiron and Archaedas joined forces to forge a Silver Hand for him."
Alexstrasza nodded. "We experienced that firsthand, so of course, we are aware."
"Then that makes things easier."
Andreas turned to the Blue Dragon, Elegoas. "Consultant Elegoas, please help us transport to Tirisfal Glades. Tyr's legacy stands within that forest."
"Hmm? Oh, no problem."
Elegoas, who was prone to daydreaming, snapped back to attention and nodded in agreement.
...
At the Tomb of Tyr in the western Tirisfal Glades, the ruins left behind by the High Elves before they moved away were still clearly visible.
A massive Silver Hand stood within a small lake above the tomb. Alexstrasza, Ysera, and even Malygos—who had rushed over after hearing the news—stared at the familiar silver arm in a daze.
Malygos's mood was low. "That's right. I remember it clearly. That is indeed Tyr's arm."
Ysera silently lowered her head to pray to the Titans for Tyr. After a moment, she asked sorrowfully, "Did Tyr truly die at Loken's hands?"
Andreas shook his head. "Loken was the mastermind, but he wasn't the one who struck the final blow."
"Tyr died by self-detonation. To cover the retreat of Archaedas and Ironaya, he single-handedly held back two C'Thraxxi generals of the Old Gods. He used his self-destruction to kill one and heavily wound the other."
Andreas pointed to the ground beneath them. "The humans living in Tirisfal today are the descendants of Tyr's followers. Years of degradation have turned them into the humans they are now, but the legends of Tyr still circulate in this land."
Alexstrasza remained silent for a long time. "I apologize. Until I have definitive evidence, I still cannot strike against Loken, the King of Wisdom."
"Is that so... very well then."
Though disappointed, the turn of events had not exceeded Andreas's expectations.
Man proposes, God disposes. Regardless of the success rate, a valuable attempt was still necessary.
Without the help of the Dragon Aspects, it's an almost impossible task for mortals to defeat Loken. I'll have to find another way.
While the three Dragon Kings bowed their heads in silent prayer for Tyr, Andreas flew above Tirisfal Glades to get a bird's-eye view of human development.
Unsurprisingly, after the High Elves left, the humans faced increasing pressure from Troll attacks.
The human clans, which originally existed as multiple small tribes, had begun a preliminary integration under the pressure of foreign enemies. A large tribe with the highest numbers occupied the most fertile land in the southern Tirisfal Glades. Andreas knew that in the future, this place would be known as... Lordaeron.
...
After Loken's "cheating" entry into the battlefield, the Night Elves, who originally held the advantage, retreated across all lines.
However, what had happened was irreversible. Gjalerbron, serving as the rear base for Voldrun, had been destroyed, and millions of sleeping Vrykul died in their dreams.
If the Vrykul wanted to mobilize more reinforcements, they could only travel from Utgarde Keep through Skorn to reach Voldrun. The supply line was stretched very long and was susceptible to ambushes.
Even with Loken present, the Vrykul in Voldrun did not dare to advance recklessly.
Loken, with his iron body, did not need to eat, but the Vrykul, being mortals, did.
"You're going to the Storm Peaks to seek help?"
On the Zul'Drak front, Shandris looked at Andreas in surprise. "Are you sure? Although Loken has left the Storm Peaks, Yogg-Saron is still there. If you get caught by him..."
Andreas shook his head. "It won't be that easy. Yogg-Saron hasn't completely broken free from his seal. Without Loken, his loyal dog who strictly executes his orders, his commands can't even leave Ulduar."
Among the several Watchers, except for Thorim, the King of Storms—who wandered outside Ulduar due to self-reproach—the others, including Mimiron, Freya, and Hodir, were imprisoned inside Ulduar.
Due to Yogg-Saron's influence, the three Watchers had been corrupted to varying degrees, though not as severely as Loken.
Counting on the Watchers inside Ulduar was unrealistic; entering that former Titanic holy city would be walking straight into a trap.
Lions must be handled by lions. The reinforcement Andreas was looking for was only one person: Thorim, the Watcher residing in the Temple of Storms.
Andreas gave his wife a gentle hug. "Don't worry, I have a certain level of confidence."
"Due to logistics and supply issues, the Vrykul in Voldrun are staying put for now, and Loken hasn't taken the initiative to attack. Once they are ready, the troops we have left at Moonshadow's Rest and Venture Bay will find it hard to stop a Titanic Watcher."
"The Dragon Aspects cannot act. To turn the situation around, I must risk entering the Storm Peaks. As long as I can convince Thorim to help, even if we can't kill Loken, we can force him to retreat."
...
The Storm Peaks—a region of mountains covered in ice and snow. Titanic structures, led by Ulduar, could be seen everywhere.
Andreas did not make any stops along the way. After asking Malygos for the route, he transformed into a golden eagle and flew straight to the Temple of Storms.
Thorim's Temple of Storms was located at the highest point of the Terrace of the Makers, on the western side of the mountain plains.
The altitude of the Storm Peaks was already very high, and the Temple of Storms sat at the very pinnacle of the mountains. As Andreas ascended, he could clearly feel the oxygen becoming thinner.
Thorim's followers were a group of female Vrykul who maintained a matriarchal society.
During his ascent, Andreas encountered many female riders on Proto-Drakes patrolling around the Temple. Noticing this strange bird climbing toward the sanctuary, the Proto-Drake riders immediately shouted and gave chase.
Being small had its advantages. Despite the riders throwing chain harpoons, Andreas nimbly dodged all their attacks.
"Riders, stand down. Let this warrior of another race enter my temple."
A deep and majestic voice echoed from the Temple of Storms not far above. Upon hearing the order, the female riders scattered immediately, and Andreas landed smoothly on the wide plaza of the Temple of Storms.
As he shifted back into human form, Andreas looked up.
An iron giant with blue electric light flashing in his eyes, wearing clothes similar in style to Loken's, sat upon a massive throne. He leaned one hand on the armrest to support his face, looking with interest at the tiny mortal before him.