Chapter Twenty-Nine: Sylvanas

After years of experience working in the Eastern Sanctum, Ithones and Candiris were already well-versed in the routines of the Mage Tower, never requiring much oversight from Patrick. He assigned them some simple tasks to ease them in.

“The four members of the former Sun Sanctum are finally reunited,” Patrick mused with a smile.

The Ghostlands were nothing like the tranquil Eversong Woods; even with the temperature enchantments inside the Sunspire, Patrick could still feel the chill of the Ghostlands. Outside, a steady drizzle fell, shrouding the ridges of Sunscar Peak, which blocked the northern winds. Yet the sea breeze, carrying the distinctive stench of voodoo magic, swept over the eastern mountains, traversing the skies above Zul'Aman, and reached the Sun Sanctum itself, unsettling the elves within.

As was his habit, Patrick settled into the chief’s office after his morning ablutions, a book in hand. Ithones and the others rose in turn, inspected the Mage Tower, and then began their own studies. Quelinthis and Yanida typically spent their mornings in the library pursuing arcane studies, or crafting items in the alchemy and magical workshops. Afternoons were reserved for gatherings with the rangers and residents outside the tower, activities to which Ithones and Candiris soon joined.

These gatherings were held in the elven dwellings beyond the tower. Quelinthis had once invited Patrick, but seeing him absorbed in his studies, surrounded by a stack of thick arcane tomes, he made only a perfunctory inquiry. After Patrick's refusal, Quelinthis never asked again.

The elven way of life was eternally centered on enjoyment. Ordinary elves knew how to indulge, but the privileged mage class did so even more extravagantly. With their lives of plenty, many elves found new friends and knowledge, or forged connections at parties and gatherings. At worst, they exchanged bodily fluids—elves cherished such lifestyles, which explained their abysmally low birth rate and the kingdom’s sluggish progress. Since the founding of the High Elven kingdom of Quel'Thalas over six thousand years ago, little had changed.

A people obsessed with pleasure and idleness, a society steeped in decadence—such a kingdom would never advance. The O Alliance of his previous life had offered ample lessons: a populace with nothing to do always blamed others, and a culture of greed and corruption eroded their legends. Old social tensions only intensified, destabilizing society further.

As an awakened traveler, Patrick understood the future of this place and dared not slacken. To survive in a world so troubled and to protect his own, he would need strength and resources—without them, survival was a fantasy.

He opened his book. He had only prepared half the spell ring for the fifth-circle spell, Arcane Resonance, a few days prior. Busy with other matters, he had not yet finished studying the fifth-circle spells he’d received from his father, Old Phil. Currently, he possessed three arcane spells:

Universal: Magical Permanence,
Transmutation: Arcane Resonance,
Conjuration: Teleportation.

None were fully mastered. The fifth circle marked the initial grasp of teleportation—allowing free use of teleportation arrays and runes. The sixth circle was the threshold for an arcane master, granting basic spatial awareness and the power to tear through space with arcane force. Beyond the sixth, as one’s arcane realm deepened, understanding and mastery of space grew, until its laws became second nature, easily manipulated.

“Chief Patrick, the gatekeeper of the elves outside, the Ghostlands Ranger General Sylvanas requests an audience,” came Quelinthis’s voice from outside.

“Very well, bring her in.”

At last, he would meet Sylvanas, still a ranger.

“Good day, Chief Patrick-Kabron,” Sylvanas greeted, her gaze fixed on him. Patrick caught sight of her dazzling white teeth as she spoke.

“Good day, General Sylvanas Windrunner. Please, take a seat.” Patrick nodded respectfully, and with a flick of his mind, heated the teapot, brewing a calming flower tea for Sylvanas.

Sylvanas was still the Ranger General, not yet the Banshee Queen with her ashen skin. Her eyes were bright and lively, her demeanor spirited. She wore a pale green ranger’s tunic that exposed her fair arms and midriff—her hands were as soft as silk, her skin smooth as cream. Where the tunic covered she was rounded and upright, her collarbones clearly visible, rivaling Alleria in beauty.

“I am Patrick, from Silvermoon City, appointed last week as the chief mage of the Sun Sanctum, responsible for its arcane affairs,” Patrick introduced himself.

“I am Sylvanas Windrunner, commander of the Ghostlands ranger corps. Your deeds have been published by the council; they highly commend your achievements in the Forest of Life—thwarting the trolls’ surprise attack and assisting Alleria in clearing the troll stronghold, Zebwatha,” Sylvanas acknowledged Patrick’s contribution. Among elves, anyone who helped eliminate trolls was held in high esteem.

“I hope we can work together in the future, to counter the threat posed by trolls and preserve the peace of our people,” she continued.

Sylvanas scrutinized Patrick closely; her sister Alleria had specifically asked her to keep an eye on him. Traces of arcane energy shimmered in his blue eyes, and his hair was simply tied back. He wore a white mage robe trimmed in gold and red, much like any ordinary Silvermoon mage.

“The taste of arcane power lingers around him—enough to draw attention from many elves, but not to captivate Alleria’s gaze,” Sylvanas thought to herself. “What is it about you that intrigues Alleria? I’ll have to watch and see.”

Though Sylvanas harbored doubts about Patrick, she said nothing aloud, replying instead, “I will. Protecting our people from trolls is our shared duty.”

After Sylvanas departed, Quelinthis explained to Patrick that she had merely come to rotate the front-line ranger troops. The Sun Sanctum served as the logistical hub for all front-line forces in the Ghostlands, so Sylvanas stationed the relief troops here. Every time troops rotated or underwent routine inspection, they visited the Sun Sanctum to review the units and consult with the resident mages on battle plans.

Previously, the mages stationed at the Sun Sanctum never lasted long—either leaving the Ghostlands or being transferred back to Silvermoon. Quelinthis and Yanida lacked authority, so the Sun Sanctum became little more than a formality, reduced to a mere support center for the front-line troops.