The last time Ana had been to the Caverns of Time, it was at the behest of this dragon. Now in her Gnome visage, Chromie stands on the opposite side of SI7’s briefing area, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

As yet, nobody has been able to tell the Hunter what exactly it is she has to do when she gets there, why the whole journey must be magically unaided, or indeed who she will be travelling with. There is a climate in this building unlike anything else she can remember feeling or experiencing before…

It isn’t fear, that much she is confident of. Instead, there is a lot of disbelief, and a not inconsiderable portion of surprise: there it is again. One of the City’s Undercover Units is staring at her, unabashed. He can’t be much older than her brother, either, and the look… the smile says it all.

Being stared at by men was part of the drill in certain parts of this town, but not like this. Why do all these people know something that I don’t?

you have become a rumour and rumours are seductive

Ana is compelled to look away from the lad and straight to Chromie, whose tiny index finger stays glued to her lips. She had assumed the voice in her head was somehow connected with the Radiant Song, yet as that thought appears, the whole Gnome’s visage exudes indignation.

It’s not Chronormu talking to her, that is now very apparent. Does this mean this telepathy is another dragon? In a blink, the Gnome’s moved from briefing table to her side.

‘I think we had this conversation in the Dragon Isles, but just in case… time is not easily controlled from a distance. Right now, you’re able to hear someone who is a very long way away, and as a result -’

‘Don’t tell me, let me guess. It’s complicated.’

‘You’re not mad with me, right?’

‘No, and I’m not irritated by all the fuss and the fact I’m clearly not being told something either. I find the best way with which to deal with not knowing is to pretend it isn’t that important and focus instead on the matter in hand.’

‘I don’t meet that many pragmatic heroes. Most are glory and rewards, some of them like to walk around and pontificate on the minutiae of their dilemma, but very few are as emotionally managed as you are.’

‘Are you calling me detached, Chromie?’

‘No, I am well aware of how much emotional passion sits beneath the surface of this impeccable Human exterior. I have watched you mourn friends, and fight harder and longer than races ten times your age. I am not surprised at all at your reaction to any of this. I wish I could tell you all that I know, but I made a promise, a VERY long time ago, to someone I hugely respect and admire. This story is a beginning and an ending, and until it is in motion, I can only tell you what I tell your superiors and no more.’

The Briefing table is beginning to fill: Shaw is here, but Lor’themar is no longer in Stormwind. Instead he has left a second: Lady Liadrin stands, effortlessly dressed and very much in disguise. Ana wonders how many people would recognise her anyway, even without the Human civilian clothing and her head covered.

They had been in shared spaces when the Iron Horde invasion had been thwarted, but never mixed in the same circles… she is a devotee of the Light. Ana is both agnostic and sceptical. Many Gods believe they hold claim to this world: old, ancient and modern. Every week a new Cult or threat seems to pop out of nowhere.

If the Light really did have an omnipotent figurehead, Ana has to believe it would have done something in the last however many years it has been to have quelled the constant tide of battle… As the thought enters her head, someone laughs. It’s not in the room, which continues its preparations to be briefed, and neither is it in the same space the Radiant Song occupies.

Someone is standing directly behind her.

Chromie has been called away, it is only her now, standing and waiting to be summoned to the table and yet… standing opposite this window, reality quietly shifts. Outside is a view of the courtyard, the target dummies being pushed to their limits by a Pandaran Monk and a Human Paladin.

There is an amazing and impossibly clear, vital reflection of herself in the glass, tired and in need of some quiet time alone and behind that, where the wall should be, a dark space blossoms. The woman who stands inside it could be her mother: same height and hair colour, but her clothing is all wrong.

This is another Huntmistress Weaver, reaching up and behind to a weapon on her back..

Ana has seen echoes of herself from both past and future across the years: in Northrend, the Dragon Isles… but she never looked like this. It’s not a weapon she’s brandishing either, but a lyre…

in the future you will become a Bard of Battle and will know
that the Light is indeed listening

She wears armour unlike anything ever seen before: a combination of leather, mail and plate, made by many people’s hands. There is the red of the Blood Elves and the blue of the Alliance standard and they are connected by an iridescence of silver to black and purple… the unmistakable signature of the Void.

Everything stops, a moment in Stormwind frozen but her echo is still moving, playing the lyre as if it were a weapon, before her future self provides context.

this is a song that will pause time and grant you recovery
remember it now
watch what I play

Scrabbling for her notebook, Ana is given plenty of time to record the progression of strings plucked, and only when it is apparent she has the sequence correct on paper does her other self stop. The room ripples, and as the image fades and her notebook is again hidden away, one final message is passed.

ask Shaw for his copy of ‘Uther’s Strength and Glory’…

The unmistakeable rending of wood and metal as a Paladin’s Divine Hammers unexpectedly rip a Target Dummy clean out of the ground pulls her back to the room. Everyone seems frozen again but in surprise, amazed at what has just transpired outside.

Time returns to normal, and the distraction is all that Ana needs to recompose herself. Once upon a time her mother had told her the story of a bard who had fought alongside the first Paladins. She had assumed it was made up for her benefit…

They learnt songs to increase power in battle, to damage enemies and to create illusions. Bards became experts in the weaving of songs with steel. More stealthy than Rogues and more powerful than Warriors, a Bard could take you fear and transform it to hope…

‘Huntmistress Weaver. Please, come and join us.’

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