She knew where she was although she had never been there. She heard the stories of course, she read the scrolls, she knew the surviving images, but although she never truly set foot there it still felt like she wasn't here for the first time. As she breathed the miasmic air, there was some familiarity to the scent. A formula of decay and fel energies. Without doubt this was the work of the Burning Legion. Oh, how they had destroyed the lives of the Draenei, forcing them to live a life of exile for millennia. Even her own grandparents were survivors from the diaspora. But as she wandered along, she quickly had to admit, however odd it seemed, she had woken up on Argus.

Although she realized where she had been transported, she couldn't grasped how she had traveled here and more importantly when. What was the last thing she could remember? Northrend? No she had traveled home from the continent after she aided in the defeat of the Lich King. She knew Arthas to be dead, for good this time. After traveling to Stormwind together the Longbeards had celebrated their victory in a tavern in the dwarven district. As her dwarven and gnomish friends were dancing on the table, spilling beer everywhere in the process, Phetatarei had enjoyed an iced tea. She was happy to feel some warmth again after a long year of fighting the Scourge on the arctic continent. The cold always reminded her of the Twisting Nether.

So the last thing she could remember was sharing a drink with Tashlyn? By the Light, how did she cross the Twisting Nether this time. She tried to look around for a vessel somewhere nearby, but she couldn't spot any kind of transport. As she peered towards the sky she immediately recognized the green hue of fel energies. But as she turned around she could see a setting sun hugging the horizon in a field of bright reds, yellows and orange. Was Argus not completely turned by the Burning Legion? Was she the first Draenei to travel back to their true home planet? Was she the first drop of Light that could shoo away the demonic influence?

Suddenly she saw a herd of Talbuk hastily running by. And behind them were some Draenei. One of them was stuck on the Talbuk saddle and was being kicked on the head while the Talbuk tried to loose the weight. Everyone involved seemed frightened! Then suddenly one of the Draenei addressed Pheta. "Young girl! Why are you standing around here, don't you know we need to run to Velen? Our prophet is waiting for us on the highest mountains. The mysterious Naaru have promised us a cure from the fel."

Could it be? Was it really him? Although Draenei ore known to live for millennia they were capable of aging. The young man talking to her, he must had been her grandfather. It seemed like he already had lost a tentacle at a young age. Maybe in a recent fight against the Burning Legion Manari? "Papa.. I mean Pantrocleias, let me aid the wounded. I am voiced in the ways of the Light."

Could she dare talk about the power of the Naaru? Would it confuse her Grandfather. At least Phetatarei now had some clue as when she was? About 10 millennia before her own birth. By which strange powers had she been summoned here?

"How do you know my name, stranger?" Pantrocleias' brow was sweating, he clearly had been struggling recently. Now Pheta could get a closer look and she realized he was splattered with the green blood of Manari. He must have been fighting them. "It doesn't matter much at this moment. We must continue. Guard the rear, we need to protect the elders and children there. The Manari are right on our heels!"

While the Talbuk ran on towards the top of the mountain. Phetatarei descended. There she found a group of stumbling elders and young children. One of the elders was losing blood through a wound in her knee. She was hopping on her good leg, while two children tried to keep her stabilized. With a small of compassion Phetatarei summoned her gift of the Naaru, as a blue holy symbol glowed in front of her eyes, the knee seemed to mend within seconds.

"How? Who? What did you do?" Asked one of the marveled children. Of course they had never seen the gift of the Naaru before. Although it was known to all Draenei native from Draenor, it made sense that the people of Argus had never seen it. Pheta, felt embarrassed. "It's a trick I learned," she replied quickly, "It helps me connect my own spirit with the wounds of those surrounding me. It's a way of healing without exhausting myself. Come now, child, we must continue."

Although the Draenei caravan had gained some speed with the mending of wounds by both regular priests and the aid of Pheta. The Manari were gaining on them. For these pure Eredar, it must still feel strange to encounter such demons. They had never before encountered the scourge, they didn't know about the Dreadlords. It pained Pheta to think about these horrible things, but at the same time it gave her confidence. How many demons had she killed with the aid of her newfound friends of the Alliance. The Exiled still needed to wait for millennia, but in a way, it gave her comfort that in the end, they would find new allies. Argus and Azeroth were lightyears apart but still, she felt the warmth of her friends aiding her.

With the powers she learned from her paladin mentors, she summoned the Holy Light, as she started glowing of her own. It was clear that the Manari were not used to such resistance. They averted their eyes, trying not to look at this young warrior. With a smile on her face, Pheta consecrated the ground around her and she saw how the demons close to her started to smelt away. 

With a smirk she threw a shield of holy power towards a group of flying demons, it bounced from one to the other and three of them fell down, defeated. The uncorrupted Eredar didn't know how to react to this phenomenon, but in gratitude they made their way to the top of the mountain.

As they reached the top. Phetatarei saw her own grandmother, Matreia. The woman would hate her and her father, but at this moment, Matreia was still shining with hope and confidence. There was no worry about children or grandchildren on her mind. With a glow of holy power, Matreia blessed all the people around her.

"Don't worry children of Argus," she voiced, "Our prophet Velen has arrived." Behind some kneeling figures, a giant Eredar appeared, gleaming with calm in these times of despair. Phetatarei knew Velen, she had seen him. She had met him personally, first on the remains of the crashed Exodar, which had served as the capital of the Draenei ever since. Later she had aided Velen to reach the Sunwell, where Velen used the essence of the fallen Naaru M'uru to redeem the Sunwell and cure the Blood Elves of their Fel addiction. She had known him as a calm but strong leader, with a beard with which he could have clothed himself, if ever the need would arise.

Here in this time and place, Velen was not young, but he wasn't ancient in any way either. He was gleaming with brilliance, and it was clear already that the Naaru had favored him. The promise of a life in eternity was smiling on his lips.

"Children of Argus," he repeated, "our time to leave our beautiful homeworld has come. Argus is not what it was once before. The Burning Legion has already started the corruption of our people and our earth. We will not stand to be corrupted like them. We will not join the army of infinite destruction. I have promised you another way. The way of the Naaru. Some of you have already been blessed with their words, but soon you will see the incredible power of the Naaru for yourselves. They are like angelic beings of Holy Light in which one can find only peace and calm."

Although the words of Velen had a soothing quality, it was not possible for Pheta's kin to relax completely. They were kind of helpless on top of that mountain and the Legion forces were encroaching from all sides of the mountain. It was all the Draenei could do to try to hold them back. But soon they were surrounded by Felhounds, Dreadlords, demons, Corrupted Eredar, Legion soldiers in all forms and sizes.

Suddenly a storm broke out. Out of nowhere some of the demons were zapped by lightning, while heavy rain soaked the steep slopes of the mountain and some of the felhounds got stuck in the mud. Several tornadoes were forming around the mountain and dragged away some of the flying atrocities.

Velen had raised his hands towards the sky and started praying in gratitude, as he knew this would be the blessing of the Naaru, as they had promised him. In the cold washing rain, the Draenei huddled up together. Children were brought to the inner circle, while the elders tried to keep warm their aching bones. As by accident Phetatarei was pushed in between Matreia and Pantrocleias. For the first time in her life she had been hugged by both of her grandparents. She knew the Naaru would arrive soon. She had not lived it before, but she knew the stories, some of them tainted by legend, some of them carried some truth.

Impatiently Phetatarei waited, as the storm around them raged on and grew in intensity. Some the tornadoes had dragged away some Draenei from the outer circles. The lighting which first had saved them from the demons now was faster and faster, closer and closer. The Draenei got scared, the Talbuk that had raced to the mountaintop as well started and running and trampled some of their masters. And before she could blink, Phetatarei saw how Velen himself got struck by a bolt of lightning.

"NOOO!" Pheta cried at the top of her lungs. This was not supposed to happen. Where were the Naaru? Where was their blessing? She smelled how the burned flesh of Velen reached her nostrils. She threw up, as did other Draenei around her. People started running in fear and disgust. Some fell down the mountain, the ones that didn't die on the rocky slopes were torn apart by the Manari, who fed on the fresh bodies.

"This can't be happening, this can't be happening, this can't be happening," Pheta repeated to herself as she saw how her own grandparents had been trampled. Their faces distorted by the hooves of their friends and followers. If they had died on Argus; how could she herself been born? As Pheta started to question her right of existence she saw how her hands started fading away. As sand running through an hourglass, her whole body started to blow away with the wind. She wanted to cry out in panic, but even her voice had disappeared. Something lifted her off the ground, she never knew what it was. The last thing she remembered was to see her legs falling down on a pile of desecrated bodies. Somewhere in between all the mud, blood and puke, she could see the staff of Velen, glowing in vain.

To be continued...