Jailbreak

South of Azsuna, amidst the fractured isles of the Broken Shore, lay Warden Isle, a grim sentinel guarding the secrets of the Warden's Vault. For nearly ten millennia, Maiev Shadowsong and her relentless Wardens had toiled on this isolated landmass, constructing a sprawling, inescapable prison for the most heinous criminals Azeroth had ever known. Within its formidable walls languished demons of the Burning Legion, elemental terrors that had once threatened the nascent night elf civilization, and in its deepest recesses, the object of Tyrande's desperate mission: Illidan Stormrage, entombed for ten thousand long years.

The Vault descended five levels into the earth, and Tyrande, accompanied by her elite guard, utilized a mechanically operated elevator to reach its subterranean depths. The sentinels flanking the High Priestess bore the marks of recent conflict, their injuries a testament to the arduous struggle they had endured to reach this point. A battle waged not against the Legion, but against their own kin.

Ten thousand years prior, Maiev and Tyrande had shared a bond of sisterly affection. Yet, the relentless currents of time and circumstance had eroded that connection, leaving a chasm of resentment in its wake. This animosity extended to the Wardens themselves, who viewed Elune's High Priestess with suspicion and hostility. To gain entry to the Vault, Tyrande had been forced to confront the loyal Wardens who remained, a grim necessity born of desperation. Though she had sought to subdue them with mercy, the Wardens' fierce resistance and deadly attacks had made capture and disarming a near impossibility. Fortune had favored Tyrande; she had chosen a moment when Maiev had led her elite forces on an external mission. Had the Warden-General been present, their entry would have been unthinkable.

A knot of conflicting emotions tightened in Tyrande's chest. She steeled her resolve, reminding herself that this desperate act was for the survival of her people. With the Burning Legion's renewed invasion, she needed Illidan's raw power, the forbidden knowledge that lay dormant within his tormented soul.

The elevator shuddered to a halt, depositing them at the Vault's lowest level. Tyrande commanded her elite sentinels to remain on guard while she ventured into the inner passages alone. Through arcane manipulation, she bypassed lock after intricate lock, the cold stone corridors echoing with the whispers of forgotten horrors. Finally, in the deepest chamber, bathed in an eerie, ethereal glow, she beheld the figure etched in her memory. His bare torso was a canvas of grotesque, dark green runes, a stark contrast to the black cloth obscuring his eyes.

It was him. It was Illidan.

"Illidan... is that you?" Tyrande's voice was a soft tremor in the oppressive silence.

"Tyrande?" His voice, raspy from millennia of disuse, held a note of disbelief and longing. "It truly is your voice. After enduring ten thousand long years of darkness, your voice still graces my heart like the radiant moonlight." Illidan rose fluidly, moving towards the prison gate, his unseen gaze fixed on the approaching High Priestess. Ten thousand years of confinement, ten thousand years of yearning – in this moment, Illidan felt no trace of regret.

"The Burning Legion has returned, Illidan. I need your strength!" Tyrande's words struck Illidan like a physical blow. Ten thousand years of silence, ten thousand years of abandonment, and now she came seeking his aid. Despite the bitter sting of her neglect, Illidan could not deny Tyrande's plea.

A legendary aura erupted around him, and from some unseen recess, two wickedly curved, emerald green demon blades materialized in his hands. With a roar that echoed through the Vault's depths, he unleashed a full-force strike. The prison gate buckled and shattered.

Illidan stepped out, feigning an air of detached composure. "I will obliterate these demons for you, Tyrande," he declared, his voice laced with a carefully constructed indifference, "but do not mistake my motives. My allegiance lies with the memory of a love I once held. I owe nothing to my people."

"Then let us hasten to Mount Hyjal. The demonic corruption spreads across our borders, and time is of the essence!" Tyrande turned, leading Illidan away from the Warden's Vault.

When Galen returned to the war-torn slopes of Mount Hyjal, he observed a palpable tension in the air, a direct consequence of the unfolding conflict. Yet, amidst the anxiety, the populace remained remarkably composed. Galen intercepted a priestess of Elune hurrying through the Temple of the Moon, a familiar face he had often seen at Tyrande's side.

"Greetings, Highlord Galen!" she offered, a respectful bow.

"How fares the battle on the front lines?" Galen inquired, his questions rapid-fire. "Where is Tyrande? Has Malfurion yet awakened?"

The barrage of inquiries momentarily stunned the priestess. Gathering her thoughts, she replied, "Highlord, the civilians from the forward positions have been safely evacuated to Darkshore. Currently, the fighting is proceeding favorably. Only small pockets of demonic vanguards have managed to bypass our defenses, corrupting the forests and opening minor portals, keeping Lord Fandral occupied."

"The Archdruid has indeed awakened from the Emerald Dream and is now summoning more druids to our aid."

"As for the High Priestess," she added, a hint of uncertainty in her voice, "her current whereabouts are unknown to me."

Galen nodded, absorbing the information. It seemed the true weight of the Legion's assault had yet to fall. The arrival of demigod-level demons like Tichondrius and Mannoroth would herald the commencement of the real war. As for Tyrande's mysterious absence… even her closest confidantes were unaware. She was undoubtedly engaged in some clandestine endeavor.

Others might remain ignorant, but Galen possessed a shrewd understanding of Tyrande's motivations. Having crossed paths with her on numerous occasions, he deduced her destination with certainty: the Warden's Vault, to release the volatile Illidan.

Galen had harbored neither particular affection nor animosity towards the night elf outcast, and even knowing his future trajectory, a sliver of reluctant recognition existed. Of course, merely a sliver.

What perplexed Galen was Tyrande's rationale for freeing Illidan. In terms of the night elves' elite combat forces, besides herself and Malfurion, they possessed the formidable Fandral Staghelm, and the demigod Cenarius still walked the forests. Their military strength was substantial, bolstered by the tauren, the Scarlet Crusade, and the allied forces of the Alliance – a coalition more than capable of confronting Archimonde. Why risk fracturing her relationship with Maiev to unleash such a volatile element? He simply couldn't fathom her reasoning. Perhaps it was an inexplicable matter of female intuition.

Shrugging off the enigma, Galen decided not to dwell on what he couldn't comprehend. Illidan's escape wasn't his immediate concern; Malfurion and Maiev would undoubtedly deal with the consequences. Besides, in the later stages of the conflict, Illidan had proven to be a relentless, almost rabid, pursuer of the Burning Legion, a development Galen would welcome. However, his own interventions had significantly altered the timeline, and Illidan's current power level was somewhat diminished.

Galen's thoughts drifted to the Skull of Gul'dan, safely sealed within his dimensional satchel. The unruly demon hunter, if wielded correctly, could be a razor-sharp weapon. But mishandled, he could easily turn on his wielder. The possibility of using the Heart of Origin to subjugate Illidan had also crossed Galen's mind, a surefire method to guarantee his loyalty. However, the process was fraught with complications. Directly converting him into a follower required the subject's willing participation – a non-starter. Forcefully Lightforging him? Galen shuddered at the potential for chaos, recalling Illidan's defiant cry: "My fate is my own!" He could envision the demon hunter wreaking havoc in his cathedral. No. The third option – killing Illidan, collecting his heroic spirit, and then resurrecting him – offered a high probability of success but demanded absolute secrecy, lest Tyrande and Malfurion discover his machinations. But with Illidan's inherent paranoia and vigilance… it was proving to be a troublesome conundrum.