'Restoration'

A thousand peasants hammered away on the small island, and before long—a palace rose from the ground!

"A towering palace built from nothing!"

At this moment, Azshara was convinced—this was divine craftsmanship, the work of the Titans. Even with her vast knowledge, she had never seen any mortal kingdom achieve such a feat.

Surrounding the palace were tens of thousands of naga—the first generation, the Highborne who had sunk into the depths with her ten thousand years ago. These were her true loyalists, not the expendable later generations bred as cannon fodder.

"Is this the Titan device that can lift the curse?" Azshara asked, her voice laced with skepticism.

"Indeed," Galen confirmed. "The Titan Keepers assured me of its function."

He led Azshara and her inner circle into the heart of the palace, stopping before the central chamber.

"What now? Can we begin the ritual?" Azshara was impatient.

Galen nodded. "The site is ready. Your Majesty may first select a trusted naga to undergo the transformation."

"Xir'vazh!"

At the Queen's call, a massive naga lord emerged from the crowd. Towering over ordinary naga brutes, his draconic head was adorned with a golden mask, his armor exquisitely crafted. Even in a matriarchal society, this male naga held high status.

"You shall be the first," Azshara commanded, her eyes alight with anticipation.

"For the Queen!"

Male naga, though physically stronger, were far less intelligent than their female counterparts—a side effect of the Old Gods' corruption. But their unwavering loyalty made them perfect test subjects.

Xir'vazh slithered into the chamber, followed by a few attendants—until an unseen force barred Azshara's entry.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, suspicion flaring.

Galen shrugged. "I don't know. The Titans gave me this device, but this is my first time activating it. Perhaps... there's a limit to how many may enter?"

Azshara narrowed her eyes but relented, allowing only herself and two handmaidens inside.

Perfect.

Galen suppressed a smirk.

The moment the palace had formed, he had secretly summoned the Titan Keepers—Mimiron, Freya, and Thorim—who had tampered with the structure. The "capacity limit" was one such modification.

Inside, the chamber was sparse—a Titan platform stood at the center, beside a control panel covered in runes.

Galen produced a scroll. "Instructions—translated from Titan script to Darnassian."

Azshara studied it carefully before commanding, "Xir'vazh, step onto the platform."

The naga obeyed.

With a series of button presses, starlight energy surged from the platform, flooding the naga's corrupted body. Every inch of his flesh lit up as the purifying power burned away the Void's taint.

Xir'vazh screamed—his body dissolving, reforging.

Then, green life energy flowed in, stabilizing the transformation.

When the light faded—a naked Highborne elf lay on the platform.

Dazed but conscious, he staggered up, donning robes from his long-sealed magic satchel.

Azshara's eyes blazed with hunger.

She strode out, presenting the restored Highborne to the crowd.

"FOR THE GLORY OF THE HIGHBORNE!"

"LONG LIVE QUEEN AZSHARA!"

The naga erupted in cheers.

Azshara, ever cautious, did not undergo the ritual next.

Instead, she had two handmaidens transformed first, ensuring the process was safe.

Only then did she step onto the platform.

"Begin."

The ritual commenced.

Beneath the palace, Mimiron and Freya worked tirelessly, channeling purified energy into the platform.

Azshara convulsed—her body rejecting millennia of corruption. As the most powerful of the Highborne, the Old Gods had poured far more Void energy into her.

"AAGH—!"

Her bones felt like molten lead, her flesh unraveling.

But she refused to faint. She would witness her restoration.

Then—life energy flooded in.

Cool, soothing.

Her tentacles split, reshaping—into legs!

Her body was whole again!

But in that moment of relief—

Thorim struck.

Lightning crackled through the conduits, flooding the platform.

Azshara jolted—then collapsed, unconscious.

Now.

Galen's true plan activated.

"Convert her into a Follower."

The palace hummed, its hidden purpose revealed.

Domination energy—forged by the Keepers—seeped into Azshara's soul.

Her flawless form lay motionless, her mind fighting the intrusion.

Had she been awake, she might have shattered the palace, ruining everything.

But Thorim's lightning had sealed her fate.

The handmaidens panicked, but Galen reassured them:

"The Queen bore the brunt of the curse. She will recover."

And so she did.

In the weeks that followed, the first-generation naga and their descendants journeyed to Terror's Lair, shedding their cursed forms.

Azshara would lead them to reclaim a land of their own, rebuilding their ancient empire.

Nazjatar's remaining Void-naga crumbled before the Crusade's advance.

N'Zoth, furious, lashed out—but his prison held firm.

With his schemes unraveling, the Old God grew desperate.

In Pandaria, Empress Shek'zeer—a puppet of the Klaxxi—suddenly mobilized her swarm, assaulting the Vale of Eternal Blades.

In Silithus, a Black Empire obelisk emerged, driving night elves to madness.

But these were last, futile struggles.

Had N'Zoth not been trapped within his prison, Galen would have already stormed Ny'alotha.

For now, Mimiron reinforced the seals—buying time.

The final battle loomed.

But for Azshara?

Her fate was already sealed.

She belonged to Galen now.