Heroine

In the sprawling, war-torn tapestry of Azeroth, two female titans loomed large, forces of nature that no one, not even the gods, could simply ignore.

There was Jaina, the shining beacon of the Alliance.

And then there was Sylvanas, the chilling shadow of the Horde.

Through countless world-shattering crises and doomsday prophecies come true, neither of them might have always held the center stage, the absolute leading role, but they were undeniably the linchpins, the indispensable cogs in every single, earth-shattering event.

When it came to Jaina, Duke found himself in a mental wrestling match. It was complicated, to say the least.

Perhaps in the grim future, Jaina would still trudge down that dark, winding road that seemed to be her cursed destiny, watching her rumored boyfriends drop like flies, one after another, like dominoes in a hurricane. She would witness the entire northern continent devoured by the ravenous Scourge, a tide of undead horror, forcing her people to flee west, across the vast ocean, to the untamed lands of Kalimdor. She'd even be forced to pull the trigger, metaphorically speaking, on her own father, all to confront even greater threats and desperately cling to a fragile peace with the Horde. And through it all, she would constantly stumble, losing her way, battered by one soul-crushing blow after another...

Until, finally, after Theramore, the city she had poured her heart and soul into for half her life, was utterly annihilated by an Azeroth-brand nuclear bomb, and every single soul who had ever trusted and supported her was vaporized, her hair would turn white overnight, and she would snap, completely. She would become that Jaina, consumed by a singular, burning hatred, obsessed with destroying the Horde at any cost, utterly blind to the bigger picture.

If it were that Jaina standing before him, there would undoubtedly be a clash of titans, a head-on collision with Duke, the Alliance's biggest cheerleader and self-proclaimed supreme overlord. But at this very moment, Jaina was still just a fresh-faced, twelve-year-old prodigy, a pint-sized powerhouse who hadn't yet been marinated in the bitter juices of war and betrayal.

She possessed a face so exquisitely sculpted, it looked as if the Titans themselves had chiseled it from pure moonlight. A delicate chin, a pair of impossibly clear, cerulean eyes that sparkled with nascent power, smooth blonde hair that cascaded just past her shoulders, and a figure that, while still blossoming, already hinted at the stunning woman she would become.

A knockout, plain and simple, a beauty that could stop a charging Kodo in its tracks.

Twelve years old, Duke mused, a faint, almost imperceptible twitch in his eye. Back before I landed in this crazy world, that's the age where you'd get a one-way ticket to the prison for even thinking a naughty thought.

Perhaps her mind was already brimming with lofty ideals of love and peace, but for now, they were merely the innocent, whimsical daydreams of a young girl, untainted by the harsh realities of Azeroth.

She might very well become the 'Mother Teresa of the Alliance' in the future, but right now, she was just a kid, still figuring out how to tie her shoes.

In all honesty, with Duke's current rockstar status in the world, he wasn't playing second fiddle to Jaina in the slightest.

In fact, if Duke so desired, he could probably just adopt Jaina, rename her "Ellie," and teach her all about the finer points of... arcane manipulation.

Ahem! Just kidding!

Duke was not that kind of guy. He always prided himself on his impeccable integrity.

Uh, wait, did that sound wrong the third time? Never mind. Life's too short to sweat the small stuff. There are bigger fish to fry, and more Orcs to flatten.

Kael'thas, ever the observant elf, couldn't help but crack a knowing smile as he watched Duke momentarily short-circuit upon seeing Jaina. It suddenly dawned on him that this formidable Deputy Commander of the Alliance, this powerhouse who had twice personally sent over two hundred thousand Orcs to an early grave, was, at the end of the day, still just a fifteen-year-old kid.

"Miss Jaina is indeed a masterpiece crafted by the very gods themselves," Kael'thas declared, his voice smooth as silk. "She is, without a doubt, one of Dalaran's two most breathtaking beauties."

Being put on the spot like that by the undeniably handsome and effortlessly cool Lord Kael'thas – who, at this moment, showed no hint of his future, darker self – Jaina's face immediately flushed a vivid crimson, a blush that spread from her cheeks to the tips of her ears.

"Oh, Kael'thas, that's entirely too much!" she protested, though a small, pleased smile toyed at her lips.

Jaina was already stunning, but when she was shy, she was absolutely captivating. Gazing at her radiant, embarrassed face, Duke suddenly understood, with a clarity that hit him like a rogue fireball, why Arthas, and later Kael'thas, had been utterly bewitched by Jaina Proudmoore.

Duke offered a charming smile and a slight nod. "I commend your beauty, Miss Proudmoore. And while I would be delighted to weave a magical tribute to such a lovely lady, this is Dalaran, after all. I'd rather not parade my humble parlor tricks in public, especially not in these hallowed halls."

As Duke finished speaking, Jaina felt a pang of disappointment, a tiny deflate in her eager spirit.

Duke's legendary battlefield exploits were known to every man, woman, and child across the Alliance. But what truly made him a household name among the fairer sex wasn't his military record or his lofty title; it was his utterly spectacular, over-the-top magical displays designed specifically to charm the pants off beautiful women.

In Lordaeron, he had showered Princess Calia Menethil with an impossibly beautiful, shimmering rose woven from ice and fire.

In Southshore, he had conjured an ethereal, ice-crystal rainbow, a divine symphony of "Ode to Joy," elevating the already legendary Alleria Windrunner to near-mythic status, her name whispered with reverence across every corner of the Alliance.

Men, it seemed, were more impressed by a hero's invincible, unparalleled achievements.

Women, however, had a soft spot for a hero's romantic flair and flamboyant gestures.

Duke was blissfully unaware that there was a widely accepted, unspoken rule among the upper crust of society these days: only those ladies who had been personally serenaded by Duke with his most dazzling magic were truly considered stunning beauties. Everyone else was just... pretty.

Firstly, Jaina was quite confident in her own breathtaking looks, and secondly, she was dying to see what kind of magic this man, who her father had tried to recruit repeatedly, and who had almost become the Prince Consort of Kul Tiras, could truly conjure.

So, when Duke flat-out refused to perform, Jaina's frustration was palpable, a tiny storm cloud brewing in her bright blue eyes.

But then, to Duke's utter exasperation, Kael'thas decided to play matchmaker, stirring the pot with a mischievous grin.

"Now, Duke, that's just not playing fair!" Kael'thas exclaimed, putting his hands on his hips like a disapproving parent. "I know Princess Calia and Lady Alleria are rare beauties, truly. But are you saying our little Princess Jaina of Dalaran isn't just as stunning as they are?" He had put Duke squarely on the spot, leaving him no graceful exit.

Duke managed a strained, bitter smile. "Isn't there a strict 'no casual spellcasting' rule in the common areas of Dalaran, Prince?" he pleaded, trying to find a loophole.

Kael'thas merely patted his shoulder, a knowing glint in his eye. "I'll vouch for you, Commander. On my honor as a member of the Kirin Tor Council of Six."

Blast it all! Duke thought, his jaw clenching. He'd completely forgotten that Kael'thas wasn't just some pretty face; he was one of the big shots, a card-carrying member of the Kirin Tor's inner circle.

Jaina didn't utter a word, but her starry eyes, wide with anticipation, were fixed on Duke, practically begging him to perform.

This was like being dared to juggle flaming swords while riding a unicycle on a tightrope!

Duke hated being strong-armed, but with a mischievous glint of his own, and a clear ulterior motive, he raised a hand. "Alright, alright," he conceded with a dramatic sigh. "For the unparalleled beauty of Miss Jaina, then."

Under Jaina's breathless anticipation, the curious gazes of Kael'thas and the surrounding onlookers, and the watchful, knowing eyes of Duke's loyal guard Gavinrad and his ever-attentive maid Vanessa, Duke made his move.

The raw, untamed ice circuit within him whirred, still a work in progress, but with the subtle, almost imperceptible nudge of Duke's 'system,' it began to weave the most perfect, dreamlike effect imaginable.

A colossal ice crystal box shimmered into existence around Jaina. To be precise, it was an impossibly beautiful, almost completely transparent ice crystal containment field that enveloped Jaina entirely, encasing her in a temporary, magical prison of frozen artistry.

An ice box? Many of Dalaran's Morningstar mages could whip one of those up in their sleep.

What they couldn't replicate, however, were the impossibly delicate sound tubes, the intricate soundboards, the impossibly tiny gears, springs, and damping mechanisms that hummed and whirred within its crystalline depths. Though Kael'thas immediately recognized the baffling complexity of the components within this massive magical construct, as a genius of magic and a complete dunce when it came to mechanics, he wouldn't have guessed in a million years that this was, in fact, a music box.

As Duke, and a subtly prompted Kael'thas, gently twisted the 'spring' on the magnificent ice crystal construct, a magical energy coursed through it.

Two exquisite ice crystal sculptures, one male and one female, perched atop the box, began to twirl and dance with ethereal grace. Their simple rotation was accompanied by a dazzling, kaleidoscopic display of light, shimmering and shifting with every turn.

Then, from within the heart of the ice, an otherworldly, exotic melody began to play, a tune that effortlessly tugged at Jaina's heartstrings, conjuring hazy memories of simpler, happier times. It was so enchanting, so utterly captivating, that she found herself utterly spellbound, drifting into a dreamy, fantastical reverie.

No one present had ever conceived that Duke could take something as abstract as music and solidify it into a tangible, breathtaking work of magical art.

It was, quite simply, a miracle.

The enchanting sound washed over Jaina, intoxicating her senses, pulling her deeper into its spell.