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"My destiny is of my own making." Speech.

"I remember the time..." Flashback speech. Spellcraft.

"When your people huddled in caves I was there." Greater being speech.

"█▄██▄▄█▄▄█▄" Inarticulate roar/scream etc.


1997 A.D

It was somewhat difficult; to ignore the disgustingly wretched form of the Riddle creature that was curled up on the floor a few feet to his left. Its raspy pleas for mercy and salvation somewhat easier.

It had been just as Sirius reassured. 'Quicker and easier than falling asleep'.

A flash of green light and it was all over.

It hadn't been something he wanted to do. Who wants to die at such a young age; having not even grown old enough to be out of school and see the world at large?

He wanted to have a life of his own. Grow into his own man beyond that of the Boy-Who-Lived hype. He wanted to fall in love. He wanted to have a family. Grow old.

He wanted so many things.

But now? Now such things were beyond his reach. His death had been needed. Necessary.

What Harry considered 'Dumbledore's Final Manipulation.' The old man had raised him to be a martyr; to willingly place himself in place at the right time to die just to destroy the shard of Voldemort's very soul that had resided in his infamous scar for nearly seventeen years. Dumbledore had known what the poor boy had been cursed to carry all these years. He had known and kept him in the dark about everything.

And yet, Harry could not find it in himself to hate the man. He acted out his final moments exactly as his old Headmaster had wished: he approached the Dark Lord alone and defenceless. He had allowed the vile creature to aim his wand at him. And he had allowed those two words that had taken both his parents from him to be the last he ever heard in life.

Avada Kedavra.

And then he had awoken here.

A pristine white structure that was almost uncanny to that of Kings Cross Station. Completely void of all other life apart from whatever that wretch that bore resemblance to his killer was.

"You can't help..."

The Boy-Who-Died spun around, hand automatically reaching for his wand. Which was no longer there. You know; dead and all.

So, without his wand Harry resorted to the only form of attack and defence he had left. He glared at the old man before him.


Dumbledore smiled gently, his eyes twinkling in his usual manner; as if he knew something others did not. "Harry, you brave, brave man. Come, let us walk."

The former Headmaster turned and started to walk away, forcing Harry to rush up in order to keep up. Personal distaste aside, Dumbledore most likely had answers he needed.

"Professor, what is that?" Harry began, waving a hand back to indicate to the still pleading, thing.

Dumbledore didn't even bother looking back to what Harry was pointing at. "Something beyond either of our help. A part of Voldemort sent here to die."

Harry couldn't help the briefest of irritation to wash over him. Even now the man was vague and seemingly incapable of a straight answer.

"Where are we?"

The Professor finally looked away from his path and over to the seventeen year old. "I was going to ask you that. Where would you say we are?"

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes in growing annoyance in favor of looking around Harry answered. "Well, it looks like Kings Cross Station. Only, cleaner."

Dumbedore actually looked surprised at this. "Kings Cross you say, is that right?" He almost looked pleased to hear this. "This is as they say; your party. I suspect that you have come to realise that you and Voldemort, have been connected for some time by something other than fate since that night at Godric's Hollow all those years ago."

Harry nodded dejectedly. "So its true then? A part of him lives within me?"

"Did." The old man corrected. "As of a few moments ago it was destroyed by Voldemort himself. You see Harry; you, were the Horcrux he never meant to make."

"I have to go back don't I?"

It was a gut feeling he had really. He was dead. Killed by the killing curse at the hand of Voldemort himself and yet, the way Dumbledore was speaking to him. The implication of this 'afterlife' being a train station of all places. It seemed as if this place was a halfway point of all things. As if, if he so chose, he could simply turn around and go back to the living.

"Oh that is up to you Harry. We're in Kings Cross you say? I think, if you so decide, you'll be able to board a train." Dumbledore reasoned.

"And where will it take me?"


Harry had to admit, even if it was just to himself. That it was a sorely tempting option.

He had given so much to his world. His family had given so much. All to fight against an evil that the world didn't even seem sure they wanted destroyed. More often than not Harry himself was talked of in the same regard as this all evil Dark Lord Voldemort and reviled for every wrong imagined or real that happened around him. And when it hit the fan even moments later, he was expected to stand up and save the masses that were so quick to condemn him.

Could he really simply go back to that life? Did he even really want to?

Dumbledore must have sensed or even seen the indecision on his face as Harry found himself conflicted in regards to his immediate future of go back or go on.

"Harry." Dumbledore stopped and reached out to turn the teenager to him, looking down with an expression of almost sad disappointment. "So many people have lost their lives, their families against Voldemort. Don't you owe it to them to stop him? To go back and see this through?"

This didn't exactly have the effect that the Professor had intended. Clearly the former Headmaster was hoping to bolster his resolve; to goad and guilt him into returning to the world of the living and take out this evil.

Instead, Harry was just more determined to see the end. didn't he owe them? Owe them!? What did Harry owe to people that he had never met? To people that had supported Voldemort and hunted him down to save their own skin? He had quite literally given his life to make sure Voldemort was weak. If that wasn't enough, then screw them all.

Dumbledore's eyes widened in shock when instead of reacting as he had expected, as he had hoped. Instead, Harry simply turned his head and looked off in an unseen direction, a resigned and peaceful expression on his face. Far from the resolved and determined one he was hoping to rise up as the determination to go back to the living came upon Harry Potter.


Harry ignored Dumbledore. Heedless of his stern tone in favor of watching the pure white train pull into the station.

He was tired. Seventeen years old and already he was tired with living. He wanted to rest. He didn't want to fight anymore. Not for something that wasn't even his.

"Harry don't do this." Dumbledore spoke, his voice louder, demanding to be heeded. "Our world needs you to stop Voldemort. It is for the Greater Good because if you cannot, will not do it then Voldemort will win."

Harry shook his head, his feet already carrying him forward, toward the train. "If I don't Voldemort wins? Why? There are plenty of people left to stop him. Why do I have to be the one to save them when they can do it themselves?"

Dumbledore was reaching out to him, trying to physically stop him from further approaching the train but seemed unable to get any closer to him, as if something was preventing him from closing the ground between them. "No-one else can do this Harry. Prophecy has determined it. It is your destiny to stop Voldemort, not any other's."

Harry didn't say anything. There was nothing worth say to a statement such as that. Regardless of his opinion or belief in fate and destiny, a single prophecy had been the original cause for his lot in life. Prophecy had been the reason his parents had died trying to save him and the belief in prophecy had caused a monster of a man to declare him his enemy.

Harry had had his fill of Prophecy. Besides, as far as he was concerned; the prophecy was complete. Neither can life while the other survives. Both Voldemort and Harry had been denied their own lives because of the other. And if one cannot truly live, then how could they really die? Harry was not alive anymore, no longer surviving. So Voldemort could now truly live and subsequently. Also now truly die.

Dumbledore's words weren't even worth the air that carried them.

He didn't even dignify the old man with parting words, some kind of excuse or even solace to ease Dumbeldore's mind or even persuade him of his decision.

No, Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, Boy-Who-Died, Chosen One, he simply walked up to the waiting train. And boarded it.

It was only for the briefest of moments, but just before everything faded away; Harry could have sworn he saw a purple skinned woman sitting just there, opposite him.



-16,000 D.P

It had been hard, to endure the silence of her home for so long.

Ever since her people united under the Light of Lights to found the Empire things had been, different for her.

As a warrior who had answered the call of the future Queen; her husband had fought proudly against the barbarian Trolls and other wicked elements that had once denied the Kaldorei people from knowing peace within their homeland of Kalimdor.

For a hundred years Selaenia had watched with pride as her love returned home with tales of glory and victory under their auspicious and charismatic leader and how they were growing closer with every passing day to the dream of a unified people.

No more tribes. No more infighting and bloodshed over territory and rivalries.

It was meant to be wonderful.

Instead, Selaenia Whisperwind found only grief and pain.

Eldon; her husband and life-mate. Died.

During the final push to banish a particularly large tribe of Trolls that had been holding a key point that had been required in order to claim the Well of Eternity.

'A terrible blow that would be remembered for all time' she had been told.

The widow could only scoff now at the very memory of such assurance. The vaunted Highborne; nobility given title and power from the ranks of the generals that had served under the risen Queen Azshara, had all but forgotten the sacrifices of the past. Now more likely to claim that they had always known such esteem and power.

Selaenia sometimes caught herself wondering what her life would have been like had she accepted the elevation herself. Had she taken the nobility of Highborne offered to her as the widow of the once great General Eldon Whisperwind.

Thankfully, in a dismal manner of speaking, her grief had been too much to tolerate living in a city her love would never see with a standing he would never know. So instead she returned to her home in Suramar and to the Temple.

That had been the way of things for the past two thousand years.

Selaenia had watched as her people flourished under the rule of their beloved Queen. The Kaldorei people grew to heights hitherto unseen. Constructing great cities across the expanse of the new empire with a great glimmering jewel at its heart, right on the shores of the Well of Eternity itself, their capital: Zin-Azshari.

Her people had grown. They had come to know peace and security. They had expanded.

And all the while, Selaenia tended to her duties within the Temple as a devout Priestess of Elune.

It was a reassuring life for her. The peace and warmth of the Goddess's love. The duty and certainty of her place under Her light.

That was all she needed.

Well, at first.

To this day the widow turned priestess could not say what had sparked such longing within her. Perhaps simply seeing the steady arrival over the coming generation. The sight of a dear friend blooming to the cusp of motherhood.

All she knew, was that she wished to be a mother.

She so desperately craved for it. The chance that had been robbed of her the day her beloved Eldon was taken away from her.

To be a mother, to carry a child within her womb and to bring forth a blessing into a world of love and warmth. To see the eyes of her precious child look up at her with wonder and innocence that she herself had once held close to her heart.

She wanted it.

She dreamed for it.

She prayed for it.

She knew it would never be so.

Even now she hoped and prayed for it.

Elunes' Eye; an Oculus at the center of the temple ceiling through which a beam of solid moonlight shone through at all times, even during the day. It was here that Selaenia found herself. Kneeling before the Blessed Light of Elune; hands clasped together as she sent out her thoughts, hopes and dreams to her goddess. She sang the hymns of Elune under her breath as she thought on her wishes and desires that would never come.

Her sisters had long since warned her against continuing tormenting herself by holding to such a vain hope. Not out of spite or cruelty, but out of concern. They could see the anguish it was causing in their sister priestess and wanted to spare her from the pain.

But she couldn't help it. She couldn't help but continue to want and crave.


Selaenia Whisperwind looked up, eyes seeking out the column of moonlight with dwindling hope and growing sadness.

"… Show me your Light. I don't know what to do. How can I hold my dream when I cannot take another, like I did my Eldon?"

The answer was just like every other day.


Elune had no answer for her.

There was no anger or resentment toward her goddess. The Mother Moon did not answer every prayer and as her chosen clerics of her worldly faith, Selaenia knew better than to expect preferential treatment.

But she wished that she was special. That her goddess would answer her prayers.

It was as the priestess was set to finish her prayer; the words of the hymn of closing gathering in her mind and to her lips when it happened.

The moonlight shifted.

The solid beam, that seemed more like marble at times that simple light, shifted suddenly and sharply. Shooting from its constant position in the middle of the temple floor to envelop her entirely.

From within its confines, Selaenia felt the power of her goddess filling her completely. Burning away the grief of her lost Eldon. The loneliness of the passed two thousand years. The pain of her desires.

And filling her with. Images.

She saw...she didn't know what she saw.

They came as flashes so bright and quick they were gone before she could truly examine them, but nonetheless left a lasting impression within her mind.

A strange pink skinned child with round ears wearing strange oversized garb standing before a great bearded vagabond of a man.

The same boy, now dressed in properly fitted black robes seated at a large table amongst others like him.

The boy, now known to her as 'Harry' standing against horrible creatures of darkness and ice as they tried to consume his soul.

Harry fighting against a child of Neltharion.

She saw Harry, so brave and determined, fight against men older and stronger than him in a room of stone and shadow before a great archway. She saw him loose the only parental figure he had known in his life.

She saw a great sorcerer, known and respected to Harry fall from a tower; betrayed by one of his own as Harry watched on helplessly.

An older Harry, not in years but experience kneeling on a beach, eyes thick with tears as he lowered the covered form of a dear friend into a freshly dug grave.

Harry. Alone and scared. Surrounded by monsters. Staring into the red eyes of a demon. So desperately wishing things were different and that he could live. But resigned he could not.

A flash of green light.

She saw flashes of a life she had never witness pass by her like leaves in a great wind. And with that last, sudden and terrible flash of consuming emerald light, Selaenia felt the light of the moon leave her; returning to its proper resting place back at the temple's center.

The Priestess blinked back tears. Shocked at their presence as they spilled from her eyes but understanding all the same after having seen what she saw.

What she saw and felt next left her tears forgotten.

A shift in the shadows as one of the statues of Elune turned from its position; having at some point turned to look to her.

And a kick. From deep within her belly.



This is our first attempt at a story of this kind and planned magnitude. We have put in a great deal of time and effort fleshing everything out and researching to the best of our ability to ensure it all fits in properly.

Of the bat I will start off by pointing out that the timeline for Warcraft may be a bit, off. This was due to our inability to locate and determine a single reliable source of timeline canon for the era prior to the War of the Ancients. So for those who consider the timeline differently, well get over it really.

Week 1: Risen in Light, Fallen to Shadow.

Week 2:Never Alone.

Week 3:Legacy of Darkness, Bane of Light.

Week 4: Zero Chakra Plan.


Throne of Babylon is an extra story that will be developed in between when there is time as it is has had the least amount of development and fine tuning done to it compared to the others.

So fingers crossed we should be be bringing out chapters in a higher frequency than before.

Now for the important crap.

*ahem* REVIEW!

you want more chapters? Post a review and give us numbers! The higher our numbers go for a story in terms of reviews the more motivated we get to live up to your expectations and pump out content sooner.