The observer on the mountain was a gnome girl—at least, that's what she appeared to be. Dressed in a white priest's robe and sporting neatly tied bun-shaped pigtails, she looked like an innocent child of no more than five years old. Her soft white hair and petite frame made her seem almost too cute to be real.
But her appearance was deeply misleading.
This "gnome loli" was, in fact, a dragon in disguise—a member of the Bronze Dragonflight named Chronormu, a Timewalker of ancient renown.
The Bronze Dragonflight, blessed by the Titan Aman'Thul himself, were the stewards of time. It was their solemn duty to safeguard the timeline, to ensure that the flow of events across history remained unbroken by meddling time travelers or catastrophic anomalies. Think of them as Azeroth's time enforcement agency—tracking, correcting, and, when necessary, eliminating threats to temporal stability.
Most Bronze Dragons existed outside the linear flow of time, watching silently, rarely interfering. But Chronormu was different. She had always preferred direct involvement, often manifesting in the mortal world to engage with heroes and shape key events. Galen had crossed paths with her many times in the past in game—in the Battle of Darrowshire, the Culling of Stratholme, and even during the healing of the World Tree.
To most time travelers, however, Chronormu was a nightmare. She had earned herself the infamous nickname: Chronormu the Universally Hated.
Despite her frustration, Chronormu remained composed, silently observing the battlefield far below. Her mission was clear: observe the timeline, maintain its stability, and correct any deviations.
In recent times, the Bronze Dragon Aspect had become reclusive, immersed in the deeper timeways, leaving the management of the flight to the Dragon Consort. The consort's hands-off approach—intervening only when catastrophe loomed—had led to years of inactivity, even as time anomalies stirred beneath the surface.
That hands-off attitude drove Chronormu mad.
Unlike her brethren, she treated her job seriously. As one of the oldest proto-dragons, directly empowered by the Titans, she had the rank and the respect to do as she pleased, even if it ruffled scales. While others lazed about, she tirelessly patrolled Azeroth's timeline, determined to prevent disaster before it could take root.
Her diligence had earned her no friends—just awkward respect. Most dragons simply called her "Auntie Chronormu" and gave her a wide berth.
But she was the only one who noticed the anomaly that was Galen.
For years, his presence had gone undetected. His early days in the Arathi Highlands had been quiet and carefully concealed within the shielding wards of the Heart of Origin. Its energies masked him from even the most sensitive magical senses.
But now that Galen had traveled south, into Stormwind territory where he lacked the protection of a fortified base, the subtle ripple in time caught Chronormu's attention. She'd rushed to investigate—flying, running, teleporting—until she stood atop this mountain, eyes fixed on her target.
Her mission was clear: watch Galen. Understand how this mortal had disturbed the timeline. And if necessary—intervene.
Down below, Galen suddenly shivered.
Someone's watching me.
He scanned the field, eyes narrowing on the orc warlocks. Are they prepping a big spell?
"Kill them before they cast!" he shouted. "Charge!"
Just then, a familiar voice chimed in his head:
Beep beep beep! Foreign energy detected in host body. Recommend: Use Mage Skill – Dispel!
The Heart of Origin's auxiliary sprite had gone live again.
Galen's skin burned—he'd been hit with Immolate. A glance behind showed Uther and the others grimacing as well.
Fine then—group Dispel, now!
Who needed a whole mage corps when you could bankroll one yourself?
The warlocks' expressions twisted in confusion. Their attacks weren't slowing the knights at all. Still, they pressed on.
"Agony! Weakness! Death Coil! Corruption!"
"Dispel!"
"Dispel!"
"I dispel, dispel, dispel!"
"Banish Evil!"
Galen even started making up spell names for flair, relishing the admiring glances from the younger paladins—especially Turalyon. That hero-worship? Delicious.
His warhorse pounded forward, now just ten meters from the warlocks. He could see their thick lips mouthing incantations.
Almost there.
Beep beep beep! Effect detected: Fear. Dispel recommended.
Forget dispel—we're too close!
"Divine Shield! Holy Charge—go!"
Golden light engulfed Galen, shielding him from all harm. The warhorse surged forward, powered by holy energy. Behind him, dozens of paladins activated their own shields and followed his lead, ignoring all damage and crowd control effects.
They crashed into the warlocks like a blazing tide of vengeance.
Hellfire? Ignored.
Rain of Fire? Worthless.
Howl of Terror? Silenced.
One after another, the warlocks were trampled beneath iron hooves. Over fifty died in moments.
With their commander lured away by Medivh, the orcs had no one to rally them. The few smart enough to flee survived. The rest perished under Galen's charge.
Far above, Chronormu narrowed her eyes.
"Hmph. I underestimated him," she muttered. "The little brat actually has some skill."
She folded her arms, gaze fixed on Galen's golden trail. Whatever secrets he was hiding, Chronormu intended to uncover them all.