Book Two — Chapter Fifteen
The Dark Portal, years before the events of Book One
The Dark Portal did not look like a doorway.
Doorways belonged in walls.
Doorways opened into rooms.
Doorways had hinges.
This was something else.
The stone frame towered above the Blasted Lands, carved with shapes Vegetaone did not understand. Green energy filled the space between the pillars, moving like fire and water at the same time.
Soldiers stood below it.
Tiny.
That was what made Vegetaone understand the scale.
Not the Portal itself.
The people beneath it.
Armored warriors looked like children standing beside the threshold. Vegetaone stopped on the ridge. Months ago, he had stood at the entrance to the Valley of Trials and looked toward a road he did not know.
Then Durotar.
The sea.
Orgrimmar.
The Barrens.
Thousand Needles.
Tanaris.
Ratchet.
An ocean.
Stranglethorn.
The Blasted Lands.
Every time the world grew larger, Vegetaone had believed he had finally understood its size.
He had been wrong every time.
Now another world waited through the green light.
He laughed.
Quietly.
“Of course.”
The forward camp stood beneath the Portal.
Horde soldiers moved supplies toward the staging ground.
Messengers came and went.
Blacksmiths worked without stopping.
Healers checked packs.
Weapons.
Armor.
Everything felt temporary.
Prepared for movement.
Vegetaone showed Varkesh’s pass marker. An orc at the gate looked at it.
Then at him.
“You joining the push?”
“I’m going through.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Vegetaone considered.
“I don’t know.”
The guard nodded.
“Fair.”
Vegetaone found a place beside a supply tent and sat.
For once, he was early.
No enemy waiting.
No caravan to save.
No trail to follow.
No one asking him to decide immediately.
He opened his bag.
Food.
Water.
Bandages.
Thread.
Needles.
Enchanting dust.
Rod.
Sharpening stone.
The folded remains of his first bag.
Vegetaone pulled it out.
He had carried it farther than he ever expected.
The fabric was faded.
Patches covered patches.
Some stitches were terrible.
He could tell exactly which ones he had made when he was new.
Which ones came later.
Which repair Borak had helped with.
The arrow hole from the Crossroads.
The old strap from Durotar.
A dark stain from a fight he could no longer remember clearly.
Vegetaone turned it over.
The bottom seam had finally begun to fail.
He smiled.
“You made it.”
A nearby soldier looked over.
Vegetaone realized he had spoken aloud.
The soldier looked at the bag.
Then at Vegetaone.
“Talking to your luggage?”
“Yes.”
The soldier nodded.
“Long road?”
“Very.”
“That explains it.”
Vegetaone threaded a needle.
He could repair the bag again.
He knew exactly how.
Fold the edge.
Reinforce the corner.
Double the stitch.
Distribute the strain.
He placed the needle against the cloth.
Stopped.
The bag did not need to keep carrying things.
It had already done its job.
Vegetaone slowly removed the thread.
Folded the bag.
Put it away.
Not everything needed another repair.
Some things could simply be kept.
He sat with that thought.
It felt important.
He did not know why.
A group of young Horde recruits arrived near sunset.
They were loud.
Excited.
Trying not to look afraid.
One orc carried a new axe.
Perfect haft.
Clean blade.
No scratches.
He stood near Vegetaone.
“You been through?”
“No.”
The recruit looked surprised.
“You look like you have.”
Vegetaone glanced down at himself.
His armor carried dents.
His boots had been repaired twice.
His axe haft was darker where his hands had worn the wood smooth.
The enchantment along the blade flickered faintly when the light caught it.
He smiled.
“Not yet.”
The recruit stared at the Portal.
“What do you think is over there?”
Vegetaone looked too.
Once, that question would have pulled him forward immediately.
Now he thought before answering.
“Trouble.”
The recruit laughed nervously.
“Anything good?”
“Probably.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t.”
The recruit looked confused.
Vegetaone stood.
“That’s the good part.”
He walked through the camp as evening settled over the Blasted Lands.
A blacksmith repaired a shield.
Vegetaone stopped.
Watched.
The smith noticed.
“You need something?”
“No.”
“You’re staring.”
“Bad habit.”
The smith hammered the rim flat.
Vegetaone watched the metal change beneath each strike.
Not returned to what it had been.
Made useful again.
Different.
Stronger in some places.
Scarred in others.
Vegetaone understood that too.
He kept walking.
At the edge of the staging ground, he found a small Horde banner tied to a post.
Wind pulled at the cloth.
One seam had opened.
Vegetaone stared.
Then laughed.
He removed his sewing kit.
The guard beside the post watched.
“What are you doing?”
“Fixing it.”
“It’s a banner.”
“Yes.”
“We have others.”
“This one is already here.”
The guard shrugged.
Vegetaone repaired the seam.
Not because the Horde would fall without it.
Not because anyone had ordered him.
Because he could.
Because something had broken.
Because this time, fixing it was worth doing.
He tied off the thread.
The banner lifted in the wind.
Held.
Vegetaone packed the needle away.
Night came.
The Portal glowed brighter against the dark. Green light spilled across the ground.
Warriors walked toward it.
Some disappeared through.
Others returned.
Those returning looked different.
Not physically.
Mostly.
But Vegetaone could see it.
The look of people who had seen somewhere impossible and discovered it was real. He wondered what they had found.
A red world.
Broken skies.
Armies.
Demons.
Cities.
Roads.
Someone passed carrying a weapon covered in strange metal.
Vegetaone’s eyes followed it.
The enchanter in him woke immediately.
“What is that?”
The warrior kept walking.
Vegetaone stood.
Then stopped.
Tomorrow.
There would be time tomorrow.
That surprised him most.
He had finally learned that not every question had to be answered the moment it appeared.
Before dawn, Vegetaone climbed the ridge behind the camp. From there he could see the road west.
It disappeared into the Blasted Lands.
Beyond that, somewhere too far to see, Stranglethorn.
Booty Bay.
The ocean.
Ratchet.
The Barrens.
The Valley of Trials.
Home, if that word still meant one place. He thought about everyone who had helped push him down the road.
Gornek.
Zuro.
Gadrin.
Jorn.
Harvek.
Borak.
People he had known for days.
Some for weeks.
Some he might never see again.
Each had left something.
Advice.
A joke.
A scar.
A technique.
A reason to slow down.
A reason to keep moving.
Vegetaone once believed becoming stronger meant better armor and heavier weapons.
He still wanted both.
Very much.
But strength had become something else too.
Knowing when to fight.
When to wait.
When to follow.
When to stop following.
What could be repaired.
What should be remembered.
Who mattered more than the road.
He looked at the Dark Portal.
Then laughed.
After all of that, the road had finally run out.
So the world had built him a door.
At sunrise, Vegetaone returned to camp.
He ate.
Checked his armor.
Sharpened the axe.
Adjusted the new bag.
Then he walked toward the Portal.
Closer.
Green light moved across his armor.
Heat touched his face.
Or cold.
He could not tell.
The air itself felt different near the threshold. A Horde officer stood beside the entrance.
“Destination?”
Vegetaone looked through the impossible green light. He could see nothing clearly beyond it.
Shapes.
Red sky.
Movement.
Another world.
“Outland.”
The officer nodded.
“First crossing?”
“Yes.”
“Any final questions?”
Vegetaone almost laughed.
He had hundreds.
Instead he looked back once.
The Blasted Lands stretched behind him.
The road that had carried him here disappeared into the distance.
He thought of the young orc kneeling in the Valley of Trials, picking his breakfast out of the dirt because his bag had broken. If someone had told that orc where the road ended, he would not have believed them. Vegetaone adjusted the strap over his shoulder.
The stitching held.
He faced the Portal again.
For years afterward, he would remember this moment more clearly than the crossing itself.
The last breath in Azeroth.
The sound of the wind against the banners.
The weight of his axe.
The green light reflected across his hands.
The certainty that everything behind him had been preparation for something he could not yet understand.
Vegetaone stepped to the edge.
And stopped.
Not from fear.
Not hesitation.
Respect.
One world behind him.
Another ahead.
He smiled.
“Let’s see what’s on the other side.”
And with the Dark Portal filling his vision, Vegetaone took one final step toward the end of the road.
End of Chapter Fifteen
End of Book Two