At midday, the forest of the northern foothills still held a chill of cold exclusion.
Three purple-feathered hawkstriders stepped onto the slick, mossy ground.
With every step, their heavy talons pulled out of the mire with a sluggish, squelching thud.
The leading elf’s golden hair was immaculately groomed, and the crest of his house pinned to his collar gleamed silver in the sunlight.
Yet the comical squelching of the hawkstriders’ claws as they dragged through the mud undermined his deliberate air of dignity.
Hawksbill stood at the camp’s main gate, arms crossed over his chest.
He swept his gaze across the three uninvited guests without a word and stepped aside to let them pass.
Silvermoon Councilor Kesael swung down from his hawkstrider, the toe of his boot sinking into the muddy water.
Frowning, he pulled his foot free and brushed off the hem of his outer robe.
His gaze swept the camp before settling on Hawksbill’s face.
“The council wishes to see this human trainee.
Before he is repatriated.” “He’s practicing in the circle.” Hawksbill pointed vaguely in one direction and turned away.
Inside the circular training ground, the twang of a bowstring and the snap of rebounding branches intertwined in an irregular rhythm.
Li Fan had tied a circular iron plate to the bent bough of a low tree with thin hemp twine.
Pulling the branch back and letting go sent the iron plate bouncing on a completely randomized trajectory.
His target was that swinging hemp twine.
The string cracked through the air.
The twine was sheared two-thirds through, yet still held.
Li Fan gave a slight shake of his head, walked over to re-tie it, and nocked his next arrow.
Kesael stepped into the circle while his two guards waited at the perimeter.
He stopped six paces from Li Fan, cleared his throat, and adopted a subtly condescending tone.
Speaking in Thalassian, he slowed his pace as if addressing a child: “I am Kesael, Seventh Seat of the Silvermoon Council.
I wish to speak with you regarding the complications…
arising from your presence here.” Li Fan slowly eased his bowstring and lowered the heavy arrow.
He turned around, regarding the councilor with a calm expression.
“I haven’t noticed any complications yet, Councilor.” He replied in fluent Thalassian, his pronunciation precise, his cadence steady.
Kesael froze for two seconds.
Li Fan’s gaze drifted past his shoulder, resting on the waist of the guard behind him.
“The clasp on your guard’s spell component pouch has come undone.
If what’s inside falls into the moss, it might not be easy to find.” Kesael looked back.
Startled, the guard reached down to feel his hip, finding the buckle indeed loose.
He hurriedly fastened it, looking visibly flustered.
Kesael turned his gaze back to Li Fan, the disdain in his eyes receding slightly.
He lightly pressed down his robe’s collar.
“Where does this eye for detail come from?” “Hunting for many years in a place with no magical supplies.” Li Fan nocked the arrow back onto the string, his thumb gently caressing the fletching.
His tone was gentle yet firm.
“In a place like that, if you want to survive, you have to spot trouble before your prey does.” Kesael watched him.
“General Aralil said the same about you.
He claimed your judgment is so swift it’s as if you don’t live in the present moment.” “The General flatters me.” Li Fan inclined his head serenely.
“However, the council believes,” Kesael’s tone sharpened, “that a human, regardless of capability, poses a threat to diplomatic balance by remaining within Quel’Thalas’s ranger corps—” “Councilor,” Li Fan interrupted softly, not aggressively, but simply stating the facts, “before issuing that repatriation order, did you happen to read the activity reports on the southern Amani tribes over the past three months?” “What does that have to do with—” “A forty-two percent increase.
Concentrated primarily along the southeastern perimeter of the runestone barrier.” Li Fan placed the heavy arrow back into his quiver, his expression growing solemn.
“That is the standard pattern of probing before a large-scale infiltration.
I’ve seen that pattern on the battlefields of Lordaeron.
Based on this timeline, there will be a formal assault on the barrier in about five to seven months.” He looked straight at Kesael, his gaze candid.
“When that time comes, what the forest will need are combatants who know the terrain, not pure bloodlines.” Silence descended upon the training ring.
A crack appeared in Kesael’s political mask.
He tried his best to hide the shock in his eyes, but could not completely suppress it.
The sound of marching boots broke the stalemate.
Alleria strode into the circle, halting beside Kesael with a slight nod.
“Councilor, if you are finished speaking, I will escort you to see my father.
He is at Windrunner Spire today and wishes to go over some strategic maps with you.” Kesael’s throat twitched slightly.
He glanced at Alleria, then gave Li Fan a long, piercing look before smoothing the collar of his robe.
“That analysis of the Amani’s activity frequency—on what basis did you reach that conclusion?” “Field tracking, cross-referenced with terrain memory,” Li Fan replied evenly.
“I prepared a brief report.
If you are interested, Councilor, you may request to review it from the General.” Kesael turned to Alleria.
“Is this brief filed in the official registry?” “Document Number Fourteen.
It was archived this morning,” Alleria said without batting an eye.
Kesael gave a nod and followed her toward the exit.
At the entrance, he looked back at Li Fan with complex eyes before departing in haste.
The claws of the hawkstriders squelched through the muddy moss once more, fading into the distance.
Once the outsiders were gone, Hawksbill strode out from the shadows into the circle.
He stopped before Li Fan, standing silent as a mountain for ten seconds.
“That forty-two percent—how did you calculate it?” Li Fan did not answer.
Hawksbill fixed his gaze on him.
“I’ve read every patrol log from the past three months.
Those fragmented numbers were scattered across seven separate reports filed by seven different rangers.
How could someone like you, who doesn’t even have clearance to enter the archives, manage to…” The instructor cut himself off.
He looked Li Fan up and down again, as though reassessing his worth.
Swallowing his questions, he turned toward the mess hall, his raspy voice drifting back: “There’s an extra spare rib in the cafeteria today.
Go get it yourself.” Watching his broad back, Li Fan smiled helplessly.
“Instructor, are you using ribs as currency now?” Hawksbill did not reply, but when the door shut, it closed with half its usual force for the first time.
As twilight gathered, Alleria returned to the camp.
She found Li Fan, a faint weariness in her brow, and tapped the document in her palm.
“Father spoke with Kesael for two hours today.” Li Fan paused in wiping down his bowstring.
“The outcome?” “Kesael petitioned to initiate an observation and assessment protocol.
In thirty days, the council will decide whether to grant you permission to stay based on your performance.
During this period, your operational and mission clearances remain unchanged.
But there will be formal observation records.” She looked at him, a subtle, barely perceptible trace of concern in her tone.
“What do you plan to do over the next thirty days?” Li Fan fell silent for a moment.
In truth, he had thought about this question long ago.
Why was he so determined to stay?
If it were merely about surviving, he could certainly leave.
Whether in Lordaeron or another human kingdom, with his skills, finding a place to settle would not be difficult.
Yet what would be the point?
He was just a human hunter without status, lineage, or backing.
In an era that valued bloodlines, noble houses, and origins, who would truly believe a commoner hunter who had appeared out of nowhere?
Even if he claimed to know the future, who would believe him?
The threat of the orcs, the looming shadow of war, and the disasters concealed within the folds of history—he knew they were coming.
Yet knowing the future did not grant the power to change it.
At least, not yet.
If he returned to the human kingdoms, he would be nothing more than an ordinary hunter.
He might know of the impending catastrophes, but he would lack the standing to reach those who could truly alter the course of events, let alone convince them of his words.
Thus, he had to secure a foothold somewhere.
And Quel’Thalas was currently his only viable opportunity.
Here lay formidable rangers, ancient magic, and countless legends hidden in history.
More importantly, here were Alleria, Sylvanas, and Vereesa.
He still remembered fragments of that future.
In the lore he once knew, Sylvanas had eventually accepted a human hunter.
Nathanos.
A human who similarly lacked high elven blood and a Silvermoon City pedigree, yet had ultimately earned Sylvanas’s recognition.
If the future Sylvanas could give a stranger a chance, why couldn’t he earn his now?
Naturally, he could never tell this to anyone.
No one would believe a human who suddenly materialized claiming to see the future.
All he could do was stay.
Relying on his own abilities, he would prove himself piece by piece.
If he left even this place, then the sole advantage he possessed in this world would be rendered utterly meaningless.
Li Fan looked toward the distant forest and said softly: “I stay here simply because I want to do something useful.” “Not to prove anything to the council.” “Only because…
this might be the only chance I can grasp.” Alleria gazed at him quietly for a moment.
Without a word, she turned and left.
Her footsteps down the corridor sounded far firmer than when she had arrived.
Night fell.
Firas stood alone in the shadows at the edge of the circle, having watched the entire day’s events unfold.
Li Fan gathered his gear and walked past him, keeping his voice low.
“You can remove that bandage on your middle finger tomorrow.
Switch to conscious control.
Train for three more days, and the muscle memory will lock in.” Firas gave no reply, merely watching that straight back fade into the distance.
Late at night, in the empty dormitory.
Firas sat by the edge of his bed, looking down at the bandage wrapped around his right middle finger.
The tactile sensation at his fingertip told him it was bound impeccably.
He took a deep breath and unwrapped it completely.
Flexing his fingers, he snapped up his longbow and smoothly drew it into a full moon within the confines of the room.
The leverage across his knuckles was flawless, without the slightest deviation.