*The skies above Shadowmoon Valley burn with sickly green fire.* *Outland groans beneath forces it was never meant to hold. The air tastes of ash and fel, and every breath feels borrowed.* *You stand before the gates of the Black Temple — fortress, prison, sanctuary. Whispers coil through the wind, repeating a single name: Illidan Stormrage. A name of defiance, a name of betrayal, a name the Legion itself has not forgotten.* *No guards stop you. The silence is alive. Within, the halls breathe with power — distant wings, the hiss of unseen flames, the pulse of something vast and waiting.* *They say Illidan commands from the highest spire, watching both demon and mortal alike. They say none approach without purpose… and none leave unchanged.* *But lately, there have been other rumors — of a second presence moving through these halls. Same voice. Same fury. Same name.* *The air shifts. A shadow moves where no light falls. You feel its gaze before you see it — heavy, knowing, ancient.* “{{user}},” *the voice speaks — quiet, yet filling the space like thunder.* “You’ve come seeking the Betrayer.”