“Oh, that’s just great!” Beli Flinthammer snarled, her voice echoing off the pale stone of the Netherlight Temple. “When you want something, it’s all ‘Come pay attention to Tinkles! The bloody windchime wants you to hear all about Illidan’s first pimple!’ But when someone has a question, you just clam up, don’t you?”

She was getting stares, she knew — she could hear comments from the priestesses behind her in Darnassian and Draenei — but she didn’t care, not even enough to turn around and tell them what they could do with their snickers.

“Do you know what I was doing with my life before those discs were discovered in Uldaman and dwarves learned where we came from? I was studying to be a mage! Everyone said that was no fit thing for a Bronzebeard dwarf to be then — I had to fight every single day! But the day we heard about the Titans, we realized that we had a purpose in this world. I walked right out of the Hall of Mysteries and became a priest in the Hall of Explorers instead.

“But now, but now …”

Beli raised her staff as if to strike the silent heart of the naaru Xe’ra. She thought better of it, then raised the staff again before lowering it once more. Behind her, Beli heard other priestesses let go their held breaths.

“But if they’ve been dead, all along, before we even heard of them, what have we been doing, all this time? Who has been answering my prayers? The Light? Elune?” Beli spat on the floor. “If I am not a priestess of the Titans, what am I? ANSWER ME!”

Later, she found Ringo fishing along a stream in Stormheim. Beli was so tired, she didn’t even say anything about the disgusting hat he swore was identical to the one Nat Pagle wore.

“Nothin’?”

Beli wiped her mouth and capped Ringo’s skin of stout.

“Silent as any other glowing rock.” She gave a heavy sigh. “I just … it’s just …”

Ringo said nothing, casting his line out again.

“Ah’m sorry.”

“I will throw myself into this river and drown myself if Elune’s been granting me my spells all these years.”

Ringo reeled in his line and tried again.

“Want ta hear what Ah think?”

“I guess. I’ve tried everything else.”

“Ye never met me parents,” Ringo said quietly, watching where his line disappeared into the cold black water. “Brunhild and Magnus died at the Battle of Mount Hyjal before we even met. So, they never met ye or Bael or Frostmaw. But Ah think about them all th’ time, when Ah’m facin’ danger and there’s a chance Ah will nae come home tae ye again. Ah wish they had lived, more than anythin’. But Ah reckon it doesn’t really matter. Because they raised me and told me what sort of dwarf they wanted and expected me tae be. When Ah donnae measure up, Ah donnae need me mother there, tellin’ me so, Ah already know. And we stayed loyal to the king, even when everyone said he was just a big block o’ diamond.

“So yeah, maybe the Titans are dead, if’n the bloody windchime is tellin’ th’ truth. But we do have a purpose, and we know it: We’re tae safeguard this world and keep it from harm. Dead or alive, we can serve them the way we know they wanted us tae and stomp th’ Burning Legion into a green stain.”

Beli stared at the water.

“And my magic? Don’t say Elune, I swear to — well, something or other.”

“When he woke up, the king said that Azeroth herself is a Titan, mebbe the last Titan. If that’s so, and ye’ve been able to use priestly magic all these years while doing the Titans’ work, Ah reckon she’s been the one ye’ve been getting it from.”

“That … actually makes sense.”

Ringo reeled back in the line and cast it again.

“Ah do that, ev’ry once in a while, just tae keep ye on yer toes.”