They had taken the island.

Well, a portion of it. With the aid of adventurers, his people, the Sin’dorei, had secured a foothold for the Horde. From here, they could launch an attack on the Thunder King.

As Lor’themar Theron hefted a crate of supplies into the hands of another ranger, he thought back with wonder on another island where the elves had waged war.

 He paused to watched a group of mages create golden spires out of seemingly nothing, others crafting floating beacons to secure their location in the form of the Silvermoon insignia – a phoenix, so painfully applicable. A single green eye surveyed Sunreavers unpacking supplies and his rangers setting up numerous forms of living areas.

Rommath was aiding yet another group of Blood Magi to bring to life a large dais with golden light streaming around it.

Halduron oversaw the placement of various supplies and directed warriors toward the incursion.

 A rare sense of personal pride filled him. For a brief moment, the title of “Regent Lord” did not weigh on him. It felt good to be doing something besides sitting in Silvermoon, uselessly attempting to puzzle their world back together and ignoring the rest of Azeroth.

He smiled a bit, gaze soft as a breeze mixed the ocean and forest. This felt right. 

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