The winds above Wyrmrest Temple carried the scent of snow and memory. Alexstrasza stood upon the balcony in her elven form. Azeroth healed, yet she felt the hollow absence where her Aspect power once burned. She had given it willingly, but its loss left her feeling smaller… mortal in ways dragons were never meant to be.

Her flight, too, still bled. Too many eggs shattered. Too many voices silenced. The Dragonmaw’s chains remained etched into her soul more deeply than any scar upon her scales. She remembered the cold iron, the helpless fury, the endless cycle of forced creation twisted into a weapon. Even now, when she closed her eyes, she could hear hatchlings crying in cages that no longer stood.

Yet none of those wounds cut as deeply as his absence.

Her mate had been her equal, her certainty, the calm strength that steadied her through ages of war and duty. Dragons rarely bonded so completely; such unions were sacred, eternal in spirit if not always in presence. But he was neither dead nor alive within her senses. Simply… gone. No echo across the Dream, no whisper upon ley lines, no fading spirit drifting beyond the veil. Just silence.

For centuries she had searched. She followed rumors spoken by bronze watchers, consulted green dreamers, even bartered knowledge with blue archivists who catalogued fragments of lost magic. Every path dissolved into mist.

Alexstrasza stepped toward a circular mosaic set into the temple floor, its runes newly etched with red, emerald, and faint traces of temporal gold. Candles of crystallized life-essence flickered around its edge. She knelt, placing her palm against the center sigil, letting her remaining lifebinding power seep into the pattern.

“Show me where is my mate." she whispered.

The runes ignited softly. Threads of light stretched outward like searching roots burrowing through reality itself. Alexstrasza closed her eyes, surrendering to the fragile hope blooming within her chest. If even one heartbeat of his still touched Azeroth, she would find it.