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The proudest moment of Anduin's life had followed when, in the aftermath of that argument, the Prophet had spoken to him in his soft preternatural tones, inviting him to study at the Anduin wrenched his attention back to the present, away from distracting self-pity and toward the need of the lasher.He made a vow to himself in the next heartbeat that he'd never lose his awe of this experience.He merely read them, watched their woven tapestries, looking for the roads that led to ultimate triumph, where life and the Light battled back the dark and saved everything from annihilation.What mattered the minor events prized by most mortals—even his own draenei—measured against the awesome responsibility of ensuring the survival of creation?For the past several months, those lines had increasingly felt fragmented.
Anduin didn't understand what was wrong with the thing. The act of healing always made Anduin feel like the key in a lock, the tool applied to its proper use, and he'd proven his talents to himself in his time with the draenei.The ata'mal crystal shards had transformed him into a sentinel of alternate universes without end, sometimes down to their very eclipses in darkness, or ice, or fire.Velen didn't sorrow for these futures or mourn their extinctions or shout in exaltation at their triumphs.The gryphon's burden was both heavier and quieter than what the beast was accustomed to.Usually, the earthbound were either awed by the new perspective of flight or frightened by the soaring and maneuvers that were commonplace among those who flew. Someone who had seen scores of worlds and warred against the Burning Legion in an endless conflict would find nothing noteworthy in flight across Azeroth.