Wrathion shudders as the familiar warmth runs through him, fingers flexing tighter momentarily into his sleeves then loosening as he continues rolling them up.

"Last time," he murmurs, "when I was thrown back by the beacon it was not for very long. Longer there than here, as is the whim of time travel, but a short span all the same. It seems the difference is greater this go around, and my headache is increasing to match."

His shoulders begin to lower slowly, tension easing as Anduin's magic washes over him. Even this was something he missed, the gentle caress of the light. It had warded back many a nightmare for him before.