Have I lost myself so much? Velen wondered. I must be taught by a mortal child?
And then the answer came from the depths of his soul: The Light's lessons are a boon no matter their origin.
"I will come," Velen said.
The adversaries were locked in a desperate struggle that blotted out all other concerns. The refugees knew they had made a terrible error, and it was too late to undo it. They fought from a need to survive, to rectify their mistake. For the draenei, their understanding of what they were doing, the horror of slaying not just allies but also those weaker than themselves, lent the defenders a tragic, self-hating fury. It would take no small thing to halt the carnage.
Velen was no small thing.
The world erupted in Light, blinding the mob and defenders alike, a runic, geometric sunburst that illuminated rather than obscured the figure suspended in its midst. The Prophet's crystal blazed beside him, and his voice roared, forcing some of the combatants to their knees.
The draenei stopped, most of them relieved, several of them dropping their weapons to the earth in horror. The refugees froze at the sight of the mythic Prophet in the flesh before them.
Velen descended until he hovered among them mere inches from the blood-soaked soil of Azuremyst.
"This is how we treat our brethren?" Velen asked his people in sorrow. Many of the draenei wept in shame when they heard his disappointment. Maraad was unmoved. "And you, who enjoy our aid, our hospitality, strike your friends without provocation?" How could any of the combatants stand before the accusation in those forever eyes?
The Prophet lowered himself to the muddied, trampled, bloodied ground, his hooves touching down.
There was a collective gasp from the other draenei as the muck stained the end of the Prophet's robes. Velen walked to one of the fallen, knelt in the filth, and reached out to hold the broken body. Light issued from one of his hands as he plunged it into the caved chest, sorrowing for a moment over the familiar mark of a crystalline hammer, and channeled the Light to clear the wound. The human opened his eyes, healed of the potentially mortal injury.
Anduin was right. What hope was there for the universe if Velen failed to guard every life as best he could? Would the draenei not win their war at the cost of everything that mattered?
Velen stood, his dirtied robes speaking volumes. He addressed his brethren, his children.
"We will go forth among the mortals of Azeroth, our pledged allies, and serve and aid their quest to heal the world from the Cataclysm."
It was Maraad who spoke up. Only he would dare.
"The Exodar at long last is repaired, Prophet. We should take the war to the Legion. Or perhaps return to Outland and heal our home in exile."
"Each to your own conscience," the Prophet replied. "But I tell you this: our war is everywhere. In every deed and breath. We must prepare the people of this world to stand together. We must be their example to rally against evil. In service we will awaken them all to form the ultimate alliance against the dark. Go among the people, save them from the Cataclysm's hurts, and make them strong for the future."