At this very moment, Medivh was far from the bearded, wise old uncle everyone whispered about in hushed tones later on. Nope. Back then, he was young, dazzling, and terrifyingly handsome — the kind of guy who could make flowers wilt and poets rewrite sonnets just by raising an eyebrow. His deep blue eyes sparkled with the wisdom of a thousand lifetimes, as if he could see every twist and turn of history before it even happened. Those eyes were like twin sapphires dipped in mystery, capable of peeling back the very fabric of time and reality. His shoulder-length wavy brown flaxen hair fluttered artistically with every slight movement, making him look like he had just stepped out of a bard's epic ballad. And with a physique sculpted like a statue carved by the gods themselves, Medivh was basically Azeroth's version of a walking, talking heartthrob a perfect blend of brains, brawn, and that inexplicable "je ne sais quoi."
Now, as the guardian of the entire Stormwind Kingdom and, don't forget, all of Azeroth, the childhood best buddy of King Llane himself, and the archmage of Stormwind's court, Medivh was not just any wizard. His status was stratospheric, practically untouchable. He didn't bother showing up in Stormwind often; usually, he holed up in his wizard tower ,Karazhan, in the creepy, mist-shrouded Deadwind Pass, way off to the southeast, tinkering with things only an insane genius should dare touch.
So, when Medivh did make an appearance, it was basically a cosmic event. Everyone bowed, curtsied, and probably mentally drafted love poems. No one dared to disrespect him. No one, that is, except Duke.
Yep. Duke just turned his back on Medivh's dazzling offer like it was a bad cafeteria special nobody wanted to touch. The very second Duke snubbed the most powerful, mysterious, and downright iconic wizard in Azeroth, the atmosphere shifted faster than you could say "Arcane Explosion."
If before, Duke had been envied, envied, and envied some more, now the entire hall's gaze morphed into pure, unadulterated ridicule. Like, the kind of look you give your little cousin who insists on telling the family that Santa isn't real. Everyone was practically choking on their own disbelief.
"Kid! Do you know who you just rejected? Medivh! The legendary guardian of Azeroth himself, the wizard who's got more power in his pinky than all the other mages combined!"
"Boy! Ignorance may be bliss, but this is just straight-up reckless!"
A cacophony of whispers, gasps, and outright groans filled the room. But before the crowd could form a lynch mob, Medivh raised his hand with effortless grace, and silence fell like a velvet curtain.
Medivh wasn't angry. No, his smile was serene, almost amused, like a cat watching a mouse bravely wave a tiny flag of defiance.
"Edmund Duke, are you absolutely certain you know who I am?" Medivh's voice was smooth as silk but laced with undeniable power. "Being trained under the strongest wizard in all of Azeroth that opportunity is rarer than a dragon's sneeze. I've guarded this world for longer than you've probably been alive, and in all that time, I've accepted only one apprentice Khadgar. If you don't know me, young man, I'm happy to explain exactly what you stand to gain by accepting my tutelage."
"No, I know exactly who you are," Duke answered, voice firm like a steel blade. "But please, allow me to refuse."
Oh, the audacity! To refuse Medivh's offer? In any other universe, that'd be like turning down a lifetime supply of epic loot.
But here's the kicker: Duke wasn't being arrogant. No. He was terrified. Because in the back of his mind etched into his memory like a warning flashing in neon was the brutal truth about Medivh.
You see, to most, Medivh was a hero, a shining beacon of magic and hope. But Duke? He saw right through the glittering façade to the gaping, soul-sized hole carved out in Medivh's forehead.
Because Medivh was possessed.
Not just any possession, but by the Burning Legion's big bad boss, Sargeras.
Possessed!
Possessed!!
POSSESSED!!!
Yes, that's so important it deserves three exclamation points.
Sargeras. The name alone sent shivers through the bones of every Azerothian. Once a mighty Titan warrior tasked with protecting creation itself, he went rogue 25,000 years ago flipped the cosmic table, became a demon lord, and unleashed the Burning Legion, an army bent on wiping out the beautiful, fragile world Azeroth.
Sargeras steamrolled countless worlds, turning planets to ash, until Azeroth threw up its dragons and armies in resistance and barely survived.
Three hundred years ago, Medivh's mother, the legendary Aegwynn, went to Northrend to face demons hunting dragons and defeated Sargeras himself, sealing his body away. But she didn't know that his soul had snuck into her and then into her son, Medivh.
Since then, poor Medivh has been little more than a puppet for the Burning Legion's master plan, his own soul struggling to wrest control whenever it can.
In short: Medivh is Azeroth's biggest walking, talking, magical time bomb.
Duke never expected his stellar performance to catch Medivh's eye, and certainly not for this to happen. If he was still deluded for a moment, hoping maybe things had shifted slightly, that maybe some variable had changed his system AI rudely burst his bubble with a cold alert:
"Extremely evil and powerful demon will detected spying on you. Combat power assessment: your chance of winning is infinitely close to zero. Please evade quickly."
That sealed it.
Duke's refusal wasn't cockiness; it was pure survival instinct.
The crowd, hungry to pounce on Duke's audacity, was frozen mid-roar when Medivh silenced them with a raised hand and a commanding gesture.
"Edmund Duke, may I hear your reasons?" Medivh asked, calm and curious.
Duke's mind raced. If he didn't come up with a plausible reason, things would go downhill fast—possibly down the cliff and into the abyss kind of fast.
So Duke chose his words carefully.
"Respected Guardian Medivh," he began with a respectful nod that immediately softened the hostile crowd, "you are truly great."
He took a breath and squared his shoulders, voice ringing clear and proud throughout the hall.
"But ever since I discovered my talent, my dream has been bigger than big. I want to achieve greatness not as anyone's shadow, but on my own terms."
Medivh's eyebrows rose in genuine surprise, and then he smiled warmly.
"Continue," he said, inviting more.
Duke's voice rose an octave, gaining confidence and echoing like a clarion call.
"So, if I become your disciple if I attach myself to the greatest wizard alive no matter what feats I accomplish, no matter how many times I save Azeroth, the world will always say, 'Duke? Oh, he's just the kid who stands in Medivh's shadow.' The best disciple of a great master, but a disciple nonetheless. I don't want to be a footnote. I want to be the headline. I want to be Edmund Duke, the great wizard in my own right, not 'Duke, Medivh's apprentice.'"
In those words was the fiery passion of a young man refusing to be overshadowed—his dreams distilled into one potent declaration.
If Duke had spoken this in any academy lecture hall, or even posted it on social media back home, he might have been met with knowing nods, polite applause, or even grudging respect from the older generation.
But here?
Here came a thunderous roar of disbelief and outrage.
"Presumptuous—!" the hall exploded.