After Uther and the Argent Crusade disappeared, the banquet at Mount Hyjal continued, with Thrall at the table letting out a foolish laugh.
Agna, standing to the side, was already numb. Her dead fish-like eyes stared unblinkingly at the sky, no longer uttering any cries, like a withered piece of wood.
Varian, however, felt increasingly excited. The torment he inflicted on Thrall and Agna gave him immense satisfaction, and he showed no sign of stopping.
Jaina, somewhat bored, whispered to Kalecgos, the two of them laughing merrily and without restraint.
Varian's expression remained calm, but his heart was pounding, sensing that this situation seemed beyond repair.
Even Uther the Lightbringer has been resurrected; who knows what other terrifying figures might appear next?
A long sigh reached Varian's ears, and his heart sank.
Deep in his memory, during the most difficult days, even his father, King Llane, could not be relied upon. Only a strong arm could he lean on, helping him grow when his country was destroyed and his family perished. Varian's eyes instantly filled with tears.
But soon, Varian felt uneasy, as if he were watching a moving play rather than experiencing a personal memory. This unease made Varian doubt that the world was real.
"Could my memory be deceiving me?"
Varian turned around in confusion and saw an old man with a face full of scars.
Anduin Lothar, just as he was when he was alive, had a resolute face etched with unyielding spirit.
Varian hesitated. Although the deepest, most tender parts of his memory were touched, he couldn't truly be moved. He didn't know where the problem lay. Was it because he had King for so long that his heart had hardened?
Sir Lothar stood about thirty meters away from Varian, seemingly hesitant. The former Regent of Stormwind and Supreme Commander of the Alliance of Lordaeron was now caught in a dilemma, unable to make up his mind. He walked towards Varian, then took a few steps back.
"Sir!" Varian's lips trembled slightly, as if he wanted to say something.
Ser Lothar heard Varian's voice, sighed again, hesitated for a few steps forward, shook his head, and then walked to the side, as if to get away from this place.
Ser Lothar stopped in his tracks, as if he had come to a realization. He approached Varian, stared intently at Varian, closed his eyes, and shook his head. "You are not him."
"What did you say?" Varian, puzzled.
Sir Lothar gave a bitter laugh, walked halfway around the table, looked at the three Dragon Kings beside him, and said coldly, "Red Dragon Queen Alexstrasza, your help to the Orcs back then cost the seven human kingdoms a bloody price. I will never forget that."
The Red Dragon Queen scoffed dismissively, "You're dead, old man, while I live forever."
Sir Lothar then turned to look at Nozdormu, the Bronze Dragon Aspect:
"Gul'dan, Blackhand, Orgrim, and Grommash Hellscream were all my defeated foes. But you have provided the Orcs with a steady stream of reinforcements, helping them regroup time and time again. I will remember this debt."
Nozdormu smiled slightly, "Young humans, survival has always been cruel. When will humanity learn the laws of nature?"
Sir Lothar laughed heartily, "You do not belong to this era. I have seen your remnant soul below, suffering endless pain and torment."
"Damn it, what did you say?" Nozdormu was so shocked that his face turned pale and his whole body trembled uncontrollably.
Sir Lothar slowed his speech, emphasizing each word:
"You are merely a meal for that great being, just like Thrall on that table. Your power of time has caused you to be devoured countless times, howling between sharp teeth, endlessly."
Nozdormu's hair and beard fluttered as he roared, "Do you want to die?"
Sir Lothar, unfazed, scoffed, "Don't you understand? The reason I bestowed upon you the power of time is simply because Bronze Dragonflight are the most delicious, and also the most incompetent, among the Dragonkin."
Nozdormu was finally enraged, and a powerful force surged forth from his body. However, he had not yet lost his mind. Sir Lothar's mysterious resurrection made him hesitant to act rashly.
Sir Lothar gave Nozdormu a disdainful look, then glanced at Ysera beside him and coldly warned:
"Having failed to eradicate the Nightmare and unable to control the Emerald Dream, your time is running out. If you behave well enough, the Moon Goddess would be happy to keep you as a pet."
Ysera, lacking Nozdormu's courage, was terrified and speechless.
Ser Lothar walked past Varian's army as if inspecting them, even personally adjusting the collars of two soldiers, and said with great disappointment:
"The Kingdom of Stormwind has always maintained strict military discipline. Successive Kings have established rigorous rules, forging an iron army. The kingdom's peace is defended with blood. Look at you, you look like a bunch of down-on-your-luck adventurers. You truly disappoint me."
The heartbroken Lothar circled back to Varian, pointing to Thrall at the table. "Release him; it will be better for everyone."
Varian's unease grew stronger, and he became less respectful of Ser Lothar, arrogantly demanding, "Answer me, who sent you?"
Ser Lothar remained unfazed. "You should understand that it's best never to mention that name, Varian. The time is not yet ripe; it's not time for the final battle."
"What are you talking about?" Varian asked, puzzled.
Inside the floating palace, Robbie suddenly understood something and said to Xavius, "That's enough. Order Varian to release Thrall."
Xavius was baffled, only to hear Robbie explain, "Didn't you notice Lothar Lothar's footsteps? He walked back and forth for a long time. What does that add up to?"
After a long silence, Xavius and Deathwing, hidden in the darkness, spoke simultaneously, "It looks a lot like curved Lightning."
Robbie said worriedly, "Ten thousand years ago, I saw the same shape of Lightning on Aman'Thul's staff, Orodur."
King of the Titans, the Supreme Father Aman'Thul.
The name weighed heavily on the hearts of the three. He was the Nightmare of all Azeroth, the culprit behind the Sundering and mass extinction ten thousand years ago.
"Let Thrall go!" Deathwing's voice was listless.
Xavius said dejectedly, "I understand, the time is not yet ripe."
Just as Varian was about to refuse, he suddenly heard a voice.
"Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, let Thrall and Agna go back."
Varian dared not refuse, and smiled at Lothar, "Sir, as you wish, I hope we will have the opportunity to meet again."
Ser Lothar shook his head. "I hope we never meet again."
The farce of Thrall's wedding finally came to an end. Varian led his army back to Stormwind City, and Thrall and Agna were sent to the Maelstrom for recuperation by the two leaders of the Earthen Ring.
Not far from the Altar Thrall had built, at the foot of a small hill, Cairne Bloodhoof struggled desperately. He was badly injured, but he endured the pain and hid in a corner, undisturbed by Varian.
After carefully treating his wounds, Cairne knew that without professional medical care, his days were numbered, so he prayed to Earth Mother.
Cairne's prayer was answered, and a tall figure appeared—an old female Tauren —looking down at Cairne Bloodhoof.
Magatha the Wildtotem, leader of the Grimtotem.