The Scourge's Return

Another year passed after Daelin's public trial in Theramore. Days went by, one after another. What had once seemed like a world-shattering event gradually faded into the ordinary passage of time.

Aside from the day of the verdict, when Daelin had cursed Tyrande for plotting against him, he had said nothing since, as though he had accepted his fate.

As it turned out, Daelin had gotten off relatively well. After the trial, he had not been stripped of his life; he simply had to spend the rest of it in Orgrimmar's dungeons.

Even so, with Jaina visiting him often, Daelin's days in the dungeon were not too bad. Compared with all those who had lost their lives because of his ambitions, he was in heaven while they were in hell. At least, living was better than being dead.

Sometimes, people gradually realized that things they had once held fast to did not exist, while other things they had thought impossible had indeed come to pass. Such was the case with Leiluo's heart now. In the past, a murder happening nearby would have been a world-shaking event. But now, life was just another number to Leiluo, no different from wealth. Perhaps the only thing he could do was make those numbers that vanished mean more.

Leiluo had once heard someone say that a person died three times in their life. The first was when a doctor declared them dead; the second was when they were buried; and the third was when the last person who remembered them forgot them. 69ƧΉЦX.ᄃӨM

That was why so many people longed to be remembered throughout history. It was another form of immortality.

Looking toward Orgrimmar in the distance, Leiluo leaned gently against the gravestone behind him, his thoughts in turmoil.

The gravestone he leaned against