Prince

Spring breathed new life into the world. Warm monsoon winds swept aside the bitter cold that had shrouded northern Lordaeron through the dying days of winter. Under those vibrant breezes, tender buds sprouted from bare branches, wild grasses emerged once more, and mist over Lake Lordamere turned to gentle rain, nourishing the long-parched land.

King Terenas Menethil of Lordaeron welcomed his second son, Alvin, amid the drifting spring rain.

In the human tongue, Alvin meant "loved by all." His father, nearing middle age, hoped the child would be cherished and beloved by everyone, rather than burdened from birth with the weight of becoming king, like his eldest son, Arthas.

The king gently lifted the sleeping infant and studied his wrinkled skin and innocent expression. A loving smile appeared on his face. Unlike the lively Arthas, this child was a quiet little thing.

But over the following year, the child who seemed so well-behaved showed Terenas what true quietness meant—

By six months, ordinary babies could roll over by themselves and begin babbling. Alvin, however, spent most of every day fast asleep. By a little over a year old, ordinary children could start learning to walk on their own, but Alvin still slept soundly all day.

Arthas, a year older than his brother, could already walk by himself and climb steps, while Alvin continued sleeping through every day as before. The herbalists and priests who had served the royal family for years had all examined the little prince, and every one of them reached the same conclusion: there was nothing wrong with Alvin.

The palace walls were no impenetrable barrier. After a whole year, even street vendors and peddlers had begun cautiously discussing the prince who seemed less than normal over their meals and tea.

As time passed, the queen's concern became impossible to hide. Even the king, who had at first managed to reassure himself, was forced to make a decision. He sent for Archbishop Alonsus Faol, who preached in Stratholme and was renowned as the foremost human authority in the mysterious arts and healing, to examine the little prince, who remained sunk in an endless sleep.

A year of worry had left the aging Terenas looking old. His golden hair had grown dull and sparse, and gray had begun to show at his temples. After the archbishop finished examining the little prince, the anxious father asked urgently, "Alonsus, what exactly is wrong with Alvin?"

The archbishop, clad in a snow-white robe, slowly withdrew his hand from Alvin's forehead and rose. His expression was strange as he said, "Your Majesty, if I'm not mistaken, Prince Alvin's soul is simply too powerful. It cannot fully connect with his still-growing body, causing him to fall into a natural state of unconsciousness."

"As his body grows, this constant sleeping will come to an end." The archbishop stroked the scepter in his hand, a note of wonder in his voice. "Your child is a genius. If he devotes himself to the path of the Holy Light, given time, he could even surpass me."

The king and queen were still somewhat worried, but with the archbishop's personal assurance, they could finally breathe a little easier.

Unlike the queen, who wept with joy at the archbishop's diagnosis, Terenas still harbored a quiet unease about Alonsus Faol's words.

For Arthas, who would inevitably inherit the throne one day, having a genius for a younger brother might not be a good thing. It would place even greater pressure on Arthas as the elder brother, and could well lead to conflict between the two, sending the Kingdom of Lordaeron from prosperity into decline.

Terenas gently stroked Alvin, still lost in sleep. A hint of complexity entered his loving gaze. I won't let anyone threaten this kingdom, not even my own son. A cold light entered the king's eyes.

The sands of time turned over again and again, while flowers in the meadows withered and bloomed anew. Children grew up and adults grew old. Lordaeron's palace remained as it had always been; the only things that changed were the holly trees planted in its courtyard, slowly growing taller.

Over the past few years, Alvin's spells of sleep had gradually grown shorter, until they disappeared entirely last year. He could now move about as well as anyone else, but because he had missed out on a proper foundation, the young prince was still rather frail compared with children his age.

In the May sunshine, the little prince sat on a finely crafted swing, turning over the book resting on his thighs. Every so often, he looked up toward the center of the courtyard, where laughter rang out. Young Arthas was playing with his sister among the garden trees, guided by their mother.

After years of slumber, the soul from another world had slowly merged with the pure soul that had originally belonged to this body. During his waking hours, he had learned about this world called Azeroth from the royal tutors and by poring over all kinds of books.

That's right—Azeroth, the setting for the events of the World of Warcraft games in his previous life. This was a world filled with trials of life and death, and the entanglement of blood and fire.

What frightened him most was his identity. He was Lordaeron's second prince, the younger brother of Arthas, the future Lich King—a person who had never appeared in the game. He didn't know why the Bronze Dragonflight, the legendary guardians of the timeline, hadn't noticed him, but unease and a sense of danger had always lurked in his heart.

So, when he was five, and Archbishop Alonsus Faol offered to teach him the ways of the Holy Light, he chose without hesitation to embrace its teachings and become a proud apprentice Priest.

Perhaps because two souls had merged within him, Alvin had been born with exceptionally keen senses. For ordinary people, perceiving the Holy Light required all kinds of outside help and was a difficult process. He had only needed to pray in a quiet chamber for half a day before he began to understand it.

But his heightened perception had also brought a side effect: whispers from the darkness. Low murmurs seemed to come from everywhere, and whenever he let his guard down, they swept into his mind.

For several days, he couldn't get a decent night's sleep. Only after Archbishop Faol taught him to choose the Good Domain as his domain did he truly become a Priest blessed by the Holy Light. Then, at last, the endless whispers began to fade.

After watching his family enjoy the warmth of the afternoon for a while, he stirred his thoughts. Less than half a second later, a green screen of light appeared before his eyes, visible only to him:

Name: Alvin

Languages: Common, Elvish, Dwarvish

Stamina 7, Strength 8, Agility 11, Intelligence 15, Wisdom 21, Will 13

Class: Level 2 Priest

Domains: Good Domain, Travel Domain

0-Level Spells: Conjure Water, Cure Minor Wounds, Detect Magic, Light, Purify

1st-Level Spells: Bless, Divine Favor, Shield of Faith, Summon Monster I, Entropic Shield, Detect Undead, (Protection from Evil) (Longstrider)

Feats: Extend Spell, Spellcaster Prodigy

The panel was completely different from the one in the game. At least, he didn't remember any of the spells for Priests in World of Warcraft having so many twists and turns. The system that had come with him to this world had built this model of its power system by gathering information from the outside world.

In other words, this was a more realistic world—and one completely unlike the game.

In the nearly seven years since his arrival, he had almost forgotten the people and events from his previous life. The only thing firmly etched in his mind was the plot of World of Warcraft, which he went over several times every day—

The fallen prince slew his father with his own hands, and a tide of the Undead drowned the kingdom. Humans and Orcs fought without end, while the Alliance and Horde became enemies for years. The Lich King sat upon the Frozen Throne, and Deathwing tore through the earth to return to the world. The Old Gods murmured in the darkness, while demons watched Azeroth with hungry eyes.

In the story he knew, there was hope and redemption, but buried even deeper was nothing but despair and darkness.

After spending several years with his family, the cheerful prince, his proud sister, the kindly king, and the gentle queen had all shown him such warmth and affection that he had abandoned his original plan to flee to Kul Tiras as soon as he grew up.

He wouldn't abandon the people who cared for him and run off alone. Instead, he would try to change their fate. Even if the Bronze Dragonflight was watching the world, he had to try, or he would regret it.

Besides, he had never heard of Arthas having a younger brother in his previous life. The fact that he had grown up safely showed that this world wasn't entirely the same as the one he remembered. Perhaps the Bronze Dragonflight wasn't what he imagined—or perhaps it didn't even exist.

After nearly two years of study, he had learned that in this different world, Priests didn't have to wear robes and support their allies from the rear; they could don armor and fight on the battlefield. Warriors had no such thing as rage and relied entirely on their powerful bodies and fine equipment. Rogues had no special energy, relying mostly on disguise and skill.

Now, the seven-year-old prince was waiting for news that might come from the Kingdom of Stormwind. What concerned him most was whether Orcs really existed.

By his reckoning, the construction of the Dark Portal marked the starting point for the calendar. Arthas had been born in Year -4 After Dark Portal, and it was now Year 4 After Dark Portal.

If history followed the same course as the game, then next year, refugees from Stormwind would set foot in Lordaeron. The first Alliance, connected by Anduin Lothar, would be established under Lordaeron's leadership. The Paladin class would be born under Archbishop Alonsus Faol, and a great war between humans and Orcs would be unavoidable.