Exile

The Child of Time, Father of Sleep, God of Death, Friend of the Night—the mysterious Loa Mueh'zala Antaien's reply was icy and resolute. Its meaning was singular: no bargaining.

"...Mueh'zala Antaien! God of Death, Child of Time, Father of Sleep, Friend of the Night—even the lofty Keepers once paid a price to seek your counsel. Today, I too am willing to pay a price. Please teach me how to banish the Scourge undead from our world."

Zul'ra could sense Mueh'zala's will, so after a few moments of hesitation, he chose to change his request. The responsibility of saving the world was simply too great to be handled rashly. Yes, that was right—he couldn't be too hasty.

"One of your eyes." The tone remained firm, allowing no bargaining.

"I am willing to offer my left eye. Please grant me guidance." Zul'ra made his choice without hesitation. Giving up an eye was far easier than giving up his life.

"Come." A black vortex appeared in the air, and a withered black hand stretched out from within. Its five sharp fingers and palm faced Zul'ra. No haggling—payment first, goods afterward.

Looking at the outstretched hand before him, Zul'ra could only toss Arthas to the ground first, then return to his human form. Seeing the palm still held out before him, he gritted his teeth, thrust his fingertips into his left eye socket, then hardened his heart and suddenly exerted force.

"Take it!" Drawing on the endurance he had built over more than twenty years since crossing over, Zul'ra endured the searing pain, squinted his now-empty left eye socket, and handed his blood-dripping left eye to the black hand before him.

"To banish the Scourge undead from your world, first, you need eyes capable of seeing through the world. Then, you need a spell