Sylvanas had never imagined that, before her death, she would see that man again. For a moment, she thought it was merely an illusion, the final fantasy brought on by death.
With that thought in mind, she tried reaching out and grasped the edge of the man's robe as it fluttered in the wind.
The fabric was fine and smooth, and she could sense a subtle flow of magic within it. Clearly, the robe itself was an exquisite magical item.
Sylvanas instinctively made that judgment, before realizing that if she could feel such a real touch, then didn't that mean...
"That's right, you're not dreaming."
The man turned around, and that familiar handsome face entered Windrunner's sight.
"It's me, Sandor Liver. Sorry I came late."
As he spoke, the man reached out and gently stroked the elf's face. The next moment, the ranger-general who had remained strong for so long suddenly found her eyes brimming with tears.
"You... you really came back... That's wonderful... I thought I'd never see you again before I died..."
"Sorry, sorry, Shiv. It's my fault. I won't leave you all for so long again. I'm sorry..."
As he comforted the woman before him, Ye Ting gently caressed her cheek and her silver hair, and the atmosphere grew warm.
Until it was shattered by the third person present.
"What! Are! You! Doing!"
Though he could not hear what they were saying, their complete disregard for his presence still enraged Arthas. Feeling slighted, the death knight could no longer maintain the calm expression he had worn moments ago. He roared sharply, "You think an extra helper of unknown origin can save you from death, elf? And you, you meddler, you dare stand before me? Are you here to offer your soul to Frostmourne?"
But in the face