Quel'delar

"What kind of creature am I, really?" This question arose in Nathanos's mind as he stood at the bow of the ship, observing the sea. A single command set him adrift on the ocean. Several days had passed, and he was sailing westward in a strangely shaped ship. A series of "clattering" sounds emanated from the vessel, keeping sea creatures at bay.

Nathanos hadn't uttered a word in the past few days. Although there were many resurrected Silvermoon City Elf on the ship, most of them had become mindless zombies, except for a few, such as Veronalara, the Female Elf who had spoken to him earlier, and another Female Elf named Liana. Their bodies were mostly well-preserved. The two had been quite close these past few days. The most unusual was a male Elf who appeared to have been a Warrior in life and in death. His chest was pierced by an extremely thin longsword; ironically, he himself was a swordsman, yet he had been defeated by someone even more skilled with a sword. Nathanos vaguely remembered his name as Saloren.

'Saloren the Dawnseeker!'

The Lich King's whispers would always enter his mind unexpectedly, and then he would hear the other party burst into maniacal laughter.

The Dawn Seeker? It was strange that those three words were branded on an Undead. Nathanos wondered why the Lich King would remind him of this. If he wanted to mock the surname, he should have gone to the person who bore it.

These past few days, Nathanos has been filled with questions. He's discovered that whenever he questions the Lich King's commands or shows even a hint of anger, he's subjected to mental attacks. The torment surpasses physical torture; Nathanos's body involuntarily obeys commands, even against his will. It now seems the Lich King is the true master of this body, and if he wants autonomy, he must obey orders... or at least not question them.

"Lord Nathanos."

Why can't he find peace even in death? Nathanos's brows furrowed into a bow as he reluctantly turned to look at the man, the azure seascape before him transforming into a cold face.

"Saloren?" Nathanos said the name, deliberately omitting the deceased's surname.

"It's me."

"Where... are we going?"

Everyone should know the answer to this question. Before setting off, Arthas had repeatedly emphasized that the continent was called Kalimdor. But Nathanos didn't reprimand Saloren; he knew the question wasn't about that, but rather about where they were going and what they were going to do.

"To establish a base on that continent."

Why just us?

Nathanos stared at him for a while longer, wondering what he was up to. For so many days, no one had asked this question, nor dared to. This ship was filled with the lost souls of those stranded in Quel'Thalas. Why had the Lich King arranged things this way?

Time ticked by, second by second. The damp, cold mist clung to the even colder skin.

"Let's leave our past behind," Nathanos replied, prepared to accept the Lich King's punishment, but the Lich King hesitated to act, seemingly accepting his answer.

Saloren thought Nathanos was playing a cruel joke on him, but he knew in his heart that it was true.

"I understand." The Morning Seeker sighed and took the longsword from his back.

It was a finely forged weapon, its blade curved like a bow, with a white outer edge. The inner layer of the blade was deep blue, with azure runes that gleamed faintly with a cold light. A glowing gem adorned the center of the hilt.

It did indeed resemble an Elf weapon, but Nathanos didn't believe the Elf's skills could forge such a weapon. He also disliked the sword—the runes on it were strikingly similar to Arthas's Frostmourne, each glance piercing a part of his heart.

"This sword is called Quel'delar, it is from the guardian dragons,"

As expected. Nathanos narrowed his crimson eyes, not understanding why Saloren wanted to show him his weapon. Was he trying to boast? But even a weapon forged by the guardian dragons couldn't stop Arthas's attack, could it?

"What exactly do you want?" Nathanos snorted. If this guy dared to flaunt this sword in front of him, he swore he would kick Saloren overboard. The sharks in the sea wouldn't care whether a corpse was fresh or not.

Saloren shuddered. "I... I'm being presumptuous. I want to... I want to give it to you."

"Leave it to me?" Nathanos pondered in silence. "Is this your diplomatic language?"

"No, only because of the answer you just gave me."

So that's how it is! Nathanos understood. Their past included not only their homeland or the people they knew, but also many other factors, such as weapons.

Does seeing the weapon that fought alongside you cause you heartache? Nathanos suddenly felt a pang of relief that his original weapon was gone. He only remembered that his former weapon was a bow and arrow, like the new one on his back. It was a terrible weapon given to him by Arthas, "blessed" by dark magic. The quiver was full of death arrows with black fletching. The Death Knight had told him that if grazed by such arrows, the wound would fester uncontrollably, and no medicine could cure it; the wound would continue to rot and spread until the entire body turned into a lump of rotting flesh crawling with maggots. He had witnessed it firsthand when fighting the Orcs on the snowy mountains; the effect was exactly as Arthas had described.

"Why not give it to someone else?"

"Some people don't understand what I'm saying, and everyone else who is still conscious has refused, except for you."

That should be the truth. The others are all Elf too, they should all recognize this weapon. Nathanos's initial intention to refuse Saloren was reconsidered.

"Give it to me." He held out his hand. Saloren handed Quel'delar to Nathanos without hesitation. He seemed relieved, which made Nathanos wonder if it was wise to grant his request. However, seeing the last flicker of joy in the other's eyes, he realized that Saloren not only wanted to escape the torment of his past memories, but also wanted to find a trustworthy new master for Quel'delar.

Why don't you throw this sword into the sea? Nathanos swallowed the question back down his throat. He stroked his cold face and body, surprisingly feeling a little warmth from it.

"Go to the cabin and find a new weapon. This ship doesn't take anyone on board." Nathanos turned away, ending the conversation. Saloren received the order and withdrew, leaving him alone at the bow once again.

The Lich King prophesied that when he reached Kalimdor, true darkness would descend upon the world. And now, he could already see the coastline.