The Hourglass

"Well done," Medivh's echo resonated. Llane's warhammer had finally fallen Blackhand. The white-armored warrior stood before the black-plate armor, the King's warhammer gleaming. Nathanos felt as if he were seeing Turalyon, just as he had when he defeated Orgrim.

The chest was opened. Nathanos walked over. What Medivh had left him was unexpected— Atiesh, Medivh's staff. Why would he leave this behind? Nathanos wasn't a mage; it was completely useless to him.

'Perhaps he left some clues here.' Nathanos slowly reached out, wanting to take out his staff to investigate.

The Undead felt as if it had taken a deep breath.

His hand couldn't leave the staff; it wasn't that he didn't want to, but that he couldn't. He felt himself being sucked in. Not only that, he saw the bricks and tiles around the room being pulled away by an unknown force, and a wind blowing from somewhere whipped his face, making it difficult for him to open his eyes. Decorations on the walls were flying everywhere.

As his vision blurred, Nathanos felt countless scenes, all things in the world, suddenly rise into the air and appear before him. Various scenes of the world—battlegrounds, and unknown creatures—were vividly displayed. He heard the sounds of all living beings, emanating from all life forms of the past, present, and future. He saw a tall, humanoid creature, a more rugged-looking human; he also saw towering triangular structures in the desert; deep in the jungle, Troll were performing a human sacrifice ritual, a gigantic serpentine monster emerging from the blood. The myriad strange colors brought by these countless images made him dizzy.

When these strange phenomena occurred, Nathanos was surprised to find that he could not move, but his consciousness remained, and his consciousness terrified him. He was moving, but he was certain that his legs had not moved.

In desperation, Nathanos opened his eyes, head bowed, utterly astonished. The world was moving? No, he had transformed into a large bird soaring through the air. His vision was constantly expanding forward. He crossed mountains, watching animals shrink smaller and smaller, and saw the most distant rivers.

Although alarmed, Nathanos suddenly noticed something amiss, possibly related to the source of the sound. Many things seemed wrong. He heard the sound of flowing sand and was approaching the direction of the sound; the closer he got, the more uneasy he became.

As he crossed another mountain, he discovered that the other side was a desert. A strange, towering structure immediately caught his attention. Calling it a structure wasn't accurate; it was a funnel, a funnel magnified to the size of a skyscraper. The eerie sound was the sound of sand flowing downwards within the funnel. This yellow sand seemed to embody the passage of time, and watching it flow filled Nathanos with dread.

What is this?

While pondering this question, Nathanos was surprised to find himself still approaching, and then he discovered a terrifying fact: he was being drawn by some force, and that force came from the hourglass in front of him.

Am I going to be... sucked in?

What he expected didn't happen; the funnel seemed to be just a visual illusion. But Nathanos soon realized he was wrong. A deafening roar erupted from the funnel. Many years had passed since he last heard such a sound, but no matter how much time had passed, Nathanos would never forget the roar of Azeroth's most powerful being.

"A giant dragon..."

Nathanos vanished, leaving the chess hall in disarray. Etyesh's staff stood where he had disappeared. After the commotion subsided, faint footsteps echoed down the corridor, making the quiet room even more eerie.

Moroes rolled his orange-yellow eyes. His master's chessboard had been rebuilt, with Orcs and humans facing off, but no one was there to guide them. The butler jumped down from the platform and pulled out Medivh's staff. He planned to place it temporarily in the Guardian's room.

"Mr. Nathanos not only forgot to take this, but he also made a mess of the place. We need to send someone to clean it up. Otherwise, the master will be unhappy when he comes back."

The Orcs Broxigar Saurfang was summoned, receiving orders from Warchief Thrall. No one in the Horde disrespected Broxigar, for Broxigar was a great hero in the war against the demons. He feared no enemy, only the years had worn away his spirit. His hair was thinning and beginning to turn white, and his face was covered with scars and wrinkles.

Thrall chose him not only because of his reputation and experience, but more importantly, because Thrall knew Broxigar would be loyal to him. And the task he was to give required a trustworthy person to carry it out.

Broxigar arrived at the Valley of Wisdom, where Great Chief Thrall's main stronghold was located. The Kor'kron soldiers guarding the valley placed their right hands over their hearts as Broxigar approached, paying the highest tribute to the Orcs hero.

He entered the main castle and pushed aside the curtain that obscured his view. To his surprise, Thrall was not sitting on the chieftain's throne, but rather on the ground with another old Orcs, an old Shaman. Broxigar knew that Thrall was doing this to show respect.

The chieftain sat on the ground, legs crossed, so that his eyes were level with the old Shaman. The Doomhammer lay before his crossed legs.

The Orcs' new chieftain was a very robust man, quite young for the Horde, but no one doubted his leadership. He had brought the Orcs out of the internment camp, helping them regain their honor and pride. He had also signed a treaty with the humans. His people had long since begun to sing his praises, a title they would pass down through generations.

Similarly, Broxigar also respected Thrall. The warrior bowed his head and asked humbly, "It is an honor to be here. How can I help you, Great Chief?"

"Just listen to me." It wasn't Thrall who answered, but the old Orcs standing before Thrall. "Listen carefully," he emphasized again.

Broxigar's eyes were filled with doubt. He sought Thrall's guidance, but the chieftain only told him that the old Shaman's Karthal.

The newly arrived Orcs then sat down as well, to Karthal's left.

Then Carl told Broxigar that he had seen a giant hourglass and how time flowed within it. He said he heard those sounds, those warnings, those very strange sensations.

He feared something bad would happen if the situation wasn't investigated.

"Broxigar?" Thrall called out the name.

The owner of the name understood. "You want to send me to investigate unknown threats, right?"

"This is the safest approach. At least this way we can figure out exactly what kind of situation we're facing."

Broxigar stroked his chin. "I think you're wise, Chief. Sending me on this mission was the right thing to do."