Awakening

The blue and white world blurred before Nathanos. A blizzard whipped at his cloak and the circular platform he stood on. The platform was empty, save for a few faintly glowing runes at his feet. Strangely, while snow fell heavily around him, the platform remained completely untouched by white, as if the storm had formed a barrier, protecting him within its embrace.

The Witherer had no idea what was happening, but he was curious as to why his subconscious was here. The Burning Legion had been defeated for months, and he was preparing to convene the leaders in Maraudon's meeting hall to discuss the Forsaken's next move. As he waited, he casually closed his eyes... and then he saw the scene before him.

What exactly happened? The harsh environment didn't tell him the answer, only bringing him an unnatural chill that cut to his bones and a stinging sensation as his skin was torn apart by the biting wind, as if foreshadowing something terrible about to descend.

"Take this sword, Arthas. Then you can complete your revenge."

"What?" Nathanos judged that the voice belonged to an Orcs, rough and deep, with a hint of excitement. But the Witherer was more concerned with the content of his words.

A flash of dark light appeared on the ground, and the Orcs truly appeared. Although it was just an illusion, it was still clear that he was old, with sunken eyes and many scars on his body left by some kind of magic, indicating that he had suffered unimaginable torment. Nathanos scrutinized his face, which was covered with white skulls painted on it with some kind of powder, making his appearance far from flattering.

After a moment, he revealed a slightly trembling gaze. Under his and the Orcs's watchful eyes, another beam of dark light appeared, bringing with it another figure. He had his back to Nathanos, yet he caused the latter to experience a multitude of complex and contradictory emotions simultaneously.

His cloak was azure, and he wore heavy Paladin armor. He was strong and powerful, with golden hair that was perfectly styled.

Nathanos struggled to open his chapped, pale lips. "Arthas?"

The Orcs had just called out the name, but Nathanos found it hard to believe. His soft call hadn't made the person he was calling out turn around. It was just an illusion, a fact that had already happened, and what was terrifying was that Nathanos was about to witness it all: the Prince was now making an oath to a nightmare sword.

"I am willing to sacrifice everything, including my soul, to save my people."

The howling wind suddenly intensified. The moment Arthas touched the hilt of Frostmourne, both illusions vanished.

A howling storm raged around, much like the feelings of the Witherer at that moment, with endless grief and anger needing to be released.

"No!" Nathanos cried out hoarsely, "This is not for the people at all! It is just a simple obsession with revenge."

Before Nathanos could recover from the shock, another voice suddenly came from behind him, another voice that was all too familiar to him, catching him completely off guard.

"Yes, an obsession with revenge, but his vengeance is far from over. Your time is running out, the Witherer."

"Uther?" Nathanos turned around, startled, his voice hoarse and pained. He couldn't recall a battle that had ever injured his throat.

The Lightbringer was indeed standing before him, and in the same form as when they first met. This also meant that the Uther before him was not the real Uther; his phantom state and appearance reminded Nathanos that the Paladin was also an illusion.

"I heard you died in Andorhal, but Arthas did not resurrect you." Nathanos didn't know what to say. He and his former mentor had both tried to stop Arthas, but they had both failed. Now it was two wandering spirits talking.

"The Holy Light will not allow Arthas to lead me into darkness." The Paladin approached Nathanos. "But my soul remains trapped within Frostmourne."

"Then why?"

Uther raised his hand to interrupt Nathanos. "I can only seize this opportunity to speak with you. What you are seeing is not a coincidence or an illusion, Nathanos. Everything around you is real."

"Did you bring me here?"

The Paladin shook his head and explained, "Not all Undead can escape the Lich King's control. Even those who do escape cannot sever their connection with him, especially those killed by Frostmourne." Uther reached out his right hand to touch Nathanos's right abdomen.

The faint stinging sensation made Nathanos realize that he hadn't come here for any particular reason, nor had anyone brought him here; it was a natural, unstoppable, and inevitable outcome. This was because his connection with the Lich King had never been severed.

"So, it's the Lich King?"

Uther made a helpless, back-ache expression, turned to the side and spread his right hand as if to introduce something. "You should see it for yourself."

Only then did the Witherer notice that at the other end of the platform were staircases entirely made of ice, leading to a throne encased in icy ice. Below, a blurry humanoid figure could be seen on the throne, along with a clearly visible helmet.

In the blink of an eye, Nathanos felt as if he had been pierced by a thousand arrows. He clearly remembered that after he was killed by Frostmourne, his soul was forcibly pulled back from the realm of the dead by some terrible force, and that was when this helmet appeared, oppressing him, controlling him, whispering to him, demanding his submission.

"The Lich King!"

"He's about to wake up." Uther's voice struck Nathanos like a bolt from the blue. "Arthas, and Ner'zhul, whom you just saw, are frantically fighting for control of this body, and Arthas is going to win."

Nathanos exclaimed in astonishment, "How could this be? It was Ner'zhul who led Arthas down the dark path, and he has been controlling Arthas all along. How could he possibly..."

Uther nodded. "The problem isn't with Ner'zhul, it's with Arthas. We all underestimated the Prince, including Ner'zhul. The Orcs misjudged Arthas's mindset; they thought the Death Knight wanted power, wanted to prove he was the strongest in the world. But he was wrong! What Arthas needs is the freedom to manipulate everything, to completely end the system where someone tells him what to do and what not to do. He no longer has his father and mother above him, no mentor beside him, and no Ner'zhul behind him—only himself. He is no longer burdened by the crown; he no longer needs to shoulder the responsibility of protecting the people and guarding the kingdom. Instead, the people are under his control. When Frostmourne opened up the Dark Kingdom for him, the Undead minions absolutely obeyed his commands; their actions depended entirely on his Will. Now, he has all of this, and he will never allow anyone else to share it. With Frostmourne's help, Ner'zhul is doomed."

Upon hearing of Ner'zhul's fate, Nathanos felt a fleeting sense of vengeful pleasure, but that feeling was immediately replaced by worry.

One has died, and an even stronger one is about to awaken...

"Prepare immediately," Nathanos told Meryl. "Get all the world's spies moving. The final moment is coming!"

"What kind of person has he become?"

Sensing that Nathanos still held a sliver of hope for the Prince's redemption, Uther sighed and shook his head in disappointment, "He is no longer Prince, Nathanos. He is King, he can rule everything. With that power, he is no longer weak, no longer hesitant, no longer considers the consequences of anything. All he wants to do is overturn the balance of right and wrong in this world. He can no longer be saved."

Last hope was shattered. Nathanos clenched his fists, his long-held ambivalent feelings towards Arthas completely vanishing. Just moments before Arthas had raised Frostmourne, vowing to save his people, he had stepped into darkness. The reality pained Nathanos deeply; this regret would forever be etched in his mind.

"I have one last thing to say, Nathanos."

The Witherer turned to look at Uther. The Paladin placed a hand on his shoulder. "Never bear the responsibilities that come with the crown."

After the smile faded, Uther's phantom was blown away by a gust of wind.

The howling winds and biting snow reminded Nathanos of a long time ago, when he shook hands with that boy on the streets of Lordaeron and became friends. From that moment on, he had stayed by the boy's side, and when the boy became Paladin, he did not attend the ceremony, because he knew that what the boy longed for was that sacred moment, not the gaze of the crowd, nor the oath that Paladin must uphold.

Now, after countless hopes have been shattered, all that remains for him is anger...

... His eyes opened again. Belmont, standing to the side, greeted him, "Master?"

"Have they all arrived?" Nathanos asked in a low voice, not even glancing at the Forsaken.

"We are waiting for your summons."

"The meeting is adjourned," he said. "Let them all prepare. The final moment is approaching."