The Necklace

A fierce wind whipped up dark clouds, pebbles, and leaves, creating swirling eddies in the sky. The gale's force forced Nathanos to close his eyes. Then he felt himself losing his footing. The wind howled and accelerated, hurtling towards him.

The power of the ritual's rolling motion was almost unimaginable. Gale-force winds howled, and lightning crackled. The ritual array, refined and modified countless times, possessed power far exceeding its former glory.

The Prism of Focus released beams of light that intersected with the Throne of Thunder, creating a spectacular energy storm.

At this moment, the five Rune Stone also began to work: channeling magic to maintain the storm's state. The radiating energy created Arcane connections between the Rune Stone.

But what Nathanos least expected happened: the energy of the five Rune Stone suddenly converged into the magic circle, right where he was. Nathanos was lifted into the air by this converging energy, close to the white beam of light emitted by the Prism of Focus.

He was caught in it, and all he could feel was being torn apart, the overwhelming pain testing his Will. The Witherer couldn't open his eyes, nor could he control his body.

The frantic shouts made him unaware that his clothes were being torn open and his flesh was being stripped away. The little blood he had left was being drawn, forming a bloody mist around him. His world spun, but he didn't feel dizzy; thankfully, this was how he knew he was still alive.

Blue lightning and gray gales flickered around him, as if the whole world was roaring.

Amidst this chaos, a voice entered his mind, stirring his soul. It was initially very faint, and only when Nathanos heard it clearly did he discern the rhythmic music within it.

The gentle sound was out of place amidst the raging storm, like a mother's lullaby soothing a crying baby to sleep. Each note began to flow, coalesce, dissipate, and coalesce again. Gradually, drowsiness blurred Nathanos's senses, and the tearing pain lessened.

This is the universe, where strands of starlight are spun into the purest prisms of light, weaving the most exquisite patterns. That melody brought Nathanos here. The Undead could not feel the existence of his body, nor hear any sound. Only light guided him forward at breakneck speed, but after a long time, he realized that he was merely drifting blindly in the silent universe.

Every star he saw was different; some showed a rough outline, others were just a dotted point on the edge of the universe. But each one reflected the spirit of its creator. They looked like snowflakes falling gently in the night, resisting the darkness of nothingness.

"Attack the Banshee first, spread out ten yards apart."

"Stop, mage, prepare the goat."

"Pay attention to melee health, use a large mana potion."

What is that sound? Someone is directing a battle from some distant place. Nathanos wondered how he knew this, but he simply knew.

These commands were somewhat urgent, but they lacked the urgency of facing mortal danger; it was more like an audience member watching a gladiator's performance instructing the gladiators on how to attack.

Nathanos also wanted to see what kind of battle was taking place, but a certain consciousness told him that that place had nothing to do with him anymore. What he should be concerned about was behind him.

It was a planet divided by ocean and land. Blue was the ocean, and the other colors were the land, filling Nathanos's entire field of vision, seemingly within reach.

Azeroth —he recognized the planet with ease. Kalimdor, the Eastern Kingdoms, Northrend, Pandaria, and other landmasses large and small, even the Wandering Isle was clearly visible—the giant turtle was somewhere in the Sea of Mists.

He saw the entirety of Azeroth; clearly, someone deliberately let him see it.

"Who are you?" he began to ask, now he knew that it wasn't that there were no sounds around him, but that he couldn't hear them.

From the surface of Azeroth, a form emerged. It had a human silhouette, yet no defined features; within its transparent body were interconnected, luminous blue spots extending to every limb. It resembled the legendary Algalon ... exactly the same.

Are you an observer of the Titans?

He saw the "form" lower its head slightly, seemingly disappointed by his question. Then, the "form" shook its head, looked directly at him, and its eyes shone brightly.

The Undead was rapidly pulled toward the world's painting by a mysterious force, and he thought he would be drawn into it.

Consciousness swiftly traversed land after land. Durotar was bathed in sunlight, and the first spring rain had already fallen on Elwynn Forest. Fallen leaves and withered branches melted into the soft soil. The roots of the great trees stretched deeper into the earth. Death and life were inextricably linked.

This was the world he inhabited, this was Azeroth. He also saw a being beyond mortal form, like a stone, speaking with Dwarf accent.

Almost instantly, he was back in front of the "form". He was no longer confused.

You... are you Azeroth?

The "form" raised its hand in response to him. Nathanos initially thought it was going to touch him, but the gesture ultimately pointed to the eyes that had been glowing earlier.

Strangely, there was nothing in the eyes, yet the "form" made a wiping motion, as if tears unseen by Nathanos were falling.

Is it crying? Why? Nathanos soon got the answer.

Green dots suddenly appeared on the vibrant world, spreading like a plague. Then came dark purple "viruses," devouring those who had once been healthy. The world, amidst the spread of Fel and the void, fused together with a deafening roar, transforming into a dying star before Nathanos's eyes.

Nathanos had faced and defeated all those enemies. But he wouldn't comfort the Star Soul before him by saying those enemies had already been defeated. Only the world itself knew what kind of enemies it faced.

Why did you make me see all this? How can I help you? Nathanos discovered that the latter question answered the former.

The Star Soul of Azeroth transmitted its "voice" into Nathanos's mind for the first time. It was a message asking him: Are you willing to help me?

If he had a body now, he would blink, for the request felt foreign to him. Countless memories flooded his mind, answering one question after another.

The land it bestowed nourishes life, while my life has long since withered away. So why should I help it?

"Because you are the warrior chosen by this world."

Nathanos recognized the voice; it was Medivh, but the former Guardian wasn't here. These were merely fragments of Nathanos's memories.

"You must make a sacrifice, only you..."

The Infinite Dragonlord Malygos said this to him.

Both of them had once guided him. But repeated trials had long since destroyed the Consecration part of Nathanos's heart, perhaps even when Alleria buried him in the flames. Nothing is truly selfless, and he would never bear the burden of a mission that would erode his remaining Will.

There are many people who are willing to help you, and they are even more generous than I am.

New images flooded his consciousness once more. Red and blue were fighting for their respective sides, the crowds shouting different battle cries, filling the air with smoke and soaking the ground with blood. War had never ceased in this world. People were so engrossed in their own interests that no one was willing to stand up.

This is truly tragic.

If others are powerless to help, then I am powerless to help either. I have already reached my limit.

These words brought him a sense of relief. Yes, that's right, once he was completely dead, there would be no more worries. What, then, had kept him in this world for so long after death? What was the meaning of those things he cherished?

Why am I still in Azeroth?

If it can answer this question, I will fight for it. Nathanos was surprised to find himself having such thoughts.

A bright light flickered within Star Soul's body, at its heart. Nathanos was certain that it knew of his strange thought and intended to grant him the "answer."

The light wasn't dazzling; it contained something within. From a distance, it resembled a small pebble with a peculiar golden luster, or perhaps an alluring honey, possessing a sacred quality. Nathanos gazed at it with suspicion, yet felt its pull towards him.

He saw it clearly. It was the Necklace, gleaming and drawing closer to him. The Necklace wasn't gold, nor bronze. It had a warm hue similar to amber, and it looked beautiful.

The Witherer reached out to touch it, but the little creature mischievously avoided it. It was aimed directly at Nathanos's chest, and suddenly, with lightning speed, it rushed into Nathanos's consciousness.

The Lord of the Forsaken could not comprehend any of this; he felt himself recoiling, as if struck by an impact. However, what followed was beyond his comprehension.

The doubts that had weighed heavily on his mind vanished instantly, not because he had found the answers, but because he no longer needed to think about those factors that had caused him worry. He felt his soul liberated, utterly relieved.

The changes didn't stop there. His mind was crystal clear, and countless predictions about the future raced through his head. Intricate plans no longer required him to spend vast amounts of time researching and designing. In the blink of an eye, a revolutionary and ingenious idea would take shape. There was no possibility of failure. Immense success came effortlessly. His enemies would perish. Every living being would be under his control.

This...it's unbelievable. Nathanos was going crazy over the wonderful sensations the Necklace was giving him. He knew he was laughing, laughing uncontrollably.

The very questions he found disgusting about himself—why he remained in Azeroth, what was the point of what he cherished—made him laugh.

Now he wants to tell his past self that these questions are meaningless; they are just ridiculous complaints about his fate from the past.

"What is this?" he asked Azeroth.

Star Soul pointed to his heart, where the Necklace had appeared.

Your heart? You gave it to me? Why?

He saw a third image, which was of himself, in different periods: Nathanos Marius and Nathanos the Witherer.

After the Second War, he visited Durnholde Castle once. At that time, all the human kingdoms, including the Elf, hated the Orcs imprisoned in the internment camps, while some remained detached and observant. He alone was free from worldly prejudice. In the Durnholde internment camp, he met an Orcs child, secretly taught her to read and write, taught her to wield a sword, and told her that one day she would be free.

On the Frozen Throne, many years later, his long-held hatred vanished the moment Arthas was defeated. He thought his rage against the Prince would last forever, but later, whenever he thought of Arthas, all that remained was regret and heartache.

I have never, ever truly hated anyone, neither Arthas nor Alleria.

Nathanos saw the Star Soul nod at him. That was why he had been chosen.

He finally understood. Long ago, at the moment of his birth, he was chosen by Azeroth. Then, the Dark Tide of the Orcs thrust Alleria into his world, and destiny began to weave his future. That handshake with the young Prince on the streets of Lordaeron signaled that he had embarked on this path: one where he would face, embrace, and accept death. All the hardships he had endured were merely thorns on his path. No matter how the thorns may have tormented him, he had now reached a turning point in his journey.

He finally has the right to choose his own path, one that absolutely satisfies his Will.

"Let's get started," he said. "I can't wait!"

Nathanos opened his eyes and found himself still in the storm, but this time the storm no longer tormented him; instead, it enveloped him like a defensive barrier.

Everything that had just happened felt like a dream, a beautiful dream, but the coldness in his hand told Nathanos it wasn't a dream. He raised his hand, and there lay the Necklace that symbolized the Heart of Azeroth.

He smiled, not only at the newfound power, but also at his hand, his left hand!

Flesh and blood! Full, plump flesh and blood! Elastic! Before his eyes, he looked at his curled-up fingers. No protruding bone. No peeling skin or cracked tendons. The hand was still dark gray, but it was whole and strong. The right hand was the same, perfectly intact.

What about the rest of his body? He touched his cheek; it was no longer dry and dehydrated, nor did the jarring scars remain. His fingertips traced his chin. The sensation was astonishing. It was almost like touching a living person, yet still so cold. But the Witherer didn't care; he had succeeded. His body was completely restored. This was incredible news for the Forsaken. He was extremely satisfied with his new body.

The joy did not make him lose himself; he nodded slowly, fully aware of the price he had to pay for all of this.

His eyes, still burning like torches, were fixed on the Necklace. It seemed to be speaking to him, that there was still much to be done.