Power of the Old Gods

Nathanos chased after her anxiously. He was certain he was moving as fast as he could to catch that figure, yet the distance between them only grew wider. Growing more frantic, Nathanos desperately called the Female Elf's name, but received no response. He stopped only after Sylvanas vanished completely.

Was there no chance to explain? Nathanos felt disappointed and helpless. Many times, he and Sylvanas had met face-to-face, but all sorts of urgent circumstances had kept them from spending too much time talking.

Whenever he thought of Sylvanas, he could clearly feel the struggle deep within her heart. Those feelings were written all over the Female Elf's face. Nathanos understood how sincerely she cared for him, just as he knew how much he cared for her.

In the past, he had always believed that his fate had forever taken him away from the tender intoxication that only the living could enjoy.

Nathanos had to admit it. He could no longer deceive himself: the dead were capable of loving others too. Though such feelings looked twisted and grotesque in the eyes of the living and would be scorned, no one could mock the courage it took for the living and the dead to choose each other. Especially for the living—without true devotion, no one could bear the ostracizing looks of the world.

"I never thought of abandoning you, Sylvanas!" Nathanos shouted, hoping the Female Elf could hear him in the darkness. "Before, I just didn't know how to face you—or rather, all the living. The suffering I endured forced me to weigh every step over and over before taking it."

He looked around, but Sylvanas did not appear. He continued, "I know you helped me a great deal, but I don't want this to become a 'transaction,' making it seem as