"Welcome home, Prince!"
Outside Lordaeron, King Terenas's Court Steward looked at the hooded Arthas with pride and affection. The prince had practically grown up under his care, so to the old emissary, Arthas was much like his own son or nephew.
Facing the enthusiastic old steward, Arthas forced a faint smile onto his stiff face. He said nothing, merely reaching out to pat the old steward's shoulder. This affectionate gesture made the old man even happier, and an unnatural flush even appeared on his wrinkled face.
"Come, Prince. His Majesty is waiting for you!"
At the old steward's signal, Lordaeron's gates thundered open in the dawn light. Although it was not yet the usual time to rise, after a messenger had brought word of Arthas's return to the capital the night before, many citizens had still risen early and lined both sides of the road to welcome their prince home from afar.
The prince had reportedly brought back a treasure powerful enough to combat the terrible plague. Surely, it would not be long before the somewhat unsettled Lordaeron returned to normal.
"Oh! Our prince!"
"Prince Arthas!"
"Praise be to you, Your Highness!"
Arthas followed the old steward into Lordaeron, with Falric and Marwyn in tow. Along the way, excited citizens scattered red petals, a custom symbolizing victory in Lordaeron's ceremonies. Arthas looked up at the petals dancing through the air, reached out, and caught a red blossom drifting down before his eyes.
On his black gauntlet, the red petals withered rapidly. In an instant, they took on the color of utter desiccation. The prince rubbed them gently between his fingers, and the dried petals crumbled into fragments that fell beneath his advancing feet.
No one noticed. The celebrating citizens cheered endlessly for their prince, but they had no idea what Arthas had truly brought back.
Even the longest road had an end. A little over ten minutes later, Arthas stood before the gates of Lordaeron Palace. The old steward had left ahead of him. King Terenas now sat in the Royal Palace's front hall, awaiting an audience with his son, the future king of this nation.
Arthas stepped onto the luxurious red carpet and climbed the palace steps one by one. The bright light stood in stark contrast to the black cloak on his body. The crowd's cheers slowly fell silent, and as the prince ascended the court's twenty-four steps, all the light in the sky seemed to be drawn into his dark silhouette.
In an unnoticed corner, the old steward sat slumped on the ground. His strength was rapidly draining away, and with it, his life force. There were no wounds on his body, but he could feel a terrible pulling force tearing at his soul.
Fear crawled over his body like a hand that followed him everywhere, closing around his throat. The shadow of death cackled as it squeezed the last of his life from his body. His mouth gaped open, but he could not breathe. Like a fish flung onto the shore, he waved his arms with difficulty, trying to grasp a lifeline that did not exist.
A life had passed, but this... was only the beginning.
Clunk!
The Royal Guards opened the doors to the front hall. Sunlight mingled with the hall's lamplight, brightening the dim interior somewhat. Arthas strode inside. The aged King Terenas sat upon his ornate throne, the Scepter of Lordaeron in his hand, watching his son with eyes that remained bright.
He was so outstanding, so much like his father in his youth: fearless, courageous, unwilling to yield to fate.
But in the hall that should have held a reunion between father and son, there were now two others besides the loyal, valiant Royal Guards.
Jaina held her short staff,
watching nervously as Arthas approached step by step. Unlike the loving King Terenas, Jaina was very tense now, her palms covered in sweat. Half a month earlier, the Young Lady, who had been confined to Dalaran by a furious Antonidas, had received a letter from Stratholme. In it, Dick expressed his concerns about Arthas's return. He hoped Jaina could persuade Antonidas, the most powerful Archmage in the human world, to personally provide protection when Arthas returned.
But Antonidas firmly rejected Jaina's proposal. The old mage believed mages should not involve themselves in royal authority. After Jaina's repeated persuasion, however, he finally sent Rhonin, the strongest mage of Dalaran's younger generation, to accompany Jaina and protect King Terenas.
Of course, the official explanation was that Dalaran and Lordaeron's Royal Family were discussing progress in plague research. As coincidence would have it, however, Arthas returned on the very day Jaina and Rhonin arrived at the Royal Palace!
Mages generally possessed strong mental power, and Jaina and Rhonin were exceptional even among them. So as Arthas approached the throne, not only Jaina but even Rhonin sensed the energy fluctuations concealed within the prince's body, which left him somewhat terrified.
Rhonin swore he had only ever encountered energy fluctuations of this magnitude ten years ago, during the Second War, when he rescued the Red Dragon Queen imprisoned by the Dragonmaw Clan and accidentally came across the fallen Earth-Warder, the black dragon Neltharion.
But what kind of being was Neltharion?
And what kind of being was Arthas?
These two... how was that possible!
As Arthas drew near King Terenas, alarm bells began ringing frantically within Rhonin. He stood, and his figure flickered. The light of Blink shattered where he had stood, and when he reappeared, he was already blocking the way between King Terenas and Arthas.
Arthas said nothing. He merely raised his head and glanced at Rhonin with the eyes beneath his dark hood. That single glance chilled the young Archmage to the bone, while King Terenas showed a trace of anger.
"Stand down, mage! Do not disturb my reunion with my son!"
"But Your Majesty... he..."
"Stand down!"
The old king refused to listen to Rhonin's explanation. With a guard's support, he even rose from his throne, pushed Rhonin aside with his thin, withered hand, and walked step by step toward Arthas, who remained where he stood. Spreading his arms, he embraced that cold body.
"My child, seeing you safe and sound, I can finally rest easy."
"Father, seeing you safe and sound, I can rest easy too."
This was the first time Arthas had spoken. The instant his voice rang out, Rhonin and Jaina moved together. This was not a sound a living person could make. It was like thunder in the sky. Merely hearing it made the energy in the surrounding space begin to fluctuate violently.
"Danger, Your Majesty!"
"Begone, evil!"
Rhonin and Jaina appeared on either side of the embracing pair. Rhonin took charge of attacking, while Jaina handled protection. But the magical light had barely appeared in their hands before two fierce flashes of sword light blocked it.
Falric and Marwyn, the prince's right- and left-hand men.
"My child... you... what has happened to you?"
King Terenas now sensed something was wrong as well, for he could feel no warmth whatsoever from his son's arms, only a bone-piercing chill.
Arthas looked at his father, his gaunt, pale face exposed to the air for the first time,
"Father, I have come to inherit your throne!"
Swish!
Frostmourne, wrapped in dull cloth behind Arthas's back, swept across the old king's neck. Seven distinctive inscriptions gradually lit up on its black-and-blue blade. An aged soul emerged from the corpse held in Arthas's arms, then was drawn into the glowing blade.
"Father, your reign has reached its end... and I shall be crowned king!"
Speaking in a very "gentle" tone, Arthas lifted the gradually freezing corpse in his arms and walked up to the throne step by step. He paid no attention to the battle unfolding in the hall. He placed King Terenas back on the throne and extended a hand. A great mass of ice encased the throne together with the corpse, whose face was frozen in horror and astonishment.
Finally, he picked up the heavy crown that had fallen to the floor and examined it before his eyes. Then he smiled disdainfully. His left hand tightened, and the hard crown slowly crumbled in his grip into iron debris scattered across the floor, as though it had decayed over hundreds of years.
"Come, my champions! Fight for your master!"
Arthas raised Frostmourne high, then abruptly dropped to one knee, driving its keen blade into the floor. As dark arcane power coursed through the ground, the entire palace began to shake. Facing Falric and Marwyn's unfamiliar fighting style, which combined martial skills with dark power, Jaina and Rhonin found themselves pinned down for the moment within the far from spacious hall.
But the sudden earthquake, the fissures in the floor, and the enormous spider- and beetle-like creatures surging up from underground-their raging shadow energy nearly tore apart everything within the palace.
Jaina remembered the arrangements Dick had made at the end of his letter. She waved a hand and unleashed a swirling Blizzard, forcing Falric back, then reached out to cast another layer of Ice Armor over herself and shouted toward the other side,
"Rhonin! Retreat!"
Rhonin was ruthless as well. Seeing their side fall at a disadvantage, he gripped his staff in both hands and gathered all the arcane power in his body. As though swinging a battle-axe, he brought it crashing down toward Arthas.
The next instant, a dark rift opened in the sky outside the palace. Then a howling meteor, wrapped in flames, plummeted from the heavens toward the palace, which had already descended into chaos.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Two flashes of Blink vanished from the hall. The instant a panting Rhonin and a grim-faced Jaina appeared outside the palace, the meteor struck its roof. Such was the terrifying force of this attack, which gathered an Archmage's power, that it nearly razed the imposing palace to the ground.
But no one would pay attention to that anymore.
People were being slaughtered throughout the city! Someone had even set a corner of the city ablaze. Thick black smoke rose from that corner, combining with dying wails and screams to make the once-magnificent city look like hell.
The soldiers Arthas had brought back shed their disguises. Thousands of flames of Undead Fire appeared throughout Lordaeron's streets and alleys, along with Crypt Fiends that tore open the ground and burrowed up from below. They launched into a frenzied slaughter!
This time, it was no longer a slaughter in the name of justice like Stratholme, but a feast of evil!
A little girl ran from a house, weeping and crying out, desperately trying to escape the pursuer behind her. It was an undead soldier wearing a Lordaeron uniform. Expressionlessly, it raised its longsword, about to drive it into the little girl's body. The girl was already paralyzed with fear.
"Get away!"
Boom!
A large fireball struck the undead square in the chest, blasting it into the air. When it landed, only a mangled body remained.
Rhonin reached out toward the little girl. With a loud sob, she threw herself into his arms, her little hands clutching his mage robes tightly. She was terrified.
Jaina could not bear to look back at the slaughterhouse behind her. Although she desperately wanted to drive away that evil, she and Rhonin alone could not possibly save this city.
Only now did the Young Lady recall how Dick had felt when he charged into Stratholme alone. She opened her eyes. This time, only resolve remained in them.
"Come on! Rhonin, we're going to the palace!"
"What for? Arthas is still there!"
"To save someone who can rebuild Lordaeron!"