Jaina Proudmoore was walking through the streets of Theramore. She had just finished usual patrol through the city. It was a harsh life to live on the outskirts of Kalimdor. The environment is harsh, there are all sorts of creatures that would like to make you their dinner, but the ones who lived there had made it work.

She sighed in relief as she entered her tower and began ascending to her chambers. It was hard to believe it had only been two months since the fall of the Lich king. It had always been hard for her to believe what had happened in Northrend in general. But most of all, she still couldn't believe what that Arthas was gone. The friend she had known and even loved since childhood had not only betrayed her, but his own people and family as well.

She had by now accepted what had happened to Arthas, she had accepted what they had needed to do in order to save Azeroth, but that still didn't justify the sacrifices that had been made in order to get so far.

Tirion was dead, the adventurers that had helped them at the citadel were dead, they had even failed to save Bolvar, and somehow the scourge, even without its master, still remained. How could things have gone so wrong?

As she entered her chambers, her eyes almost instantly fixed on a small locked laying by her bed counter. They had found that locket after their battle with Arthas in a small chest. She had given him that locket when they were younger and it was the only proof that the Arthas she had loved had still been in there somewhere.

Jaina almost felt like tearing up just looking at the locket. She missed him, she missed her friend, she missed the one she, despite all that had happened, still loved. She missed his cocky smile, his handsome face and his greasy blond hair. But she knew that she would never see him again. Although they were never able to recover Arthas' body or Frostmourne, there was almost no doubt that he was dead. Jaina just hoped that he was finally at peace

But what Jaina didn't know was that on the other side of the world, in the eastern kingdoms, a certain man was having a nightmare. A man that by all means should be dead, but weren't.

Voices, ringing through his head. An endless stream of voices, many of them calling out in anger others in sorrow. There was nothing but a void. A cold void that could turn the bravest of men into shaking puppies just by thinking about it. There was nothing but darkness and the endless voices of the past. Eventually one voice sounded louder than the rest. It was a strong young male voice. It sounded familiar and yet not.

"This entire city must be purged."

He could feel his heart beating harder as the voice rang through the void. It sounded so cold, so angry. Another male voice sounded. It sounded older and more stern, yet compassionate. A flash of golden light rang through the void as it spoke.

"How can you even consider that? There's got to be some other way."

It was… Pleading the first voice and now he remembered who the voices belonged to but quickly forgot. It was so cold. The other voices became louder once more, out voluming the conversation between the two males. A dark laugh rang through the void and everything seemed to become white for a moment as more cold blue light passed through the void before it becoming dark once more. He could faintly see a human shape standing in the dark before the light disappeared. The voices became silent once more and the conversation continued, but this time, the golden light didn't appear.

"Treason? Have you lost your mind, Arthas?"

Arthas… That name sounded so familiar to him. It sounded important. Like something he shouldn't forget and yet the familiarity faded just as fast as it came as another wave of cold blue light washed over him. The shape was getting clearer.

"Have I? Lord Uther, by my right of succession and severignity of my crown, I hereby relieve you from your command and suspend your paladins from service."

More blue light washed over and he could faintly hear a dark voice laughing. The young voice sounded so angry, so absolute and yet… sad. A new voice sounded. It was female, young and sweet.

"Arthas, you can't just…"

The voice made his heart tingle and the void felt slightly warmer as it spoke. Distant memories resurged with it. Memories of young love that ended too quickly.

"Its done! Those of you who have the will to save this land, follow me. The rest of you… Get out of my sight.

Cold blue light filled the void completely, making it look like the entire void was ice. He knew what words were coming, but he didn't want to hear them. He knew he had lost everything he cared about that day. Anger and rage having taken its place, but it was too late to do anything about it. So he awaited the words of the voice that could have stopped him if only he had listened.

"Jaina?"

He could see her beautiful blond hair, the slim feminine body and her wizard robe in the void in front of him. Her back facing him.

"I'm sorry, Arthas. I can't watch you do this."

And then she was gone just as fast as she had appeared. It stung thinking about that day. If only things could have been different.

The cold blue light swirled and bent around as the dark laugh resumed. It made his heart feel cold and he could practically feel the ice forming around his nonexistent face. The human figure now becoming clearer. He could see the dark armor starting to form and it spoke.

"Did you really think you could escape?"

He could now see the crown and the cold blue eyes that emitted some kind of cold mist.

"No one escapes death."

The figure took a step forward and he could now see the long blade in his hand. The cursed blade that slaughtered the people of Lordaeron, created the greatest monster to ever walk Azeroth and the unimaginable power it possessed. Frostmourne. The figure raised the blade and now he could see the full figure and the terror it put in his heart. A figure he thought he would never see again. The Lich King. He swung Frostmourne towards him.

"No one escapes me."

Arthas gasped awake and sat up. His head was pounding with pain and he could also feel something clutching in his chest. It hurt and he knew what it was. He fought the urge to let a tear roll and laid down again. The day he slaughtered an entire city of people, it wasn't the fact he had killed so many that hurt, but more the words he had said to the love of his life, his mentor and their retaliating words. He rolled onto his side. The air was cold, but he didn't feel cold despite only wearing leather pants and boots. He looked around his makeshift home. It was a brown and dull colored tent barely big enough to house him. He was laying on a small blanket. Just big enough for him to lie on but not much else. He heard a metallic humming and sat up. In the corner of the tent laid a long hilted sword and a grey basic plate armor with a greathelm that completely covered the face. The humming seemed to be coming from the sword. Beside the armor and sword laid a brown ordinary backpack.

The sword and armor in itself were a basic grey in color and wasn't very special. The sword's hilt was covered with plain brown leather and the crossguard of it was as basic as it could get. It looked old and worn out.

Arthas sighed, leaned over and took the sword by the hilt in his hand. The instant his hand touched it, it felt cold and he could feel the magic and other things within pleading to be let out. He unsheathed it and sat up, looking at the blade. He gripped the handle tightly with both of his hands and it became ice cold. No other man could hold something so cold in his hands without dropping it. Arthas felt as if a thousand needles went through his fingers as the cold of the blade traveled through his hands and up his arms, making his hands lose their brown pink color and become a pale white.

He re-sheathed the sword and the color came back into his skin. He exited his tent and was greeted with the morning sun in his eyes. Arthas stood at his full height stretching his arms and back, several joints cracking. He gazed upon the somewhat pleasant sight before him.

He was in the Wetlands. The largest swamp in the whole Eastern kingdoms. Home of Dwarfs, humans and many other races, but mostly the ones mentioned. It was known for being a dangerous land with Raptors, crocolisks and many other dangers prowling through the swamp, looking for prey. Arthas had set up camp with his back against the ocean. It was a risky place to set up camp with the many things that wanted to eat whatever they found, but it was nice and isolated. Just what he wanted. The rays of the sun reflecting into a sea of colors on the many watery surfaces around him. The green grass and the refreshing wind blowing through his long blond hair. It was nice.

He spotted a ship in the distance. It was an ordinary Alliance transporting ship. It brought back memories looking at it. Unfortunately, they weren't happy memories.

He put his focus back on the task at hand. Packed up his things and strapped on his armor and sword. He looked cautiously at the remaining item on the ground. The backpack. Arthas could feel a beating coming from it, drawing him to open it, but he wouldn't. He took on the backpack, put on his helmet and began to walk through the marsh.

"That dream…" Arthas muttered to himself in a pained tone. He had been having nightmares for what felt like months but in truth only came once every few weeks. But out of all the nightmares it had to be that one. He felt a slight aching in his chest. That day in Stratholme was what started his path and now it had hopefully ended. But despite all that had happened, all that he had done, he had been given a second chance. Somehow, he was still alive. He didn't know whether to be thankful or curse whatever gods had allowed him to live.

Now he just had to see where life would take him. But there was one thing he knew for certain, for him, there would be no redemption.