Chapter 13: Into the Depths.

Outside Silvermoon, Liadrin emerged from the makeshift sanctum, her eyes sunken and her robes stained with the effort of her labors. The scent of herbs and incense clung to her after several attempts to cure the affliction that befell on one of their own. Her heart felt as heavy as her steps as she made her way through the bustling city.

Given the results displayed to them from stories that came from Lordaeron where the plague was first discovered, King Anasterian had imposed stricter laws in anything that would come to Quel'Thalas. So much so, that Prince Kael'thas had to go to Dalaran to speak with Grand Magus Antonidas of the Kirin Tor for a solution. If this unknown plague had spread even further, then the results are catastrophic.

"Lady Liadrin," Lor'themar called out, equally wary as her while hopeful of any results that came from her excursion.

The Priestess ook a moment to compose herself before turning to face him. "Lor'themar," she greeted him with a nod.

"King Anasterian requests your presence," he said informed her. "He is eager for any progress on the blight as he is concerned of how the citizens would react if the plague had indeed reached Quel'thalas ."

Liadrin felt the weight of her failure pressing down on her shoulders. "I have no good news to give," she confessed, her eyes dropping to the ground. "Our efforts have been in vain. The corruption... it is unlike anything we have encountered before. We have not been able to find a cure, nor even to slow its progress."

Lor'themar's looked at her with understanding. "Rumors of the plague's spread in Lordaeron have reached our borders," he began, his voice low and tense. "King Anasterian has heard of the chaos it has wrought, the lives it has claimed. He has imposed strict quarantines, limiting contact with the outside world, hoping to keep our lands untouched."

Her gaze hardened. "A wise precaution," she remarked. "But it may not be enough. If it has come so close..."

The Ranger-Lord nodded gravely. "Indeed, it is why we must remain vigilant," he said. "And there is something else." He paused. "Prince Arthas of Lordaeron has sent a message, through Vereesa Windrunner, to be delivered to Lady Sylvanas."

Liadrin raised an eyebrow in question. "What could he possibly have to say to the Ranger-General?"

Lor'themar took a deep breath. "A warning of betrayal from one of our own," he narrated with caution. "Magister Dar'Khan Drathir's loyalty is in question."

Liadrin's eyes widened in surprise. "Dar'Khan?" she echoed. "Sure, he may be egotistical at times, but he is one of the most esteemed of our magisters. A hero of the Second War."

"I know," Lor'themar said, his jaw clenching. "But we cannot take any chances. The letter was sent with the utmost urgency."

Liadrin nodded, her mind racing. "What action has been taken?"

"The message was passed to King Anasterian," Lor'themar replied, his eyes dark with unspoken concern. "But he was... unmoved. He has known Dar'Khan for many years, trusts him implicitly. He dismissed the claim, saying that the prince's paranoia or perhaps his own mission in investigating the plague at Andorhal may be clouding his judgment."

"And Sylvanas?" Liadrin pressed with urgency.

"She has not been informed," Lor'themar admitted. "The king believes it to be mere paranoia. But I could not be convinced, however."

The high priestess looked at him, her eyes searching for the truth behind his words. "What would you have us do?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

"We must be cautious," he said, his gaze unwavering. "But we also cannot ignore a warning from someone who is investigating the blight. I will keep an eye on Dar'Khan at the meantime. Since the Prince has suspected him during the investigation of the plague at Andorhal, it is better that we act with discretion."

Back at Northrend....

Inside the tent, the flickering candlelight cast shadows on Jaina's concerned expression as she carefully tended to Arthas' bruises. Each dab of the cloth against his cuts and bruises was accompanied by a soft, "I'm sorry," spoken with genuine regret. Arthas looked up at her, his gaze filled with understanding while looking amused. "It's alright, Jaina," he said, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to fill the small space. "I've felt worse."

Jaina couldn't help but snort at his understatement. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" she asked in a playful tone in spite of their current predicament.

"Well, it's true," Arthas replied with a half-smile, wincing slightly as she applied a healing salve to a particularly nasty gash. "And you know as well as anyone, anger is a powerful force. And it needs an outlet at romes."

Jaina looked at him, and she couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. "I didn't mean to hit you so hard," she murmured, her voice laced with worry. "But I had to make you see that you can't keep pushing everyone away when you do need them."

"I suppose you're right.", he sighed, feeling the slight sting onto his wounds when she put some alchohol onto the cloth. "But I do hope father or Uther never find out about this."

Jaina couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Well, I wouldn't recommend arguing with an angry archmage," she teased. "But perhaps it's just what you needed." Arthas winced again as she applied the last bit of salve to a bruise, and she couldn't help but feel a bit guilty as she brought out a maternal instinct in her, a need to protect and heal.

As she finished her ministrations, she took a step back to look ather work. The bruises were already fading, the cuts sealing themselves under the magic of her healing. Arthas looked up at her, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Thank you, Jaina," he murmured, his voice thick with unspoken gratitude.

The archmage's cheeks flushed slightly, and she shrugged off his thanks. "It's what friends do," she said, her voice softening. "And we're friends, aren't we?"

He nodded, his smile growing genuine. "Always," he assured her. And I hope we can still remain the way we were...if you knew..., he somberly thought.

The Prince wondered for a moment. "Jaina," Arthas called out to her, "How did you even get here? To Northrend, I mean." He sat up slightly, his movements tentative as the pain from his injuries began to recede. "It's a perilous journey, especially for someone of your stature."

Jaina turned to him, determined though exhausted. "I had to find you," she replied. "To make sure you didn't do anything that you wouldn't come back from." She took a deep breat. "After our...falling out back at the docks, I couldn't just sit in Lordaeron and do nothing. I had to find a way to help."

Her eyes lingered on to him but all she saw was curiosity. "I stowed away on one of the ships bound for Northrend back at Stratholme," she continued, her voice low and filled with the memory of the cramped, cold storage room she'd called home for the past weeks. "It was a small vessel, mostly carrying supplies and a few soldiers. I managed to sneak in via teleportation, and I've been hiding ever since."

Arthas's eyes grew wide with shock, his hand reaching up to gently touch the side of her face. "Jaina, you didn't," he murmured with a heavy heart at what she went through.

"It wasn't easy," she admitted, her eyes shimmering with the remembered fear and discomfort. "I had to keep myself invisible most of the time. I'd only come out when everyone was asleep or distracted to grab food and water. It was...claustrophobic." She shuddered at the thought of the tiny space that had been her refuge. "Certainly not the feeling I had when I was aboard father's ships back at Kul'tiras."

"You went through all of it, why?" Arthas's voice was barely above a whisper.. "Why go through all this trouble?"

Jaina's gaze held his, her eyes filled with a fierce resolve. "Because I told you," she said firmly. "I'm not leaving you until I'm sure you've gone through all of it."

The prince looked away, unable to meet her gaze.

He felt the warmth of her on his cheek, the gentle pressure of her hand a stark contrast to the cold of his past. He knew she had a right to be upset with him, but the fact that she had come so far, endured so much, just to find him...it was more than he could ever ask for. He took a deep breath and gazed upon her once more.

"Jaina," he began, his voice earnest, "I never meant for you to follow me here. I had hoped that after... after what happened, you would be safe in Lordaeron."

The archmage's gaze softened, understanding dawning in her eyes. "I know," she said, her voice gentle. "But you're not just my friend, Arthas. You're someone that I could never leave behind. Even after what happened Hallow's end."

Arthas sighed. He had hurt her that day, and he could very well remember that day to be the day he fumbled her so badly.

"Since Muradin and the others are safe now," she began again, her voice tentative, "are we planning to return home to Lordaeron soon?"

Arthas took a moment to consider her question. "Jaina," he replied with a sigh, "While saving Muradin was a part of my reason for coming to Northrend, it is not the only work that remains to be done."

The sorceress didn't have to guess what that is. "Frostmourne."

To say he was alarmed is an understatement. "How do you know of Frostmourne?" Arthas questioned, his curiosity piqued by Jaina's mention of the cursed blade.

"Falric," she replied, her voice a soft whisper. "When I was keeping an eye on you and your men from afar, he mentioned it as something of great interest to you. But he didn't elaborate much on its purpose."

Arthas looked down for a moment, but he knew he had to give her some idea as to why. "It's an artifact," he explained to her, "One that could shift the tides of war if it falls into the wrong hands." He paused, his gaze drifting to the flickering candlelight. "And it seems that the Scourge, led by Mal'Ganis, have set their sights on it."

Making that latter reason was needed, even if it wasn't true; they want him to find it.J aina's eyes narrowed in concern. "Why do they want it?" she asked, her grip on his hand tightening slightly.

"It's s power is... significant," he said, choosing his words with care. "But I'll explain all of it once we manage to find it."

The sorceress was concerned as to how apprehensive Arthas had become, but knew better than to press on the issue and she only nodded in response. "Did...Falric knew all along that you were here at Northrend?", Arthas asked of her.

Jaina nodded, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Yes, he did," she confirmed, her voice carrying a tinge of amusement. "But I swore him to secrecy. I didn't want to be a burden or distraction." She paused, her gaze dropping to their entwined hands.

Arthas couldn't help but chuckle softly at the revelation, the tension in the air dissipating slightly. "Well, it seems I've got quite the knack for attracting stowaways," he quipped. "That would explain as to why some of the men were complaining of the leftovers being missing."

He spoke again, looking at her softly. "What did Falric tell you?", he asked.

Jaina looked down at their joined hands, her grip tightening slightly. "Falric... he knew I was worried," she began, her voice a mix of hesitation and earnestness. "He told me that you had confided in him during the voyage. That you were afraid. Afraid of several things. And that you're..."

Arthas's eyes grew distant, the candlelight playing over the shadows on his face. "Yes," he murmured, his voice tight with regret. "I was... I didn't want to hurt you in any way...and what could happen in what I am going to do here"

Her gaze searched his, her expression a mix of anger, pity, and a desperate hope that she could reach him. "But Arthas," she said, her voice firm, "I can handle myself. I'm an Archmage from the Kirin Tor, remember?"

Of course she'd say that..., Arthas thought. "But...wouldn't you be afraid on what I might do?"

She never wavered. "I don't fear you," she said simply. "I fear for you. And I fear on what would happen if you kept putting all the burdens on your shoulders..."

Again she was right. The reason why he pushed her away before was because he always felt he need to do it alone. The same thing applied when he first came to Northrend before. And look where that got him.

The tent was silent for a moment as Arthas took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling heavily. "Falric told me the same," he said finally. "He said that I needed to be honest with you, that it was the only way we could move forward."

Her response was a solemn nod, not moving her gaze away from him. "He's right," she said. "I want to help you, Arthas. I really do."

Arthas took her hand in his, his grip firm but gentle. "And I you, Jaina," he said, his voice filled with a determination that had been missing for so long. "If anything bad comes of this... I want you to know that I'll do everything in my power to help you. To help all of them."

Jaina's eyes searched his, seeing the shadows of his past but also the flicker of the man she had once known and loved. "Arthas," she said, her voice steady, "you're not alone. Not anymore."

Their hands remained intertwined as they remained silent in their camaraderie. No words were spoken. As there was no need to.

The next morning, Falric and Baelgun stood outside the tent, their breaths misting in the cold air as they discussed the previous night's victory. The sun had barely crested the horizon, casting an eerie light over the barren landscape of Northrend. Falric leaned against a wooden post, his eyes squinting as he peered into the distance, a hint of unease creasing his brow.

"Do you think this is truly over?" he asked his dwarf counterpart in contemplation. "The Scourge doesn't just retreat after one defeat."

Baelgun, ever the pragmatic one, took a swig from his flask, the amber liquid glinting in the early light. "Aye," he agreed, "but we've dealt them a blow they won't soon forget. And with any luck, it'll give us the time we need to figure out our next move."

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by the urgent footsteps of one of their men. "Sirs," he panted, "You need to see this." Falric and Baelgun exchanged a concerned glance before following the man to the top of a nearby ridge. There, they were handed a spyglass where Falric took it first, his gaze following the line that the man indicated. His breath hitched in his throat as he saw the horizon stretching before them, a sea of decay and malevolence marching inexorably closer.

Falric's jaw tightened as he identified the twisted forms of Ghouls and the monstrous silhouettes of Abominations. The skies were dotted with the sinister shapes of Gargoyles, their leathery wings cutting through the air like the sails of a ghostly fleet. And at the center of the advancing army, the hulking forms of Meat Wagons lurched forward, the macabre contraptions spewing forth an eerie green glow that pierced the night.

"By the light," he murmured, his voice tight with tension. "It's... it's an entire undead legion. "This is no mere patrol. This is a full-scale assault."

Baelgun took note of this and had taken the spyglass from him. "Larger than either of us have ever seen before.", he grimly commented before he gave the telescope back to the scout and patted Falric in the back. "Well, good luck lad! You're gonna need it!", he said before turning around and beginning to walk away, to Falric's shock and disbelief.

"Baelgun!", he exclaimed.

The dwarf turned around immediately. "I'm just messing with ya, lad.", he then turned to the camp and shouted with all the strength his lungs could handle. "SOUND THE ALARM AND READY THE TRAPS! WE GOT COMPANY!"

The urgent cry of the alarm pierced the crisp Northrend air, sending the camp into a frenzy of activity. Falric, his face etched with the gravity of his discovery, burst into the tent where Arthas, Jaina, and Muradin were deep in conversation. "My prince," he said, his voice urgent, "We have an incoming undead horde, and by the looks of it, it's larger than any we've faced before."

Arthas' responded was immediate as he pushed himself to his feet, closely followed behind by Jaina and Muradin as they watched the incoming horde from a distance. Surely enough, it was nothing that they ever seen.

Jaina's eyes widened as she took in the magnitude of the approaching horror. "Arthas," she said, her voice trembling, "this is beyond anything we encountered at Heartglen."

Muradin, his hand resting on the hilt of his axe, nodded gravely. "Aye," he rumbled, his gaze unwavering from the horizon. "We'd be overrun in minutes if we tried to face this with brute strength alone."

The three of them stood in the tent, the urgent cries of the camp outside muffled by the thick fabric. Arthas felt the weight of his decision like a mountain on his shoulders. He knew that retreat was not an option he had ever favored, but the reality of their situation was stark. With the shattered remnants of their forces and the overwhelming tide of the Scourge, victory seemed as fleeting as a mirage.

"Falric," Arthas said, his tone firm and decisive, "I want our men to evacuate to the ships immediately. We will not be able to hold our positions here."

The captain complied without question. "As you command, my prince," he said, turning to relay the orders.

But there are still two things that Arthas wished to deal with; the destruction of Frostmourne and the death of Mal'Ganis. However, the runeblade's destruction comes first, as it is the architect of destruction.

Sparing his men first from being turned into the undead is paramount if they're going to rob the Scourge of any additional numbers. And if Mal'Ganis is leading the army from the front, then they have a window to pursue the runeblade while he's preoccupied.

"Muradin," Arthas said, his voice filled with urgency, "We have to find Frostmourne before they're upon us. If we can claim it, it may grant us the edge we need to hold them at bay."

Muradin's eyes narrowed, sensing the gravity in his friend's voice. "Frostmourne?" he asked, his deep voice rumbling with concern.

"Yes," Arthas replied, his jaw clenched. "If its legends were true, then it should help us turn the tide. And if we don't act now, Mal'Ganis would use to create minions out of our corpses."

He had to make up that last part, but he could not reveal to them immediately as to what it could do. "But what about the others?"

"Marwyn and Baelgun will help Falric in evacuating our men to the ships.", the Prince replied. "If we don't do this now, we'll never will nor we live to see another day."

Muradin's eyes searched Arthas's, the unspoken question of 'why now' hanging in the air. Yet, the paladin's urgency was undeniable, and a promise was a promise. "If you say it's the key to victory, I'll help you find it," Muradin said gruffly, his hand moving to the hilt of his axe.

Jaina, though puzzled by the sudden emphasis on Frostmourne, knew the gravity of the situation and didn't dare to question Arthas's judgment. Her eyes flashed with resolve, and she nodded firmly. "I will come with you," she declared, her grip on her staff tightening. "We can assume that there are incantations needed, and if we're successful, I can teleport us back to safety before they could reach us."

Arthas nodded with gratitude. "Thank you," the Prince replied, setting himself up. "Let's go."

A few moments later, Muradin, armed with a map and a strange glowing object, and Jaina joined Arthas. The Sorceress mouth was etched in a frown and his eyes were unhappy, but his body was straight. She was worried on how urgent he was at seeking out the artifact, but she chose to trust her instincts and await whatever answers he may provide once they had arrived.

But at every second passed, she couldn't help but feel really at edge at what lies before them.

Muradin barked out directions as he alternately peered at his map and at the glowing object that seemed to pulse erratically. They moved as quickly as possible through the deep snow where he indicated, stopping only occasionally for the briefests of breaks to reassess. The sky darkened as clouds gathered. Snow began to fall, slowing them further.

Arthas began to move automatically. The snow made it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. He no longer noticed or cared in which direction he went, simply moving his legs as they followed Muradin's lead.

Time seemed to have no meaning. He could have been moving for minutes or days.

His mind was consumed with thoughts of Frostmourne. Their salvation. Or at least Arthas thought it would be.

True salvation only comes when that wretched runeblade is erased from the face of Azeroth. And to make sure its madness will never bewitch anyone else again.

Muradin and Jaina glanced at one another, both of them were silent as to the Prince's behavior. He had been relatively quiet since they left, his focus was evidently pointed at the artifact that made for an eerie journey.

They only hoped that Captain Falric and the others have manage to secure their men into their ships as soon as possible to prevent any more bloodshed to their ranks. But Jaina was concerned as to how long they would have to wait aboard if the three of them hadn't gone back as they haven't formed a last resort plan as to what will happen if that were the case.

Arthas halted, blinking eyes that were narrowed to slits against the driving snow, their lashes crusted with ice. They stood before the mouth of a cavern, stark and ominous- seeming in the snow-swirled darkness of the gray day. There was some kind of illumination inside, a soft, blue- green radiance he could just barely glimpse. Bone- weary, frozen as he was, anxiety shot through him. He

forced his numbed mouth to form words.

"Frostmourne... The end of all of this. Come on!"

The end of all of this...what could he mean?, Jaina thought as the declaration was ominous as it is cryptic. His journey here to Northrend was heavily tied here, but she could not piece out as to why so.

A second wind seemed to take him and he hastened forward, forcing his legs to obey.

"You two!" Muradin's voice brought him up sharply. "So precious a treasure won't be just left sitting

around for anyone tae find. We must proceed wi' a bit o' caution."

Arthas and Jaina chafed, but Muradin had more experience in these matters. So they nodded, as Arthas gripped his hammer firmly and Jaina with her staff, and entered warily. The immediate relief from the wind and driving snow heartened him, and they moved deeper into the heart of the cavern.

The illumination he had glimpsed from outside proved to be coming from softly glowing turquoise crystals and veins of ore, embedded in the rock walls, floors, and ceilings themselves. He had heard of such luminescent crystals and was now grateful for the light they provided. "I could feel a surge of magic lingering within these caverns...", Jaina bellowed as she walked closely to the two of them.c

"Which means, we're getting close...", Muradin said in reply while Arthas said , his hammer would have glowed with enough radiance to guide them. He frowned

at the thought, then pushed it down. It did not matter where light to see by came from, only that it was

present.

It was then that they heard the voices. Muradin had been right—they were expected.

The voices were deep, hollow, and cold- sounding, and their words were dire as they floated to Arthas's ears. "Turn back, mortals. Death and darkness are all that await you in this forsaken vault. You shall not pass."

Arthas stiffened. These were the same whispers that warned him before, but he answered back with aggression and disregarded its warnings. It would have been easier to simply state his business as to why he he came for the runeblade. But there is no guarantee that the Guardian would give them immediate access.

Jaina halted. "Arthas," she said in a soft tone, though in this place it seemed to echo endlessly, "Maybe we should listen."

"I know, Jaina." Arthas replied in an equally cautious tone. "If it would go as far as to try and warn us of the danger, then it's more than a reason why we have to do this."

He couldn't tell them. Not yet at least.

Gripping his hammer he hastened forward, rounded a corner—and stopped in his tracks, trying to

take in everything at once.

They had found the owners of the icy voices. For a moment, Jaina was reminded of her water elementals that she would call upon in combat. The beings hovered over the cold stone floor of the cavern, made of ice and unnatural essence instead of water, wearing armor that looked as if it had grown of and from them. They had helms, but no faces; gauntlets, weapons and shields, but no arms. Behind them, stood the Prince's sole reason why he had come here to Northrend.

Frostmourne.

It was very tempting to rush past these Guardians and destroy the runeblade with Light's Vengeance right there and now so he could be finally be done with it, especially as the sword is still at its weakest with no souls to empower it. But if it meant Jaina or Muradin being harmed because of his recklessness, then it wouldn't be an option.

The blade was caught in a hovering, jagged chunk of ice, the runes that ran the length of its blade glowing a

cool blue. Below it was a dais of some sort, standing on a large gently raised mound that was covered

in a dusting of snow. A soft light, coming from somewhere high above where the cavern was open to daylight, shone down on the runeblade. The icy prison hid some details of the sword's shape and form, exaggerated others. It was revealed and concealed at the same time, and all the more tempting, like a new lover imperfectly glimpsed through a gauzy curtain.

Arthas remembered the first time the sword appeared in his dream when he came to Northrend. The sword that had not killed Invincible, but that had brought him back healed and healthy.

Only to become his slave in the afterlife in his rampage on Azeroth in service of Ner'zhul

The sword did change everything, as Arthas once thought. Only to plunge kingdoms and citizens into chaos.

It was a mistake he could never afford again.

The uncanny elemental spirit drew its icy sword. "Turn away, before it is too late," it intoned.

"Still trying to protect the sword, are you?" Arthas snarled, angry and embarrassed at his reaction.

"No." The being's voice rumbled the word. "Trying to protect you from it."

Jaina's eyes widen in alarm. "Arthas...maybe we should turn back...", she suggested, though she prepared to cite an incantation if needed.

"If it were only that simple Jaina...", she looked to find Arthas brandishing Light's Vengeance at the guardians. "If we don't do this now...we'll never have another chance."

For a second, Arthas stared in contempt. Then he shook his head, eyes narrowing in determination. He could not let his anger cloud his judgement as it several times before.

He could never turn away the chance in digging up the seeds before to take root—to truly save everyone this time when he damned them the first time.

He charged, Jaina and Muradin soon followed. The entitieso Cnverged on them, attacking with their unnatural weapons, but Arthas focused his attention on thel eader, the one assigned to guard Frostmourne.

All his pent- up hope, worry, fear, and frustration, he unleashed on the strange protector. Jaina and Muradin did likewise turning to attack the other elemental guardians with both dwarven might and arcane power. His hammer rose and fell, rose and fell, shattering the icy armor as cries of anger were ripped from his throat.

"I know...", he whispered to the dissipating guardian. "Which is why I have to end this before it could even begin..."

With a final agonized sound, like that of the rattle coming from a dying man's throat, the spirit flung up what passed for hands and disappeared. Arthas stood staring, panting, the breath coming from his chilled lips in white puffs.

Then he turned to the runeblade, his eyes narrowing in silent contempt and disdain at the object that started it all for him.

"Here we are," he breathed, aware that his voice was shaking, "Frostmourne."

Arthas's eyes burned with a fiery hatred as he approached the sealed weapon. "It's...beautiful," Jaina whispered, her voice filled with curiosity at the power she could feel emanating from the ice.

"Aye, but beauty is often the lure of the most dangerous of predators," Muradin said gruffly, placing a hand on Arthas's shoulder.

Jaina took a closer look at the dais. "Wait, I recognized this. It's written in Kalimag—the elemental language," the Sorceress continued. "It's a warning. It says, "Whomsoever takes up this blade shall wield power eternal. Just as the blade rends flesh, so must power scar the spirit."

Both her and the dwarf knew it could only be one thing. "Bloody hell, that blade is cursed!", Muradin exclaimed in alarm. "We need to get out of here!"

Arthas, however, remained still. "I know.", he cryptically replied in a hushed tone. "Which is why I came here, to destroy it while it is still at it's weakest."

Jaina and Muradin exchanged bewildered glances, the gravity of the situation slowly dawning upon them as Arthas spoke with a conviction that was both chilling and eerily familiar. "What do you mean, Arthas?" Jaina asked, her eyes wide with concern.

Arthas took a step closer to the ice, his eyes never leaving the runeblade's imprisoned form. "Frostmourne," he began, his voice heavy with the weight of his words, "is not just a weapon. It is the physical manifestation of the Lich King's power. It is a key to his dominion over the Scourge, and an instrument of his will."

Muradin's hand tightened around the haft of his axe. "But why do you know this?" he questioned.

Arthas took a step back, his hand tightening around the haft of his hammer. "The whispers you've seen me struggle with, the moments where I've pushed us all too hard," he began, his voice strained. "It's because of...my previous mistakes..."

"Previous mistakes?", Jaina echoed, now feeling afraid. What is he talking about?

The prince's expression was a tumult of emotions - pain, anger, and a desperate yearning for redemption. He took a step towards the runeblade, his eyes never leaving its frozen prison. "Mistakes," he murmured, "that changed the course of history. Mistakes that claimed the lives of those I loved and the very soul of our world."

The words were a cryptic riddle, but the intensity in Arthas' voice sent a shiver down Jaina's spine. She knew that he wasn't speaking of mere tactical errors or missteps in judgment. No, these were the sins of a man who had borne witness to the very worst of what Azeroth had to offer.

"You don't understand what it's like to watch everything you love crumble to dust. And be the very hand that brought about its destruction."

Her eyes widened as she remembered the words he had uttered back at Heartglen. Did he...did he wield the runeblade before?

Arthas took a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes flickering with something akin to hope. Then, with a roar that echoed through the cavern, he swung his war hammer with all the strength of his being at the seal holding Frostmourne. The impact was explosive, sending a shockwave through the chamber that sent Jaina and Muradin skidding off their feet. A blinding flash of light filled the space, temporarily blinding them as the very air around them crackled with power.

When their vision cleared, they found Arthas standing before them, his hammer hovering in mid-air as if he had been caught in the very act of delivering a fatal blow. But his strike had not found its mark. Instead, Frostmourne remained untouched; Arthas' hammer had instead ended up in the grip of a massive demonic hand that had appeared from the very shadows of the chamber, its fingers encrusted with amethyst energy. Frostmourne remained sealed in its place, protected by Mal'Ganis.

The Dreadlord, looked at the Prince with contempt and of disdain. "You have chosen unwisely" he sneered, his voice like the hiss of a serpent. "Young prince."

Next chapter would be the defining point of Arthas' journey. We'll see if he's going to make different results from this one. Leave a review!