Looking up from the Junk Drawer. Turns out I found one of my old fics I made at 2021 but never got to publish it. And pretty much forgot about it to focus on my Star Wars and Gundam fanfics. I forgot how I was into Warcraft back then, which was the original RTS game but couldn't play the WOW game due to subscriptions. But I'm keeping tabs of the recent lore and gameplay, in spite of Blizzard's dodgy calls.
It was over.
The reign of the Lich King is at an end. His helmet, or rather the Helmet of Domination used to imprison Ner'Zhul, lay dormant a few feet away from him. Frostmourne, the very weapon that slew countless foes, and the blade that determined the current fate of Azeroth as it is today, lay shattered in pieces.
It was a useless effort to try and escape death after bringing it to so many people. His eyes widened, beaming with relief and of fear when he grasped the spectral hand of a man who came to him. The man whom he slayed and brought everything he had worked for to ruin.
"Father!", he cried out. "Is it...over?"
The spectre, or the spirit, smiled warmly at him as he squeezed his hand onto his child whom he loved so dearly. "At long las...no king rules forever, my son."
"I see...only darkness before me..."
The light grew brighter, piercing the veil of shadows that had consumed Arthas' soul for so long. He felt a warmth that had been absent since he first picked up Frostmourne, the runeblade that had led him down his tragic path. His eyes, once cold and lifeless, began to glisten with a flicker of hope. "Father," he murmured, his voice weak but earnest, "Could I...atone?"
Terenas, his ethereal gaze filled with both sorrow and love, replied, "Only the most profound of atonements can balance the scales of your deeds, my son. If your heart truly yearns for it, then perhaps there is a spark within you yet to be kindled."
The light grew more intense, and Arthas' spirit felt as if it was being torn from the cold embrace of the Lich King's dominion. "What must I do?" he desperately asked.
The ghostly king's voice grew solemn. "Ensure that...you would not make the same mistake twice"
The room around them began to distort, the very fabric of the afterlife bending to the will of the divine intervention. The light grew blinding, and Arthas felt a surge of power coursing through him, a power that was not his own, but rather a gift from the cosmos itself. The spirit of Terenas faded, his final words echoing in Arthas' mind, "Consider the choices that you have made, and perhaps, in doing so, you can find a different conclusion."
A pair of green eyes suddenly opened, and he breathed in heavily after feeling the air within him disappear for a few moments. Arthas found himself laying on a bed, rather than the cold concrete of Icecrown Citadel as he knew he should've been. And something was amiss: he wasn't at Northrend.
Rather he was at his own personal chambers. At Lordaeron's Capital City.
He took his time to adjust s of his surroundings, reaching for the silver-framed mirror that once reflected his youthful visage on a table beside his bed. e
Arthas felt his heart stop when his reflection stared back at him, a stark contrast to the one he'd grown accustomed to in his darker days.
Gone was the frostbitten skin, the icy blue tint that had claimed his flesh, and the tattered, corroded armor of the Lich King. Instead, he beheld the image of a man in the prime of his life, clad in a simple tunic and trousers that were his sleepwear. His blond hair, rather than the icy white hue that came after he took Frostmourne was noticeable. His eyes, though weary, was normal. Human. Untainted.
"What...what sorcery is this?" he whispered to himself, the sound of his own voice that wasn't filtered by the power he wielded as the Lich King that he hasn't heard in the past seven or eight years.
He touched his face, feeling the warmth and vitality that had been taken away. He felt the warmth of his palm into his cheek, reminding him that this was not a mere dream or illusion. The room remained silent, other than his breathing as well as the distant activities made by the people of Lordaeron, alive and well as he opened the window. To find all of them unaware and peaceful of the danger that befell them.
It's impossible...
"But how?", he gasped as he could not trust his own mind, not after the torment he had endured and influcted. Yet, it felt so vivid, so real, that doubt began to waver.
As he stared onto his reflection, familiar memories began to reappear within his mind. Memories that brought him only sorrow and regret as he held the right side of his face.
The murder of his mentor, Uther, the fall of his beloved Kingdom, the burning of Stratholme, and the countless souls he had claimed in the name of the Lich King and of himself. Each memory brought with it a fresh wave of pain and regret, a stark contrast to the unblemished reflection he now beheld.
He breathed out heavily, trying to reconcile the two versions of himself that now existed in the same space. "If this is real...then what am I to do?" he asked the empty room, even though no one would hear him.
The gentle knocking at the door of his quarters brought Arthas back to the present with a jolt. His hand hovered over the hilt of a sword at his side, alarmed. The door creaked open, and a young servant, noticing his Prince's reflection in the mirror, cautiously stepped inside.
"My Prince," the servant began with a slight bow, "His Royal Highness, King Terenas, requests your presence at the banquet hall for the morning meal."
Arthas, though still trying to register what was happening before him, took a moment to compose himself. He felt a strange tug at his heart that he hadn't felt it years after he ripped it out to forsake his humanity. The warmth of his father's company was something he hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity. "Very well," he replied in a steady tone, though it was clear that he sounded weary. "Please inform His Highness that I shall join him shortly."
The servant complied and retreated, closing the door softly behind him. Arthas turned his gaze from the mirror. Did I really come back to where it all began?, he thought to himself for a long moment before he began to prepare. He chose an appropriate attire with care. The boots felt surprisingly light upon his feet, a stark contrast to the heavy, clanking armor of the Lich King.
As he descended the grand staircase, the castle of Lordaeron came alive around him. The scent of baking bread wafted from the kitchens, mingling with the faint aroma of polished metal from the nearby barracks. The murmur of guards and servants, humans rather than the udead minions of the Scourge, went about their duties, and the clank of armor and the rustle of silk from the nobility filled the air. It was the life he knew and had not heard in so long, and it was comforting as it was overwhelming.
As Arthas entered the banquet hall, the grandeur of the room took him aback. The long, ornate table was laden with a feast that could rival the bounty of Azeroth itself, a testament to the prosperity of the kingdom before it had been ravaged by the Scourge.
The Prince felt his heart become heavy approached the table where father, King Terenas, alive and well, sat with a smile that seemed to have never faded. The king looked up, his eyes lighting up at the sight of his son, and beckoned for him to come closer.
Every step Arthas took echoed through the cavernous room like the toll of a funeral bell. He could feel the eyes of the court upon him, a blend of curiosity and wariness. As he reached the high-backed chair next to his father, he paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the ornate wood, feeling the warmth.
"Ah, Arthas," Terenas greeted with genuine warmth and affection, "You're just in time. I was beginning to worry that you'd overslept."
Arthas' chest tightened at hearing him again; the last time he heard his father was his sound of disbelief before he plunged Frostmourne into him that sealed Lordaeron's fate. "Forgive me, father," he managed to speak. "I...I had much to contemplate."
Terenas studied him for a moment. "Of course," he replied. "Our future remains uncertain, which is why we make the best out of it, no matter what lies before it. Nowtake your seat. We have a long day ahead of us."
Arthas complied. As he sat, the chair creaked, and he felt the fabric of time stretch and pull around him. It almost felt alien to be here again, not after everything that had transpired. As he took his place beside his father, a strange feeling of comfort began to seep into him, like a warm embrace from a long-lost loved one.
The same warmth when the spectral figure of Terenas comforted him, when he had every reason not to.
Terenas, noticing that Arthas had not touched a morsel of the feast laid out before them, placed his silverware down with a gentle clink and regarded his son with a furrowed brow. "Is everything all right, Arthas?" he inquired as he is concerned of jim. "You seem...distant this morning. Is there something you wish to discuss?"
Arthas, caught of guard, took a moment to compose himself before speaking. He looked at his father, the man who had who welcomed him back with open arms after he first returned from Northrend, and Arthas couldn't help but avert his gaze, almost not wanting to face him. "It is...nothing, Father," he tightly replied. "I merely had a restless night and find myself a bit out of sorts."
Terenas could figure that his heir had gone through a lot, but he knew better than to press the issue. "Very well," he said with a nod, though his concern did not waver. "If you wish to speak of it, my doors are always open."
Arthas took a deep breath, the scent of roasting meats and freshly baked breads finally reaching his nose, and he picked up his own fork. The food looked so tantalizing, so...real. It had been an eternity since he had tasted anything.
After ripping out his heart, he could distinctively remember no longer needing to eat as his new position as Lich King no longer demanded such sustenance as he is able to live without them.
He took a tentative bite, the flavors exploding on his tongue as if he had forgotten the very concept of taste. It was a strange and alien sensation, yet it brought with it a wave of comfort and nostalgia. The warmth of the food spread through his body, a sensation he had not felt in countless years.
"And how fares your training as a Paladin, my son?" Terenas inquired, breaking the silence.
Arthas paused, the bite of food halfway to his mouth. Training as a Paladin—of course, he was and potentially is still a member of the Silver Hand at this point. Until he suspended them for Stratholme that is.
"It...it goes well, Father," he lied, the words sticking in his throat like bones in a starved beast's maw. "Uther...has taught me well."
Terenas nodded with a smile. "I am pleased to hear it. He is quite eager for your next lesson, you know. He believes you have the potential to become one of, if not the, best among us."
The mention of Uther sent a shiver down the Prince's spine. The image of his mentor, his face twisted in anger and disappointment as Arthas brought Frostmourne down upon him, was burned into his memory.
But here, Uther was still alive, an aging but still valiant defender of Lordaeron as he had done in decades He took a sip of his watered wine, the cool liquid doing little to quench the fire of his inner turmoil.
"Father," Arthas began, needing to clear a few things with Terenas, "I have...seen things that I cannot unsee, felt powers that I cannot untouch." He paused. "I fear that I may not become the King you believe me to be."
Terenas looked at his heir quizzically. "I once have the same thoughts as you have, my son. In every step of the way, no leader is ever born with the natural capabilities.", be professed. "They have to be forged through experience and to be resilient. Give it more time, my son, and you'll be able to become the leader our homeland needed, even if you could not see it for yourself as every leader is defined by by their intentions for the people they lead."
Arthas nodded thoughtfully. Of course, he remembered such as advice when he was first the Crown Prince. But he constantly let his own impulses decide for him.
Once the meal concluded, Arthas pushed back his plate, feeling ready. "I will have to return to my chambers to prepare for the day, Father," he told hm.
Terenas, his gaze still holding that unspoken concern, gave a nod of understanding. "Take your time, my son," he said, his hand resting briefly on Arthas' shoulder. "I only ask you to trust yourself whenever there is a battle that you felt from within."
Arthas went back to his room and approached his wardrobe, looking to find the familiar armor that he wore, unmodified and untainted of the dark gray and skull patterns of a Death Knight. The blue, gold and silver armor he wore in his previous lifetime that is adorned by the symbol of the Kingdom of Lordaeron that he wore in pride. He reached out, his hand brushing against the cool metal, remembering the countless memories he had wearing them.
"Is this truly a second chance?" he murmured to his reflection, sounding uncertain as well as thinking how absurd it sounds. "Or is it a cruel jest of fate, taunting me with what might have been?"
With a sigh, Arthas began to don the familiar pieces of his old life. Each piece felt like a piece of him was being reclaimed from the icy prison of his memories. He grasped Light's Vengeance, the warhammer that had once brought justice to the unjust, feeling its power resonate within him.
Also the same weapon he discarded when he acquired Frostmourne that sealed his fate.
As he fastened the last buckle of his armor, he looked into the mirror, the reflection showing a man torn between two worlds. "What am I to do?" he whispered. "Could I...stop it from happening again?"
There was no reply, other than his memories came flooding back, as well as the countless people he had cared for and loved who lives he snuffed because of his thirst for power and as the Scourge's champion.
He couldn't dwell in the last too much, but that was a task easier said than done. It couldn't have been a mere illusion. "If this is indeed another chance," he murmured, "I have to use it wisely, but I have to be careful."
As he walked, he couldn't help but feel the eyes of his former comrades and subjects upon him,. Yet, it was the memory of Terenas' words that gave him the strength to continue.
"Ensure that...you would not make the same mistake twice"
He took a deep breath...knowing that he had to begin again from where it all began.
Edited: February 10, 2025