Epilogue

           TheblueandwhiteworldblurredinArthas’sdreamvision.Thecold,purecolorsshifted,changedtothewarmhuesofwoodandfire-andtorchlight.Hehaddoneashesaidhewould;hehadrememberedhislife,allthathadgonebefore,hadagainwalkedthepaththathadtakenhimtotheseatoftheFrozenThroneandthisdeep,deepdreamingstate.

           Butthedreamwasnotover,itwouldseem.Heagainsatattheheadofthelong,beautifullycarvedtablethattookupmostofthisillusionaryGreatHall.

           Andthetwowhohadsuchaninterestinhisdreamwerestillthere,watchinghim.

           Theorconhisleft,elderlybutstillpowerful,searchedhisface,andthenbegantosmile,thegesturestretchingtheimageofthewhiteskullpaintedonhisface.Andonhisright,theboy—theemaciated,sicklyboy—lookedevenworsethanArthasrememberedhimlookingwhenhehadenteredthedreamofremembrance.

           Theboylickedcracked,palelipsanddrewbreathasiftospeak,butitwastheorcwhosewordsshatteredthestillnessfirst.

           "Thereissomuchmore,"hepromised.

           ImagescrowdedArthas’smind,interweavingandlyingatoponeanotherintoglimpsesofthefutureandpastentangled.Anarmyofhumansonhorseback,carryingtheflagofStormwind...fightingalongside,notagainst,aHorderaidingpartymountedatopsnarlingwolves.Theywereallies,attackingtheScourgetogether.Thesceneshifted,changed.