Артас: Возвышение короля-лича

           "

           Heslippedoffthechairandslowlywalkedtowardthedeathknight.Arthasstoodasheapproached.Foramoment,theyregardedeachother,thechildandthemanhehadbecome.

           Theboyextendedhisarms,asifhewerealiving,breathingchildaskingtobepickedupandheldbyalovingfather."Itdoesn’thavetobetoolate,"hesaidquietly.

           "No,"Arthassaidquietly,staringraptlyattheboy."Itdoesn’t."

           Hetouchedthecurveoftheboy’scheek,slippedahandbeneaththesmallchinandtilteduptheshiningface.Hesmiledintohisowneyes.

           "Butitis."

           Frostmournedescended.Theboycriedout,hisshocked,betrayed,anguishedcry—thatofthewindragingoutside—andforamomentArthassawhimstandingthere,thebladeburiedinhischestalmostasbigashewas,andfeltonefinaltremorofremorseashemethisowneyes.

           Thentheboywasgone.Allthatremainedofhimwasthebitterkeeningofthewindscouringthetormentedland.

           Itfelt...marvelous.Itwasonlywiththeboy’spassingthatArthastrulyrealizedhowdreadfulaburdenthislaststrugglingscrapofhumanityhadbeen.Hefeltlight,powerful,purged.Scouredclean,asAzerothwouldsoonbe.Allhisweakness,hissoftness,everythingthathadevermadehimhesitateorsecond-guesshimself—itwasallgone,now.