Yo—welcome, intruders, moths to a blue flame.

We stood in a room that seemed endless, the walls studded with a forest of blue torches, cold fire the only light.

The floor stretched like a stone plain, empty as winter fields; the only rise was a lonely chair, an island a hundred meters away.

It was a throne stitched from skulls and uneven bones, a bleached reef afloat in frost-blue glow.

Someone sat upon it—perhaps someone—his figure a shadow locked behind metal, like night trapped in steel.

Head, torso, limbs—everything wrapped in an iron shell, a beetle plated in darkness.

Maybe it was the blue fire; his armor bled an eerie sapphire glow, glacier light shining under deep water.

Unease hit first, a cold creep up the spine; the armor hid all but two eyes, blue stars that refused to blink.

At his throne’s left rested a sword carved with skulls, a length of metal sleeping in cold vapor and ice.

When the door opened, the voice that named Alicia and the rest intruders came from him, a chill wind out of the blue flames.

They’d thought Ban’s defeat meant they could wrap up and go home, sunset at last; then another shadow rose, sharp as a blade.

What did it feel like? Like calm water suddenly dropping into a dark whirl.

Like your first run of Mario: you grind through a big stage, lungs burning; a Toad pops up, smiling like a paper mask.

“Sorry, the princess is in another castle,” he says, cheer bright as winter glass.

Anger rises, but your hands hang useless, like fists in rain.

Facing this armored stranger who burst out with no warning, Ling felt exactly that, a slap of cold wind across the face.

And honestly, looking at his kit—full-body plates and a greatsword that gleamed wealth at a glance—he was a storm, not a reed.

He had to be stronger than that guy who only blew a flute, a gale against a paper kite.

Maybe Ban was only this giant’s pawn? No… probably not.

Ling shook her head, the thought skimming off like a stone over water; their auras clashed, like fire and snow.

Different roads don’t walk together; these two would never share a banner, let alone kneel.

She had brushed past the truth perfectly, but whatever—no one would clutch at that small ripple.

Hello. We’re not here to invade; our purpose is done, and we won’t linger, we’ll leave like wind through reeds.

Alicia slid in front of Ling, hand out like a folding fan, a quiet wing; she nudged Ling, a signal to hush.

Ling had no objection; she stepped back half a pace, tucking her spark under a lid.

She wasn’t looking to brawl for nothing; if Alicia could sway him, great; if not, fists could speak, thunder couched in patience.

Still… he looked familiar somehow, a winter statue you swear you’ve seen in another snow.

Intruders, we’ve buried ourselves under the earth like roots in the dark, and you still won’t let us go?!

His voice alone carried anger, thick as storm clouds; that deep timbre laid a heavy crown over the rage.

I was driven out—driven out by the world, the tide casting me onto knives; I fled with my men and came down here.

I laid aside every scheme that would wound the world, set my blades in the snow; I stopped every act that hurt the living, quieted the wolves in my chest.

Even so—do you still refuse to let me go?!

His voice shook with grievance and fire, a torch flaring in an ice cave; in this emotionless Undead Skeleton nest, it rang strange.

Alicia felt his mood spike, tinder drying in a hot wind; one wrong word could spark the powder.

Sir, I think there’s a fog between us—a misunderstanding?

She softened her tone, silk thread in a storm; talk was an art, even across species.

But Alicia had hoped too much; the man already rode his anger, a rider on a wild horse.

Maybe he took them as part of those who cast him out; his trust had frozen, doors slammed like iron.

No surprise—Alicia’s words hit a wall, bouncing off cold steel, never passing ear to ear.

There is no misunderstanding between us! Your aim was to deceive me, a web of plots stripping me of all, forcing me into this damned pit!

What are you even talking about?!

Alicia felt the confusion knot, a rope fraying in her hands; she hadn’t spun any plots, yet blame settled like wet sand.

Even so, she guessed someone had truly tricked him, a hook buried deep in his heart.

Sir, honestly, this is our first meeting; we’ve never come underground before, never seen you—where does this talk of deceit even start?

Shut up! Don’t think I won’t recognize you just because you dyed your hair! It was you—it was you who ruined me, who forced me into this hell!

Alicia drew breath to answer, but the armored man stood first; her words sank back like stones into a lake.

He rose to his full height; the armor moved with a clack-clack, metal teeth gnawing the air.

A glove bright with metal sheen lifted; he reached left and took the sword, blue vapor—ice or smoke—curling from the blade with a ghostly whoosh.

From under the helm came a different voice, hoarse as wind over gravel, a chill rasp through frost.

My name is Arthas Menethil, just a passing death knight—remember it, like a black banner in snow.