"Our company has demonstrated remarkable growth and resilience, my lord," Raelor, now overseeing the regional operations of the Stormsong's company branches in Lordaeron, spoke with a confident tone. "The flow of goods transiting through Stratholme is largely under our management. This dominant position we hold within the markets stems from an agreement forged between Lord Stormsong and King Terenas during the war. It's worth noting that this agreement has evolved into an ongoing arrangement that extends for an indefinite amount of time, reflecting its success in fostering economic prosperity for both domains."
"And what about the capital city?" Thorwin inquired, as his gaze stretched out towards the distant yet familiar expanse of the capital city of Lordaeron. Even from this distance, the grandeur and significance of Lordaeron's spires and streets resonated, evoking memories of times past. The subtle signs of reconstruction bore the scars of past conflicts now obscured by the efforts of healing and renewal. Though he found himself wrestling with a realization that simmered beneath the surface. The prospect of engaging with monarchs and high-ranking officials, while a necessary facet of their enterprise, held a certain weight that he couldn't help but find slightly suffocating. "Somehow, it's too consuming to once again show pleasantries with a king," he mused within the recesses of his mind, his thoughts dancing on the edges of introspection.
The delicate dance of diplomacy, the practiced smiles and the etiquette that bound their interactions, seemed to contrast with the raw authenticity that Thorwin craved. In a world where alliances and agreements were inked with both ink and appearances, the balance between maintaining appearances and staying true to oneself was a delicate equilibrium that he found himself navigating.
"In the heart of this city, our operations are thriving with particular vigor," Raelor affirmed, his words carrying a certain pride that underscored their achievements. The bustling harbor of the capital city in the distant seemed to mirror the vibrancy of their enterprise. Yet, beneath this prosperous veneer, lay a complex web of dynamics that shaped the landscape of commerce. He continued, "However, it is important to note that much of the distribution channels here are monopolized by the royal establishment." The words he spoke hinted at a delicate balance of power, a landscape where the wheels of commerce were both steered and influenced by those who wielded authority. The capital city was a stage where allegiances were cemented through both political maneuvering and economic control. The dichotomy between privilege and competition, as epitomized by the royal monopoly and the merchant families vying for their share, was an undercurrent that flowed beneath the city's surface.
Thorwin's response was immediate, his words a reflection of the astuteness that defined his role. "As they should," he voiced, the tone carrying an understanding that transcended mere words. The very essence of a royal family's credibility, their image of strength and command, rested on their ability to exert control even over the very markets that sustained their realm.
His next words carried a touch of intrigue as they veered towards a plan that was both pragmatic and discreet. "Father had told me to tell you to enact the plans that will swallow everything else left by the royalty. Make it so that King Terenas would not be aware of such a matter," Thorwin disclosed, the words tinged with a mixture of duty and subterfuge. The delicate dance between economic pursuits and political appearances was one that required both precision and finesse. His gaze shifted towards Raelor, a silent expectation woven into the air between them. "I assume you are up to the task, Raelor?" he inquired, the question itself an acknowledgment of the responsibilities that lay ahead.
"I shall carry out your command with the utmost dedication," Raelor replied, a sense of loyalty imbuing his words. His voice, though soft, held an unwavering resolve that resonated beneath his response. A subtle bow accompanied his words, a gesture of respect and understanding that carried within it the weight of their shared responsibilities. "Thank you for entrusting me with this opportunity, my lord," he added, his gratitude palpable even in the hush of his voice.
There is no need for formalities between us," Thorwin's words were imbued with a warmth that bespoke familiarity. "You are an integral part of the Stormsongs, and I hold complete faith in your capabilities," he affirmed, his voice carrying a note of genuine confidence.
A gentle touch, a hand placed on the shoulder of the half-elf, seemed to cement the sentiment that words alone could not convey. The contact was a testament to the bond that had been forged amidst their past. As Thorwin stood at a solid 6 feet, his height had now eclipsed that of the half-elf and most of those around him. The contrast in their statures seemed to underscore the disparity in their age.
Thorwin's mind wandered for a moment, caught in contemplation. He mused about the potentiality of his heritage, pondering whether it held secrets yet to be revealed. "It's intriguing," he thought, "that my ancestry might hold the promise of further growth." The prospect of adding a few more inches to his height in the coming years lingered in the corners of his thoughts, a curiosity that seemed to be a mix of wonder and acceptance. He paused, his thoughts shifting towards a recent chapter that had unfolded in his life. A touch of reminiscence graced his features as he recalled the process of acquiring new armor. "It's a blessing I didn't grow much this year," he thought, his mind momentarily settling on the practicalities of his physical growth. The replacement of armor, especially one as significant as his grandfather Anduin Lothar's replica, was no small feat. The armor, adorned with a majestic lion crest on the chest and intricate gilded patterns on the pauldrons, seemed to have become their family's legacy after his grandfather's passing.
"For the time being, I shall be joining Jaina," Thorwin informed Raelor, his tone carrying a sense of purpose and anticipation. He turned his gaze toward the bow of the ship where Jaina stood, her eyes seemingly captivated by the enchanting sights of the foreign kingdom. As he prepared to depart, his attention shifted back to Raelor, observing him bow once more. A soft sigh escaped him, an acknowledgement of his friend's unyielding adherence to formalities that had woven themselves into the fabric of their interactions.
Thorwin's steps were measured as he approached Jaina, a subtle awareness of his movements so as not to disrupt her trance-like fascination with the new surroundings. The atmosphere seemed to crackle with a sense of intrigue as he stood right behind her, his hands poised to enact a playful surprise. And then, with a swift yet gentle motion, he covered her eyes with both hands, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his lips.
Amusement danced in Jaina's voice as she responded to his playful gesture. "Who might this rogue be, daring to obscure a lady's vision with such audacity?" Her hand reached out, her fingers brushing against his hands, as if seeking to comprehend this spontaneous interaction through her own sense of touch.
A playful exchange ensued, with Thorwin fervently denying his alleged rogue status. Jaina's jest echoed in the air, carrying a hint of truth in its lightness. Thorwin's quick retort seemed to bridge the playful banter with a touch of chivalry. "Ah, but perhaps it's the valiant knight who safeguards his lady's eyes against horrors in front," he quipped, the words both a jest and a subtle nod to the unspoken dynamics that existed between them.
Yet, as the threads of their conversation wove a tapestry of playful camaraderie, Thorwin's response was met with a surprise that danced on the edge of his expectations. Jaina's hand, soft and warm, gently slipped from his grasp, only to be replaced by her own palm, their fingers intertwining in a seamless embrace. This simple gesture seemed to hold within it a world of meaning, a bridge between unspoken emotions that resonated like an echoing promise in the air.
The exchange was marked by a profound silence, a stillness that encapsulated the depth of their connection. Unspoken words lingered like delicate threads woven through the atmosphere, carrying sentiments that words alone could not convey. His left hand gently lifted her chin, tilting her head upwards to meet his gaze. The rosy hue that adorned her cheeks seemed to dance in the flickering light, a testament to the emotions that stirred beneath the surface.
A gentle chuckle escaped her lips as she broke the silence, her voice infused with a playful curiosity. "And why does my valiant knight seem so taken aback?" The question hung in the air, a teasing note that contrasted with the moment.
Thorwin's smile was infused with a genuine warmth as he responded, his words carrying a mixture of jest and sincerity. "Can you blame me? The beautiful Lady Jaina Proudmoore is holding my hand after all," he quipped, his gaze capturing hers.
A soft chuckle escaped Jaina's lips, her eyes dancing with a mixture of playfulness and fondness. "You have a point," she conceded, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Her voice held a hint of contemplation as she continued, a more somber note threading through her words. "Although not just anyone would be able to hold my hand like this. Besides you, Tandred, and..." Her voice trailed off, a hint of melancholy clouding her gaze as a name hung unspoken between them, a name that held memories both cherished and bittersweet.
"I wish he was here with us, Thorwin."
The weight of Derek's absence became a shadow that seemed to stretch across the span of time, lingering like a haunting refrain that echoed through their days. Two years had slipped by since that tragic loss, and yet, its impact remained imprinted on their lives. Jaina and Thorwin had not only lost a trusted comrade but a beloved brother and best friend, a void that no passage of time could fully mend. The bond they had shared as a trio, inseparable in their adventures and camaraderie, was forever altered.
Each day together unfolded against the backdrop of unspoken memories and the hollow space that Derek's departure had carved. The laughter that once reverberated with his presence seemed to echo in the silence, a ghostly reminder of the times they had shared. Grief, like a tidal wave, had surged through their lives, leaving in its wake an ache that defied attempts at consolation. Yet, amidst the pain and the memories that both soothed and hurt, an unexpected sentiment had begun to stir. A nascent emotion, hitherto unexplored by either of them, had taken root. It was a feeling that seemed to bloom silently during their shared grief, its tendrils weaving through the bonds that had been forged through trials and tribulations. In their sorrow, there was an undercurrent of something new, something that carried both hope and trepidation.
"I have heard about your interactions with the prince and princess of Lordaeron during your earlier stay here." Jaina's words carried a note of casual curiosity, a gentle segue into a new topic of discussion. Her eyes, bright and inquisitive, met his.
Thorwin's response held a tinge of contemplation, his voice imbued with the weight of unspoken complexities. "Yes, we were friends once," he began, his words tinged with a mixture of nostalgia and resignation. A sigh, heavy with the weight of unresolved feelings, escaped him as he continued to unpack the sentiment that had taken root within him. "However, I fear that the passage of time has eroded the foundation of those bonds. What once seemed unbreakable now feels fragile, as if our connection has been strained beyond repair."
Jaina's gaze, both compassionate and inquisitive, remained fixed on him. Her voice, gentle and understanding, cut through the complexities that had shrouded his thoughts. "But Thorwin, why do you believe that?" Her words carried with them a hint of challenge, a suggestion that there might be an alternative perspective to consider.
Thorwin's response, tinged with a mix of bitterness and sorrow, spoke to the depths of his convictions. "It's not a matter of mere belief, Jaina. I grapple with the fact that their father, by sparing the orc responsible for my grandfather's death, had disregarded the sacrifice of those valiant men who sacrificed their lives. The same hands that brought death and destruction now seem to have orchestrated a mercy that has left scars on our world."
Jaina's touch, soft and reassuring, found its place on his right hand. Her presence, both grounding and comforting, felt like a lifeline amidst the turmoil of emotions that swirled within him. "But remember, Thorwin, they are not their father," she offered, her voice a beacon of reason amidst the tempest of his thoughts. "They are individuals with their own hearts and minds, capable of forging their own paths."
Thorwin's gaze met hers, a silent understanding passing between them. Her perspective, one of compassion and wisdom, seemed to create a space within him, allowing for the seed of doubt to take root in his belief. "Perhaps you are right," he conceded, a genuine smile gracing his lips. "Maybe, you will be able to befriend them as well once we visit the palace."
"I am very much looking forward to it," Jaina answered.
He couldn't help but sense the genuine eagerness in her voice, recognizing that her own interactions and friendships had been limited to those within the sheltered confines of her world. Unlike himself, who had forged connections with a diverse array of individuals, Jaina's sphere of companionship had been anchored within the familiarity of her brothers and, of course, him.
…
The arrival in the regal city of Lordaeron marked the beginning of a journey that was both nostalgic and forward-looking. Thorwin, Jaina, and Raelor, followed Alonsus through the streets accompanied by the personal guards of Thorwin. Each step they took led to one path, towards the heart of the city—the throne room itself.
As the doors to the throne room swung open, a wave of grandeur greeted them. The expanse of the room stretched out before them, adorned with the symbols of a kingdom's lineage. Thorwin's eyes swept over the intricate details, the rich tapestries that adorned the walls, the ornate chandeliers that bathed the space in a warm glow. The familiarity of the setting stirred memories of a time long past when he and his companions had sought refuge within these very walls. The echoes of that period resonated within him, a reminder of the growth and transformation he had undergone since those anxious days.
The memory of his grandfather, the mighty Anduin Lothar, flickered like a candle within his thoughts. In those earlier times, the presence of the legendary figure had provided both reassurance and strength to the young Thorwin. While the physical absence of his grandfather was palpable, the spirit of resilience that Lothar embodied seemed to linger in the air, encouraging him to stand tall and embrace the present with newfound confidence.
The regal atmosphere of the throne room was further infused with an air of anticipation as King Terenas rose from his seat to greet their company. Thorwin's observant eyes caught the nuances of the king's expression—a practiced smile that extended a welcoming embrace, yet behind it, a subtlety that didn't escape his notice. As his gaze wandered among the arriving guests, Thorwin detected the flicker of genuine interest in King Terenas' eyes as they settled on Alonsus Faol. The archbishop's presence held significance beyond mere formality, and it seemed the king acknowledged this with a respectful nod.
Thorwin couldn't help but notice the contrast in reception as the king's eyes moved from Alonsus to Raelor. The warmth that had initially embraced the room seemed to dim slightly, replaced by an almost imperceptible indifference. It was a subtle shift, yet one that held its own weight of implication. He understood the source of this unspoken tension—Raelor's past service as a servant to the royal family, and his subsequent alignment with the Stormsongs. The unspoken hierarchy of loyalties danced in the air, a reminder that not everyone was equal in the eyes of the kingdom's ruler.
"Thorwin Stormsong, my children would be glad to meet their friend after such long years," King Terenas' voice echoed with a gentle cadence, and his smile held the echoes of bygone memories.
Thorwin's response, while polite and deferential, concealed the complexities that churned beneath the surface. "I am honored to once again be in your grace, King Terenas," his words carried a veneer of formality, a reminder of the status that hung between them. While his exterior bore the mask of civility, his thoughts danced between hate and wearisome.
"You have grown, my child," King Terenas' voice held a note of familiarity, the kind that comes from knowing the lineage that connects past and present. "The similarities to your grandfather are showing. In time, you will make a fine warrior like Lord Anduin," he continued.
The king's demeanor shifted as he stepped forward, a ruler casting aside the trappings of courtly formality to address them directly. This departure from protocol was a testament to the personal connection he perceived. "Daelin's daughter, I presume?" He asked when his gaze landed upon Jaina.
Jaina, on the other hand, stood in the shadow of this history, her first interaction with a foreign monarch leaving her visibly apprehensive. Her nervousness was palpable, the weight of protocol and the grandeur of the setting bearing down on her. Thorwin, attuned to her unease, stepped in to bridge the gap.
"Yes, King Terenas, we have arrived in Lordaeron to show respect before we continue our journey to Dalaran city," Thorwin's words held a touch of formality, a cloak of respect befitting the occasion. His role, not only as Jaina's friend but as her protector, extended to moments such as these.
King Terenas' gaze, shrewd and discerning, settled upon Jaina, his eyes tracing the contours of her form as if seeking to unravel the threads of her heritage. The silence that hung in that brief interlude spoke volumes, carrying with it a weighty acknowledgment she bore as the daughter of Daelin Proudmoore.
"It would not be befitting of me if I do not arrange your lodging during your stay in our kingdom," King Terenas' words resonated with a graciousness that was befitting of a ruler. "You have come at an opportune time; an assembly is scheduled in our family chapel this evening. I kindly request your attendance, while my servants prepare suitable accommodations for you."
Thorwin, Jaina, and Raelor trailed in the wake of Alonsus and King Terenas, their steps resonating softly along the corridors of the palace's royal wing. The air itself seemed to hold a sense of anticipation, each corridor leading them closer to a destination that was both sacred and laden with the echoes of history. Their journey led them to a small, unassuming chapel, nestled within the heart of the opulent structure. Despite its modest size, the chapel exuded an air of profound reverence, an oasis of tranquility amidst the grandeur of the palace. As the ornate doors swung open, revealing the sanctuary within, a hush enveloped the visitors. The soft echo of their footsteps seemed to fade in comparison to the palpable quiet that settled over the space. Thorwin's gaze swept across the room, taking in not only the beauty of the chapel's architecture but also the assembly of individuals gathered within. Among them were figures of significance from various kingdoms, their attire and bearing reflecting the weight of their roles.
Amidst the assembled dignitaries, Thorwin's eyes caught the regal presence of King Thoras Trollbane, a monarch of a neighboring kingdom beyond the borders of Lordaeron. Though, he looked gruff and appeared unhappy for even being here. A dwarf, resplendent in his own distinctive attire, bore the hallmarks of someone who hailed from the kingdom of Ironforge, a dwarven land known for its craftsmanship and innovative weaponry. And Uther the Lightbringer, a once stern knight who had now embraced the mantle of a Paladin and emerged as a war hero.
And then there was Queen Lianne, a figure who had remained elusive to Thorwin during his previous sojourns in the palace. The passage of time had etched its mark upon her features, yet her presence exuded an air of gentleness and wisdom. Thorwin's thoughts momentarily wandered back to the few occasions when their paths had crossed, remembering the grace with which she had presided over dinners and gatherings. As they settled into their seats among the distinguished gathering, a sense of gravitas settled over the chapel. Thorwin's gaze shifted toward the front, where the bishop stood poised to deliver his sermon. The anticipation in the air was palpable, particularly heightened by the sight of Alonsus Faol among the listeners. The bishop's enthusiasm was evident in his stance, his expression a blend of reverence and eagerness to impart his message to this esteemed assembly. The sense of occasion seemed to invigorate his words as he embarked on his discourse, his voice filling the sacred space.
As the sermon's cadence flowed through the chapel, a gentle hum of conversation to his side momentarily piqued Thorwin's curiosity. With a discreet glance to his right, he discovered Jaina engaged in a conversation with another figure, the graceful and poised Calia Menethil. Calia, upon noticing Thorwin's gaze, graced him with a bright smile, a beacon of familiarity amidst the gathering. Her words carried the gentle cadence of reunions that spanned years. "It has been a while, Thorwin," she remarked.
A reciprocal smile touched Thorwin's lips as he acknowledged her presence. "It is a pleasure to see you again, Princess," he replied. "I am pleased to see you have formed a friendship with Jaina. She will undoubtedly be excellent company in the palace gardens."
A subtle undercurrent of melancholy lingered in Thorwin's gaze, a reminder of the years that had elapsed since their last encounter. The passage of four years had etched its marks upon their lives, and for Thorwin, it had marked a period of transformation and introspection. Despite the tumultuous events that had transpired during this time, Calia's smile served as a poignant reminder that she was not culpable for her father's deeds.
Calia's words flowed with the natural ease of a blossoming friendship. Her enthusiasm was palpable as she mentioned her burgeoning relationship with Jaina. "Indeed, I have so much to explore with Jaina," she expressed with a warm smile. "And once again, my brother is late, but I'm sure Arthas will be excited once he hears news of your arrival, Thorwin."
"Arthas," Thorwin murmured thoughtfully, his gaze drifting into the distance as he contemplated the mention of his old friend. His words seemed to conjure the very presence of the prince, as if by some serendipitous magic. At that moment, a sudden thud resonated from behind the benches, signaling the arrival of their anticipated topic of conversation, Arthas Menethil. While the two girls appeared engrossed in their discussion and seemingly oblivious to the abrupt disturbance, the dignitaries in attendance turned their heads toward the source of the sound. Arthas, taller and a little imposing than Thorwin remembered, had entered the chapel. His growth in stature was evident to anyone who laid eyes upon him. His golden hair cascaded with a regal allure, and his features seemed to echo the kingly lineage he bore.
Arthas took a seat at the furthest bench, positioned against the chapel's back wall. Thorwin, who had been observing the prince's arrival, couldn't help but notice the way Arthas's gaze subtly drifted in their direction. It wasn't he, Calia, or even the event itself that had captured the prince's attention; instead, it was Jaina. Thorwin couldn't deny the twist of an unfamiliar and unpleasant feeling that welled up within him as he recognized Arthas's focus.
Four years had passed since their paths diverged, and yet here, in the grandeur of the palace's chapel, what stirred Arthas' emotions wasn't the reunion with an old friend, but rather the entrance of a girl. He turned his head towards Calia. He isn't as excited of my arrival as you said, he thought.
…
One week later.
Thorwin's hand toyed idly with a wooden sword, plucked from a nearby rack, as he engaged in some light-hearted banter with Arthas. "Are you sure, Arthas? Word has it you've been slacking off in training," he teased, a smirk dancing on his lips.
While he could jest with Arthas now, it hadn't escaped his notice that the prince's relentless attempts to engage Jaina had an irksome edge. Arthas would frequently invite her to explore the palace grounds or visit nearby places, only to be met with refusals from King Terenas himself. Thorwin, however, was careful not to impose his own judgment on Jaina's choices. He had no right to restrict her friendships or confine her to the bubble built around her. Amidst the rekindling of old connections, Thorwin was also deeply engrossed in his ongoing study with Archbishop Alonsus Faol, finding solace in the archbishop's quarters as it was a respite compared to the rigorous training he had endured in Brennadam.
"Maybe, or maybe not. But it sure is enough to spar with you once more, Thorwin." Arthas grinned.
Thorwin's attention shifted to the present. He could sense that beneath the surface of Arthas's eagerness, there was a hint of something that tugged at his patience. Somehow similar to his own unfamiliar feelings, he had noticed the subtle signs of irritation that flickered across Arthas's features whenever his interactions with Jaina became too close or intimate. It was a little weird for Arthas to show such behavior since he was only mere acquaintances with Jaina.
Then he turned to face Arthas and observed the prince's swift preparations. Leather armor clung to Arthas's form, and his fingers deftly familiarized themselves with the hilt of his sword. Thorwin couldn't help but find the whole situation somewhat futile. Arthas had undoubtedly grown in stature, now standing at around five foot eight with a well-defined, athletic appearance. However, compared to Thorwin, whose body had been hardened by both rigorous training and a little bit of battle experience, Arthas still fell short in many ways.
With a resolute nod, Thorwin continued to prepare for their sparring session. He secured his armor, each piece fitting like a second skin, a familiarity he had developed with the gear over years of training and combat. A sense of anticipation filled the air as the two friends readied themselves for the bout.
"Then be prepared," Thorwin declared, his voice carrying the weight of years of practice and dedication. He reached for two shields, one for himself and one for Arthas. The polished wood and metal gleamed in the armory hall's sunlight beaming through the windows. He handed the shield to Arthas, which the prince accepted right before they made distance between the two of them.
The armory hall was filled with an air of anticipation as Thorwin and Arthas locked eyes, their bodies poised for combat. Thorwin's fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword, feeling its familiar weight and balance. His shield, an extension of himself in battle, was raised and ready to defend against whatever Arthas might throw at him. With a determined expression, Thorwin pointed his shield directly at Arthas, a silent challenge in his stance. He knew the prince well enough to understand that this was more than a friendly sparring session—it was a test, a chance to prove their skills, and perhaps a subtle competition for something deeper. To goad Arthas into action, Thorwin struck his sword against the shield with a resounding clang, the metallic sound echoing through the hall. It was a clear taunt, an invitation for the prince to make the first move, and the tension in the air crackled with anticipation.
Like a charging bull, Arthas lunged forward with formidable momentum, his strides swift and powerful, closing the gap between them rapidly. His youthful exuberance fueled a heavy swing of his sword as he closed in on Thorwin. With precise timing, Thorwin responded, raising his sword to deflect the incoming strike. The clash of steel against steel resounded through the armory hall, echoing like a battle cry. Thorwin skillfully bashed his shield against Arthas', pushing the prince back with a force that belied his own strength. It was clear to Thorwin that Arthas was charging into the fray with unbridled determination, but little strategy. The prince's bold and headstrong approach was reminiscent of Thorwin's own earlier battles, particularly when facing Falstad. This lack of finesse was an advantage he intended to exploit.
Arthas's forward momentum abruptly halted; the tide of battle shifting in Thorwin's favor. Stepping forward with unwavering determination, he executed another swift shield bash, sending Arthas stumbling backward once more. The force of the impact disrupted the prince's stance, and Thorwin seized the opportunity to press his advantage. His sword became a blur of calculated strikes, each blow carefully aimed at his opponent's defenses. Arthas fought valiantly to maintain his guard, but Thorwin's relentless assault began to take its toll. A grim expression etched itself onto Arthas's face, a clear sign that the prince's strength was waning. His grip on the shield weakened, and Thorwin could sense the opportunity to press his advantage further. While a small part of him considered the possibility of a feint, Thorwin was confident that Arthas, in his current situation, lacked the finesse required for such a tactic.
Each swing of Thorwin's sword brought them closer to the inevitable outcome. Thorwin could almost taste victory, his determination unwavering as he sought to prove his superiority in combat. In that intense moment, as his blade gleamed in the armory's dim light, Thorwin seized the perfect opportunity. With a sudden burst of strength, he executed a powerful forward kick that sent Arthas crashing to the ground.
Victory seemed imminent as Thorwin poised himself for the final strike. But then, unexpectedly, he heard the words he hadn't anticipated: "I give up!" Arthas's surrender hung in the air, shattering the tension that had gripped the armory. Thorwin blinked in surprise, his blade hovering mid-swing. His heart pounded in his chest as he slowly lowered his weapon, a mix of confusion and relief washing over him. "What?" he responded, his voice tinged with a hint of disbelief.
Thorwin's shock quickly turned to self-reflection as he processed what had just transpired. It wasn't a question of why Arthas surrendered; it was a realization of the emotions that had driven him to that moment. His eyes, once focused on victory, now held a different sentiment as he gazed upon the fallen prince. In those eyes, he saw a reflection of something he didn't want to acknowledge—a darkness, a monstrous side that lurked within him.
"What have I done..." he muttered, the weight of his actions sinking in. With trembling hands, he let his sword slip from his grasp, the clang of wood on stone echoing through the armory. Shame washed over him as he looked down at the prince he had nearly struck down. This wasn't the way it was supposed to go, and he knew it. Their growing annoyance and rivalry should never have led to this point. Slowly, Thorwin extended a hand toward Arthas, a silent gesture of apology and reconciliation. The tension between them had reached a breaking point, and it was time for a truce. "Arthas," he began, his voice carrying a tone of regret, "I'm sorry. This shouldn't have ended like this."
The moment hung in the air, suspended between them like an unspoken promise. Thorwin's outstretched hand quivered slightly, waiting for Arthas's response. In those few seconds, the weight of their rivalry and the clash that had nearly escalated into something far worse seemed to dissipate.
Finally, Arthas reached out and grasped Thorwin's hand, accepting the offer of reconciliation. Thorwin pulled him up, and for a moment, both young men simply stood there, locked in a gaze.
In Arthas's eyes, the fear that had momentarily flashed there was replaced by a lingering sense of awkwardness. Thorwin, on the other hand, couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for letting things spiral out of control. It was time to move on, to put this behind them, but the path forward remained uncertain.