Weeks passed quietly after Leylin's meeting with Antonidas.
Inside the floating city of Dalaran, life continued as it always had. Apprentices attended lectures on elemental manipulation.
Archmages debated theoretical arcane structures. Scholars spent long nights inside the Grand Library studying ancient tomes.
To the mages of the Kirin Tor, the world still seemed stable. Peaceful. Predictable. Yet far to the north, in the countryside of Lordaeron, something terrible was unfolding.
It began with small villages. Remote settlements where few travelers passed and news moved slowly. Farmers began falling ill after eating bread made from recently delivered grain.
At first, the sickness appeared ordinary. Fever. Weakness. Severe fatigue. Local priests attempted to heal the victims with prayers to the Light, but strangely the illness resisted their blessings.
Within days, entire families collapsed. Within a week, the first deaths began. Then something worse followed. The dead did not remain dead.
Reports soon emerged of corpses rising from graves, wandering through fields and farmhouses in the dead of night.
Some witnesses swore that the dead attacked the living. Others claimed it was madness brought by grief and fear. Local militias attempted to destroy the walking corpses.
But every village that experienced the plague fell into chaos before proper messages could reach the larger cities. Still, rumors slowly spread across the northern territories. Rumors of a disease that killed… And then returned its victims to life.
Inside the royal capital of the Capital City of Lordaeron, couriers began arriving with disturbing messages. Royal scribes collected reports from regional governors.
One letter described entire farms abandoned overnight. Another spoke of violent outbreaks in rural villages. Yet another reported strange corpses that refused to stay buried.
At first, the officials believed these stories were exaggerated. Bandits. Disease. Panic among peasants. But the number of reports continued to grow.
Soon they reached the desk of the aging king. King Terenas Menethil II. The king sat quietly in his study as he read through the reports. His brow slowly furrowed.
"These accounts are… troubling."
Across the room stood several advisors. One suggested famine. Another proposed a spreading illness. But none could explain the reports of the dead rising. Finally, King Terenas spoke firmly.
"Send word to Dalaran."
"If this is some form of sorcery… the Kirin Tor must investigate."
Several days later, a royal messenger arrived at the gates of Dalaran. The letter bore the royal seal of King Terenas Menethil II. It was delivered directly to the central tower where Antonidas conducted his duties.
The archmage opened the letter calmly. But as he read its contents, his expression slowly changed. Concern replaced calm. Confusion followed. Finally… Unease.
The king's request was clear. A mysterious plague was spreading throughout northern Lordaeron. The victims died quickly. Then their corpses behaved… unnaturally. Antonidas reread the final line carefully.
"We request the immediate assistance of the Kirin Tor in investigating this matter."
The archmage leaned back slowly in his chair.
For weeks he had dismissed rumors of strange happenings in the north. Now the king himself was asking for aid. Which meant the situation was no longer minor.
As Antonidas stared at the letter, a memory surfaced in his mind. A quiet meeting weeks earlier. A young mage standing calmly before him. A warning spoken without fear.
"The fall of a kingdom."
Antonidas frowned slightly. At the time, he had assumed the young mage referred to orc uprisings. But now… The description of the plague felt disturbingly similar to the warning he had received. The archmage slowly rose from his chair.
"Perhaps… I dismissed that conversation too quickly."
Still, Antonidas was not a man who jumped to conclusions. The Kirin Tor required evidence. Facts. Investigation.
He rang a small bell beside his desk. Moments later, a mage assistant entered.
"Yes, Archmage?"
Antonidas handed him the letter.
"Summon the council."
Later that evening, several powerful members of the Kirin Tor gathered inside the council chamber. Floating magical crystals illuminated the circular room. Arcane runes glowed softly along the walls.
Antonidas stood at the center of the chamber holding the king's message.
"The northern territories of Lordaeron are experiencing a strange outbreak," he explained.
"Villages report a disease that kills quickly."
One archmage asked calmly,
"And the rumors of undead?"
Antonidas nodded slowly.
"Yes… those reports as well."
The room fell silent. Necromancy was forbidden magic. And yet one name suddenly crossed Antonidas' mind. A former member of their order. A brilliant but dangerous scholar. Kel'Thuzad.
He had been expelled from Dalaran years earlier for pursuing forbidden studies. At the time, the Kirin Tor believed exile would end his ambitions. But now…
Antonidas quietly wondered if that assumption had been a mistake.
"We must investigate immediately," he said.
The council agreed. They would send a mage who would travel north to study the plague firsthand. They would examine the disease. Identify its source. And determine whether dark magic was involved.
Not far from the council chamber, standing quietly on a high balcony overlooking the glowing city, Leylin gazed toward the distant northern horizon.
The night wind carried faint traces of corrupted mana. Necromantic energy. Weak. But growing stronger each day.
Behind him, Jaina Proudmoore approached quietly.
"The Kirin Tor just received a royal request," she said.
Leylin did not turn.
"The plague."
Jaina blinked.
"You already knew?"
Leylin remained silent for a moment. Then answered calmly.
"I expected it."
Jaina stepped beside him.
"The council is preparing an investigation."
Leylin finally looked toward the distant north.
"By the time they understand what they are facing…"
His voice softened.
"It will already be spreading beyond their control."
Somewhere far away, in the granaries of Andorhal, wagons filled with cursed grain were still traveling south. Village by village. Town by town. And with each passing day… More of the dead began to rise.
The Plague of Undeath had begun its slow march across Lordaeron. And the kingdom had only just realized it was already dying.
News of the spreading plague soon traveled across the kingdom of Lordaeron, reaching not only the mages of Dalaran, but also the royal court itself.
Within the grand marble halls of the Capital City of Lordaeron, tension had begun to grow. Servants whispered among themselves.
Messengers rushed through the corridors carrying sealed letters. Reports from the northern lands were arriving almost daily now. Villages abandoned. Entire farming communities disappearing overnight.
And most disturbing of all—witnesses claiming the dead had begun to walk.
Inside the royal audience chamber, Terenas Menethil II sat upon his throne, his expression grave as he listened to the latest report. A royal courier knelt before him.
"Your Majesty… the northern settlements near Andorhal report that the sickness continues to spread."
The king rubbed his temples slowly.
"And the priests?"
"They have attempted healing rituals, Your Majesty. But the disease seems… resistant."
Several nobles murmured uneasily. At the side of the chamber stood a young man clad in polished armor, his golden hair catching the light of the torches.
Arthas Menethil, prince of Lordaeron. His brow furrowed as he listened to the report.
"Father," Arthas finally said, stepping forward, "if this plague threatens our people, we cannot simply wait for more information."
King Terenas looked at his son.
"And what would you suggest?"
Arthas did not hesitate.
"Send me to investigate."
The room fell silent. Many of the nobles exchanged worried glances. But the king studied his son for a long moment before nodding slowly.
"Very well."
His voice carried the weight of authority.
"You will travel north and determine the cause of this plague."
Arthas bowed respectfully.
"I will not fail you, Father."
At the same time, within Dalaran, the Kirin Tor had also begun preparing their own investigation. Inside a quiet chamber of the Violet Citadel, Antonidas stood before a familiar student. Jaina Proudmoore.
"You have returned from your studies in Quel'Thalas with remarkable progress," Antonidas said calmly.
Jaina bowed respectfully.
"I have learned much."
Antonidas nodded thoughtfully.
"Good."
He handed her a scroll bearing the royal seal of King Terenas Menethil II.
"The prince of Lordaeron has been tasked with investigating the plague."
Jaina blinked slightly.
"Prince Arthas Menethil?"
Antonidas nodded.
"You will accompany him."
Jaina hesitated for only a moment before replying.
"As you wish, Archmage."
She accepted the scroll. Though outwardly calm, her thoughts drifted briefly toward someone else. Toward the mage who had warned them weeks earlier.
While Jaina prepared for her journey north, Leylin had already returned to Windrunner Village.
The peaceful village within Quel'Thalas remained calm, untouched by the chaos spreading through the human lands.
Children still played along the roads. Merchants traded goods in the market. Fishermen returned daily from the sea with their catches. But inside the study of Windrunner Manor, Leylin's expression remained serious.
Spread across his desk were several maps of northern Lordaeron. Small marks indicated the locations where the plague had already appeared. Behind him, Aminel and Tyr'ganal were quietly discussing magical theory related to spatial stability.
Even as events unfolded across the continent, their daily routine had not stopped. Training. Research. Sparring. The three mages had continued their practice relentlessly. Yet Leylin knew time was growing short.
That afternoon, Leylin prepared several letters. One of them was addressed to his mentors. Belo'vir Salonar, the Grand Magister of Silvermoon City. And Nallorath, a respected magister of the high elves. Leylin wrote carefully.
"A mysterious plague has begun spreading across northern Lordaeron."
"Its nature appears necromantic."
"The situation may escalate beyond the control of the human kingdoms."
He paused before writing the final line.
"Quel'Thalas should remain vigilant."
Once finished, the letters were sealed with arcane marks and sent through magical courier channels toward Silvermoon City. But Leylin did not stop there. Another letter remained on the desk. One addressed to a powerful figure across the sea. Daelin Proudmoore, Grand Admiral of Kul Tiras.
Leylin dipped his quill into ink and began writing again.
"Grand Admiral Proudmoore,"
"Events in Lordaeron are moving toward a dangerous turning point."
"You should begin recalling Kul Tiran forces stationed within the kingdom."
"Prepare your fleets and return your people to Kul Tiras as quickly as possible."
He paused briefly. Then added one final sentence.
"What is coming may consume the entire northern continent."
Leylin sealed the letter. Through magical channels, the message would soon reach the admiral. Whether Daelin would heed the warning… Only time would tell.
As night fell over Windrunner Village, Leylin stepped outside onto the manor balcony. In the distance, the glowing forests of Quel'Thalas shimmered beneath the moonlight.
Behind him, Aminel and Tyr'ganal continued discussing their research. Their voices carried faintly through the open window. For now, the high elven lands remained safe.
But far away, beyond the forests and mountains… The plague continued to spread. Prince Arthas Menethil was riding north. Jaina Proudmoore would soon meet him.
And somewhere in the shadows of Andorhal, a dark cult continued its terrible work under the command of Kel'Thuzad.
Leylin gazed toward the distant horizon. His voice was barely a whisper.
"The Third War…"
"…is about to begin."
And the fate of kingdoms would soon be decided.