The northern lands of Lordaeron were beginning to feel different.
The cold wind that swept across the hills carried an unfamiliar stillness, as though the land itself held its breath. Villages that once bustled with farmers and traders now seemed subdued, their streets quieter than they should have been.
Rumors had spread faster than the plague itself. Whispers of sickness. Stories of corpses that refused to remain buried. And now, the crown had sent its prince.
The town of Brill stood along one of the primary roads leading deeper into the northern territories. It was a modest settlement, surrounded by rolling farmland and small wooded areas. Wooden houses lined the dirt roads, and a small chapel dedicated to the Light stood near the town center.
Yet despite its ordinary appearance, tension hung in the air. Town guards stood watch more frequently. Villagers spoke in hushed voices. Travelers passed through quickly without lingering.
That afternoon, the sound of armored horses echoed along the road leading into town. A small column of knights bearing the golden lion of Lordaeron rode through the gates. At their head was Arthas Menethil.
Even at a glance, the young prince carried himself with natural authority. His armor gleamed beneath the pale sunlight, and his expression was serious as his eyes scanned the town.
Behind him rode several members of the Knights of the Silver Hand, sent to assist in the investigation.
As the horses slowed near the town square, Arthas dismounted. One of the guards approached quickly.
"Your Highness."
Arthas nodded.
"We received reports that a mage from Dalaran was also sent here."
The guard gestured toward the chapel.
"She hasn't arrived yet."
Inside the small chapel of Brill, candles burned softly along the stone walls. The young prince stood near the altar studying several parchments. His long blonde hair fell over his shoulders, and his plate armor marked him clearly as a paladin. Arthas Menethil.
He had arrived hours earlier, speaking with priests and local villagers to gather information about the strange illness spreading across the northern farms. Yet the reports were confusing. Symptoms varied. Some victims simply died. Others… did not stay dead.
Arthas frowned as he reviewed another witness account. The chapel doors suddenly opened. He turned and froze for a moment.
Standing in the doorway was a figure he knew well. Jaina Proudmoore. For a brief moment, the tension of the investigation faded. Arthas smiled slightly.
"Jaina."
Jaina returned the smile.
"Arthas."
They walked toward each other. It had been some time since they had last met. Despite their responsibilities, the familiarity between them was undeniable.
"What brings the prince of Lordaeron all the way to this quiet town?" Jaina asked lightly.
Arthas chuckled.
"I might ask the same of a mage from Dalaran."
Then his expression became serious again.
"I assume you're here about the plague."
Jaina nodded.
"Yes."
He handed him one of the reports.
"It's worse than the rumors."
Jaina read the parchment quickly. Her jaw tightened.
"Undead?"
"So the witnesses claim."
Arthas looked toward the chapel windows, where the evening light was beginning to fade.
"This sounds like necromancy."
Jaina hesitated slightly.
"That was my thought as well."
Over the next several hours, the prince and the mage began their investigation. They spoke with villagers who had traveled from nearby farms. Many of them described similar events.
The sickness began suddenly. Victims grew weak and feverish. Then they died. But soon afterward… Something unnatural happened.
One farmer recounted the story nervously.
"My brother… we buried him the night he passed."
His hands trembled.
"But the next evening… he came knocking on our door."
The man's voice shook.
"And his eyes… they were empty."
Arthas' expression hardened.
"Did you destroy the body?"
The farmer nodded slowly.
"With fire."
Another villager spoke up.
"The grain shipments from Andorhal arrived just before the sickness started."
Jaina immediately turned to Arthas.
"That's the second time I've heard that today."
Arthas frowned.
"You believe the grain is contaminated?"
"It's possible."
The prince looked toward the northern road.
"Then Andorhal is where we should begin."
Later that evening, Arthas and Jaina stood outside the chapel, watching the last light of the sun fade behind the hills. The town of Brill had grown quiet. Torches flickered along the streets. Villagers had retreated indoors early. Fear had begun to settle over the settlement.
Arthas crossed his arms.
"This doesn't feel like a simple disease."
Jaina nodded.
"No."
Her thoughts drifted briefly to Leylin. His warning in Dalaran echoed faintly in her memory.
The fall of a kingdom.
At the time, she had not fully understood what he meant. Now…
She was beginning to worry that he might have known far more than he had revealed.
Arthas turned to her. Jaina looked northward into the darkening distance.
Somewhere beyond those hills… The source of the plague awaited.
And neither of them yet realized just how dangerous their investigation would become. Because in the shadows of that distant town, Kel'Thuzad was already preparing the next stage of the Scourge's rise.
And the tragedy of Arthas Menethil had only just begun.
Night settled heavily over Brill, the small town resting beneath the dim glow of lanterns and the faint silver light of the moon.
Normally, nights here were peaceful. Farmers returned home after long days in the fields. Families gathered around warm hearths. The chapel bells rang softly before the final prayers of the evening.
But tonight, something felt wrong. The wind that passed through the trees carried an unnatural chill. The roads were unusually quiet. And many of the townspeople had locked their doors earlier than usual.
Rumors of the plague had reached even the most distant farms. No one wished to wander the streets after dark.
Inside the small chapel, Jaina Proudmoore sat beside a wooden table covered with notes and reports gathered throughout the day. A candle flickered beside her as she studied the parchment.
Nearly every testimony pointed toward the same disturbing pattern. The sickness. The grain shipments. The dead rising.
She sighed quietly.
"This doesn't make sense…"
Across the room, Arthas Menethil stood near the doorway, his armor already fastened. He had insisted that the guards increase their patrols for the night.
Something about the town's silence unsettled him.
"You're still studying those reports?" Arthas asked.
Jaina looked up.
"I'm trying to find a pattern."
"And?"
She shook her head slowly.
"Every account describes the same thing, but none explain how it's happening."
Arthas crossed his arms.
"If this is necromancy…"
His voice darkened.
"Then someone is responsible."
Before Jaina could respond—a scream pierced the night.
The scream echoed through the streets of Brill, followed by the sound of frantic shouting.
Arthas instantly pushed open the chapel doors.
"Stay behind me," he said.
But Jaina was already rising.
"I'm coming."
Outside, chaos had erupted. Villagers were running through the streets. Torches were being lit. A group of guards rushed toward the northern road.
"What's happening?" Arthas demanded.
One guard shouted back.
"Graves—!"
"They're digging themselves open!"
Arthas froze for a brief second. Then the ground near the cemetery shifted. Soil cracked apart.
A gray, rotting hand clawed its way through the earth. Then another. And another.
Corpses began rising from the graves. Their bodies twisted and decayed. Eyes hollow. Movements are stiff and unnatural. The dead had returned.
The first undead stumbled toward the nearest guard. Its jaw hung loosely from its skull. Yet its arms reached forward with terrible determination.
"By the Light…" one soldier whispered.
The corpse lunged. The guard swung his sword. Steel cut through rotten flesh, but the creature barely slowed.
Arthas stepped forward.
"Hold the line!"
Golden light erupted from his hammer as holy power surged through his weapon. With one powerful strike—the undead corpse exploded into fragments of bone and ash.
"Destroy the bodies!" Arthas commanded.
"They will not stop otherwise!"
More graves burst open. Dozens of undead began crawling from the earth. Some were villagers who had died days earlier. Others were farmers buried months ago. The plague had awakened them all.
Jaina raised her staff. Arcane energy gathered instantly at her fingertips. A swirl of frost magic erupted into the air.
"I'll slow them down!"
A wave of icy wind surged across the battlefield. Several undead froze solid where they stood, their bodies encased in thick ice. Guards quickly smashed the frozen corpses apart.
Yet more continued to rise. From every direction. From the fields. From the roads. Even from inside abandoned homes. It was as though the town itself had become a graveyard.
The undead began spreading into the town. Villagers screamed as they fled toward the chapel. A mother clutched her child while running past Arthas.
"Please save us!"
Arthas turned to his knights.
"Protect the civilians!"
The Knights of the Silver Hand moved swiftly, forming a defensive line along the main street. Holy light flashed as their weapons struck the undead. One knight raised his hammer high.
"FOR THE LIGHT!"
The weapon slammed into a zombie's skull, shattering it instantly. Yet the numbers kept growing. For every corpse destroyed, another crawled out from the ground.
Jaina realized something terrifying.
"This isn't natural…"
Arthas glanced at her.
"What do you mean?"
She pointed toward the northern road.
"The magic animating them is still active."
Which meant—someone was controlling this.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the town square. A massive undead brute burst from the doorway of a barn.
Unlike the others, this creature stood nearly twice the size of a normal man. Its body stitched together from several corpses.
A grotesque abomination. The creature roared. Then charged toward the villagers.
Arthas stepped forward immediately.
"You face the prince of Lordaeron!"
Holy energy surged through his hammer as he leapt toward the monster. The abomination swung a massive arm.
Arthas dodged beneath it and slammed his weapon into the creature's chest. A burst of radiant light exploded outward.
The undead brute staggered. But it did not fall. Jaina raised her staff again.
"Arthas, move!"
A powerful frost bolt struck the monster directly. Its body froze solid. Arthas seized the opportunity.
With a final strike empowered by holy light—the abomination shattered into frozen fragments.
The battle lasted nearly an hour. But eventually…The last undead corpse fell. Silence returned to Brill. Smoke drifted through the streets.
Several homes had burned during the chaos. Villagers slowly emerged from hiding. Some wept beside fallen relatives. Others stared in shock at the bodies scattered across the roads.
Arthas stood in the town square breathing heavily. Jaina approached quietly.
"That wasn't random."
Arthas nodded grimly.
"No."
The company advanced to the grain warehouse. They encountered a group of Necromancers there and more undead creature stitched together from multiple corpses. It was there they saw someone leading a group of Necromancers.
"We've been discovered, my brothers! Flee and continue with the operation! " The Necromancer continued, "I'm sorry I can't stay and chat, but... duty calls."
"That creature looks like it was sewn together from different corpses." Jaina spoke softly.
"Let's study it after we kill it, okay?" Arthas gripped his hammer tightly.
Jaina, Arthas and their men defeated the Necromancers, Abominations and Undead Skeletons guarding the warehouse.
"Destroy that warehouse, now!" The Mortar Team destroyed the warehouse and its plagued content.
"What was that? And who was that wizard dressed in black?"
"I believe that the robed man was a necromancer. Obviously, he and his lackeys are behind this plague."
His eyes turned toward the northern road. His voice hardened.
"Well, it's a good bet we'll find him, and the answers we're looking for, in Andorhal."
The prince looked toward the dark horizon.
"And when we find the one responsible…"
His eyes burned with determination.
"They will answer for what they've done."
Neither of them realized that far away, in the shadows of Andorhal, Kel'Thuzad had already heard of the battle. And he was smiling. Because the prince had finally stepped onto the path that would lead him toward destiny. And towards ruin.