CHAPTER 45: Bonds of Dragonfire and Destiny
Muradin Bronzebeard wiped the sweat from his brow, his bushy beard twitching with excitement as he stared at the colossal forms clashing in the distant skies. The air thrummed with the raw power of dragon wings beating against the wind, scales glinting like molten metal under the fading sun. "By the God's' hammers, Arthas! How in the blazes do ye ken dragons? This tale'll make me the envy of every tavern in Ironforge when I get back!"
The dwarf's eyes sparkled with the thrill of it all. Their ragtag adventure party was nothing short of legendary: himself, the younger brother of the dwarf king; Arthas Menethil, the golden-haired prince of Lordaeron; Alleria Windrunner, the renowned ranger general of Quel'Thalas; and now, Onyxia, the black dragon princess in her humanoid guise. It was a mix that could topple empires or forge new ones. Muradin chuckled to himself, imagining the songs bards would sing about this day.
Alleria, however, crossed her arms, her sharp elven features etched with skepticism. The wind tousled her golden hair as she fixed her piercing green eyes on Arthas. "Is everything you've told us true, Prince? You've spun quite the web of secrets. I find myself wondering if I truly know the man standing before me."
Arthas turned to her, his expression steady and sincere, the weight of his royal armor seeming heavier in that moment. He had led them through perils untold—orc hordes, ancient ruins, and now this confrontation with the Dragon Aspects. "I swear to you, Alleria, every word I've shared is from the heart. I have no reason to deceive you, nor would I. Our mission against the orcs is a success beyond what we dared hope. We've even secured the red dragons' alliance. Without their fire from above, the greenskins' assaults would overwhelm us. We must unite every force we can muster—dwarves, elves, humans, and yes, even dragons. Together, we'll crush the Horde and secure peace for our peoples."
He sidestepped the deeper questions deftly, knowing some truths were burdens better left unshared. The knowledge he carried—of timelines twisted, fates altered—came from sources beyond mortal ken, whispers from a system that guided him like an invisible hand. But revealing that could shatter the fragile trust they'd built.
Alleria studied him, her curiosity piqued like a hunter scenting prey. Arthas was an enigma, shrouded in mist that begged to be parted. Why did he know the dragons' secrets? How had he anticipated the orcs' moves with such precision? Each revelation only deepened the mystery. She nodded slowly. "Very well. But you'll explain it all in time. I promise to stand by you—for now."
Muradin grunted, uninterested in the undercurrents of intrigue. He was a dwarf of action: give him a forge, a fight, or a forgotten ruin to explore, and he was content. Romantic entanglements? Bah. He preferred the sturdy curves of a dwarven lass, not these lithe elves who looked like they'd snap in a stiff breeze. He busied himself adjusting his axe, leaving the humans and elf to their whispers.
Onyxia, her raven hair cascading like shadows, glanced toward the distant battle where her father, Neltharion—better known as Deathwing—roared defiance against the four Dragon Aspects. His obsidian form twisted in agony and rage, plates of adamantine armor cracking under the onslaught. She turned to Arthas, her violet eyes stormy with betrayal and hurt. "You knew who I was from the start, didn't you? Why not expose me then? Was it all a game to you—to humiliate the black dragon's daughter?"
Her voice cracked, revealing the vulnerability beneath her draconic pride. Life had been a gauntlet of exploitation: human nobles leering at her disguised form, craving her beauty; her father treating her as a pawn in his mad schemes; her brother Nefarian viewing her as little more than a resource for his twisted experiments. Everywhere, she was used, discarded, bullied. Why should this prince be any different?
Arthas met her gaze without flinching. "No, Onyxia. I understand your pain more than you know." He reached out, gently taking her hand in one of his, while his other found Alleria's. The three stood linked, facing the apocalyptic dragon clash like sentinels against the storm. The ground trembled faintly with each thunderous impact in the sky.
"As Crown Prince of Lordaeron, the crown weighs heavy on me," Arthas continued, his voice low and confiding. "You see the Alliance as a united front, but it's fractured. Stromgarde eyes Arathi's lands greedily; Gilneas walls itself off in suspicion; even in my own kingdom, lords hoard power like dragons with gold. My father, King Terenas, rebuilt Lordaeron from ashes, and he expects me to safeguard it. But whispers of dissent grow—nobles plotting in shadowed halls, seeking to undermine the throne or seize it outright. Royal decrees echo strong in the capital, but fade to echoes beyond a few days' ride. Internal rot festers while orcs batter our gates. The pressure... it's unending."
The women exchanged glances, their hands warm in his grasp. Alleria's fingers tightened slightly, a silent acknowledgment. Onyxia's touch was tentative, like a creature testing freedom after captivity. Arthas had drawn them into his world, painting a picture of a kingdom glittering on the surface but crumbling beneath.
"You can't stray too far from tradition," Onyxia murmured, her insight sharp from years of courtly deception. "As prince, not king, any reform that threatens noble privileges could see you dethroned. The aristocracy is a hydra—cut one head, and two more rise. Even your father treads carefully; kings are nobles too, bound by the same chains."
Arthas pulled them closer, enveloping both in a protective embrace. The scent of pine from Alleria's cloak mingled with the faint, smoky aura of Onyxia's draconic essence. "Strength," he declared firmly. "That's what I seek. I sense storms brewing beyond the orcs—darker threats on the horizon. The nobility's corruption runs deep; even the honorable ones are tainted by entitlement, draining the kingdom dry like leeches. This war drags on because mobilizing troops requires their begrudging consent. A fractured alliance is no alliance at all. Once the Horde is broken, I plan to venture forth—to a new continent, perhaps, where I can forge a realm under my command. A kingdom efficient, just, where loyalty isn't bought but earned. There, I can shield those I care for from any peril. But I can't do it alone. Will you aid me?"
Alleria nestled against him, her reservations melting in the warmth of his vision. "I... I'm willing. But Silvermoon City complicates things." Her voice softened, laced with longing and resentment. The high elves' capital was a jewel of magic and intrigue, but its council treated rangers like disposable tools—summoned for battles, then starved of funds in peacetime. She and Arthas had shared intimate moments amid the chaos, skin to skin in stolen nights, binding them beyond mere alliance. Yet, as a Windrunner, she couldn't abandon her people as a fugitive. "The council must sanction my departure. I won't flee like a traitor; I want to leave with honor, perhaps through marriage."
Onyxia hesitated, her eyes flicking back to the raging battle. Deathwing's roars grew fainter, his form battered by the Aspects' combined might. "And my father? What of him?" Her tone was quiet, edged with sorrow. Raised as a instrument of his will, she'd known little familial warmth. He'd slain rival females, exiled her mother to an unknown fate—alive or dead, who could say? Hatred simmered, yet blood ties lingered.
Arthas sighed, his hold gentle but firm. "His crimes are for the Aspects to judge. If death claims him, it's the consequence of his choices. He could have been a guardian, not a destroyer. If he seeks redemption, I might offer guidance—but the path is his to walk. Life or oblivion; it's in his claws."
Onyxia pulled back slightly, her expression thoughtful. "I need time to consider." It wasn't rejection, but honesty—a rare vulnerability. Her favor toward Arthas had grown, not from deceit, but genuine connection. She wouldn't cheapen it with hasty words.
In that moment, a familiar chime echoed in Arthas's mind, invisible to the others.
[System UI: Mission complete. Saved Onyxia from imminent peril. Onyxia's favorability toward you increases by 60 points, now at 65. Your reputation with the Black Dragon Legion rises to Revered.]
The group stood in silence, the dragon battle waning as the Aspects subdued Deathwing. Hope flickered amid uncertainty—a new alliance forged not just of necessity, but budding affection. Arthas felt the system's pulse, urging him onward. The orcs were but the beginning; greater shadows loomed. With allies like these, he might yet carve a destiny worthy of legend.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of fire and blood, they turned from the spectacle. Muradin clapped Arthas on the back. "Well, lad? What's next in this mad quest o' yers?"
Arthas smiled, releasing the women but keeping their gazes. "We return to the front lines. Strengthen the Alliance, crush the Horde. And then... we build something unbreakable."
Alleria nodded, her resolve hardening. Onyxia lingered a step behind, her mind whirling with possibilities. The path ahead was fraught, but for the first time, it felt like choice, not chains.
In the days that followed, whispers of their exploits spread through the camps. Arthas's leadership inspired, Alleria's arrows felled orc champions, Muradin's hammer shattered shields, and Onyxia's subtle magics turned tides unseen. Yet, beneath the victories, Arthas pondered the system's next directive. Favorability at 65—enough for loyalty, but true bonds required more. He would nurture them, for in this world of war and wonder, alliances of the heart were the strongest weapons.
The chapter closed on a note of anticipation, the group's footsteps echoing toward an uncertain future, where dragons and destinies intertwined.