Chapter Fifteen: The Tower of the Windwalker

The Windrunner family’s domain lay to the west of the southern forests of Quel’Thalas. Bathed in the magical essence of the Sunwell, the forest was tinged with golden hues, radiating an aura of sacredness and splendor. The golden-red leaves rustled softly as the gentle breeze swept through the woods.

Riding along the forest path, sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, scattering gentle patches of light like a mother’s hand caressing travelers and woodland creatures alike.

Elven figures occasionally appeared among the trees. Their villages and estates were nestled nearby, and faint melodies drifted through this tranquil forest—ancient songs passed down in the venerable language of Thalassian.

Arthas noticed several elven children gazing curiously at him, the somewhat unusual “human” among them.

Most of the Quel’dorei were slender and tall, yet Arthas stood taller than most elves. His robust build exuded a strength they lacked, and combined with his handsome visage and extraordinary aura, he was strikingly noticeable.

This was thanks to years of rigorous training, the nourishment of extraordinary power, and the hidden secret within human blood—a secret that marked humanity not as ordinary beings, but, in a sense, as direct creations of the Titans themselves, now cursed by the ancient Old Gods.

Yet Arthas did not resent this so-called curse. Perhaps, despite its origins in the malevolence of the Old Gods, it was among the few blessings bestowed upon life in Azeroth.

It was this curse that gave birth to emotional, organic life, allowing him to truly experience his own existence.

The Old Gods had intended the curse to weaken the Titans’ primal creations, but they had not foreseen that these seemingly fragile flesh-and-blood beings would unleash emotions never before known to the Titans’ original works.

Without these seemingly useless emotions, Arthas believed Azeroth might not have survived its countless disasters and calamities.

Lost in thought, Arthas heard Sylvanas call out, “Your Highness?”

“I’m listening, my lady.”

“No need for such formality. Perhaps our titles feel uncomfortable between us—we have been comrades who have shared life and death,” Sylvanas said warmly, showing genuine affection for Arthas. “May I address you by your name?”

“Of course, my lady.”

“In return, you may call me by my name as well. If it feels too long, just ‘Sylva’ will do.”

“Windrunner... uh, Lady Sylvanas,” Arthas hesitated, unused to addressing Sylvanas so familiarly. He knew that only those close to her would use such a nickname.

“It’s Sylvanas—or Sylva,” she corrected him earnestly. “Don’t worry, my sisters and friends all call me that.”

“Very well, Sylva, if you prefer,” Arthas replied, sensing how much she liked the name.

Sylvanas nodded with satisfaction, a smile touching her lips—‘Sylva’ reminded her of childhood days when she and her sisters called each other by such names.

“Arthas, I rarely associate with humans because, to be honest, I don’t particularly like you. After all, my sister, Alleria, was deceived and taken by Turalyon,” Sylvanas confided, still bitter about the past. To her, had her sister not fallen for Turalyon, she would not have passed through the Dark Portal and vanished without a trace.

What could Arthas say? Should he add insult to injury by mentioning that her younger sister might now be involved with the human mage Ronin from Dalaran? That would be foolish. Instead, he remained silent, listening quietly.

“But meeting you has made me realize there are trustworthy humans after all. Now I understand why Alleria left with Turalyon.” Sylvanas studied the young, handsome prince. “You know, that commander does resemble you—both handsome, both paladins.”

Arthas sensed danger—don’t lump me together with that Turalyon guy! I barely knew him when he took your sister away; I was just a child then!

“I never understood why my sister loved a human. Arthas, you know there’s an insurmountable gulf between humans and elves.”

Arthas knew all too well. Apart from powerful mages, humans rarely lived beyond a century, whereas a hundred years for an elf passed like a mere year or two.

Watching a beloved one age and eventually succumb to death while remaining youthful and vibrant was a torment no devoted lover could bear.

Though Quel’Thalas did not explicitly forbid elves from marrying humans, almost every elf had been warned by their elders. This was one reason Sylvanas said she could never love a human.

“Alleria always said I was too emotionally dull. But I think spending time on love is wasted; I’d rather practice shooting arrows.” Sylvanas glanced at her smooth fingers—her physique was such that years of archery left no calluses.

“I can’t speak for Lady Alleria’s thoughts, but I think you’re the ideal Ranger-General.”

Arthas looked down the road. “At least I can feel your deep love for your people and land. That’s why you stand guard at the border every day—to protect this peace.”

Sylvanas smiled ambiguously. She truly loved her kin and the land of Quel’Thalas. This love fueled her long struggle with the Silvermoon Council. She also sought to protect the Windrunners, the rangers her family had raised, from the careless and meddlesome mage lords.

“Arthas, just ahead is the Windrunner estate. I’ve invited some of my subordinates and old friends. Don’t worry, it’s a semi-private gathering—none of those repulsive councilors will be there.”

Following Sylvanas’s guidance, Arthas saw exquisite elven architecture, meticulously trimmed gardens, and most strikingly, a magnificent tower clinging to the cliffside.

“That must be the Windrunner Tower,” he remarked.

“Indeed. The view from the top is exceptional. Our gathering will be in the open garden on the lower level of the tower.” Sylvanas began to describe every detail of her home. “Over there is a tulip field. I believe my younger sister whimsically commissioned it over sixty years ago.”

“What an enchanting place. Even in Lordaeron, I’ve rarely seen an estate of this scale.” Arthas couldn’t help but marvel. Compared to the centuries-old lineages of the elves, human nobility’s heritage was shallow. Seeing the Windrunner manor made him long to build something similar in Lordaeron.

Unfortunately, most of the lands in the Tirisfal Glades were already granted to various lords and nobles. Even as a prince, finding a site comparable to Quel’Thalas’ scenery was nearly impossible, let alone investing heavily to build such a manor.

Noticing Arthas’s admiration, Sylvanas blinked thoughtfully, then spoke.

“Come, I’ll show you around. Though the view below is beautiful, you must see it from the Windrunner Tower’s summit to truly understand what real beauty is.”

“Gladly.”

Led by Sylvanas, passing through luxurious guesthouses and splendid corridors, breathing in the fragrant tulips, Arthas finally reached the tower’s pinnacle.

It was sunset. The sun slowly dipped into the Endless Sea, its golden rays turning the ocean into a dazzling sheet of gold that merged seamlessly with Quel’Thalas’ gilded shoreline. The sea breeze brushed Arthas’s face, washing away his weariness from days of travel and invigorating his spirit.

The circular observation deck offered views of the western sea and eastern forest. Arthas spotted scattered elven villages nestled among the trees. Bathed in the beautiful sunset, he once again heard the lilting high elven melodies.

Sylvanas quietly gazed at the view from the Windrunner Tower. Even after thousands of years, she never tired of it. In a fleeting moment, she almost saw Alleria and Vereesa standing beside her, and Lirath cradled in their mother’s arms.

But time had passed, and the past was gone forever. Now, standing beside her was a human prince—the young paladin Arthas.

Sylvanas sighed deeply. Sister, what should I do? Little one, are you well in Dalaran? Quel’Thalas is in dire straits. I’m struggling... but I must protect it, even at the cost of everything.

After long years of strife, she had lost all trust in the Silvermoon Council. Now, she hoped to find a turning point for Quel’Thalas through this foreign prince.