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My Son...

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A king sits on his throne gazing out a window in his castle and watching his empire fall to the ground. He feels it around him, the land screaming for liberation, his people's spirits being trapped and smothered. What once had been a beautiful land was now infested with something unnatural, something evil, and the force could not be stopped. That hope had died with him.
Terenas replayed that day in his head time and again. It should have been a time for joy. He had given the boy a chance to become a vessel of the Light; he had trusted him to make the right choices when the time came, as he once had when Lordaeron had been passed down to him to rule.
He had been wrong... so very wrong.
The bells rang proudly when he returned, flower petals being showered on his head by his people. Cheers and cries of his name filled the air. His people had not seen him in so long; now their fair prince was back, stronger than ever from the defeat of his foe. This could mean a new beginning.
Heavy footsteps – boots pounding against stone as he came to the throne room, to his father. The hood of his cloak cast his face into shadow; instead of his hammer, he carried a blade. Strange, thought Terenas, but he thought little of it.
Terenas stretched out his arms to welcome the man. “My son!”
“You no longer have to sacrifice for your people. You no longer have to bear the weight of your crown. I've taken care... of everything.”
Silence hung between them, a deadly thing. His son stood and shrugged his hood away and smiled. There was something strange, something other about him. His once-golden hair was now void of color, and his eyes bared the emptiness of death. He smiled. There was something wicked about that smile.
Arthas took a step toward his father, blade in hand.
“What is this? What are you doing, my son?”
“Succeeding you... Father.”
His crown fell from his head as blood was drawn in the throne room. The metallic sound echoed as the thing rolled and finally rested on the floor. Arthas was king now. Arthas, his son, his killer.
Time had hardly passed, yet in the eyes of Terenas it had been an eternity. He had seen his people fall at the hands of their king, seen as they had been defiled and their bodies raised as mindless servants, forever damned. The man who had once been his son – was Arthas even there now? - had smiled his wretched smile as each of them were robbed of their final rest. And his ashes... He did not dare to think of how his son had treated his remains. There had been a time not so long ago when Arthas had been desperate to defeat this enemy. Those days seemed long gone now as he reveled in his power over them. For the first time, Terenas felt shame. By all that is sacred, I hope that someone comes and ends this. Arthas needs to be killed...
He saw her then, a graceful thing, moving in the shadows. The essence of death lingered around her, yet she hid away as if she was afraid to be seen. The shadows flocked to her as if she controlled them, but Terenas knew that she did not. Her eyes glowed red with rage. Bow in her hand, she smiled for what seemed like the first time since her death, sure of her path. “I will be your end, Arthas.”

A king sits on his throne gazing out a window in his castle and watching his empire fall to the ground. He feels it around him, the land screaming for liberation, his people's spirits being trapped and smothered. What once had been a beautiful land was now infested with something unnatural, something evil, and the force could not be stopped. That hope had died with him.

Arthas fell to the icy floor of his citadel, the blade Frostmourne shattering as he felt his life leaving him. Everything was cold; he felt it all at once, terrible and heart-breaking and real. It was new to him, feeling something.
He lay dying in his father's arms, supported by the old king he had murdered.
“Father! Is it... over?” He grabbed his father desperately.
“At long last. No king rules forever, my son.”
“I see... only darkness... for me.”