In the barbaric era, before civilization was born, ancient creatures multiplied and multiplied in a strange world. They lived like wild beasts, irritable, restless, full of fear of the dark and unknown, ignorant and violent, without the constraints of the original order.
, in the harsh environment of natural selection, it is difficult for them to survive. They need a wise leader to lead them through the dark fog and finally reach the realm of civilization.
It was at that time that prophets appeared. They often comforted their cowardly and sensitive compatriots by interpreting strange natural phenomena. They were often the boldest and the smartest people. Under their leadership,
A civilization will eventually get out of the quagmire, learn to walk on the earth, learn to unite, and eventually become the master of the earth.
Hidden under this ancient title is the best praise for a soul, to be recognized and surrounded, to overcome one challenge after another and survive one disaster after another in cheers and reverence.
Velen is the most perfect embodiment of this ancient will. Although the Draenei are not primitive creatures, they have spent 25,000 years in exile among the stars and experienced unimaginable setbacks.
The hardships are almost identical to those experienced at the beginning of civilization.
In the history of the Draenei, Prophet Velen's figure appears in the footnotes of almost every page of this race's civilization. He is almost the spokesperson of this civilization, as well as the guardian and recorder of this civilization. After losing his homeland,
In the disaster, Velen lost his relatives, so he regarded all people as his relatives, just like a loving father to the Draenei people. Everything he did was for the continuation of this ancient race.
There is no doubt that this is a respectable person.
And now, this respectable prophet is walking in the temple that the Draenei had built with his own hands. He is observing the changes in this temple with a silent gaze, seeming to be examining his own distant world.
And the turbulent past is general.
"The Temple of Karabor..."
Rarely, Velen in black robes stretched out his hand and touched the cold stone wall of the Dark Temple. The murals carved by the Draenei on the wall to praise the Naaru and the new life were still vivid in his mind.
And the desire for a new life, but decades later, it became a cold joke. At the moment when the violent orcs who drank the blood of evil raised their butcher knives against the draenei, these exiles' naive expectations for peace
, was finally completely crushed.
The expectation of a new life made them, the entire race, and even the prophet himself forget about the threats looming on their backs, and lived carefreely in a small world like an ostrich for 200 years, and then returned to
Forced to return to the cold reality, that indulgence brought the Draenei almost to the edge of annihilation.
It was a tragic past, but it was also an unforgettable lesson.
"I still remember that on the day when the Karabo Temple was built, all our defenders, priests and elders gathered in the square of the Holy Light Temple. They sat on the extremely smooth polished stone steps.
Everyone is cheering and celebrating the arrival of a new life. Everyone thinks that the establishment of this temple marks the end of the Draenei's long exile... Even I think so."
The prophet Velen, who had become extremely old due to the blow to his soul and will, stroked the mural on the wall and whispered:
"On that day, we were bathed in the warm holy light. On that day, we praised the greatness of the stars and the tenacity of civilization. On that day, our hearts were filled with joy and joy, as if it was salvation.
The day is coming..."
"On that same day, you forgot the danger, the devil, and your own situation...forgot the suffering the draenei were carrying. That day was not the day of redemption...Prophet."
Following the prophet, Yrel, the Death Lord who was responsible for escorting and taking care of the prophet, stood beside Velen without a helmet. She blinked her blue eyes and said in a voice without emotion:
"That day was the day when the Draenei entered hell. The hell of war disguised itself as peace and deceived all of you. You were like the leader of the flock leading the sheep into the slaughterhouse. You failed.
Sensing the danger hidden under the glory of peace, Draenor punished you and me. I died, and many innocent people like me died...and you, you escaped."
Yrel's words made the fatigue in the prophet's eyes seem heavier and heavier. He shook his head, took his fingers off the cold mural, leaned on a wooden staff, and continued to move forward. He said softly:
"Yes, I ran away and fled in embarrassment. Just like I gave up Argus at that time, between life and death, I also gave up the new home chosen by the Draenei. I left a part of my soul here forever.
Yrel, my child...I abandoned you, which is a sin that I cannot wash away. Today, I come to this dark temple to atone for my sin."
The prophet's desolate back fell into Yrel's eyes. No matter whether she was alive or dead, she had never seen such a prophet before. He was no longer embraced by the holy light. His body was hunched over, like a dying old man.
, the whole body exudes the smell of death.
This is not the prophet in her memory. This is not Velen, the spiritual leader of the Draenei. This is a poor old man who has lost his last family and hope... He can predict the future, but in the game with cruel fate, he
In the end he lost and he lost everything...
Even I lost.
Yrel knew what the prophet was going to do. She knew that the old man’s majestic life in front of her would completely end today. That was the call of death. It was a call that could not be refused or disobeyed. From now on,
The prophet will become one of them, and like them, will embark on the dark road forged by death, but at this moment, it cannot make Yrel feel even a trace of joy or relief.
Destroying a beautiful thing is not a pleasant experience, even for dead people.
"No, Prophet."
Yirel took a few steps forward, and the hoof girl stretched out her cold hand, held Velen's arm, and said softly:
"That's not your fault. It's not all your fault. I was born in Draenor. I have completely experienced the time we were in Draenor. The entire race and all the people long for long-term peace. No one realizes that
The danger is all around us, or in other words, we have all selectively ignored it all. Everyone is at fault. You should not bear the weight of this tragedy alone."
Yrel's explanation made the prophet couldn't help but raise his head. Velen looked at Yrel beside him with his slightly cloudy eyes. After a moment, he reached out and patted Yrel's cold hand.
A difficult smile appeared on the old face:
"Good boy... Yrel."
"Even after death, you are still so kind... But it doesn't matter. Just let me, an old man who has done many wrong things, continue to carry all this and let me move forward."
"Prophet, you..."
Yrel wanted to say something, but was stopped by the prophet. Velen was holding a wooden staff. He looked at the halls and corridors around him that had been re-decorated by the undead, and he whispered:
"Stop talking about those heavy things, little Yrel, chat with a lonely old man for a while, and accompany me to walk the final road that belongs to Velen, okay?"
"Um"
Yrel wagged her tail. She supported the prophet and walked towards the top platform of the Dark Temple. While strolling forward, Velen suddenly said:
"Little Yirel, tell me the story of Ambori Village... It has been too long, I seem to have forgotten... That small village, that small village full of vitality, always likes to hold large-scale events
The story of the small ritual village...I remember, I went there and I loved that village..."
"We've talked too much about my past, so tell me, tell me those stories about you."
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"Push it away for me, will you?"
Viren and Yrel did not take the mechanical elevator to the top platform of the Dark Temple. They were like grandfather and granddaughter taking a walk. They walked up the long stairs to the entrance of the top platform of the temple. The prophet looked at the closed stone door in front of him.
, he leaned on a wooden stick, smiled and said to Yrel beside him:
"I'm too weak, child. I want to face your leader decently. When facing Tyrion, I don't want to look too embarrassed in front of him... After all, I am also a leader, right?"
Velen's last joke made the corners of Yrel's mouth curl up. The hoof girl took a step forward, stretched out her hand, and pushed open the slightly heavy door engraved with undead runes for the prophet.
, the road leading to the platform was in front of him, Yrel made a "please" gesture:
"The great lord is waiting for you, Prophet, don't keep him waiting."
"Well, I know."
Viren adjusted his black robe. As a prophet, he rarely wore such gloomy-toned clothes. It could be seen that he was trying hard to straighten his waist again. As he said, he didn't seem to want to
He knelt down in front of Tyrion, and the moment he stepped onto the platform, the prophet seemed to suddenly remember something. He turned around, took something out of his arms, and put it into Yrel's hand.
He patted Yirel's wrist, with a kind smile on his face, like a grandfather saying goodbye to his granddaughter. He wiped Yirel's hair and said to Yirel:
"I have no use for it anymore, kid, use it well."
After speaking, the prophet breathed a sigh of relief, turned around, and stepped into the darkness of the platform. Behind him, Yrel lowered his head and looked at the crystal held in his black gauntlet.
It was an irregular purple crystal, with traces of mysterious mist filled with the luster of stars shining in it. At first glance, it was extraordinary.
As a Draenei, Yrel certainly knows what this is.
Song of the soul...
One-seventh of the Atama Crystal, a soul crystal that claims to be able to predict the future, is a sacred object of the Draenei people. The absolute core of the Atama Crystal is a symbol of the identity and power of the prophet. It may also be a prophet.
The most important legacy.
But now, it belongs to Yrel.
Looking at the mysterious luster of the crystal in her hand, Yrel's heart was full of mixed feelings at this moment. She has always been the most special one among all the Dark Blade Lords. Yrel's emotions and soul are complete. She is a person with special abilities.
A dead soul with a complete personality, her emotions are the same as those of a living person.
Yirel held the purple crystal tightly, placed it on her chest, and folded her hands together. She was like the chosen priest who received the baptism of the Holy Light in the Karabor Temple, kneeling on one knee before the stone that slowly closed in front of her.
In front of the gate, I closed my eyes and silently prayed for Viren...
Although the prayers of the deceased will not be perceived by the Holy Light, it doesn't matter... anyway, it is not for the Holy Light.
"Ah, there you are, my friend."
On the top platform of the Dark Temple, High Lord Tyrion felt the low footsteps coming from behind. The steps were staggering and not at all what a Draenei prophet should look like, but he didn't care.
Touching the edge of the heavy sarcophagus in front of him, he said to Viren without looking back:
"Come and have a look! The most skilled coroner under my command spent several days finally removing the evil energy from little Nuri's body... Come and see, Velen, come and see
Your son."
"He looks just like you. What a handsome young man."
Hearing the call of the high lord, Velen took a few steps forward, and he also saw the young Draenei who seemed to be sleeping in the cold sarcophagus.
That was his Nuri. After the influence of the evil energy was completely eliminated, Nuri's face returned to the normal Draenei look. The cheeks looked very resolute, with a black beard and a black hair tied into a short ponytail.
His hair looks very similar to that of the aging prophet.
He has a strong body and strong muscles. He looks like a healthy and energetic young man. This is what the prophet imagined his son would look like when he grows up. It is almost exactly the same as what he imagined in the past.
The prophet stretched out his hand and stroked his son's cold cheek. A smile appeared on his old face, and a trace of relief flashed in his cloudy eyes.
He stood up and took out the bottle of spring water from the Fountain of Youth that Tyrion had given him from his waist. He unscrewed the bottle cap and carefully poured the cold spring water into his son's mouth. After pouring half of it, he poured
Putting the bottle in front of him, in the emission of the liquid that lingered with light, the prophet suddenly seemed to see himself in his youth.
The one who led countless people to escape from the world of Argus...
"Tyrion...last night, I saw the future..."
Before drinking the cold spring water, Velen said to the great lord in front of him:
"It's about your future. That may be my last prophecy, but I want to warn you that it is not a beautiful future. The creature you have been protecting will eventually turn against you... She will hate you.
, because of the things you will force her to do at some point in the future...those cruel things."
"oh?"
The prophet's words made the great lord narrow his eyes. He rubbed his chin and asked:
"So, in the future you see, facing the ultimate threat, do I win?"
"You, maybe you did win, but..."
"No, I don't pay attention to anything else. As long as I win...that's acceptable!"
Tyrion's decisive answer made the prophet stunned for a moment, and then Velen let out a short laugh.
"Okay, okay! You've always been like this, but it doesn't matter, I see myself... I'm going to go through that future with you, the future where we win... Now, I'm going to
The grave...will be reborn after three days, like a boat going down the river, and those sinners will also drift in the long river of death, and finally, across the darkness, come...to accept my judgment!"
Under the gaze of the great lord, he raised the cold spring water towards the great lord like a toast, and then drank the water of the Fountain of Youth in one gulp like drinking fine wine.
"Danglang"
The exquisite crystal bottle slipped from the prophet's hand, hit the ground, and was completely... shattered.
