"Yes, Harry, that is the Hall of Death," Dumbledore said softly. "The last time I saw it, it looked exactly like this. The Veil was drawn open, and the winds that seemed to perpetually stir it had vanished. The Veil no longer fluttered. I didn't expect Nicolas to have foreseen this situation so soon—"
Dumbledore's words cut off abruptly, his eyes widening in shock.
It wasn't just him—Harry, too, held his breath in that moment.
What had he seen?!
At the center of the archway, a shimmering blue-gray halo appeared, like a circular portal. The energy radiating from it stirred the Veil once more, causing it to billow outward in all directions. But what was even more unbelievable was the sight of a pair of metal war boots, adorned with skulls, stepping heavily out of the portal and onto the ground.
It didn't take long for a knight clad in plate armor to emerge fully from the portal. He wore a skull-shaped helmet, his eyes glowing with an ominous blue light, and sharp horns protruded from the top. His shoulder plates were asymmetrical—one adorned with massive bone spikes, the other wrapped in rune-etched chains. His entire body was encased in heavy armor, covered in skull reliefs that occasionally pulsed with blue ghostly light.
"…A Death Knight?!" Harry muttered under his breath, hardly believing his eyes.
"Death Knight? Death?" Dumbledore and Nicolas asked in unison. "You know them, Harry?"
"We fought together to defend the world, but…" Harry's expression grew grave. "The line between the living and the dead always kept them apart. Look at the tabard on his chest—he's a member of the Ebon Blade."
The tabard was a deep crimson, emblazoned with a black runeblade outlined in blue, its hilt pointing upward and its tip downward—the unmistakable emblem of the Knights of the Ebon Blade.
"I didn't expect you to recognize someone stepping out of there," Nicolas said with a smile. "Honestly, that makes me feel a bit more at ease. The unknown is always far more terrifying than the known."
"You've got a lot to explain, Harry," Dumbledore said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Why don't we start with this Ebon Blade?"
"I—sorry—I'm not sure where to begin," Harry said, taking a deep breath, a rare sense of unease washing over him. "I never imagined I'd see them in this world. Nicolas, this is the future you foresaw. Can you tell when this might happen? How accurate are your divinations?"
"I only know this is something that will happen in the future," Nicolas said, shaking his head slightly. "As for accuracy… based on my past experience, my divinations are quite reliable."
"Indeed," Dumbledore added sharply. "Nicolas once successfully predicted Grindelwald's gathering in Paris, which allowed us to prepare accordingly. What's wrong, Harry? You seem tense. I thought you'd be happy to encounter familiar allies from that world, especially since you fought alongside this Ebon Blade to protect it."
"It's… complicated," Harry said with a bitter smile. "The Ebon Blade… they're all undead, raised from the dead. To put it simply, there was once a being called the Lich King, a destroyer of worlds. He slaughtered an entire human kingdom and raised the dead as his minions. He also killed powerful paladins and resurrected them as his Death Knights."
"The Ebon Blade was originally the Lich King's thralls. They had no will of their own, existing only to obey their master's commands. That is, until the Lich King's power began to waver, and his control over them cracked."
"A lot happened during that time—too much to explain in a few words. But in the end, the Death Knights who regained their free will, along with other undead, betrayed the Lich King. They joined our side and sought vengeance against him."
"Resurrected undead…" Dumbledore's expression grew complex. "In that world, magic can achieve such things?"
"No offense intended, but it sounds like the Ebon Blade is on the side of justice?" Nicolas said, lifting his hand from the edge of the crystal ball, causing the image within it to vanish without a trace.
"Undead… well, as a member of the Horde, I shouldn't say things that could harm unity," Harry said, frowning. "But the truth is, the living don't exactly flock to Undercity. That's the undead's capital, by the way."
"Why? Do you discriminate against them?"
"You wouldn't understand. Honestly, I don't fully understand either. The undead and the living are just… different," Harry explained. "As the Great Prophet of the Tauren in the Horde, I've traveled to many places and dealt with plenty of undead. They're just… too twisted."
"When the Lich King was alive, the undead were driven by vengeance, which kept their minds intact. But after he was defeated, it's like they lost the tether holding their sanity together. They see themselves as a distinct race, but in my eyes, their race has a fatal flaw: they can't reproduce naturally."
"Do you understand?" Harry emphasized. "The undead have lost the blessing of life. To grow their numbers, they have to raise the corpses of other races, turning them into new undead. That's the fundamental, irreconcilable conflict between the undead and the living."
"…I think I understand what you mean," Dumbledore said, his tone turning serious. "So, you're saying you can't be certain what purpose this Death Knight from the Ebon Blade has in coming to this world?"
"Exactly," Harry said, his face heavy with concern. "I don't even know why he emerged from the archway in the Hall of Death. I don't know what's happened in Azeroth since I left. But I do know what the undead are like."
"They've lost their sense of taste, touch, smell—all of it. They don't breathe, they don't laugh, they can't feel the warmth of the sun. All they know is eternal cold and their rotting bodies… and because of that, they're filled with hatred for the living."
"Jealousy," Nicolas said softly. "I'd guess they're jealous of everything they've lost… just like ghosts."
"Death has taken something from them forever," Harry said. "It's made them cold and ruthless. Some undead even believe that killing the living and raising them as undead is granting them freedom."
"That's… truly horrifying," Dumbledore said quietly, staring at the now-empty crystal ball.
The room fell silent. Dumbledore and Nicolas were processing the information Harry had shared, while Harry's mind was a whirlwind of confusion. He was grappling with why a Death Knight from the Ebon Blade would appear in the Hall of Death, what connection this world had to Azeroth, and what it meant for people like the Kane family, Magatha, or even Jaina. If the Ebon Blade could come here, what about his friends and loved ones?
The weight of these thoughts left Harry struggling to think clearly.
And then there was the most pressing concern—
"…I might have brought a danger to this world that you can't even imagine," Harry said suddenly, breaking the silence. "If the Ebon Blade is here because of my travels between worlds… then I'm this world's greatest sinner."
"Even though the Burning Legion has been defeated and the Dark Titan Sargeras is imprisoned in the Pantheon, that world is still full of dangers and scheming warlords. And the Death Knights… I don't know if they've discovered this new world or if they have malicious intentions toward it. They might even see it as a source of new soldiers—"
"Don't overthink it, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted, his tone more serious than before. "You didn't choose to travel between worlds, did you? From what you've told me, you woke up one day in Azeroth, spent decades there, and then returned to this world in your sleep. None of this was under your control, was it?"
"Albus is right," Nicolas added, nodding. "You're just a passive participant, child. Even if you did bring danger to this world, the responsibility isn't yours to bear."
"Instead of dwelling on that, we should discuss how to handle this… Death Knight's arrival," Dumbledore said with a hint of humor. "I'm not sure the Department of Mysteries would allow you into the Hall of Death, even if you were the head of a Ministry department."
"If they don't realize the gravity of the situation, we can't just let them handle it on their own. I need to make preparations in the Hall of Death—at the very least, to restrict these unfamiliar guests," Harry said, regaining his composure. "I don't know what kind of power the Department of Mysteries holds or what wizards' magic is capable of, but I'm absolutely certain that ordinary wizards can't stand against them."
"Every Death Knight is a master of dark magic. They're harbingers of frozen doom, masters of decay and blight. They can manipulate and corrupt life energy, wield rune magic to strike their enemies, spread magical plagues, and summon undead minions. That last part is especially dangerous—ordinary people can't resist their plagues or endure the pain of seeing their loved ones killed and raised as enemies in the blink of an eye."
"Only a master of magic like you, or someone close to your level, could face a Death Knight in direct combat," Harry said to Dumbledore. "Honestly, I don't know your odds, since I've never seen you fight at full strength."
"It sounds like you've already placed them in the role of enemies," Dumbledore said, studying Harry's face with a serious expression. "I thought you'd feel more loyalty to Azeroth—your comrades, your family, perhaps even a loved one?"
"Forgive me for being so blunt, Harry, but your straightforwardness is what convinced me to trust you," Dumbledore said earnestly. "From your reaction, it's clear you're approaching them with caution, which is surprising."
"No one can stand by and watch slaughter and war unfold," Harry said quietly. "I stand only on the side of justice. Mortal wars are already brutal enough, and the peace that follows is worth cherishing. This world doesn't need more external forces to make it crueler. That's all."
Even as a member of the Horde—perhaps even one of its leaders—Harry knew all too well the dynamics between the Horde and the Alliance. If either side discovered a new, unknown world, they'd ignite a war here, if only to keep the other from gaining an advantage.
That's how arms races begin.
"Well, it seems you've reached a conclusion," Nicolas said shakily. "I'm glad Perenelle and I no longer have to worry about such complicated matters… I have something for you, Harry."
Nicolas stood again, though the effort seemed to tax him more than usual, his steps faltering as he made his way to the next room. Eventually, he returned, carrying a book.
"You're a good lad, Harry," Nicolas said weakly. "This isn't just Albus's opinion—it's mine, based on what I've seen. You respect elders like me, not just for our age, but for our wisdom. You value knowledge."
"That's a rare and admirable quality," Nicolas said, his eyes filled with nostalgia as he looked at the book. "I regret that I can't teach you myself, Harry. In my remaining years, I want to spend my time with Perenelle… So, take this."
Nicolas slid the book across the table toward Harry.
"I'm willing to give you all the books I've treasured over my six hundred years, including my personal notes. But for now, of all the knowledge I possess, I want to personally hand you this one."
"The Book of Abraham the Jew?" Harry read the title softly.
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