Prophet, this is an ancient title.

In the age of savagery, when civilization was not yet born, ancient creatures multiplied in strange worlds, they lived like wild beasts, irritable, restless, full of fear of darkness and the unknown, ignorant and violent, without the constraints of the original order, in the harsh environment of natural selection, they could not survive, they needed a wise leader to lead them through the dark fog, and finally reached the realm of civilization.

It was at that time that the prophets appeared, often by interpreting strange natural phenomena to appease their cowardly and sensitive compatriots, who were often the boldest and most brainy, and under their leadership, a civilization would eventually come out of the quagmire, learn to walk on the earth, learn to unite, and eventually become the masters of the earth.

Hidden under this ancient title is the best praise for a soul, to be recognized, to be surrounded, to be cheered and revered, to overcome one challenge after another, and to survive one disaster after another.

Viren is the most perfect embodiment of this ancient will, and although the Draenei are not primitive creatures, the unimaginable setbacks and tribulations they have experienced during their 25,000-year star-studded exile are almost exactly the same as those experienced at the beginning of civilization.

In the history of the Draenei people, the figure of the prophet Viren appears in the footnotes of almost every page of civilization of this race, he is almost the spokesperson of this civilization, as well as the guardian and recorder of this civilization, in the disaster of losing his home, Viren lost his relatives, so he regarded all the people as his relatives, just like the loving father of the Draenei people, everything he did was for the continuation of this ancient race.

There is no doubt that this is a man to be respected.

And now, the Venerable Prophet, wandering through the temple that the Draenei had built with his own hands, observed the changes of this temple with a silent gaze, as if to examine his own distant and magnificent past.

"Temple of Carabo"

Rarely, the black-robed Viren reached out and touched the cold stone walls of the Dark Temple, the murals carved into the walls by the Draenei in praise of Naru and the new life are still vivid, but the desire for a new world and a new life became a cold joke decades later, and the childish expectations of the exiles for peace were shattered the moment the berserk orcs who drank the blood of evil raised their butcher's knives to the Draenei.

The anticipation of a new life made them, the entire race, and even the Prophet himself, forget about the threat on their backs, and lived carefree in a small world as ostriches for 200 years, and then forced to return to the cold reality, and that indulgence brought the Draenei to the brink of extinction.

It was a painful past, but it was also an unforgettable lesson.

"I still remember that on the day the temple of Carapo was built, all our garrisons and priests and elders gathered in the square of this temple of light, and they sat on those polished stone steps that were extremely polished, and everyone was cheering, celebrating the arrival of a new life, and everyone thought that the establishment of this temple marked the end of the long exile of the Draenei, and even I, I thought so."

The Prophet Viren, who had become extremely old by the blows of his soul and will, touched the frescoes on the walls, and he whispered:

"On that day we were bathed in the warm light, on that day we sang the praises of the greatness of the stars and the tenacity of civilization, and on that day our hearts were filled with joy and joy, as if it were the day of salvation"

"On the same day, you forgot the dangers, you forgot the demons, you forgot your situation, you forgot the sufferings that the Draenei carried, and that day was not the day of salvation prophets."

Following the Prophet, the Death Lord Iriel, who was in charge of escorting and caring for the Prophet, stood beside Viren with her blue eyes blinking, and said in an emotionless voice:

"That day was the day when the Draenei went to hell, and that hell of war disguised itself with peace and deceived all of you, you were like the head sheep who led the sheep into the slaughterhouse, you failed to perceive the danger hidden under the glory of peace, so Draenor punished you and me, and I died, and many innocent people like me died and you, you fled."

Iriel's words made the weariness in the Prophet's eyes grow heavier, and he shook his head, and took his finger off the cold fresco, and he continued on with a wooden staff, and he whispered:

"Yes, I fled, I fled in disarray, just as 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, Iriel, my children I have abandoned you, it is a sin that I cannot wash, and today I have come to this dark temple, and I have come to atone for my sins."

The back of the Prophet fell into Iriel's eyes, the Hoof Sister, who had never seen such a Prophet in her life or after her death, who was no longer embraced by the Light, and who was hunched like an old man on the verge of death, with a smell of death all over his body.

This is not the prophet she remembers, this is not the spiritual leader of the Draenei, Viren, this is a poor old man who has lost his last loved ones and hope He can predict the future, but in the game with cruel fate, he still loses in the end, he loses everything

Even himself, he lost.

Irel knew what the prophet was going to do, she knew that the life of the old man in front of her would end completely today, it was the call of death, it was a call that could not be refused, it could not be disobeyed, from now on, the prophet would be one of them, and would embark on the dark path forged by death like them, but this, at this moment, could not make Irel feel even a trace of joy, even a trace of relief.

Destroying a good thing is not a pleasant experience, even for the dead.

"No, Prophet."

Irel took a few steps forward, and the hoof girl stretched out her cold hand and took Viren's arm, and she whispered:

"That's not your fault, you can't be blamed for that, I was born in Draenor, I have completely experienced our time in Draenor, the whole race, all the people of the race yearn for a long peace, no one realizes that the danger is around, or rather, we all choose to ignore everything, everyone is at fault, the weight of this tragedy should not be borne by you alone."

Iriel's explanation made the prophet can't help but raise his head, and Viren looked at Irel beside him with his slightly cloudy eyes, and after a moment, he reached out and patted Iriel's cold hand, and a difficult smile appeared on his old face:

"Good boy Iriel."

"Even after death, you are still so kind, but it doesn't matter, let me, an old man who has done a lot of wrong things, continue to carry all this, let me continue to move forward."

"Prophet, You"

Irel tried to say something, but was stopped by the Prophet, and with a wooden staff, he looked at the halls and corridors around him that had been redecorated by the necromancers, and he whispered:

"Don't talk about those heavy things, little Iriel, talk with a lonely old man for a while, and accompany me through this last road that belongs to Viren, okay?"

"Hmm"

Irel wagged her tail as she helped the Prophet towards the top platform of the Dark Temple, and as she strolled forward, Viren suddenly said:

"Little Iriel, tell me the story of the village of Ampoli, it's been so long since I, as if I've forgotten that little village, that little village full of energy, the story of the little village that always likes to hold big ceremonies, I remember, I have been there, I love that village"

"We've talked so much about my past, so tell me about it, tell me about that, about you."

"Help me push it away, okay?"

Instead of taking the mechanical elevator to the top platform of the Dark Temple, Viren and Irel walked up the long stairs to the entrance of the platform on the top floor of the Temple, and the Prophet looked at the closed stone door in front of him, and he smiled at Iriel beside him, holding a stick, and said to Irel beside him:

"I'm so weak, kid, I'd love to face your leader decently, and I don't want to look too embarrassed in front of Tyrion, after all, I'm a leader, aren't I?"

The last joke made by Viren make the corners of Iriel's mouth curl, and the hoof sister stepped forward, stretched out her hand, and pushed open the slightly heavy door inscribed with necromantic runes for the prophet, and in that low sound, the road to the platform was close in sight, and Irel made a "please" gesture:

"The Great Lord is waiting for you, Prophet, don't keep him waiting."

"yes, I know."

Veren straightened his black robes, as a prophet, he rarely wore such gloomy shades, and it was evident that he was trying to straighten his waist again, as he had said, he didn't seem to want to grovel in front of Tyrion, and the moment he stepped onto the platform, the prophet seemed to suddenly remember something, he turned around, took something from his bosom, and put it in Iriel's hand.

He patted Iriel's wrist with a kind smile on his face, like a grandfather saying goodbye to his granddaughter, he wiped Iriel's hair and said to Iriel:

"I don't need it anymore, kid, use it well."

With that, the Prophet breathed a sigh of relief, turned around, and stepped into the darkness of the platform, behind him, Irel lowered his head and looked at the crystal he held in his black armor.

It was an irregular purple crystal, and a mysterious mist with a star-like luster shone in it, and it was not ordinary at first glance.

As a Delaney, Iriel certainly knows what it is.

Song of the soul

One-seventh of the Atama Crystal, the Soul Crystal that can predict the future, is a sacred relic of the Draenei, the absolute core of the Atama Crystal, a symbol of the Prophet's identity and power, and perhaps the most important legacy of the Prophet.

And now, it belongs to Iriel.

Looking at the crystal shining with mysterious luster in her hand, Iriel's heart was mixed at this moment, she has always been the most special one among all the Dark Blade Lords, Iriel's emotions and soul are complete, she is a necromancer with a complete personality, her emotions are no different from those of the living.

Irel clenched the purple crystal to her chest and clasped her hands together, like the elect priest who had been baptized in the light in the Carabo Temple, kneeling on one knee in front of the slowly closing stone gate in front of her, closing her eyes and silently praying for Viren

Although the prayers of the deceased are not perceived by the Light, it doesn't matter anyway, it's not for the Light.

"Ah, here you are, my friend."

On the top platform of the Dark Temple, the High Lord Tyrion sensed the sound of low footsteps behind him, staggering, not at all like the Draenei prophet, but he didn't care, his hand caressing the edge of the heavy sarcophagus in front of him, and he said to Viren without looking back:

"Come and see! It took several days for my best undertaker to get rid of the evil energy in little Nuri's body, come and see, Viren, come and see your son. ”

"He's just like you, such a handsome young man."

Hearing the High Lord's call, Viren took a few steps forward, and he also saw the young Draenei who seemed to be sleeping in the cold sarcophagus.

It was his Nuri, who, after being completely removed from the influence of the evil powers, had reverted to his normal Draenei appearance, with very resolute cheeks, a black beard and black hair tied in a short ponytail, which looked very similar to that of the old prophet.

He was muscular and healthy, energetic young man, and that was what the Prophet imagined his son to look like when he grew up, almost exactly as he had missed in the past.

The Prophet stretched out his hand and stroked his son's cold cheek, a smile on his old face, and a hint of relief flashed in his cloudy eyes.

He stood up and took the bottle of Fountain of Youth, from his waist, he twisted the cap, carefully poured the cold water into his son's mouth, and after pouring half of it, he placed the bottle in front of his eyes, and in the emission of the liquid that lingered with light, the prophet suddenly seemed to see his younger self.

The self who fled the world of Argus with countless people

"Last night on Tyrion, I saw the future"

Before drinking the cold water, Viren said to the Great Lord in front of him:

"It's about your future, that may be my last prophecy, but I warn you, it's not a good future, that creature you've always protected will eventually turn against you, and she'll hate you, because at some point in the future, you're going to force her to do those cruel things."

"Oh?"

The prophet's words made the High Lord's eyes narrow, and he rubbed his chin, and he asked:

"So, in the future you see, do I win in the face of that ultimate threat?"

"You, perhaps, did win, but"

"No, I don't care about anything else, as long as I win, that's acceptable!"

Tyrion's categorical answer made the Prophet pause, and then Veren let out a short laugh.

"Okay, okay! You've always been like that, but it's okay, I see myself and I'm going to go through that future with you, the future where we've been triumphed, and now I'm going to go to the grave and be reborn like a boat down the river, and those sinners will drift down the river of death, and finally, across the darkness, to come to receive mine, judgment! ”

Under the gaze of the Great Lord, he raised the cold spring water to the Great Lord like a toast, and then drank the water of the Fountain of Youthlessness as if he were drinking fine wine.

"Dangchang"

The exquisite crystal bottle slipped from the Prophet's hand and smashed to the ground, completely shattering. 2k reading web