The sound of rain beating against the taut leather hood of the hut was like the rapid beat of a drum.Like all the orc huts, this one was well built to keep out the rain, but it didn't keep out the biting cold in the air.If the weather turned, the rain would turn to snow; but either way, the cold damp penetrated Drek'Thar's old bones, making him stiff even in sleep. But it wasn't the cold that made the old shaman toss and turn, at least not this time. It's a dream. Drek'Thar often dreams or sees foreboding visions.For him who has lost his sight, this is a gift, a kind of spiritual vision.However, since the Battle of Nightmare, this gift has become hot.During those terrible days, his dreams became very bad, and sleep brought not rest and recovery, but horrible nightmares.It made him look older, from a mighty elder to a frail, garrulous old man.He had hoped that his sleep would return to normal after defeating the Nightmare, but although to a lesser extent, his dreams were still very, very dark.

In the dream, he could see, but he only wanted to blacken his eyes.He stood alone on the top of the mountain.The high-hanging sun seemed to be closer than usual, and it looked red, swollen and ugly, turning the sea water that lapped at the foot of the mountain into a blood red.He could hear...a low rumble in the distance, making his teeth chatter and his skin tingle.He'd never heard a sound like it, but with his powerful connection to the elements, he knew it meant something was wrong, very, very bad. A moment later, the sea at the foot of the mountain began to roil, the waves were high and eager, as if some dark and terrible creature was struggling to stir under the turbulent sea.Even at the heights, Drek'Thar knew he was not safe, never would be safe, would never be safe again.He could feel the once solid rock trembling under his bare feet.He gripped the rough, knobby staff tightly until his fingers ached, as if it would calm his mind, even in the face of churning oceans and collapsing mountains.But at this moment, things happened without warning.

The ground under his feet suddenly opened a rugged crack, as if a bloody mouth was about to swallow him.With a loud shout, he half jumped and half fell to the side, and the staff he let go fell into the ever-widening giant throat.In the whipping wind, Drek'Thar hugged a raised rock tightly, trembling with the shaking of the earth.His long-sighted eyes fixed on the boiling blood-red sea below. Huge waves slammed against the steep cliffs, and the height of the waves splashed was unimaginable, and Drek'Thar could feel the scorching heat of those foams.The elementals' screams of terror and pain and pleas for help echoed around him.The rumbling sound became more and more violent, and under his horrified gaze, the blood-red sea surface parted on both sides, and a huge land appeared in the middle.This land is still rising, it seems that it does not stop at all, and in the blink of an eye, it is as high as a mountain and as wide as a whole continent.At this moment, the ground under Drek'Thar's feet cracked again, he shouted loudly, waved his hands in the air in vain, and fell into the sea of ​​flames under the crack——

Drek'Thar threw off the leather mattress suddenly and jumped up, his whole body was trembling and dripping with cold sweat, his hands were in the air as if he was about to grab something, his eyes, once again seeing nothing, were wide open and stared at the darkness ahead. "The earth shall weep, and the world shall shatter!" screamed Drek'Thar.But then someone took his trembling hands and squeezed them to calm them down.He knew who it was, an orc named Palka who had been looking after him for many years. "Come on, Father Drek'Thar, it's only a dream," the young orc grumbled.But Drek'Thar did not take what he saw lightly.It wasn't too long ago that he was fighting and killing enemies in Alterac Valley, until it was decided that he was too old and weak to fight.If he can no longer serve in the way of a warrior, then he will serve in the way of a shaman, in the ways of his visions.

"Palka, I must see Thrall," he demanded, "and the Ring of the Earth. Maybe others have seen it too... If not, I must tell them! Palka, I must Do it!" He tried to stand up, but he couldn't use one leg at all.He patted the old, useless body in frustration. "What you have to do is to rest well, patriarch." Drek'Thar was too weak, he fought hard but couldn't break away from Palka's steady hands, and was pushed on his back onto the leather mattress. "Thal...he has to know," Drek'Thar muttered, patting Palka's arms in vain. "We'll tell him tomorrow if you think it's necessary. But for now... rest!" The nightmare had worn him out, and now the old bones were starting to feel the chill again.Drek'Thar nodded, agreeing that Palka would pour him a cup of hot drink with herbs to help him sleep.Palka was a capable caretaker, he already thought vaguely.If Palka thinks tomorrow is too late, let's talk about it tomorrow.He lay down on his back after drinking the herbal tea, and had an erratic doubt before falling into a deep sleep.What are you doing in time?

Palka sat down and sighed.Once upon a time, Drek'Thar's spirit was as sharp as a dagger, even though his body was becoming weaker and weaker under the weight of age.Once upon a time, Palkar would send messengers right away to report to Thrall what Drek'Thar had seen. It's a pity that the good times are gone. Just in the past year, this notoriously wise and sharp mind has been in a trance.Drek'Thar's memory was once more reliable than any written record, but it also began to make mistakes.There was a gap in his memory.Palka couldn't help but have doubts. Under the double blow of the nightmare war and the inevitable aging, Drek'Thar's so-called "foresight" has long since degenerated into worthless sleep talk.

Palka stood up and walked towards his leather mattress, when he recalled painfully that Drek'Thar had insisted on sending a messenger to Ashenvale two months ago, because a group of orcs would attack the peace rally held there , massacred the tauren and kaldore druids participating in the meeting.They did send couriers and warnings - but nothing happened.The only result was that the night elves became more suspicious after listening to the old orc's ravings.There were no orcs for miles around, yet Drek'Thar insisted that the danger he predicted was real. There were other foresights, less important perhaps, but equally illusory.It's the same now.If the threat really existed, someone other than Drek'Thar must be aware of it.Palka, an experienced shaman himself, had no such hunch.

Yet he will keep his word.Thrall was once Drek'Thar's protégé, and the tribe he served as the chief was also established with the help of Drek'Thar himself.If Drek'Thar wanted to meet Thrall, Palkar would prepare the way for his mentor tomorrow morning.Or he could send a messenger to ask Thrall to meet Drek'Thar.This is a long and difficult journey. Drek'Thar insisted on making his home in Alterac, while Thrall was far away in Orgrimmar on another continent.But Palka suspects that won't happen.Not to mention dissatisfaction, Drek'Thar might even completely forget what he dreamed about when he wakes up tomorrow morning.

This was a common occurrence these days, and Palka was not happy about it.Drek'Thar's aging will only cause Palka to mourn deeply and to wish strongly that this world is another one - the one that Drek'Thar firmly believes is about to fall apart.The old orc didn't know that for those who loved him, their world had long since collapsed. Palkar knew that there was no point in pity for what had happened, for the old Drek'Thar.In fact, Drek'Thar's life has been far longer than most orcs, and it is well-deserved and full of glory.The orcs have the courage to face bad luck, and they also know how to obey the destiny when fighting violently.Palkar had nursed Drek'Thar since he was a child, and he had sworn to see the old orc die, no matter how painful it was to witness the slow decline of his master.

He stooped to snuff out the candle with his thumb and forefinger, pulling the fur over his massive body.The rain was still falling outside, beating drums on the tight leather tent.