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Anduin stands in the middle of a battlefield. The earth beneath him is barren and littered with bodies. Fel fire smolders and chokes out the stars with smoke. Save for the crackling of flame, all is quiet. He is alone. He calls out to the Light, but the Light doesn't answer him. He calls out for anyone, but there is no response. His voice echoes across the battlefield.
In the distance, he thinks he can see a figure through the billowing smoke. Anduin walks towards it, stepping over bodies and weapon alike. What seems like ages pass as he walks for the figure, but never seems to get any closer. The figure turns. He knows its face. A man with a thick mane of dark curls, and burning red eyes, piercing through the smoke.
He looks as beautiful as he always does, dressed in finery, immaculate despite the carnage around them.
"...Wrathion?"
Wrathion smiles his smug smile, and crosses the seemingly endless distance between them in two strides, until Anduin is standing before him.
"Do you like it?" His voice is as rich and sultry as always, and Anduin's heart burns. His mouth dries. He doesn't know what to say. Wrathion throws his arms wide, gesturing to the hellish landscape around them. "This is all for you."
"...What?!"
Wrathion grabs him by the wrists and yanks him forwards until they are pressed chest to chest. His grin is impossibly wide, showing a mouth full of fangs. His crimson eyes seem to glow brighter, drowning out the world around them. Anduin tries to free himself, but Wrathion's grip is ironclad.
"Is that any way to thank your savior?"
Anduin takes a step backwards, but his heel slips into the air. He gasps, corrects his footing, and whirls around him. He's on the edge now. The fel fires are a sickly green glow, far below them. He takes one step forward. Wrathion pushes him one step back, closer to the edge.
"Wrathion--don't--please!" His voice comes out frail. Anduin's toes scrabble at the edge.
"Don't you see, my prince? I saved your world. I secured your throne."
"Please don't do this!"
"It was always for you."
Wrathion throws him off the edge. Anduin screams and reaches out in vain as he plummets into the abyss. As Wrathion gets further and further away, Anduin can see him throw his head back and laugh.
Anduin wakes up with a jolt. His limbs feel cold, and his chest is tight. There’s a clamor of armor outside of his door, and the next thing he knows, two guards burst into his chambers, swords drawn.
“Your Majesty! We heard screaming!”
“Are you alright?”
Anduin stares back at them for a long moment, throat tight, and nods. He feels numb, and cold.
“Just...a bad dream. That’s all.”
That seems to satisfy them. Anduin waits until he hears the door shut with their exit, then draws his legs into himself, wrapping his arms around them. He buries his face in his knees and lets out a silent sob.