The fragments shine once more. Azeroth is calling.
In the blizzards of Northrend, the Shattered Hand Mercenary Company has waited for two years. Arthas stands atop Icecrown Glacier, Frostmourne planted in the snow. Illidan's blindfold lashes in the wind. This time, he is not alone.
Zhou Mu draws his short sword. Its blue light has not faded.
