The Last Holy Light

When he woke up, Karen Vane found himself lying in a haystack outside Andorhal. A raging fever, hunger, unfamiliar memories, and a body that wasn't entirely his own. He was nothing more than an unremarkable supply cavalryman in the Lordaeron border army. He had no noble blood, no legendary gear, and no power to change the world. But when he noticed something wrong with the rye in the army's food supplies, a name buried deep in his memories began to make him realize: The plague was spreading in the north. He knew Lordaeron would eventually fall, that the prince would set out on a path of no return, and that many people on this land were destined to die. But he didn't know when disaster would strike, or whether he would survive until then. So he could only run for his life while making choices that seemed utterly pointless. He stopped the bleeding of a wounded soldier, found water for a group of refugees, saved half a loaf of bread for a child, and risked turning back once for someone he had made a promise to. The Holy Light would not descend just because he was a hero. Only when he was terrified and wanted to run, yet still stood in front of others, would a faint glimmer of light answer him. From the ruins of Andorhal to Lordaeron's mountains of corpses; from the Scarlet Crusade's camp to the muddy docks of Menethil Harbor; then across the Great Sea to the unfamiliar lands of Kalimdor. History never changed because of him. But as history trampled everyone underfoot, he still wanted to do all he could to save a few people. Because he finally understood: Perhaps the Holy Light had never been about illuminating the world. It was about shining when the world had gone completely dark