Jess and Gred took the main road back to Raven Hill. They could sense wolves or some other predators following them through the grass for a long time, almost until they reached town, probably drawn by the bloody scent of wolf meat and bone.

In the end, the predators did not attack. A dwarf carrying a long staff, with a sword and hunting bow on his back, still presented a certain deterrent.

Even so, the two worried throughout the journey. The day's events had exhausted their strength. Asking them to fight desperately against a pack of starving, frenzied wolves would have been too much.

That evening, Raven Hill was as desolate as the day before. Even the old man who usually sat outside the inn had disappeared.

The inn remained brightly lit. A short man sitting by the window watched the new customers enter, gave their assortment of luggage a bored glance, then returned his attention to the hard cheese beside him.

"Innkeeper." Gred placed the wolf meat on the counter and rested the bone across the table. "Could you roast this meat a little and sprinkle it with salt and some soothing herbs? Everyone can share it."

The innkeeper was a balding older man, slow in both speech and movement. After weighing the meat in one hand, he said, "Add some bread and pickled vegetables, and we could hold a little feast outside, Mr. Dwarf. Raven Hill's residents haven't gathered in a long time. With this much food, plenty of people would attend. What do you think?"

"That would be wonderful." Gred rubbed his hands together. "Will there be anything to drink?"

The innkeeper hoisted the meat and bone onto his shoulder. "There is still some red wine in the cellar, left from before the explosion. Many people say the wine has been contaminated. Are you still interested?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Gred asked. "If the contamination is truly that severe, we're probably filthier than the wine by now."

Jess reminded him, "Have you forgotten the black matter we saw inside the crypt? Ominous energy spreading from the south may settle underground."

"Who cares? That's prewar wine!" Gred said unhappily. "I nearly lost my life several times today. Without wine, I won't make it through the day!"

"As you wish." The innkeeper smiled and went into the kitchen.

And so a simple bonfire gathering began in the center of town. One large wolf bone, several fatty pieces of wolf meat sizzling with grease, a few broad plates of dry bread and sour cheese, and several jars of pickled vegetables made up the entire feast.

Many townspeople were too frightened of the nighttime "worgen" to come outside. Only a dozen or so attended, most of them elderly people who no longer feared death very much.

Gred drank while singing and dancing with a human woman about his age. They circled the central bonfire, shouting songs and dancing as though the entire day's ordeals had not tired him at all.

Jess gripped the wooden cup in his hand and stared at the red wine, unable to bring himself to drink. Yet its unusual fragrance was deeply tempting. After several greasy bites of wolf meat, he truly wanted a swallow to clear the richness from his mouth, but he feared being poisoned.

At that moment, Morgan Ladimore approached with his own cup and held it out to Jess.

"To still being alive today." He smiled.

"To being alive," Jess replied, taking a small sip.

After realizing that Morgan Ladimore was the legendary Mor'Ladim, Jess could no longer look at the young man without discomfort.

The feeling grew worse whenever he saw Lys Ladimore in the distance. Morgan's young, shy wife sat on a log in a pale-green dress, holding their baby and smiling toward them.

The infant girl lying in her mother's arms and staring blankly into the fire had to be Sarah Ladimore, the future leader of Darkshire's Night Watch.

If the game's events unfolded as Jess remembered, then more than a decade from now, her family would die in pain, torment, and despair. Even years after death, they would find no rest, wandering the dark forest and threatening innocent travelers.

Sarah herself would be powerless to change any of it. She could only endure the mad rumors about her parents spreading between Raven Hill and Darkshire.

"I heard you went hunting today. Your results look impressive." Morgan stared at the gleaming, oily wolf leg bone. "A wolf that large must have been killed by Mr. Gred, I assume?"

"Why couldn't I have killed it?" Jess countered jokingly.

"Even you must admit that a dwarf warrior fighting a giant white wolf to the death sounds more like a scene from a poem." Morgan smiled. "I hope I'll be written into such a story someday and remembered by future generations. I'll bring a victory like that to my wife, Lys, and to Sarah, so they can see their husband and father become a true hero... rather than a weak man incapable of protecting his own home."

Jess looked toward a distant window where the light had just gone out. "The people here can still live normally because of your efforts."

"You call this normal? People are leaving, and those who remain are considering it," Morgan said. "They don't trust me. The few other young people who want to protect this place feel just as helpless. Now even they are starting to give up. I think they'll soon choose to move to Grand Hamlet or somewhere farther away. It isn't because of some worgen curse. They simply believe this town is no longer worth protecting."

He drank some wine and shook his head. "I don't think I've done enough. Perhaps I simply lack the ability. I'm young and haven't trained enough. I'm still far from a true warrior capable of shouldering this responsibility on his own. I can't blame them for treating me like a child, even though I'm married and have a child of my own. Sometimes I envy adventurers like you. You can leave your homeland without hesitation and find opportunities to prove yourselves. I want a chance like that—to show everyone I can make Raven Hill prosper again. When people see me here, they shouldn't have to fear anything threatening this town."

He had drunk too much. Jess could tell Morgan was intoxicated—even more so than Gred, who had never stopped drinking since the gathering began.

"Put your family first," Jess said. "They are the most important treasure you have. No... No treasure can compare with them, Mr. Ladimore."

The dancing dwarf seemed to hear their conversation. He continued shouting and singing incomprehensible songs, but his gaze flicked their way.

"Of course." Morgan smiled. "I love my wife and daughter. They're the most important people in this world to me. I'll protect and care for them with my life."

"I don't doubt it," Jess blurted. "But what I mean is, never leave them."

Morgan released a long breath. "Remain in this little town forever? Then..."

Jess badly wanted to tell him that the Scourge invasion more than a decade from now, the outcome of the entire war, and the fate of the whole continent of Lordaeron would not change whether Morgan took part or stayed away. But once he left Raven Hill, his family would lose all protection.

In the end, Jess restrained himself. He did not want to influence the course of this world too much. If events followed their established path, heroes of every kind would eventually save this world from destruction.

But if he intervened and altered one tiny variable, where would that lead the future?

Perhaps his words had already influenced Morgan. Perhaps Jess's existence had permanently changed the world, and the effects simply were not obvious yet.

Jess said nothing more. Morgan seemed lost in thought as he stared toward Lys and Sarah.

Lys was looking back at her husband, her eyes overflowing with love and expectation. As her mother gently rocked her, the baby closed her eyes, opened them again, then let them drift shut once more.

Raven Hill's night was full of laughter and warmth. Firelight shone across Jess's face, yet as he sat among the townspeople, he felt like an outsider, as though he had never truly entered Azeroth. He disliked the feeling.

In the middle of the night, Jess lay in bed and watched the clothes he had hung outside the window sway in the night breeze like a harmless ghost.

After the day's events, his whole body ached. Several injuries still throbbed, and now that he had relaxed, the pain returned with even greater force.

He was desperately sleepy and exhausted beyond measure, yet he could not settle into sleep, as though unwilling to let this night pass.

Stranger still, Gred was not snoring.

"You're awake, aren't you?"

"So are you," the dwarf said softly.

"What's wrong?"

"Sometimes I truly don't think you sound like a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old man, boy. I admit I overheard what you said to Morgan."

Gred rolled over and looked at him with one eye.

"Did you have some tumultuous romance back in Lordaeron that ended in spectacular tragedy? I think you envy that child Morgan Ladimore."

"Nothing like that. What kind of romance could a poor boy have?" Jess asked.

"Listen to yourself." Gred clicked his tongue. "A boy your age should be full of hope for the future and beautiful dreams of love, brimming with energy and passion. But you sound like a cynic who thinks he's seen through every falsehood in the world, inventing senseless excuses to justify his own cowardice."

He was right. Was Jess's supposed desire not to interfere with this world's course actually nothing more than fear?

Jess offered no rebuttal. Gred also seemed to feel that the mood had become strange and added, "How about this? Tell me what kind you like, and when we return to Stormwind, I'll introduce you to someone. Young, mature, thin, fat, rich, poor, human, dwarf, or gnome."

"I only want an elf girl," Jess said.

Gred rolled over, turned his back to Jess, and immediately began snoring.