The wind across the Dragonblight did not howl. It whispered. And in that whisper, Death Knight Thassarian heard a word that did not belong to any human or orcish tongue: Tatah .
Inside, the air was warm. Alive. A single Nerubian stood at the center of a web-lined chamber—not undead, but living. Ancient. Her carapace was the color of dried blood, and her four remaining eyes burned with cold intelligence.
"You came," she rasped. "The Death Knight who still dreams."
"I do not dream," Thassarian lied.