When Allen woke up, everything before his eyes was pitch black.
Instinctively, he tried to move, only to realize that his hands and feet were tightly bound with coarse ropes. He struggled desperately, but the ropes only tightened further, biting deep into his flesh.
What… happened?
His memory slowly returned.
Today, he had just arrived in Stormwind with Wren and the others. Their carriage had stopped at the Pig and Whistle Tavern. He carried his luggage upstairs, pushed open the door, and was about to set his things down—
Then, a sharp pain struck the back of his head.
And when he woke up again, he was here.
What kind of security is this?!
Was I kidnapped by an enemy? Wait, do I even have enemies in Stormwind?
He struggled again, but the ropes didn't budge at all.
In the darkness, a sinister voice suddenly spoke: "When did you arrive in Stormwind? What are you doing here?"
Allen couldn't see the other party. He could only judge from the voice that the person was sitting not far away. He quickly spoke, his tone filled with panic: "Sir! I'm from the Prestor family—don't kill me! Someone will pay a ransom for me! Name your price, I guarantee—"
The voice let out a cold laugh.
"Heh."
The owner of the voice, Lord Malathrom, glanced at Lady Prestor beside him. After receiving her signal, his voice grew even colder: "The ones we want to kill… are members of the Prestor family."
Allen's heart sank sharply.
I'm screwed.
So they're not my enemies—they're the Prestors' enemies? How unlucky can I get?!
His mind raced.
Wren and the others must have noticed he was missing by now. They should go ask Varian for help, right? But can Varian even find him? Anyway, stall for time first.
"Wait! You've misunderstood! I'm just a fraud—I'm not from the Prestor family at all! It's all a misunderstanding, we can talk this out!"
"Hmph." Lord Malathrom sneered.
"Nothing but lies. I think… a dead Prestor is far more trustworthy."
Allen was speechless. Reason clearly wouldn't work—so he'd have to intimidate them instead.
Since he had already been pretending to be a Prestor, he might as well go all the way. After all, Onyxia wouldn't come south until ten years after the Dark Portal opened.
Thinking of this, Allen took a deep breath, coughed twice, and in an instant, adopted an arrogant demeanor.
"Ah—"
He let out a long sigh first.
"I have already shown you the utmost patience."
His voice was no longer panicked—there was now a trace of pride in it: "Do you know who I am?"
Malathrom glanced back at Lady Katrana.
Katrana seemed to find this amusing. She leaned lazily against the couch, propping her chin on her hand, watching with interest this young man who had been trembling just moments ago, yet now suddenly stood firm.
So Malathrom let out a scoff. "Who are you?"
Allen gave a cold smile, filled with arrogance and disdain.
"To avoid unnecessary complications, I have cooperated with you to the extreme—yet I did not expect you to be so utterly ignorant."
He raised his chin, looking down on the kidnappers hidden in the darkness: "Speak my name, and you shall tremble."
Katrana raised an eyebrow.
Malathrom responded, "Oh?"
Allen took a deep breath, then pronounced each word clearly: "I am the son of Deathwing—the great and wicked Black Dragon Prince, Nefarian himself!"
Lord Malathrom froze, subconsciously looking toward Lady Katrana.
Katrana's expression also stiffened.
Seizing the moment, Allen parted his lips and uttered a single word: "Release."
[Command]
An invisible force surged out from him, rushing straight toward the man in the darkness—
[Saving Throw: Failed]
A rustling sound came from the shadows.
Immediately after, a pair of trembling hands fumbled their way forward, undoing the ropes binding him and removing his blindfold.
The moment the blindfold was removed, the sudden light made Allen squint.
A middle-aged man collapsed in front of him, face filled with terror, body trembling—it was Lord Malathrom. His lips quivered, unable to understand why he had obeyed the command.
Could it be… could it be that what he said was true?
Allen flexed his wrists, marked red from the ropes, and slowly stood up.
Then—he saw her.
In the dim depths of the room, on a couch, a woman reclined lazily.
Her long legs were crossed—fair, smooth, like the finest silk.
Allen's gaze moved upward along those pale legs, until he met a pair of purple eyes watching him with a half-smile—like a cat observing a mouse struggling beneath its paw.
"Th-this… Lady Katrana Prestor…" Malathrom turned toward her, trembling. "Wh-what should we do?"
Katrana Prestor???
Allen was completely stunned now—one could even say terrified.
…Aside from that person, he could think of no other possibility.
Could this enchanting woman before him… actually be that cunning, vicious, deceitful black dragon—Onyxia?
I'm dead.
How can my luck be this bad?!
According to his memories from his previous life, in Year 8 After the Dark Portal, the Black Dragon family should still be "playing house" in Lordaeron.
Until Year 10, he should have been able to safely pretend to be a Prestor noble in Stormwind.
So why… why was this she-dragon already here in Stormwind?!
Damn it—another mistake caused by relying too much on prior knowledge. In the game, these events were only mentioned briefly, but in the real Azeroth, they had become living, breathing timelines far beyond his control.
Wait.
Allen suddenly recalled something from earlier—when he had accepted the Lupos bounty in Goldshire, he had glanced at other notices on the board.
Livestock had been disappearing in Goldshire recently.
Everything lined up.
Was it all you, Onyxia, sneaking around eating them?!
Why didn't I connect this sooner… and instead come to Stormwind to deliver myself to death?!
Allen took a deep breath, suppressing the turmoil in his heart.
Now was not the time for regret.
More dangerously, he had just impersonated Nefarian right in front of Onyxia.
Allen wanted to immediately clarify that he was just a fraud—but then he reconsidered.
If he suddenly stopped pretending to be a Black Dragon after seeing Lady Katrana, it would instead make Onyxia suspicious—whether he knew her true identity.
He absolutely could not let this dragon realize that he knew who she really was.
If she did—he would be dead for sure.
No choice. He could only grit his teeth and keep acting.
"So that's it—you're from the Prestor family. Hmph. For me to impersonate your family's young lord is your honor."
Allen straightened his back. Though his spine was slightly damp with sweat, he still cast a condescending gaze over the collapsed Malathrom before finally settling it on Katrana.
"You mortals—if you know what's good for you, then kneel and submit to me."
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