The Sun King's Declaration
The Sun King's declaration thundered onward with all the subtlety of a rampaging kodo. He thrust his arms skyward with theatrical flourish, unleashing a torrent of dark magic so utterly vile it could make a plague rat gag in disgust. The malevolent energy erupted forth, thick enough to choke a dragon and potent enough to turn Silvermoon City into a very expensive graveyard.
The dark magic hung in the air with the consistency of molten tar mixed with despair. Just breathing near it would send lesser mages scrambling for their mommy's robes. Every spellcaster present felt their knees knock together in terror—and a few wet themselves, though they'd never admit it at the tavern later.
Anasterian's magic had returned with a vengeance!
Not merely restored to his youthful prime, oh no—he'd cranked his power up to eleven and snapped off the knob! This was the pinnacle of magical might, the kind of strength that made demigods nervous and filed insurance claims in advance.
The Sun King's voice boomed across the square with all the warmth of a funeral dirge played on a broken lute. But wait, there's more! His dramatic announcement wasn't just echoing locally—oh no, the magical broadcasting system of Silvermoon was working overtime, beaming his image to every corner of Quel'Thalas through their network of enchanted mirrors. Every elf with a scrying crystal was about to have their day ruined spectacularly:
"I must confess—and this pains me more than stepping on a lava barefoot—that His Majesty the Lich King possesses superior power! He is infinitely more qualified to rule this wretched world than any of us bumbling mortals. For ultimate power! For glorious eternal undeath that never requires morning breath! I, the Sun King—Anasterian Sunstrider, hereby pledge my eternal servitude to His Majesty the Lich King, accepting the honor of becoming his general, standing shoulder to shoulder with that delightfully murderous Arthas Menethil!"
The collective gasp that followed could have powered Silvermoon's wind generators for a month.
Sweet merciful Light, it's happened!
The impossibly arrogant Sun King had actually bent the knee! The same elf who probably practiced his royal wave in the mirror each morning had just surrendered faster than a goblin drops his prices at closing time!
If the Sun King had died gloriously in battle—sword in hand, crown blazing, probably with an inspiring final speech about honor—then regardless of his recent years of questionable decision-making and epic political blunders, the elves would have built statues in his honor. A king who died protecting his realm deserved nothing less than eternal reverence and probably a very expensive funeral with fireworks.
His heroic sacrifice might have even rallied the elves behind his son Kael'thas, creating a beautiful story of succession and hope.
That's exactly how it played out in the original timeline. When Kael'thas departed Quel'Thalas on his desperate quest to save his people, Lor'themar Theron stepped up as regent and worked his pointed ears off rebuilding their shattered homeland. Only after Kael'thas went completely mad with power and betrayed everything elvish did Lor'themar reluctantly establish his own faction.
But now? Now history had taken a hard left turn straight into Crazytown.
Antonidas, who should have been peacefully dead and maybe haunting Dalaran's ruins with dignity, had instead become a terrifyingly powerful lich with a serious attitude problem.
And now the Sun King Anasterian had joined the "Eternal Undeath Club" as well.
Factor in Kel'Thuzad's upcoming resurrection—because apparently death is just a temporary inconvenience these days—and Arthas would soon command three world-destroying liches. It was like collecting trading cards, except each card could end civilization.
At this moment, nobody suspected a third great lich was about to join the party. The devastating news that both of the Alliance's most powerful archmages had fallen to the dark side was already enough to make every elf in existence question their life choices and consider heavy drinking.
Grand Master Antonidas!
The absolute pinnacle of magical prowess in the known world!
How could you possibly fall for the "come to the dark side, we have cookies" routine?!
"NO—Father, this is madness! This isn't how your story should end!" Across the square, Kael'thas collapsed to his knees on the marble steps, tears streaming down his face with all the dignity of a soggy pastry. He simply couldn't process that his father had transformed into this abomination.
High elves cherished magic and thirsted for arcane knowledge, true, but they also treasured life itself. This fundamental love of existence explained how Quel'Thalas could nurture thousands of rangers who spent their days hugging trees in Eversong Forest and writing poetry about woodland creatures.
But his father hadn't been broken by torture or defeated in honorable combat—no, he'd "voluntarily" chosen to become a walking corpse with delusions of grandeur. Kael'thas felt his worldview crumbling faster than a poorly constructed siege tower.
The Sun King released a sigh that sounded remarkably condescending for a newly minted undead monarch. "My dear child, you lack the wisdom to appreciate the exquisite beauty of eternal existence. You cannot fathom the absolute terror we elderly face—waking each dawn to feel death's countdown timer ticking away in our bones. Without Antonidas serving as such an inspiring example of successful career transitions, I never would have found the courage to take this momentous step."
In truth, this was a domino effect triggered by Antonidas's transformation. An ancient rival had fallen, emerged stronger than ever, and was now completely outclassing him. For the fiercely competitive Anasterian, this situation was about as tolerable as a root canal performed by an orc.
This psychological response also revealed the universal fear lurking in every aging mind—the desperate terror of mortality that makes people do spectacularly stupid things.
What Anasterian didn't realize was that throughout their battle, Frostmourne had been whispering sweet, soul-corrupting nothings into his mind, exploiting every weakness and fear with the skill of a master manipulator.
Regardless of the method, Frostmourne had achieved a flawless victory.
The Sun King continued his sales pitch with the enthusiasm of a goblin salesman: "My precious child, consider the cosmic injustice! Why should those contemptible night elves—the same backstabbing relatives who exiled us in the first place—enjoy eternal life while we suffer through aging, death, and increasingly embarrassing bladder problems? Why must we endure the gradual weakening of our strength and the cruel limitations placed upon our magical abilities? Previously, we had no alternatives, but now—now we can seize a far superior future!"
As he spoke, nearly a dozen robed figures materialized beside the Sun King with dramatic flair.
Kael'thas, Lor'themar, and Halduron stared in absolute horror, hands clamped over their mouths—they couldn't believe that over eighty percent of the Silvermoon Council had followed their king down this path of damnation!
Of course they had! They were all ancient beyond measure!
Technically, considering high elven lifespans, they probably had another century of existence remaining. For humans, that would represent multiple generations, but for elves, it was essentially checking into the retirement home and waiting for the inevitable.
The temptation of immortality proved impossible to resist.
"Come, my beloved son! Join me, Kael'thas, and embrace the undead existence! Together, father and son, we shall rule Quel'Thalas for all eternity, becoming immortal monarchs of unimaginable power—and you, dear boy, will become an eternal cornerstone of the Undead Realm!" After completing his pitch to his son, the Sun King turned his attention to announcing the delightful fate awaiting the other loyalists.
"I don't want to die! Please, anything but death!"
"Forgive me, but mortality... I simply cannot accept such a cruel limitation!"
The army that had marched here to support their king stood frozen in confusion. Even though these were direct orders from their sovereign, the elves found themselves shaken to their very cores.
Any other command—even certain suicide missions—they would have accepted with honor and enthusiasm. But who could possibly embrace becoming such a hideous monstrosity after death, especially elves who valued beauty above almost everything else!
Their hesitation rapidly transformed into barely controlled panic.
The crowd began to buzz with frightened whispers.
Then everything changed again in the span of a heartbeat.
A colossal wall of death flames, fifty meters high and radiating darkness so profound it made midnight seem cheerful, erupted skyward. The infernal barrier completely encircled the royal court square, trapping over ten thousand elves inside what had suddenly become the world's most exclusive—and final—outdoor gathering.
This masterpiece of intimidation was courtesy of the Sun King himself!
A former Silvermoon councillor stepped forward with a sneer that could curdle milk at fifty paces. "Pathetic subjects! Your king is not requesting your cooperation—he is commanding your compliance! You have two delightful options: refuse his generous offer and be slaughtered where you stand, then raised as mindless undead anyway... or embrace undeath voluntarily and gain power beyond your wildest dreams! Choose wisely, as this offer expires shortly!"
"By the Light—" Every elf in the audience inhaled sharply in collective terror.
As if responding to some invisible cue, an entire row of corrupted Silvermoon councillors simultaneously unleashed their dark magic. Black energy surged into the heavens, creating an oppressive aura that crushed every voice of dissent into terrified silence.
The choice was brutally simple:
Get murdered! Become a pathetic skeleton!
Or die willingly! Transform into something magnificently powerful!
Since death was apparently non-negotiable at this point, the decision-making process became remarkably straightforward.
The Sun King's voice rang out one final time with cheerful menace: "Does anyone wish to voice an objection? No? Excellent! My dear son, you shall have the honor of proceeding first and demonstrating proper enthusiasm for everyone else!"