Titanion Realm. City of Stoneheart.

Normally, the moment the north winds blew south, the bitter winter had officially begun. But with the violent integration of the two realms, even the changing of the seasons had been catastrophically delayed.

"This damn weather. By this time last year, your boy Arlo was already bundled up in a lizard-skin cloak!"

"Now look at this. I’m sweating so hard it’s seeping right through the joints of my bone armor."

As he spoke, the Gnoll, Arlo, raised his right arm. A single drop of dark crimson sweat slid off the armored exoskeleton. It was a grimy mix of sweat and blood, catching the sunlight in a morbidly beautiful, bloody glint.

Smack! A massive hand swatted Arlo’s arm aside.

"You wasteful bastard. The bone armor forged by the Deathbone Race might have self-repairing properties, but it wasn’t meant to endure your reckless abuse."

"The Horde’s vaults are already running low on bone armor, and the marrow pearls needed to quick-patch them are even scarcer. Two more battles like this, and we’ll see what you wear to the slaughter."

The one scolding him was the Giant, Kordun. He and the Gnoll were brothers-in-arms, battle-hardened veterans who had walked out of hell together. He wasn’t just lamenting the rare armor; he was genuinely worried about his friend surviving the next meat grinder.

"He’s a damn disgrace, is what he is!"

"The way he treats that armor is as rotten and foul as his own name."

On Arlo’s other side, another Gnoll sat slumped against the inner battlements. He cradled a trident in one arm while viciously tearing into a strip of unrecognizable jerky with his teeth.

"You’re a fool, Arlo. You’re defiling the very armor keeping you alive!"

Facing his younger cousin’s furious reprimand, Arlo just laughed it off, completely unfazed. He knew the truth: it was pure, unadulterated envy.

Within the Gnoll Race, status was dictated by two things: bloodline purity, and the weight of a name. By gnoll naming conventions, ’Arlo’ was as dirt-common as it got; thousands shared it. His cousin, Naxx, didn’t have a legendary moniker either, but it carried a much sharper ring to it than ’Arlo.’

In Arlo’s eyes, this petty name-superiority was the only scrap of pride his cousin had left after constantly coming up short against him. To truly break free from the Gnoll Race’s toxic cycle of internal comparison, one had to follow the path of the legendary hero Dirtclaw—shattering their original bloodline constraints and transcending their gnoll heritage entirely. That wasn’t betrayal; it was universally acknowledged glory.

"My friend, you have to understand. The sole purpose of armor is to absorb the enemy’s fury so its master doesn’t have to," Arlo said. "Even if it shatters to pieces, it died fulfilling its purpose!"

Arlo raised his arm and pressed a deeply reverent kiss against the bone plating. It was his most loyal companion through countless bloodbaths. In a way, he valued the armor just as much as he valued the Giant, Kordun.

"I can’t argue with that," Kordun nodded, genuinely agreeing with the sentiment. "But some damage is entirely avoidable. Bone armor is a bitch to repair. Treat it with a little respect."

Back in the day, fighting side by side in the trenches, Arlo had cashed in every last scrap of his military merits to secure the resources needed to advance to the Alpha level, along with this exact suit of bone armor. It was his crowning achievement.

Sometimes, Kordun regretted his own choices. Instead of bone armor, he had traded his merits for a drake egg. But the egg hadn’t hatched a majestic dragon; it birthed a glorified, oversized lizard. The disappointment had crushed Kordun for months. Worse still, during a recent skirmish, his lizard had been killed in action. The swarm had stripped its carcass clean, leaving not even a splinter of bone behind.

"Hey, brother. Are you thinking about that gluttonous little Scamp again?" Arlo bumped his shoulder. "Let it go. It was just a lizard! Besides, Scamp deserves to rest in peace."

"Once this hellish war is finally over, you’ll be swimming in merits. When that day comes, I’ll march right into the Horde’s vaults with you, and we’ll trade them in for a drake egg with a vastly superior bloodline. Hell, if we get lucky, you might hatch a pureblood high-dragon just like the Princes."

As his oldest friend, Arlo knew the Giant perfectly. Scamp’s death in battle had absolutely gutted him.

"The City of Stoneheart feels different lately, doesn’t it?" Arlo pivoted the conversation, eager to pull his friend out of the morbid memories.

"It’s emptier," Naxx chimed in, chewing loudly. "Even with My Lord and Lady Lilith holding down the city, the greenhorns fresh to the meat grinder are bound to make mistakes. And out here, a single mistake means you’re dead meat." 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

Naxx looked up, his eyes scanning past the battlements to gaze upon the City of Stoneheart—the absolute pride and shining glory of the Horde.

The city streets were still bustling, but the vibrant energy of peacetime was gone. The heaviest foot traffic was concentrated around the Mercenary Alliance Headquarters, the Horde Barracks, and the tavern district housing The Silent Goblet.

"Those damn bugs. If that Lord Warden hadn’t swept through our sector and cleared the pressure, we wouldn’t even have time to scarf down a meal, let alone catch our breath."

Kordun’s face darkened as he stared out into the wasteland. The swarm in their immediate sector had receded, buying them a fleeting window of respite.

"Speaking of which, who was that Warden anyway? Either of you recognize him?" Naxx asked, pulling his gaze back from the inner city, the question hitting him belatedly.

Arlo and Kordun exchanged a glance and shook their heads.

"Ever since the war kicked off, the Horde has taken on a ton of temporary Outlander Wardens," Kordun muttered. "They’re all here for the loot. The Horde threw the vault doors wide open for this war, and all those rare artifacts have the outlanders absolutely foaming at the mouth."

Just talking about the Outlander Wardens made the Giant irritable. It felt exactly like watching a stranger walk into your home and pilfer your family heirlooms.

"Arlo, the Lord’s Stone we’ve been gunning for is on that requisition list. What if those bastards snatch them all up before we get the chance?"

Both Arlo and Kordun had successfully advanced to the Alpha level and had been polishing their strength at that tier for a long time. Both harbored the fierce ambition to break through to the Lord rank. Arlo wanted to replicate Dirtclaw’s legendary rise, while Kordun wanted to forge a new saga of Giant glory. Kordun was especially confident; having successfully converted his bloodline, he was now a genuine Stoneheart Titan.

"Relax, brother. Compared to those outsiders, we have the home-field advantage. We get priority requisition rights." Arlo pulled out a carved horn flask, took two deep swigs, and tossed it to Kordun.

The Giant caught the flask and, without any hesitation, tilted his head back and chugged.

"Cuz, leave a sip! Just leave me a sip!" Naxx saw the booze, and his cravings instantly spiked.

Oooooooom! Just then, the heavy, mournful blast of a war horn tore across the battlements. It was the absolute warning. The swarm was back.

Kordun finished his deep, satisfying gulp. Not even caring if there was a drop left, he chucked the flask at Naxx and stepped up beside Arlo. Both men leveled their gazes at the distant horizon, where a suffocating tide of insectoids was already rolling in.

The piercing, overlapping shrieks of the swarm closed the distance rapidly. In response, a lethal symphony echoed across the wall—the heavy thud of locked shields, the groan of drawn bowstrings, and the sharp ring of drawn steel.

"For My Lord!"

"For the homeland at our backs! For our parents, for our children! Kill them all! Kill! KILL!"