The ancient darkness surrounding him did not
stop him from seeing any more than his lack of eyes
did. He had been a sorcerer once, a very great one.
His spectral sight revealed every inch of his cell
with far more clarity than eyes of flesh ever could.
He could navigate this prison even without
it. He knew every flagstone on the floor, every
enchantment that bound him. He knew them by
sight, by touch. He knew the way his footsteps
would echo with every one of the nine steps it took
him to pace across the chamber. He felt the flows
of magic all around. Spell after spell, enchantment
after enchantment, their soul-crushing power
intended to do only one thing: to make sure he
stayed buried here, unremembered, unforgiven.
The ones who incarcerated him intended this
place to be his tomb. They had forgotten about him
over the long millennia. They should have killed
him. It would have been kinder. Instead they let
him live, pretending it was mercy. It let those who had bound him—such as his brother, Malfurion
Stormrage, and Tyrande Whisperwind, the woman
he loved—feel better about themselves.
Not going to lie, I read like half of this preview in Illidan’s voice
Oh by the way this is on page 26:
Illidan strained against him and glanced at
Prince Kael’thas. The blood elf licked his lips like an
epicure catching sight of a feast. All this unleashed
magic clearly aroused something within him.
“Kael’thas,” Illidan croaked.