I was bestowed a great gift in this sword. Vandrian dubbed it "Ronae'Zaram", the Blade of Unity. The ritual to empower it, though lacking in the Lightbringer's particular talents, was a success. It cuts cleanly and kills quickly, as such a weapon should. The magic itself is mostly symbolic, of course; the powers that went into creating it on the eve of the Battle of Wyrmrest were as varied as I requested, and the weapon's magic is tempered so that it did not become the weapon of power the Lightbringer feared it would be.

I ponder the nature of the name Blooddrake bestowed upon the blade, and what it represents.

Unity. The Horde is deeply fractured, and sometimes I fear it may never recover. In the eyes of those who the Horde warlords who call peons, however, I saw a chance for something great. They had hope for a better future. Perhaps I have been looking in the wrong place for the hope I've needed, as it pertains to the Horde. Athalia gives me strength. My father taught me honor. The clan gives me endurance, and my own skill grants me victory in battles uncounted.

Maybe those four things are not enough?

I do not often trust in hope. It is a foolish, fleeting thing that keeps a being from recognizing what should be plain in front of their face. But I think see now, why people allow themselves to be blinded by it. I saw it when Deathwing's shattered body was scattered into motes of raw energy that vanished like sparks, when both Horde and Alliance soldiers raised their voices in challenge and fury to take back the fate of their world.

Then, I saw it again in the eyes of Kartuk and his laborers when I said that there was a place for them in the Horde that had almost forgotten their plight. This had far more weight for me than a group of heroes who were accustomed to such reckless charges against the forces of corruption. These orcs had nothing but their hope. No swords or shields, no armor, many of them even missing eyes and tongues. All they owned was a belief that things couldn't possibly go anywhere but up. They thought my words inspired them, but they had no idea that it was their will that inspired me.

I tell you now, the downtrodden and the forgotten will fight a damn sight harder for their hopes and dreams than any so-called hero ever will.

This is the future of the Horde. Those who sit at the bottom of our society, not crowned at the top calling themselves Warchief or Banshee Queen or Lord Regent. Not even Chieftains will change the Horde; only those who have lost everything and still possess the strength to care about getting off the ground in the morning to face the sun as it rises.

I now know what the Horde is. And it gives me hope.

The Horde will rise again. Unified. Unbreakable. Indomitable.