The screen flickered—pixels and polygons warping into a familiar battlefield. Trees swayed in rhythmic loops, and rivers glimmered like glass. The map: Terenas Stand. My chosen race: Human. No questions there. I never touched Undead unless I had to. Creepy aesthetics, over-reliant on cheese, and I hated microing statues. No—Human was about timing, finesse, and fortitude. I lived for it.
This was it. The final match of the 48-hour Warcraft III tournament. My opponent? Nemesis—reigning champion. Cold, calculating, undefeated.
I cracked my knuckles. A win here could change everything.
Far away, in a quiet hospital room, a frail woman lay in bed. The soft beep of machines monitored her heart rate, each sound a reminder of her struggle. Her fingers, trembling, clutched her phone. She had found the live stream.
Her son. Ian. He was playing in the grand finals.
She blinked back tears as the screen lit up with his face. Her boy, grown now, head bent in concentration. She whispered softly, though no one was there to hear.
"Ian… anak (my child). Please… please win this."
Back in the game, my fingers moved like lightning. I queued Peasants, rallied to the Gold Mine, and summoned my Altar. Quick hands. Crisp build. Barracks next, then farm at the front line for future tower play. My opening was sharp—fast expand strategy, Archmage first, tech after second tower. I was going to outscale him.
I scouted early with a Footman. My gut told me he'd go Orc, meaning heavy early pressure—likely Blademaster harass. Sure enough, I saw the Orc Burrow pattern and a Voodoo Lounge. He was going heavy early-game.
"Let him come," I muttered to myself, watching the mini-map.
The hospital room was dim, lit only by the bedside lamp and the soft glow from her tablet. The woman watched her son play, tears welling up as the action unfolded. His army of Footmen, Archmage, and Water Elementals pushed forward. She whispered softly, her voice barely a breath.
"Ian, anak, please... win this for us."
A nurse entered the room. She was familiar with Mrs. Reyes's stubbornness by now. She smiled softly. "Mrs. Reyes, you should get some rest."
"I just want to watch for a while," she replied gently, her eyes never leaving the screen.
The nurse, understanding, dimmed the lights in the room. The quiet hum of medical equipment was the only sound, but to the mother, it was as though the world had narrowed down to her son's movements on the screen.
Back in the game, I was fully into the rhythm. Archmage at level 2, summoning Water Elementals, microing my Footmen with perfect timing. I'd gone for the fast expansion build. My second Town Hall was almost up—right behind a couple of Guard Towers for protection.
Blademaster showed up. Harassed my peasants, tried to cancel the Town Hall. I kited with Water Elementals, body-blocked with Footmen. I saw through his plan—he wasn't committing to a push. He was wasting my time while teching to Spirit Walkers.
Fine. I counter-teched. Blacksmith, Arcane Sanctum, then Workshop for Mortars. I knew his weakness: he couldn't handle casters with Inner Fire combined with Spellbreakers on the front line.
The mother's eyes never wavered from the screen. She squeezed her hands together, silently praying as she saw his Archmage surrounded by enemy troops. His arch nemesis, the Blademaster, was circling like a wolf. Her heart raced.
"He's going to be okay. I know it," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
The casters on the stream shouted about the action unfolding:
"Ian's micro is absolutely insane—did you see that Water Elemental dodge?"
"Such fast reactions! He's handling that Blademaster like a pro."
She smiled through the tears, the kind of smile only a mother could give.
Mid-game, the pressure built. He hit my expansion with Taurens and Spirit Walkers, but I was prepared. Three Guard Towers, Footmen upgraded with Defend, and my Mountain King had just popped out.
I Storm Bolted his Blademaster mid-windwalk. He tried to TP out, but I had already started Spell-Stealing his Bloodlust, giving my Footmen and Archmage a burst of speed. Priests and Spellbreakers held the line.
The chat was wild:
"Ian with the absolute control!"
"Did he just Spell-Steal Bloodlust? Genius!"
I didn't even have time to celebrate. I kept pushing. One step ahead, every second.
In the hospital, the woman's hands trembled, but not from fear. She clenched her fists in silent prayer, her eyes glued to the screen as her son's army advanced, decimating the enemy forces.
"You're doing it, Ian," she whispered. "You've always been the one to fight. Fight for me now. Please…"
The nurse quietly checked her vitals, but Mrs. Reyes was lost in her son's game. The tournament was more than just a game—it was their last chance. She had prayed for a miracle, and this moment felt like the closest thing she would get.
The final battle arrived. He was setting up for a base trade, sending his army of Taurens and Spirit Walkers towards my expansion. But I was already ahead—Invisible Mortar Teams hit his production buildings, and my Archmage stood at the front, supported by a full line of Spellbreakers. Storm Bolt hit his Blademaster, then Mana Shield popped.
"TP back," I muttered under my breath, watching him try to retreat with his army. I wasn't going to let him get away this time.
"Come on, Ian," the casters yelled. "Don't let him escape! Take him down!"
And I did. His Great Hall crumbled to the ground as my Mortars obliterated his last building.
Victory.
The screen flashed. Victory in bold letters. My hands were shaking as I leaned back, exhausted but triumphant. The YouTube chat exploded:
"IAN THE KING!"
"WHAT A COMEBACK!"
"HE DID IT!"
But I didn't feel the excitement. I only wanted to see one face—the face of my mother.
"Ian," I whispered to myself. My breath hitched as I grabbed my phone, but I hesitated. The victory felt hollow now.
I looked back at the tablet. Her face was still on the screen.
But it was too late.
The tablet slipped from her hand. The last thing I saw was her smiling, peaceful, with a quiet sense of pride.
Her prayers had been answered—he had won.
Darkness descended. I slumped forward, the pain in my chest like a knot I couldn't escape. The adrenaline left me. I collapsed.
Then, warmth.
I opened my eyes to blinding light, a soft bed beneath me. Everything was… huge. My hands—small, delicate. I felt new. Fresh.
A woman's voice, soft and full of love, whispered near my ear. "Welcome, little one."
I tried to speak, but only a soft cry came out. Everything was so strange—like I was seeing the world through someone else's eyes.
"He's awake. A healthy boy."