Prologue
Heptharg III was much like any other of the nine major colonies of the Drazi Freehold. It hosted a population of roughly three million Drazi, and sixty-seven thousand aliens. Mostly they came from the Narn populace, but there was a few of the last surviving Markab who hadn't been infected by the Drafa Plague. There were a few humans and a couple dozen Centauri living there.
On the highest mountain of its Devorian Range, lived a small group of Vorlon Emissaries. Only one was an actual Vorlon, the rest were underlings, in servitude to the Vorlons and their Empire. Most were Drazi, except for one Minbari. The Minbari was a woman, who wore the black robes of the Most Noble and Ancient Elli'seen Order. It had been a religious extremist group, that assassinated leaders and murdered members of rival religions before Valen arrived and destroyed that Order. She did not even remember her own name, although the knowledge that she once had a name was clear to her. Now, she went simply by "Inquisitor".
Once she had been misguided. But not anymore. Now she did the bidding of her masters, the Lords of Order.
She was as in tuned with the senses of her Lady, the Vorlon Niscehek, who she liked to think as a woman, as a lover was with her mate of many years. But she was troubled, as if some dark cloud had descended. She spoke not of her worries to her companions, nor were any worthy of the voice of a Vorlon. As they stayed in their sanctuary high above the capitol city of the colony, Haptharg City, the foul mood of grief that permeated from the Vorlon was becoming infectious.
"What troubles you, Lord?" she asked, having long learned that Niscehek preferred the masculine title over the feminine.
"One of our eyes has shut," she said, the purple and blue striped encounter-suit giving no other indication of what she meant.
The Inquisitor waited for more, but when it didn't come, she turned and headed off with a brisk walk to the outer balcony, and felt the chill as clouds swiftly rolled in from the west, high above in the sky. The dark and dirty grey hues spoke volumes of the rain they held inside. She heard one of the Drazi companions step up and squint at the sky.
"Looks like rain," he said.
"It no rain," another Drazi said.
"How can you be certain?" the Inquisitor asked.
"Sky not heavy," he shook his head vigorously, "Rain make sky heavy. Clouds move too fast. Too much for rain cloud."
Indeed, she looked out and saw that they were moving much faster then was weathers wont. Even on days where the clouds seemed to race across the sky due to the wind they never moved so fast. In fact, there was no grey curtains off in the distance showing rainfall far beyond. Within minutes the entire sky was cast in grey, and no sun shine peered through the dark vale.
From behind them the Inquisitor could feel the Vorlon's gaze upon her. She turned towards her and the Vorlon moved backwards deeper into the mountain stronghold. But, there was no order to move back, so she stayed, watching the spectacle unfold.
Far off in the distance, she could hear something. Much like a missile flying through the sky. And very shortly afterwards the ground trembled slightely. Soon, she could see black slivers falling from the sky and exploding, and they got closer as each one fell. She could see massive eruptions of dirt, rock and forest as the explosions rent the air and shook the ground. They were frozen in place as they watched one falling towards the city, striking and watched as with a massive fireball erupt, consuming the entire city.
Then, she looked up and saw one coming straight down towards the mountain. Only then did she hear the scream in her mind. But soon she knew nothing as the missile impacted the slope below and the whole ground was ripped apart, killing her with the concussive force that ruptured her heart.
The Vorlon survived the blast being deeper in the mountain, gliding as fast as she could towards her personal ship. She could feel it's terror, and confusion. She sent soothing emotions before her, trying to calm it, but it did nothing to help. She was the youngest of the Vorlon race, only a thousand years old. And her ship hadn't yet become accustomed to her thoughts as well as Kosh or even her idol Ulkesh. Some ships were so bonded to their masters that the state of the one was the state of the other. But not her ship. It was far too young. They were both far too young.
She rounded the corner to the docking-bay and watched with dismay as her ship broke free from the hanger-bay, fleeing without her. It hadn't gone too far before it was nicked by a passing shell and she felt its death throes as it plunged into the path of another missile. The next missile came straight at her, and she tried to escape her encounter-suit. Not fast enough though. Her last thought was of how she wished she could have experience the corporeal form of reproduction.