Disclaimer: Everything StarCraft-related, characters, locations and such belong to Blizzard Entertainment.
Notes: This story is set in a somewhat alternate universe where, after the Overmind is destroyed, the Protoss of the Khala have reunited with their Dark Templar kind.
Normal text between double quotation marks ("…") is normal speech, italic text between single quotation marks ('…') are thoughts.
Opus of the Siren
Chapter 1
Mist shrouded the landscape. White and gray layered over the dark green of the rain forest, dew dripped from exotic plants and flowers by the refreshing breeze like a harmonious orchestra. Great mass of dull gold and brown was the spectator, intricate designs and symmetrical branches eager to join the foray.
A great temple of the First-Born, in all its' splendor, carved stone, metallic columns, annexes reaching for the sky and deep into the forest. Only one being is seen among the stairways and moss-ridden stone. So young, yet had the mantle of leadership weighing on his shoulders.
Artanis, Khala's Praetor, watched the soothing landscape, soft clouds obscuring the two forenoon moons overhead. Relaxed was his posture, legs folded up close to his body, arms slack at his sides, the surrounding cosmic energies absorbed by that place of cult circulated though his being and lulled his mind.
He knew not why he was there, nor did he want to listen to the voice of reason- he had found inner peace for the moment, and it was all that mattered now.
'This is like the ones I remember well in my childhood…' -the thought reverberated though his consciousness. Thousands of his Protoss kind would travel far and wide to such locations of cult to pray for fortune, luck, and hold rituals of Ascension.
His closest of kin would often take him with them on such pilgrimages in his infancy, and memories still remain clear- lavish festivals, extravagant jewelry, and water from the purest of springs.
Dynamic and energetic dancing was held under the empowering light rays of the close-neighboring stars, a surely bountiful feast for beings who have evolved beyond the need to consume solid matter.
Traditions which were held, of course, before the tainting of Aiur by the Zerg… Though they have now cleansed their home planet from most of the plague, it would be long until its' initial glory is reestablished.
This moonrise, the edifice was hollow, only sounds there were his own as he paced around the courtyards. Or so Artanis thought.
Another tempo of steps caught his attention, and the youthful Protoss gazed upwards at the next level of terraces lining the exterior of the edifice to find a figure clad in amber-like robes and armor. 'A High Templar'- he could tell.
The features were distinguishable even from what little he could see from the back as the other walked away.
Tied nerve chords swaying in the breeze, walk steady and even, the administrative unit seemingly didn't notice that Artanis or anyone else was in the vicinity.
The young Praetor looked onward as the newcomer momentarily stopped and turned its' head towards the forest as if hearing a disturbance, but soon continued on its' way.
In that single flash he noticed that the other possessed an awkward colored glow in its eyes- not orange, not yellow. Only one person was known to posses that certain hue...
"Could it be?..." Artanis whispered to himself- he could feel a sudden knot in his neck as he suddenly lurched forward. He would have thought twice in any other situation, but this time, curiosity and a streak of hope got the better of him.
"Ghar mak!" he called out, trying to grab the other's attention. He didn't turn around. 'He probably didn't hear me.' Artanis quickly climbed up the stairway trying to keep up with the Templar. He called again, louder this time, but still no reaction. Confusion set in and he trotted towards the other.
There was no time to think any more. He had to know.
"En Taro Adun, High Templar!" Artanis slowed down when he got sufficiently close, hoping he got his attention. And again! The Protoss's pace didn't waver as he continued on.
Artanis felt a twinge of fear but also of anger prick at the back of his mind. "Can you even hear me?" –Still no.
The one before him hadn't shown his face and appeared to be heading towards the part of the temple exterior where its' stone barrier had fallen from place.
Stone which was especially placed so no Protoss could slip off the edge and fall to their deaths…
'What is he doing? He can't be thinking-' dread struck him and he ran to grab the other.
"Halt!" He shouted as he seized him.
The Templar disappeared!
The form dispersed into a puff of blue and white smoke the second Artanis touched him. He himself fell off the edge!
Crying out in alarm, he tumbled towards the harsh cobblestone below, and sharply shielded his face, eyes closing.
The killer impact didn't come.
The young Protoss cautiously opened one eye and then the second one as he realized he stopped just a bare few inches from the ground. "What?..."
The two fused hearts both pounding frantically in his chest, he looked up… and saw nothing! Someone must have a telekinetic hold on him, but who? And he was suddenly hoisted back up, back on the same ledge.
"You should be more careful, bold one. I had a feeling that Zerg scouts might follow me here to why I sent out Hallucinations, but I wasn't expecting you to find me so soon." the real form of the High Templar spoke sympathetically.
Said Protoss administrative unit gingerly put a badly shook up Artanis back on solid stone before him. But the Praetor was unable to exchange a reply from shock, not only because of the near-death experience, but because his initial hunch was confirmed.
Before him stood no mere Protoss. No mere Templar. No mere High Templar.
But a spirit of greatness. A being who listened to reason when others held to their failing prides. The embodiment of selflessness…
The one Artanis idolized as his own sanctifying deity…
He was alive?
"B-by Adun! Great Executor Tassadar… But- it's impossible." The younger of the two blurted out "You sacrificed yourself in battle- the Conclave-Everyone- claimed you dead! H-how is it that I stand before you and-"
"I have departed this side of reality. What you see is just an illusion as I am but a spirit left to drift through the cold dark Void."
The phantom image softly hushed the flabbergasted Praetor, and reaching for him he indeed was not of solid matter as his hand simply passed through. Artanis's pulse jumped a beat at that, and he struggled to fit the pieces as to what logic guided this encounter.
"Then… why are you here, O Divine One?" Artanis bowed his head, feeling ashamed for reacting so briskly, not daring to scuff Tassadar's brilliant image with his unmeritorious gaze.
"That I will explain in time… And please, do not refer me so- even my act doesn't deserve such a title…" Tassadar extended to place a hand under Artanis's chin, and even thought the other Protoss knew it was not feasible, he let him raise it. Penetrating energy-blue eyes locked with yielding orange ones.
"If you indeed have opened a window from the afterlife, you could have reached anyone, yet why someone so unworthy as I?"
"That too I will elucidate when the time comes, and I promise I shall come back to do so… But now you must be ready for another moonrise. Awaken."
And everything flared white.
A flash of light. Brief, but overwhelming. Blinding.
Artanis opened his eyes.
He no longer saw the former Executor. He no longer was at the Aiurian temple for that matter. As his vision cleared, all could be seen was a curved, spiraling ceiling above him. Artanis was on his back, and perplexed, he sat up.
It was his tent and now the bright moon rose to illuminate though the transparent quarmetal at the entrance. Opaque plates of metal lined the interior, rain-resistant and heat-repelling fabric covered the exterior.
Artanis was in an encampment in one of the large outposts of Shakuras: operations were enacted to drive the Zerg Trarg brood off the planet of the Dark Templar, to which he and Zeratul have stayed to directly lead.
'It was only a dream…' the Protoss realized as he rubbed his eyes, feeling more tired now than before he went to sleep.
In a vision, all made sense, but afterwards, all that remains was disarray.
Such was the case here. Yet it felt so real…
Dancing light reflected off the violet textile of a different, bigger marquee, the last embers of a small neon flame in the center of it were dying out.
The Dark Templars' Prelate was sitting cross-legged on a cushion, working on a small holographic computer to observe maps of the star system and different coordinates.
The Zerg colonies are pausing in their offence for some time due to extensive wounding, and even though that is a benefactor, broods may be building up strength for a heavy assault, one they don't know where will hit. A grim sentiment indeed.
A sound reached his hearing, and the elder Protoss raised his head to see Artanis enter. "Ah, there you are! I was beginning to think you've been kidnapped."
"Adun Toridas. As you can plainly see, I haven't… And I would certainly appreciate it if you would not think of me as still and infant." the Praetor said, sitting down on another cushion next to the Dark Templar.
The Prelate gave a short chuckle, his green eyes glinting in amusement. "At ease, Artanis. Your zeal and enthusiasm are the virtues which are highly valued and what we've all come to rely on." Zeratul reassured him, and setting aside the computer.
Zeratul looked at Artanis, noticing how his eyes were not quite open upon half-collapsing on the cushion. "Precarious night?"
"Quite."
While Artanis tried to clear the fog from his vision, the older Protoss reached for a bowl and a bronze water kettle, pouring its' contents. "Here. Cold rain water. It'll help you come alive."
Artanis much obliged the offered bowl and promptly dipped his face in it before pulling back, the water practically freezing the pores in his skin. Bumpy eye ridges and cheeks twitched from the drastic change in temperature that expelled the drowsiness. "Huff ah. Adun bless you, Zeratul." And gave the receptacle back, feeling three times younger.
Upon receiving, Zeratul momentarily blinked at him.
He looked into the bowl.
Then back at him.
The elder Protoss's hand flied to grip his own face, pressing over the vocal chamber under the cheekbones. He tried to muffle his chuckle.
He must have forgotten that he used the kettle to brew black subterranean fruits to make ointment. The oil of the fruit sinks in water, but sticks to hard surfaces.
Some of the ointment byproduct must've still been in the kettle and ended up in the bowl…
"Um, there's some sapropel on your face." He said in response to the Praetor's confused expression. Artanis tentatively touched his face and eyed how the tip of his fingers turned black.
"Feeling boisterous this morning?" he tried to understand how the normally reserved 636 year old Protoss can have an outwardly playful side.
"My most sincere apologies. It seems I didn't recall emptying the pot after brewing. Now don't worry, it's just herb pulp." the Prelate reassured, handing a cloth.
It wasn't long before the other more distinguished Dark Templars of the tribes came for the meeting as well, to inform of recent events, assess battle strategies, and plan patrol routes.