WHAT HAPPENED?

All those in the area winced. High Templar Xarral, his eyes sparking, was on the edge of wild fury. He paced back and forth, barely listening to the explanation.

The same thing happened to the warp gate as it did ninety-two years ago. There was a power surge in the—

How do I get my daughter back!

"We're figuring out when and where she was ejected now."

Xarral stopped pacing to face the giant humming machine, clenching and unclenching his hands. He felt a presence at his shoulder and glanced behind him to find the Dark One, Patriarch Zeratul, standing there silently. He placed a hand on Xarral's shoulder; an attempt to comfort him.

Xarral shook his head. My daughter, was all he had to say, and Zeratul nodded in understanding.

"We found her," a Terran technician called, leaning over a console.

Where? When?

"She's on Shakuras… five hundred eleven years ago."

A cold weight seemed to drop into Xarral's chest.

Shakuras.

They had transported his daughter to the battle of Shakuras, just after they had evacuated the Khalai survivors from Aiur in order to save them. He sagged, dropping to his knees, his horror rising. Gods… he whispered, swaying.

There is a way, another technician said, almost tentatively.

He lifted his head. How?

"We can put you through to Shakuras… but we have no idea of when you'd come out. You could get there at the present day, two years ago, right before Azalel showed up or even before the Dark Templar were exiled from Aiur."

Please understand, it is a very experimental procedure and has enormous risk.

Hope had already blossomed in Xarral's heart. Yes, he breathed. Do it. I must take that risk.

"Are you—"

Yes! Do it!

The warp gate opened. Xarral got to his feet.

Wait, Tolar cried, stepping forward. Let me come with you. I can help.

No, young one, Xarral replied, glancing back at him. Stay here. Stay safe.

No, I can— Xarral turned away and leapt through the warp gate. Tolar let out a soft angry cry.

Zeratul closed his eyes silently, remembering battles almost forgotten. He remembered what had happened, all those years ago, as they unfolded yet again…

Azalel opened her eyes.

Pale fingers of the sunrise were tracing their way across the sky, creating soft shadows upon the rocks. It was gentle and beautiful, and completely topped the stones that were digging into her back, which were decidedly not gentle. Biting her lip, she pushed herself upright and groaned at the bruises that had formed dots all over her back.

She was berating herself for falling asleep on the ground outside, and not on soft grass, when she remembered where she was. Her eyes widened and she stood, brushing dirt off her backside, to look around.

It was a desert. Red sand and dirt and clay stretched out for miles, decorated by pale green bushes, and in the far distance she could see cliffs and mountains. Thinking of practical things, such as water and shade when the sun became too hot to bear, she began to trot towards these mountains. Her body ached from the bruises and from her mad dash the day (and about one thousand years) before, so it hurt to move. But she was used to that; years of running around with her friends for hours on end and then doing the same exact thing the next day had prepared her. Her throat was tender where the Ghost had held it, so she practiced steady breathing on the way towards the cliffs. The whole way she did things to keep her mind off what she was really thinking—

Where was she? More importantly, when?

The day began to get much hotter and Azalel began to pant her tongue swelling and sweat dripping down her face. She wasn't worried about sunburn—she spent most of her days outside, in the sun, and her body was well browned. But this was hot! Not humid, like it had been on Aiur, but there was nothing to shade the sun. Was she on Char? Was that it? Not to mention her heavy boots and warm clothes made it worse; she stripped as much as she could.

After noon she came upon a large boulder that had an overhang about four feet above the ground. Azalel stumbled over to it and collapsed in the welcome shade, her legs weak and trembling and her already-sensitive throat burning. As the sun sank behind the boulder, she closed her eyes. The thoughts that she had kept at bay during the day came back full-force and she began to whimper, burying her head in her hands and pulling up her knees.

"I just want to go home," she whispered to no one. "That's all. Home."

Thinking of the beautiful planet with her little cottage she shared with her father at the edge of the small community, she began to cry softly, and her tears slowly guided her into sleep.

She awoke to something like scales gliding across a hard surface. Cracking one swollen, aching, sticky eyelid open, Azalel saw that it was pitch-black out. Midnight, or if not close to it. If she wanted to be at the mountains before another one of those scorching days, she would have to move quickly. Reaching out she pulled herself slightly forward, ready to drag her body out of the overhang and begin her walk.

Just then an inexplicable bad feeling came over her at the exact same time as that something scraped the rock again, just above her. She froze, listening. It moved again, and this time something gleaming and undoubtedly sharp moved to hang over the ledge right in front of her face.

It was a claw, if claws grew two feet long. It shone in the double moonlight like it was made of metal. And then it went farther down, stabbing into the sand and dirt and sparse plants, lodging itself into the soil. Another came down a few feet from the first, and the angles of which they were in the dirt began to decrease as if weight were being put on them. The scraping sound came again, and a serpentine body followed the claws.

They weren't claws. They were enormous scythes, and the creature that slipped off the boulder directly above her was a Hydralisk.

Azalel's mouth went dryer than it was already in revulsion. She had heard that Zerg were so horrible that it made strong, grown Marines quake in terror, and she had seen holographic life-size pictures at school, but nothing could have prepared her for a real one standing only three feet or so from her. Its carapace was dark red and its eyes burned savagely crimson through the darkness. It looked this way and that, uncomfortably keenly as it could see in the dark, and let out a soft hiss.

Immediately the ground trembled, and to her right Azalel saw another, different monster pop up from the earth, shaking dirt from its hide. This one was much smaller and stood on four feet, but the scythes were the same sprouting from the back. And then another, to her left, and then three more… how long had they been there? Had they already been underground when she had collapsed for rest?

When they began to move Azalel could count twenty-four—six Hydralisks and the rest Zerglings. The Hydralisks stood like a calm eye of the storm in the middle, hunched over with eyes burning in all directions, seeking something. The Zerglings ran in circles like little insects, making sharp chittering sounds. One even paused right in front of Azalel, sweeping its head back and forth and tapping its many blades on the ground. She cringed back, not quite daring to move but trying to shrink into the earth. After a moment it moved on.

Suddenly one of the Hydralisks jerked, gasped, and collapsed to the ground, brown and red ichor spewing from a gaping hole in its chest. The remaining Hydralisks spun, searching for the source of the attack.

They couldn't see it—but Azalel sure could. A ripple in the air betrayed a fuzzy outline of something or someone as it attacked again, this time cutting the head off a Zergling. But then another Hydralisk fell—from a different direction.

Dark Templar! Azalel was sure of it. As they slaughtered the Zerg she considered pulling herself out of the alcove of rock and presenting herself to them, but abandoned the idea. If she was in a place where there were Zerg, she may be in a time where the Protoss and Terrans had not become allies yet. So she watched, silent, as the remaining Zerg backed up and formed a circle, flailing blindly against the air in hopes of catching their invisible tormenters.

Something caught Azalel's eye and she turned slightly, trying to get a better look at it. It was an Overlord, speeding quickly to get in range.

The breath caught in her throat. She opened her mouth to let out a warning call but the Overlord was already in position. The Dark Templar, thus revealed, doubled their attack but there were only four of them. Eight Zerglings managed to tear one of them apart. Two others fell to the combination of Hydralisk spines and of the smaller Zerg cutting at their legs. They burst into psionic flames, searing the Zerg into backing up—Azalel had never seen a Protoss die before, and it seemed majestic, even beautiful.

One of them seemed older than the rest and thus stayed alive longer. He spun, crushing one Zergling with a forceful kick, decapitating another with his psi-blade, throttling another with his remaining hand. He danced to the side as one of the two remaining Hydralisks spat spines in his direction, missing him and killing two Zerglings. All in all he was doing very well.

Until the other Hydralisk came up behind him and with one slash with the enormous blades at the end of both limbs sliced off the Dark Templar's psi-blade arm. It fell with a splash of blue blood to the ground as the warrior let out a short telepathic scream of agony. Then he was cut down, the Hydralisk behind him stabbing him through the chest. As he collapsed his head turned to the side, and he ended up gazing directly at Azalel. His brow drew up slightly in surprise, and then he died, the blaze of his telepathic fire dazing the Hydralisk above him and leaving a faint scorch mark on the earth.

Almost immediately the Zerg started to run (or slither, or gallop) towards the mountains, so fast and so abruptly that Azalel blinked her eyes to make sure they were actually moving. Within minutes they were gone, swallowed up in the darkness. The Overlord followed them.

Azalel stayed in her position until the slimy bad sensation dissipated, then crawled out of her hiding place and huddled shaking on the ground, staring at the bloodied arm still twitching on the ground.

For a long time she stared at it, feeling a quiet sorrow that was heavy on her bones. She couldn't just leave the arm there—it seemed disgraceful and ungrateful for the brave warriors. If they had not shown up when they did, the Zerg, being attracted to telepaths, would have almost certainly found her and either killed or infested her. So she picked it up—the limb was completely limp now, dead; the blood had stopped pumping from the severed artery. She studied it with a strange distance; after seeing the mutilated bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Salle, this seemed a poor second. After a while she stirred herself and stripped it of its psi-blade for no apparent reason rather than to study it; her father never let her handle his own psi-blades for reasons known only to him. Then she buried the arm in the middle of the little battlefield, waited a silent moment in respect to the Templar, and moved away.

Crouching once again in the overhang of the boulder, she examined the bracer carefully. It was black; different from a regular Templar's bracer in every way. Where her father's was made of a bronze-gold metal and had a smooth, almost ceremonial appearance, this was obviously built only for use.

Curiously Azalel slipped the smooth band of metal around her wrist. It fit about halfway up her forearm, as that was about the thickness of a large Protoss' wrist.

What if she were to heat it up so it could bend, then shape it to fit on her arm? Would a fire be hot enough; if she were to put it in the middle of it? Was she able to even activate it? Closing her eyes, Azalel took a deep breath and exhaled, calming herself down. She searched for all sorts of triggers in her mind, trying to find if anything had changed. It hadn't.

Maybe it had something to do with the cords that came out the back. Azalel tugged them to hang over one shoulder and around the back of her neck to drape over the other one. Again, nothing.

Meanwhile, the sky had begun to lighten. It had been at least six hours since the Zerg had departed, and if they weren't gone she didn't know what would drive them away. She needed to scale those cliffs and search for water. So she set off, trudging through the sand dunes and along the dry, cracked dirt.

Around mid-afternoon she reached the giant stone walls. Now she faced a dilemma. Would it be better to climb them now, when she was parched and weak after her long walk, or later, when she was even weaker from the lack of water?

Something let out a harsh sound above and behind her and she spun, expecting more Zerg. But—no—it was some sort of bird, both purple and red, wheeling circles about in the sky, letting out a cry that echoed off the cliff walls. The strangest thing was she had seen such a thing before. But where?

It came to her suddenly. A karkaru. It was a karkaru!

She was on Shakuras!

Relief poured into her bones. At least she knew where she was, and around what time. Five hundred and eleven years ago, on Shakuras, sometime after when the Zerg had come through the warp gate on Aiur. At least now she could approach the Protoss without fear of being killed. Then the relief slowly ebbed away, filled with anxiety. She was no better off than she was before, knowing that, unless she met some Protoss. "Help me," she called in desperation up at the circling creature.

Whether it be that the animal sensed her fear or it was startled from hearing her voice, or simply was bored with circling in one place, it nevertheless finished wheeling and flapped away. Azalel followed, her previous exhaustion almost forgotten. The bird/prehistoric reptile led her to a much less steep wall, with plenty of crags for handholds. She brightened and looked up at the circling karkaru.

"Thank you," she called, putting as much gratitude as she could in her voice and thoughts. The karkaru called out again and began to fly lazily away. Azalel immediately struck out, climbing the huge cliff.

When the sun was sinking down to her right she topped the rise and found herself facing a wide expanse of… more mountains. Above, karkari flew about, centralizing on a certain crag. One of them wheeled down to get a drink from a mountainside stream. Gulping the cool water, it glanced up and saw the girl perhaps thirty feet away and below, on a ledge underneath its own. It let out an echoing call to warn its fellows, and the creature's head whipped around. As the creature scrambled up to the rock it was perched on, the karkaru flapped a few feet away and watched.

Azalel gulped the water from the little stream, more and more and more until she was sated and sleepy. She looked up at the karkaru, who cried out at her, angry that she had taken so much for herself.

"I'm sorry," she said, bowing her head. The karkaru stopped wailing and studied her, then flapped its wings twice and lowered its own head to look at her. It felt something then—had the strange two-legged creature thanked it? It felt nice. So it left her alone, and Azalel retreated so the others would not be too frightened of her as to not drink any water. She sat in the shade of another overhang, leaning back against the cool rock, watching the sun slowly sink into the horizon. She began to sing quietly, a song she herself had composed, that her father loved.

My thoughts wander

And disappear in the silence

Flying high amongst the stars

To find that special place of meaning.

There

I can stretch my imagination thin

And let it cover the universe

In its sweeping blanket of night and day

To everything in between the horizon

Where the sun touches the earth tentatively,

Then settles, growing more comfortable.

I want to find that secure spot

Where even the sun rests

Before it heaves itself back out

To travel beyond the stars again…

The song made more sense in Protoss, the original language she had wrote it in. But right now it didn't matter: the song calmed her, and even the karkari paused in their mad flight to listen. After that they were not so noisy, and were not so frightened of her.

Azalel took out the bracer. She wanted to find out how to operate it so much! She might not be able to, being a Terran, but she still wanted to know how. She put it on and concentrated on it. The cords coming out of the end twitched, and she stared. Maybe the cords were for catching those bits of psychic energy!

Suddenly she remembered her crystal. It holds some of my memories, my concentration, and my power, Xarral had said. Maybe she could put his power into the blade, using his concentration! She closed her eyes and concentrated again; not on the bracer this time but on the crystal. Unbeknownst to her, the cords were slowly moving, searching for the source of the power, reaching for the crystal.

Azalel felt a burst of power and opened her eyes. Over her thin wrist, a faint blue shimmer had stretched itself from the bracer. The cords had coiled themselves around the crystal.

She felt like laughing, or crying. She had done it! Just barely, but she had done it. Now all she had to do was find a way to mold the circle of metal securely around her wrist instead of her forearm.

Now that she was satisfied with water, she felt stronger and was able to climb back down the hill. She gathered a few handfuls of grass and uprooted a dead bush, then climbed up to her original perch, arranging a circle of grass as tinder and some branches around it on the ledge. Taking a small flat piece of wood, she wrapped grass around it and began to roll a stick between her palms against it. After ten minutes of vigorously rubbing, smoke began to rise. Another few minutes and flame licked up against the grass. Hurriedly she put more grass on it, then the bush. The fire began to burn in earnest, blasting her with heat. She moved away, put the rest of the branches on, and ran down to get more.

After half an hour or so of burning, red-hot embers burned at the bottom. As the karkari settled down to sleep, she pushed the bracer into the glowing coals and waited.

After another hour or so Azalel supposed that it would not get any hotter, she drew it out with a pointed rock. Shaking her head to clear it of the spots of watching it for so long, she looked up and jumped. Five of the karkari, their black eyes gleaming by the firelight, had come much closer to see what the strange glowing flame was. She was amazed they were not afraid; they crowded so close to her that she could feel the breath of one on her shoulder.

It seemed as if it were some kind of ancient ritual. The silent statues of the karkaru, the flames flickering high, the girl hunched over, watching the golden blaze as it heated the piece of metal sitting in the middle of it all.

But now she was faced with another problem. What was she to do with the bracer? Mold it to her wrist now? She could not wait, for it would cool quickly.

She made a quick decision. Setting the bracer on its side, Azalel put her arm through it just above the wrist so she could move it with ease, took another rock and placed it upon it, and shoved downward.

The agony almost made her scream. She doubled over with the torture, fighting to keep herself still, and pressing on the molding stone in various places until it was fit to her liking. By then she was nearly faint with pain and the fire had burned down to embers. The karkari still held silent ritual over her until she began to crawl towards the river. Then they parted noiselessly, watching her as she reached the stream and plunged her arm up her elbow in it. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, it hurt so.

Slowly, though, the cold water began to numb the terrible burns. And slowly, she fell into sleep. The karkari, watching her, decided it was time to go and silently unfurled their wings, taking into the air.