The few days that she was unconscious Azalel found herself sitting in her chair in the living room of her house. She was reading something, but it didn't matter what. She looked around, confused. Had everything been a dream?

Of course not, said a familiar voice. She looked up. There was her father, sitting in his own chair, putting down whatever he was reading. This is your construction.

"Father?" she whispered.

No.

She shook her head. "You're a projection of my mind."

That is true. But I am everything your father would be. The Xarral-figure smiled, the bony plates on its face tightening and its eyes narrowing. I am everything you know your father would know. And, since your subconscious knows what this construct here is, I am free to tell you.

"I don't get it."

Yes, you do. With one arm it indicated the room, the house. This is your mind making sense of things you should not have, such as the Khaydarin crystal and your heightened psychic powers. Protoss do not need such things, as they understand them completely and thoroughly. But you are Terran, and Terrans need to make something physical in order to understand them. Hence, the house. This is your safe place, where you can hide from the world in the maze of your own mind.

"But why am I here?"

I have just told you. You created this to feel more comfortable in your mind. It took several days, but here we are. Unfortunately, we only have a few minutes, as you must go outside. Your body is ready to wake up.

It pointed to the door. We will have time to speak, but later. Go now.

So Azalel got up and opened the door, and stepped out into her own eyes opening.

The air in the room was cool and comfortable, and the bed was just firm enough that she didn't get a backache. But it wasn't her bed, she realized. And it wasn't her room.

Ah. You are awake. There was a Protoss there, a male Dark One with the white robes of a Healer. He reached forward and rested his large scaled hand on Azalel's forehead. And your fever has gone completely. Excellent.

"I had a fever?" Azalel croaked.

Yes. It broke around midnight. Can you sit up?

"Uh… yeah… I think so." That would explain the weird-ass dream. Bracing herself on the bed, Azalel heaved herself up. The Healer curved an arm around her back to help her. "Thanks. How long have I been sleeping?"

Four days. With your wounds, I would not have been surprised if you slept a week. It seems the Khaydarin crystal you own helped you heal. But only Protoss High Templar own such crystals, and I have never seen one so large or so powerful. He tilted his head curiously, then shook himself and handed her a water container. She drank gratefully. Are you in any pain?

"Um, yeah. A little. I'm okay." When the Protoss gave her a severe look, she ducked her head and smiled a little. "Really. I'm fine. They're just cuts."

Stand, and I will tell you if you are "fine." And they are not "just cuts." You have several broken ribs, a concussion, and some nerve burnout where that bracer is welded to your flesh. Stand!

"Okay," she said, and swung her legs out of the covers. Propping them on the floor, she leaned on them gingerly, then stood erect, biting her lip against the sharp pains going through her bandaged arm and chest. She lifted her head and looked the Healer directly in the eye.

Walk, he said, hands behind his back, watching her closely. With a sigh she swung one leg forward and planted the foot on the ground. That was easy enough, but when she shifted her weight she almost fell over. Catching herself, she took another step, then another, her body becoming slowly smoother as if she was learning how to walk all over again. At the door she stopped, turned, and smiled at the Healer. He sighed. Very well, he said grudgingly. Come, dress yourself, then you must meet Prelate Zeratul and speak with him and Judicator Aldaris. She sensed a little irritation when he said "Judicator."

The Healer was beckoning to her with one hand, the other holding a pale blue robe. Suddenly she realized she was stark naked and stared down at her body, horrified.

The Healer chuckled. I do not mind.

"No, but I do! You're a man!" She grabbed the robe and wrapped it around her body, slipping on the loincloth and the hastily-made bra strap, all the time scowling at the Protoss, who was visibly suppressing his laughter. "It's not funny!"

He was smiling. As you say. Come, and he walked out of the room. Pulling the robe closer—it was made for a Protoss, who had wider shoulders, and it was wrinkled and hanging—she followed. The Healer adjusted his stride until she could walk comfortably beside him, and brought her through a glowing bronze complex, passing Probes and Dark Templar until they stepped into the burning daylight of Shakuras' sun. There, the Healer stopped and looked down at her. I must go back to my station; we are, after all, at war. He stepped back and gestured; a Dark Templar materialized as he walked over. Uran here will escort you to the Prelate and the Judicator. En Taro Adun. He bowed and retreated.

The Dark Templar—Uran—approached her. Please, follow. Prelate Zeratul is waiting.

She nodded and proceeded at a trot, her body slowly stretching out its kinks and aches as she warmed up. Across the camp they went, until Uran stopped. Panting, Azalel looked around. Suddenly the Prelate stood directly in front of her; she saw the Judicator coming over. Without waiting for him, Zeratul inclined his head and gestured to the relative shade under a huge mineral formation. Shall we sit down? He asked as Uran walked away. He had stooped over so his face was level with hers, watching her speculatively with cool green eyes that held almost as just as much power as it had back home. It is very hot, and I have received countless orders from the Healer that you do not tax yourself.

She grinned despite herself and nodded thankfully. The Judicator joined them, and they went to sit down in the shade. The Judicator, being his normal proud self, refused to sit but towered over them and glared at Azalel with glowing golden eyes.

What is your name? Zeratul asked first, having settled himself comfortably in a cross-legged position.

"Victoria," she said, then bit her lip and looked down. Zeratul's eyes flickered, and she knew he knew she was lying. But Aldaris did not seem to notice.

Victoria, were you in any way connected to the power surge we detected about a month ago? It had the same readings as a warp gate, and we were very confused.

A month ago? A month? "Wow," she muttered. "Uh… yes, I do… it was a warp gate, and I came through it. By accident," she added. "I wasn't supposed to show up here."

Where were you supposed to "show up?"

"Home."

Where is that?

That does not matter, Judicator Aldaris snapped, saving her from having to answer that in the future they only needed one warp gate to open a doorway to anywhere. He rounded on Azalel. Where did you receive that Khaydarin crystal, and how did you learn to activate a psi-blade?

Zeratul was giving Aldaris a death glare. When he turned back he nodded at her to continue.

"I'm a telepathic Terran who, ah, escaped the Ghost program." That, at least, was true. "I… I got the crystal from my… friend… and in the mountain there was a battle… Dark Templar were there, and one of their arms was cut off. I took it, and buried the arm, and took the bracer because I wanted to, well, experiment with it. I thought that maybe because of the crystal I might be able to make one. And I was right."

This is an atrocity, hissed the Judicator, eyes burning into her own. She went to look away, and found that she couldn't. Aldaris was searching her mind.

Enough! Prelate Zeratul bellowed, leaping to his feet. Judicator, may I remind you that you may be the highest of the Templar caste, but while here you will follow our laws. On Aiur searching someone's mind may be acceptable without consent, but here that is breaking one of our most sacred rulings.

Aldaris looked away, smoldering dangerously. Azalel was terrified; she drew herself back into the dark recesses of her mind and pulled the walls up again, becoming distant and isolated. Immediately she found herself in the cottage of her planet, the only safe place she could think of. Zeratul's head had whipped around when he sensed her pulling back, and by the time he crouched in front of her she was already in her little cottage, the door firmly locked.

What are you doing? The Xarral-figure was sitting in its chair again.

"Hiding."

Why? It was angry. They are trying to help! Get out there right now!

Someone knocked on the door.

That is Zeratul. Let him in or go out and meet him. He is being polite, but if you get him angry he can open it by himself and that will hurt both of us.

"I don't—"

Now!

She got up with a resigned sigh and unlocked the door, pulling it open. In stepped Zeratul, his eyes roving around the construct. What is this?

Azalel sighed again and gestured to the Xarral-figure, who stood and bowed. This is a construct of her mind, created so that she would feel more at home in her mind.

"It's also my house," Azalel said. "Where I live… physically."

Fascinating. Being a scholar, he was truly interested. He cased the small enclosure, even going through the doorway to search the rest of the house. The Xarral-figure sat down again and began to read, but Azalel followed the Prelate. My guess is you live with a Protoss, Zeratul said, looking down at her when they reached the bedrooms.

"Yeah," she replied miserably.

Why so sorrowful?

"I want to come back here, for real. This is my home," she said softly, touching her bed longingly. "I don't want to be on Shakuras."

I understand. He placed a hand on her shoulder. Then, Who is the Protoss?

"He's a figure of my… friend." She wrapped her arms around herself. "He knows everything I know he knows, and… yeah."

What is your "friend's" name?

"I can't tell you," she said. "I can't tell you! Least of all, you!"

Why?

"I just can't, all right? It would change everything."

He stooped in front of her, staring directly into her eyes with his own glowing green orbs. She averted hers and stared at the beds, but Zeratul grasped her face firmly and pulled her head up so they stared eye-to-eye again.

The walls around them shivered; began to contract. Azalel yanked away and the beds jumped in front of her, blocking Zeratul from coming for her again. She turned and fled into the living room and instinctively jumped into the Xarral-figure's arms. It wrapped her in a hug, but that was only because she knew her father would do such a thing.

Zeratul stepped into the living room; the Xarral-figure shifted its grip protectively.

I want to go home, Azalel cried silently. I want to go home! However, there was no such thing as "silent" in her own mind and the cry echoed about and from the walls. Zeratul stopped.

I take it this is the same "friend" who gave you the Khaydarin crystal? He asked.

Yes, the walls echoed. Fearful of herself, Azalel extracted herself from the Xarral-figure's embrace and leapt out the door into her eyes, then jumped to her feet and tried to run away. Aldaris gripped her shoulder, preventing her from going anywhere.

When Zeratul came to his body and stood, brushing sand off his robe, he looked down at her. I wish you would trust me, he said sadly.

"It's not that I don't trust you," she replied, still not meeting his eyes. "I just can't tell you." Her mind mocked her, and she could imagine the Xarral-figure yelling angrily at her.

Silence. Very well, Zeratul said finally, admitting defeat. He turned away.

That is it? Aldaris snapped, tightening his hold. Azalel's bones creaked. We received no answers from this waif.

I know, Zeratul said. Let her go.

What?

Release her!

Aldaris did with a furious glance at Azalel, who gave him an apologetic look. Learning about Aldaris in school, she found that she pitied him. He was only trying to protect those in his care, even though his methods were rough, and he ended up being betrayed by the ones he despised and distrusted most. So deep was her compassion that she ran after the Judicator when he stalked away, and touched his arm. When he whirled to glare at her she said, "I'm sorry."

The glare changed to a furious glower. If you were sorry, Terran, you would tell us all you know. I know you are hiding important things.

"I'm sorry," she cried again. "I can't!"

He snorted and continued his journey. She ran after him.

What! Aldaris snapped, stopping once more.

"Why don't you trust anyone?"

He jerked his head and began to walk again, robes swaying, at a near run and she pounded after him, each breath searing her barely-healed ribs and the deep slash over them.

Why are you following me? Aldaris yelled, this time not stopping but increasing his stride. The yell hurt her head.

"I want you to answer the question!"

What does it matter to you?

"I want to know."

Well I want to know where you came from, how you got here, and what your real name is, he replied, but he had slowed slightly, almost without noticing it.

So he had noticed she was lying. "I can't tell you that, as I have said about six times over. But I'm not just talking about me. Everyone's trying to help you, but you just don't see it until the last minute!"

I know who my allies are.

"Dammit, no you don't!" Every breath now felt like a psi-blade was jabbing again and again into her ribs. "You've never trusted the Dark Templar who, for millennia, have protected Aiur and have never held a grudge against their brethren. Even now you don't trust them, though they have taken in the Khalai survivors without hesitation. You despise the Terrans for being mere animals, though James Raynor has done as much as he could for your race."

Aldaris entered a warrior's gateway and strode along the enormous glowing hallways. Dark Templar, Zealots, Dragoons and High Templar passed them as they stepped from the gateway itself in the middle of the building. Here they had to walk a little slower in order to thread themselves through the steady stream of warriors, but it was still fast enough to make Azalel gasp. But she wouldn't complain. She wanted him to answer.

Finally Aldaris paused to gaze down from a balcony into the workings of the gateway, where Protoss were scurrying around like insects. I have been betrayed by many people who I have trusted, he said abruptly. My parents, for instance. They were never very interested in raising children. And Tassadar—

"But Tassadar was helping."

He was about to snap at her again but held himself in, fighting for patience. He began to walk again. Yes. He was, he did, and he is a great warrior; a true son of Aiur. But it still feels like a betrayal to me.

"Why?" her chest had begun to relax but as soon as they started moving the muscles began to bunch again, and they started to throb.

He shook his head and looked away. It tore her heart to see the proud Protoss bared open like this. And the way he died, betrayed again…

"Judicator?"

His head tilted slightly towards her, indicating to her he was listening.

"I… people like you…" pain throbbed in her chest and she gasped. Judicator Aldaris stared down at her, a slight frown forming between his brows. "They really do. And…" It seemed as if the air had suddenly stopped coming through to her lungs. Aldaris jerked to a sudden halt. "And… they would do anything to help you." Now her head hurt, throbbing with the lack of oxygen. She gasped for air.

Take deep, steady breaths, Aldaris advised. You are hyperventilating.

"Gee… you… think?" She flashed a faint smile at him. "Sorry…"

High Templar Varil!

Suddenly a hand seemed to make its way through her chest into her lungs and opened, expanding them. Air flooded through her windpipe. She went dizzy with the oxygen and staggered to the side, where Aldaris made a sturdy wall to hang on to. He stepped back, seemed to change his mind, and stayed where he was.

Azalel looked around. A female High Templar stood there, kind eyes watching her as her large hand rested on Azalel's back. "Oh," she said weakly. "Thanks."

She bowed slightly and departed.

Aldaris did not try to push her away, but waited, a stiff, proud support, until she was strong enough to stand on her own. The Healer is demanding that you return to him. He is quite adamant about it.

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I think I'll obey him… for once…"

A small smile flashed across the Judicator's face. It was gone in an instant, but it had definitely been there. She offered one of her own, turned, and began to walk slowly away. Then she stopped and turned. "Judicator?"

He looked at her.

"Kerrigan controls the Matriarch," she said, and fled.

She mentally berated herself as she limped back to the Nexus. She had just changed history. What had she been thinking? But she had to help him, and—

Wait a minute. Hadn't she learned in school that Aldaris had, for some reason, known that Kerrigan was taking over the Matriarch and making her tell the Dark Templar to do things they wouldn't normally have done? She had always wondered why he had known; indeed, so had hundreds of scholars such as Zeratul had wondered.

What if she was the reason why he knew?

This timeline stuff was really getting to her…

By the time she reached her Healer, she was thoroughly exhausted and gladly fell into bed when the Healer wordlessly pointed to it. He did not rebuke her; he did not need to say anything. The moment her head touched the pillow she was fast asleep.

She spent her nights in the cottage, talking to the Xarral-figure or just reading. Since she had read much at home, in the back of her mind she had all the stories. And since the cottage stored everything in her mind, she could read whatever she read before. During the day she wandered, like a ghost—the irony of which did not escape her—through the camp. The Protoss reserved a type of astonishment for her, being able to wield a psi-blade. They were perfectly willing to be friendly and talk with her, but did not initiate said conversations with her, instead examining her with a kind of bemusement kept for a master watching his or her dog.

The Dark Templar themselves seemed to be at a standstill determining what was to be done with her; should they allow her to keep the Khaydarin crystal and the psi-blade, or should they take them away? Some wanted to study her and her ability to tap into it—only children of the Xel'Naga were supposed to be able to manipulate one, and Terrans were certainly not their creation—were they?

Azalel couldn't care less. She found herself spending most of her time perched on top of a building, contemplating and meditating. She participated in the battles as they occurred, one of them a huge fight which they barely beat back and in which she received several more horrible scars. As each one occurred she grew less and less squeamish about war and killing. Slaughtering the Zerg didn't even touch her morality standards—they were evil, after all; bent on destroying all life. But the prospect itself unnerved her—she lived in a time of peace, and now she waited with baited breath for the next warning signal? Armies were sent periodically over the deep chasm to fight the Zerg, of course, but she was never called upon to go. She heard that the Zerg were being pushed back, and that one of the Cerebrates controlling them had been destroyed by the Dark Templar, but the other Cerebrate had taken control of the wayward brood in perfect synchrony.