The robes he was given were simple. Its silver material had a soft luster that sheened in the light. White stripes ran through the cloth, parallel to the hems. The robes, designed for an ordinary protoss, draped limply over the edge of the wheelchair.

When the man who was readying him turned away, Torik spotted his artificially shortened nerve cords and was once again reminded of something that struck him as odd since arriving on Aiur.

"I thought only the Nerazim cut their nerve cords," he said. "Has the custom spread to all firstborn?"

"No," his companion replied. He guided a hovering machine over to Torik, which stopped over his hand. A small beam shot down from the machine. It scanned over his talons, cleaning and trimming them in one sweep. The device drifted over to his other hand and did the same. "It was not the Nerazim that prompted this. You will find that any who lived during the End War, save for the Tal'darim, have docked their cords. It was done out of necessity."

"Necessity?"

"Curious." The protoss gazed at Torik thoughtfully. "Do you truly remember nothing of the war? Where you were as it happened?"

Once again, Torik fought to recall. He searched and found nothing. Not even the faintest sliver of memory—it was as if those memories simply hadn't been there to begin with. "I do not," he admitted.

"Amon—one of the xel'naga—infiltrated the Khala with his dark presence and used it to enslave the High Templars to his will. For a period of time, the entire Golden Armada was under his control."

As he listened, Torik thought of the executor he had met on the dock. He didn't remember seeing her cut cords, though she certainly must've have done it as well. Had she once been trapped under this Amon's control along with the rest of the Golden Armada? The thought made Torik feel unusually protective.

He had little time to wonder as he continued to be prepared. Finally, it was deemed that Torik was presentable enough to go before the Daelaam. He started to roll himself out of the dressing room when the protoss clamped his hand over the wheel and kept him from moving.

"It would behoove you to rid yourself of this terran equipment," he said to Torik. "This thing is primitive, inefficient."

"Then would you have me drag myself along the floor before the Daelaam?" Torik retorted.

"Wheels perform poorly over uneven terrain," the protoss explained. He walked over to a short pedestal and touched a certain part of it. The metal under his finger glowed. Then, from the ground, a small, circular platform was activated. Its circumference glowed with dots of blue light as it rose. "This was the best I could find on a short notice. It is a short-distance transporter of minerals, but it will suffice." Torik stared at it wearily. Reluctantly, he lifted himself from the wheelchair and onto the platform.

It was far more uncomfortable than the wheelchair, especially since it had no back to lean on. The protoss explained to Torik that a technician was once able to operate the platform by calibrating his nerve cords to it. The protoss let his words trail off and looked inquisitively at Torik's withered and underdeveloped cords. "It can also be manually operated," he suggested, handing an ovular remote to Torik. "Shall I accompany you to the Council Chamber?"

"I think I shall manage on my own," Torik said tiredly. He never thought he'd find himself longing for the solitude of that pirate cage.

The Council Chamber was not hard to find. Its grand doors were a loud indicator of what was held inside. Flanking it on either side were two High Templars. Torik found himself the target of their sharp gazes as he approached them.

"Is the Daelaam ready to see me?"

"Wait here." One of the Templars entered the chamber, presumably to find the answer. How inefficient his people had become after severing their cords. Once, communication had been instantaneous. One needed not enter the same room to converse with another. It was a wonder how the Nerazim ever survived outside the Khala.

Wait. Torik paused. How was it that he could recall how it once was like to be connected to the Khala? The shattered shards of his memory told him that his cords had always been withered and useless, but… Were even these broken pieces not to be trusted?

So perhaps his cords had once worked. Maybe they had not always been deformed. The pirates could have cut them while he was in captivity, and malnutrition might have withered the rest. Torik looked down at the empty dress of his robes. Could it even be possible that he had once been able to stand on his own as well? A flicker, like the small bulb of a flame, lit in his mind. Something was returning. He saw—.

"The Daelaam is waiting for you," the templar said, breaking through the surface of his thoughts. Torik looked up. The templar had resumed his position by the door and motioned a hand towards the door. Right. It was time.

He was still a little disconcerted when he entered the chamber. Members of the Daelaam sat in high seats before him, surrounding him with an intimidating semicircle. The corners of the chamber glowed with soft blue from thin pillars. Their glassy surfaces played liquid-like in the light, and occasionally dim pulses would run through them. The chamber was large, and the high ceiling only magnified the effect.

Torik was surprised to see the individuals who made up the Daelaam. Hierarch Artanis was there, of course. And there was Selendis—the last Torik remembered of her was that she had been an executor. Although her position in the arrangement, at the right of Artanis, implied that she was the high executor now. Where Selendis would've once sat was Ariadis. There was another executor, though Torik didn't recognize him. On the other side of Artanis was Praetor Ellandar.

And then that woman there… She looked familiar. She was definitely someone well known among the firstborn, as the sight of her tugged at Torik's slacked memory. All he knew now was that she was one of the Nerazim. Her presence here told Torik that the Khalai and Nerazim tribes had truly become integrated.

Auir was retaken. The tribes were reunited. These were strange times Torik had found himself in. The universe was so much different than the one he last remembered.

He was quickly aware that the members of the Daelaam were speaking, though thankfully not to him. With the absence of the Khala, it was much harder for the firstborn to communicate privately to targeted individuals. The basic form of telepathy they all now resorted to could be heard by anyone close enough to receive it.

They talked among themselves about the details of Torik that they knew of thus far. All save the hierarch spoke. Artanis, by contrast, sat silently and listened.

Aside from the brief description Marcus had given him about zoos, Torik knew nothing of those human establishments. Still, he couldn't help but feel as though he were one of those beasts on display. They drew up their speculations of him, but not once did they speak to him directly. Torik felt alone.

In an attempt to scavenge solace, he let his gaze fall on the executor. Ariadis led the discussion, having heard the most information from Marcus on the dock. It was clear that she had been born from a strong lineage. Though his words about her on the dock had been brazen, Torik meant them.

"Then perhaps he is one of the Tal'darim?" the Nerazim woman said. Torik looked at her in shock. Did they truly think that? He doubted they'd let him live if they did.

"Does he look of Tal'darim to you?" Ellandar countered. "And besides, they are a ruthless people. This one wouldn't have survived a day outside the womb like that."

"That could explain the unorthodox location he was found in," the Nerazim woman replied. Her name was just on the peripheral of Torik's memory, but he couldn't quite get to it. "He fled from them, or they left him for dead in the Lontimar System."

"Despite what I know of Alarak, I do not think he would allow that," Selendis chimed in.

"Then what do you suggest?"

"Why not ask him yourself?" came Artanis's soft suggestion. The Daelaam looked to their hierarch, and then down at Torik. Beast in a zoo.

"Torik," Artanis said. "Tell us what you know—as far as your memory will allow. Where exactly in the Lontimar System were you when the terrans found you?"

Silence met the hierarch's question as the deformed protoss at the center of the chamber looked down. He frantically searched through his mind, desperate to break the uncomfortable lull. "I…" he began slowly. "I… simply remember one thing. Words etched… on a sign, perhaps. I believe it was the name of the place I was in. Inht. That's what it was called."

The brilliant blue of Ariadis's eyes dimmed as she looked down to the holographic screen that was quickly pulled up. Torik saw the faint silhouette of her hand as it moved behind the screen. A secondary gaze caught his attention, and he looked to see Ellandar staring intently at him. Quickly, Torik lowered his eyes.

"I can find no place—city, country, or planet—called 'Inht,'" Ariadis announced.

"It is in the Lontimar System. The database's collection of terran locations is not as thorough," Selendis said.

"Inht sounds of protoss, not terran. Unless they have adopted the habit of using our words to name their civilizations now?"

"It is not an impossibility."

"What else?" Artanis continued. "Is there anything else you remember?"

Torik had been beckoned to search his patchy memories countless times now. It was getting to be frustrating. He knew that if the Khala were still intact, and his nerve cords operational, he would've been able to reach them easily. But he was living in new times now.

"I apologize, Hierarch," Torik answered. "I recall nothing else of my time in Lontimar before being found. I am certain time will help mend these holes."

"I pray it will," Artanis replied. "Your time before the Daelaam is appreciated Torik, but I shan't prolong it. It would be poor of me to keep you any longer. A doctor is waiting to examine you."

"Doctor?" Torik repeated weakly.

"Yes. She has been called here to ensure you do not suffer from any additional ailments, and to run a diagnostic on your legs. She believes there may be a chance to regenerate them."

"I-I see." Torik couldn't help but stammer out his words before the hierarch. What he was hearing sounded too good to be true.

"This gathering is dismissed. I will call an escort to bring you to Dr. Meren."

"Allow me, Hierarch," Ellandar suddenly spoke up. Artanis paused, and then gave a nod. Torik gave one last fleeting glance to Ariadis before the praetor came to his side. "Come, friend Torik," Ellandar beckoned, his voice uncomfortably pleasant. "Let us not keep Meren waiting." Torik looked down at the remote. Before he could do anything, he felt his platform jerk as the praetor grabbed it and whirled him towards the door with a yank. Torik's free hand shot out to catch himself before he could teeter off. He was vexed, but remained silent.

Ellandar walked alongside Torik through the golden halls until they had gone a good distance away from the chamber and anyone else. Then, he passed Torik with a sudden burst of speed and turned to block his path. Torik slowed, but Ellandar reached out and forced the platform into an abrupt halt. "I find it humorous," the praetor said slowly, "that even without the Khala binding our minds, I hear your thoughts so clearly."

"Praetor?"

"Do not think I failed notice how your eyes seemed to favor the executor's direction." Ellandar's head tilted slightly as he continued, "I do not fault you. As the terrans have shown me, even the simplest beings possess the capability to appreciate beauty."

Torik couldn't believe what was going on. At the same time, he hadn't realized how often he had looked to Ariadis. "I mean no offense, Praetor, but this is petty."

"Friend Torik." This time, Ellandar's words came with a bite. "I do this as a favor to you—can you not see that? You are back on Aiur now, where you belong. It is time to return to reality, my friend. Understand where you and the executor are on the spectrum. It does not do to chase after the impossible."

Torik graced Ellandar's words with silence, though the praetor saw his eyes grow defensively harsh.

"Now, Torik, what did you expect? You are no templar, and Ariadis holds strong genes fit for one. Do you think she wants them sullied by sickly blood? Would anyone? Aiur does not need more children like this." He waved a hand, beckoning at Torik's lower body.

So these were the praetor's true colors, were they? Torik held the taller protoss's gaze and said, "You've made your point abundantly clear, Praetor. We should not keep the doctor waiting."

"I am glad you see reason," Ellandar replied in a satisfied tone. He turned and continued down the hall. Torik followed, silently wishing that Marcus hadn't brought him to Aiur. He missed the terran's company, though many here would consider that company too primitive for their tastes. He missed that playlist.

Dr. Meren's soft voice and thin frame deceived. Her wit was as unbending as a templar's alloy plating, though it belied a gentle personality. Torik saw these two facets within minutes of meeting the doctor. As soon as he and Ellandar entered the small laboratory where her equipment had been set up, the praetor was immediately cleared out of the room by her snappish demands. Rank, it seemed, did not matter much to her.

As soon as the two of them were alone, Dr. Meren turned to a control panel. At the command of her fingertips, the floor at the center of the room and a chair ascended. Even when the ground closed back up, it continued to hover. "Take a seat, Torik," Dr. Meren invited as she continued to operate the engine. Her voice had completely shed its bark. "I cannot believe they had you going about on a mineral platform. I will ensure you are given a transport chair." Torik started to lean back as the chair under him reclined. It only stopped when he was lying flat on his back.

"Minor signs of malnutrition," he heard Dr. Meren note. "Evidence of underdevelopment. Your bones are slightly less dense than the acceptable average. Slight muscle atrophy—nothing proper nourishment and activity will not fix. Heavy nerve cord emaciation. There is nothing that can be done about that, but there is no longer any Khala to connect to anyway." She turned to Torik. "You've no serious conditions. Rest and restoration is all you need. Now I want to take a look at these." She walked to where Torik's legs were. A small drone had appeared by her shoulder, no bigger than her head.

Lifting his head, Torik watched Dr. Meren. The drone floated up to her head. Suddenly, a small lens extended from it, positioned in front of the doctor's left eye. Torik felt Dr. Meren place a hand on one of his stumps. "Hmm," she hummed softly.

Torik remembered Artanis's words. "The hierarch said you could regenerate them."

"It is not that simple, I'm afraid," Dr. Meren said. "I told Artanis there was a slight chance."

"And what dictates that chance?"

"Luck, mostly," Dr. Meren admitted. Torik felt her fingers continue to delicately prod his legs, each time at a different place. "But understand that our bodies were not designed to regenerate—not on this scale. Successfully prompting rapid cell formation has a slim, slim success rate. But the odds are improved just a margin if the body had been born with the limbs, which is what I am trying to figure out now."

"I think I was born without them."

"I have been debriefed about your amnesia," Dr. Meren said. "Forgive me, Torik, but I am a woman of science. I prefer solid evidence over words when opportunity permits."

"I take no offense, Doctor."

The next minute or so was spent in silence. Dr. Meren had stopped poking him, but Torik was hearing strange noises coming from the drone. If his neck hadn't grown so tired, he would've continued watching. For now, all Torik could do was wonder what was being extended from that little bot now.

"Hmm," he heard the doctor hum in her quiet voice. "Puzzling."

"What is it?"

"Your body is telling me a contradiction," Dr. Meren explained. "I scanned for any evidence of birth defects in your genome and found none. No altered genes leading to underdevelopment." She walked back up to where she could look at him. "Do you know what this means, Torik? It means you should not have been born like this. You were not."

"…. Then…"

"But I did a thorough examination of your legs," the doctor continued, "and I found no evidence of any healed wounds. No sign that limbs were removed and flesh mended. In fact, the deformations are natural—as if from birth. A complete contradiction."

It confused Torik too, but the matter was irrelevant in the face of the chance to finally be whole again. "And how does this affect the chances of regeneration?"

Dr. Meren tapped a finger against her face, and said, "I apologize, but I cannot conduct such a procedure without fully understanding this issue." In a lighter tone, she added, "But I have another option for you in the meantime. I can send you to my husband, Karax. He is a phase smith with no equal, and I am certain he can fashion for you a pair of artificial legs." She paused as she read Torik's face. "Is something troubling you?"

"No," Torik answered automatically. Then, he hesitated before saying, "Doctor, can we… can we talk?"

"Happy to," Dr. Meren replied. She tapped on the control panel, and the chair lowered back into an upright position. "Are you experiencing any additional pain?"

"No, that's not…" Torik trailed off, growing uneasy. "I simply—… perhaps it would have been better had I not said anything."

"I know this is an uncomfortable situation for you," Dr. Meren assured him. "I cannot claim to understand a fraction of what you are experiencing. But I am a doctor—I will stand by you through this whole endeavor."

"Doctor," Torik said. "You are the only one on Aiur who has not been repulsed by the sight of me."

Dr. Meren was quiet for a spell. The air beside her glowed a soft blue as a chair warped into the room. The doctor took a seat. "I see," she replied softly. "So this is where the pain is." She paused again, and continued, "I am a practitioner of medicine, Torik. I deal with ailments of physical nature, but that does not mean I shan't try here. My response to your remark will not be as graceful as you desire—it is simply because I encounter anomalies on a daily basis. Injuries, deformations… During the End War, I saw the worst that battlefields had to offer. They became as common to me as mornings. I have become desensitized to the point where I see beyond the mutilation. I see the patient."

Dr. Meren waved towards the laboratory door. "And those like the praetor… The Citadel has too many like him. They think their narrow perspectives wide, even though they have never placed one toe out of their comfortable little spheres. If Ellandar has showered you with disdain since meeting you, take no personal offense. He is like that to everyone."

Her words provided only minimal relief to Torik. Even if the praetor had spoken to deride, that didn't make his words any less true. "Now that I am on Aiur, I want to be something worthwhile. I do not want to be a patient forever."

"My job is to ensure that," Dr. Meren said.

The doctor accompanied Torik out of the Hall of the Daelaam. This was the first time he had seen the capital city of Aiur from the ground. Tall, golden buildings cut a grand skyline into the pale sky. Around him, protoss walked in hurried paces. Columns of bright blue shot into the air as more protoss warped to and fro.

Dr. Meren led the way through the streets. The phase smiths' facility, she told him, was not far from the Hall. Proximity meant that the Daelaam could hear of and direct innovations quicker. Dr. Meren referred to the facility as her husband's "primary home," with their actual place of residence being his second.

"It is as though he is afraid that should he stop working, so will his heart," the doctor quipped as they walked. "But I cannot fault him. He loves his work, as do I."

Torik followed after her, trying his best to ignore the second glances that his chair and limp robes attracted. The new transport chair Dr. Meren had given him worked wonderfully compared to the platform. It moved smoothly and responded instantly to his psionic cues. Before they had left, Dr. Meren had opened up the end of one of Torik's truncated nerve cords to connect with the chair.

"Do you truly believe he can help me?"

"This is an unprecedented case, but Karax will not be deterred by that. Quite the opposite—he lives for the problems that test him. Unfortunately, he forsakes respite whenever he finds one, which drives me mad."

It was then that the phase smith facility came to view. It contrasted sharply with the Hall of the Daelaam, which had been designed with aesthetics being at the forefront of the architects' minds. A phase smith or two had obviously been involved with the planning to wave away all of the fickle aspects.

The interior was no different, though it was livelier than Torik had expected. Drones of all shapes and purposes whizzed through the corridors. Machines unlike anything he'd seen filled the place. He hadn't the faintest idea what most of them did.

This was Aiur as it was now. Torik told himself he'd better get used to it.