2519—the Tal'darim planet of Xil.

Highlord Alarak was irate even on his better days—but it usually was a good anger. It was the kind that made him want to crack bones. Having that kind of heat pulse through him was almost as good as the terrazine.

But today, his rage was of a different nature. Today, the Tal'darim were just a little more fearful of their highlord.

The ship touched down onto the dune surface of Xil. Green vegetation peppered the planet, though there was much less of it now than before. From the ravishing of the xel'naga to the battling with terrans, Xil's surface had experienced quite the amount of abuse.

But leafy things were the least of Alarak's concern. He had arrived on the reviving Tal'darim planet in response to a distress call from one of his colonies. But in all honesty, the desire to protect the colonists hadn't brought him here. Strife had died down again in the past few years. Battle with the terrans had slowed down to a standstill, though Alarak still looked forward to the day he would bleed the ones who betrayed him.

Things weren't happening and he was bored. Plus, he wanted to know which fool had the gall to attack one of his settlements. Alarak sorely hoped he'd meet that Nova here. Or Ji'nara, even.

His warriors filed from the accompanying ships and followed him into the colony. The tall onyx buildings stood like silent giants. It was all too quiet, and the highlord had to admit that it was just a bit eerie.

But the colony was not empty. They found corpses indoors. Something had killed his people, and killed them quickly. Alarak assumed that by the time he had received the distress signal the settlement was already dead.

He stood over a corpse and noted its wounds. "Protoss," he remarked. "Now that is interesting."

He received an incoming transmission from the Third Ascendant who had gone to sweep the other half of the colony. "Highlord," Third Ascendant Levok addressed. "We have just scouted the settlement's nexus. It has been heavily ransacked."

Alarak prickled at his Third Ascendant's words. "What did they take?" he growled.

"Every Khaydarin crystal," Levok answered. "All processing machinery. It would be easier to list what they did not take."

How dare someone steal from him. Whoever it was would pay dearly. Alarak whirled away from the holographic screen and took a few steps, fighting to stave away his fury. He needed a clear head to think up his next course of action. "Levok," he said. "I want you to—." He broke off when he turned back to the screen.

In that fleeting instant, Levok was no longer alone. Alarak caught a glimpse of a pair of eyes glowing dimly from the darkness behind him. Then the transmission was abruptly cut.

Alarak's brow furrowed. "Third Ascendant Levok!" he snapped into the dead transmission. "Levok! Answer me!" He unsheathed his crimson psi-blades and quickly warped to the nexus in a flash of brilliant light. When his form reappeared, Alarak witnessed what had happened to his Third Ascendant.

She was yanking her psi-blade out of his skull, and then pushed the body carelessly aside. She looked up. Alarak's eyes met hers for just a heartbeat. Psionic energy shot out from him as he attempted to capture her in a snare.

He failed. The energy pulsed uselessly through the curling smoke she left in her wake. Alarak hissed in bitter frustration. His eyes darted around, searching for any of her remaining allies. Only the dead accompanied him. The air lit up as his warriors warped in around him.

"Sweep the entire nexus!" the highlord demanded furiously. "Every corner, every shadow! Should you find anyone still living, fix that! I will discern what I can from their corpses later!" The warriors obeyed quickly. Alarak walked to and stood over the body of his former Third Ascendant. Faint wisps of smoke still lingered in the air.

"Nerazim," he snarled to himself. "The Matriarch will answer for this."

Doctors examined. Phase-smiths analyzed. Torik understood this difference after experiencing both sides. The way Dr. Meren had observed him contrasted vastly with the way her husband did.

It was clear Karax was going to be unable to create Torik's legs without Dr. Meren's aid, given his apparent lacking expertise of biology. He questioned her constantly on Torik's condition. The appendages attached to Karax's shortened nerve cords typed at a terminal while he continued to inspect Torik.

"But if there was some part to reattach to…" Karax suggested.

"There is no 'reattaching,' Karax. It is not as simple as sticking parts into a photon cannon," Dr. Meren said. "I would like to keep his legs as intact as possible until I understand the story behind them. A psionic connection will be adequate."

"I do not think we should depend solely on a psionic bond," Karax argued gently. "There is a possibility that it will be too weak. This requires a strong, steadfast attachment."

"It does not. His psionic capability is enough to hold."

"What about in the case of extensive movement? When he needs his psionic abilities for other actions? He cannot stretch it too thin across too many outlets."

"And in what scenario will that happen?"

Torik suddenly spoke up. "I wish to become a templar as soon as I am able to stand." Both the phase-smith and the doctor looked at him, surprise mirrored in either face. Torik was well aware that his outburst was outrageous. He was extremely late. Those who would eventually join the high templars underwent training that started at very young ages. Still, a late beginning was as good as any.

"I… do not know if that is… well…" Karax stated nervously.

"Torik, this is a big leap," Dr. Meren warned. Quickly, she put a hand up. "I do not aim to discourage you. If you desire to join the ranks of the templars, then I am determined to see you through. However… starting as soon as you are able to stand is impossible."

"I know my body is weak," Torik sighed. "Which is exactly why I am committed to changing as soon as I can."

"One step at a time, Torik. For now, we face the challenge of getting you to stand."

"Speaking of which," Karax said, looking over to the doctor. "What about the nerves, Meren? How are we to deal with those?" His wife shot him a look.

The next hours passed in similar fashion. Karax and Dr. Meren continued to brainstorm while Torik idly listened in. Despite their differences, their collaboration was fluid—almost complementing each other. It was no wonder they were a pair.

At that thought, Torik once again brooded over Ariadis. One by one, a train of emotions emerged at the mere thought of the executor. The feeling of inadequacy, followed by the burning desire to change the way things were. He wanted so desperately to be a templar. Maybe then he'd be worth a second look from her. From anyone.

Thankfully, a distraction pulled him away from his downtrodden mulling. Karax and Dr. Meren's discussion had come to a satisfactory point where the doctor could leave Karax to blueprint the rest on his own. The phase-smith was practically glowing at this new engagement. He turned to his terminal and immediately became engrossed in his work. Holographic screens full of quick-moving data whizzed and danced before him. Dr. Meren stepped over to Torik. "Come. Let us return to the lab," she told him. Torik nodded and turned his chair around.

Dr. Meren hesitated, and then turned back. "Karax?" she said.

"Yes?" the phase-smith replied absently.

"Will you be returning home tonight?"

Karax didn't answer, his eyes concentrated on the bare skeleton of a schematic.

"Karax."

"Oh!" Finally, the phase-smith tore his eyes away from the screens and looked back at the doctor. "What was that, Meren?" She repeated herself, and Karax turned back to the screen. "Not tonight. This really needs… I'll have the detailed schematics ready for you by morning," he assured, as if that was his wife's concern.

Even without the Khala, Torik felt Dr. Meren's hurt. "Very well," she replied in what was sure to be an artificial tone. "Just be sure to please take a break every so often. Even if it has to be a brief pause. Can you do that for me, Karax?"

"Of course." The screens whizzed.

The journey back from the facility was quiet. Torik wished he knew what to say to alleviate the doctor's silent pain. She had been the only one among his people he could truly consider a friend. "Doctor," he began. "Have you… ever mentioned to him that perhaps he spends too much time at the facility?"

"His research brings him joy," she said. "I do not wish to take that away from him. If he is happy, then so am I."

"I just do not think it fair." Dr. Meren had no response to that. Then, Torik continued, "How was it that you and Phase-smith Karax came to know each other?"

"Ah," Dr. Meren said. This time, Torik heard the affection in her voice. "I would like to believe it was fate, though calling it chance would be more realistic." A drone sped by them on the street, curving around the two as it passed them. "When Hierarch Artanis raised the Golden Armada against Ga'edus, I was amongst the first to answer. Immediately, we were thrust into battle. I was assigned to a field hospital spacecraft where wounded templar would warp back to." Dr. Meren slowed and stopped talking as they passed a group of protoss. Their gazes, of course, were immediately drawn to Torik. Then, they continued on their way.

"Up until then, I thought I had seen everything as a war medic. I could not have been more wrong. I served during many of the hierarch's first battles. I witnessed the aftermaths of what Ga'edus did to templars—his own kind. Never before have I seen so many that were too gone to save. Several dragoons were deployed during that war.

"Then, one day, someone else was warped into my hospital. This one was not a warrior, but a phase-smith. He was a very rash, brave phase-smith who had gone down to the planet's surface himself to oversee the construction of a great turret that would destroy Ga'edus's ships from the ground. That obviously made the base very, very attractive for Ga'edus's forces to target. His wounds were one of the lightest amidst those of who had also managed to warp back from that base. But that was a relative comparison. The phase-smith bore severe injuries and was in a great amount of pain. However, his colleagues were dying quicker, so all I could do was stabilize his condition and drug him senseless to keep him from going into shock.

"He was already awake by the time I could finally return to him. Supplies were limited and he was still completely numbed, so I began operating on him then and there. He merely mumbled nonsense all the while. Then, as I was extracting a crystal shard out of his leg, he spoke to me—called me 'a true marvel of engineering.' It was the first time in a very long time I had laughed. I think I fell in love with him in that moment." They drew closer to the Hall of the Daelaam. "But after that, we did not see one another again for a very long time. Karax went to Shakuras to work with the dark templars and I stayed behind with the Golden Armada to look after the constant stream of wounded. I thought he had forgotten about me until after the End War when we met again on Aiur."

They entered the Hall and made straight for Dr. Meren's laboratory. Inside the lab, the chair had gone. Instead, a bed was nestled up against the wall. Dr. Meren explained that Torik would be residing inside the lab until the research on his legs was complete.

The doctor paused to think. "Just to ensure you are acclimated, I will remain with you during this first night. Besides, I grow tired of having to return to an empty home."

And so evening rolled by with very little occurring. Dr. Meren sat at her terminal and busied herself with her own work while Torik once again found himself longing for the distraction of terran music. They began chatting idly. Torik asked Dr. Meren about Aiur—how it had been reclaimed. What had happened during the End War. Slowly, the doctor brought Torik up to speed.

"And then this… Ga'edus you spoke of. You made him sound just as bad as Amon."

Dr. Meren's fingers slowed over the terminal's keyboard. "If I did, that was not my intention," she said. "The two cannot be compared. Though I am sure Ga'edus wanted very much to be like Amon. But he wasn't—Ga'edus was one of us, and that is what makes him so horrifying in his own way." Dr. Meren turned to Torik and clenched a fist in front of her chest. "Those like Hierarch Artanis, Matriarch Vorazun, and my husband shed sweat and blood to free the protoss from the chains of our old ways. Under the Daelaam's leadership, the firstborn were finally one people. During the battles for Aiur, my hospital saw both high and dark templars—even Tal'darim warriors. Then as we rebuilt our home world, my sister wed a Nerazim veteran, and the two of them are happily raising their children on the customs of the dark templars. It was the dawn of a time I thought I would never see. I had hope."

The doctor leaned back and dropped her hands into her lap. "There was no hope like that when Ga'edus happened. So bigoted, so hateful. We felt it all through the Khala. He believed our people were growing weak, and he blamed the humans as the reason we became 'soft.' Those who agreed followed him, as did those who swayed under his powerful persuasion. He tried to bring the Tal'darim on his side, knowing they would share his mindset. It terrified us when we discovered what he was trying to do. With the Tal'darim, he would be unstoppable. Luckily, their highlord turned him down. I heard through rumor it was because the highlord's first ascendant was preparing to challenge him to Rak'Shir." Weak humor entered the doctor's eyes as she added, "It seems bad timing ended up saving billions of lives."

"Ga'edus blamed the terrans?"

"To the firstborn who have only heard of them, never met them, they are primitive. Philistine, lacking culture. We have one who knows better as our hierarch, but a vast majority of our people still sees them that way. The protoss are strong, but strength and obstinacy are often two edges of the same blade."

Torik leaned back in his chair, his eyes staring up to the ceiling. "Ga'edus," he repeated. "Why is this the first I've heard of him? Where was I all these years?" He sighed and pressed his fingertips against his forehead. "Had the Khala still remained, I could ask a Grand Preserver to recall who I am." His eyes flew open. "Have the Grand Preservers all severed their cords as well?"

"I know of only one Grand Preserver who remains," Dr. Meren answered. "And yes, she was separated from the Khala during the End War as well."

"Sacrilege!" Torik couldn't help but mutter in amazement.

"Desperation demanded it. War is a terrible thing. We are a race that prides itself on its warrior culture, but that does not mean we do not feel the pain and horrors of battle." Dr. Meren stopped typing and turned fully to Torik. "To die a hero is the greatest honor one could achieve, but what often is overlooked is the pain it inflicts onto those who remain." The doctor placed a hand over her chest. "I lost many close friends to Ga'edus and the End War. So has Karax. So has the Hierarch." Dr. Meren paused, and quietly added, "Executor Ariadis lost her father when Aiur fell to the Swarm. He died ensuring that the ship his daughter and several others were aboard left its surface. Post-death, he was awarded the highest honors, but Ariadis has never been quite the same."

Dr. Meren suddenly laughed. It sounded sharp, as though she were trying to cut through the heavy mood. "Why must you have me speak so morosely, Torik? Tomorrow, Karax will have the schematics for your legs ready. I must review them to check that he does not plan to do something foolishly disastrous to your body." She began tapping her fingers together. "Tell me, Torik. Why is it that you are so adamant to join the templars?"

"It is as you said, Doctor. We pride ourselves in our warrior culture."

"That is true, but we are adopting new customs now," Dr. Meren said. "Neither Karax or I are warriors, nor will we ever be. But that does not make us any less worthy—any less protoss."

Torik looked down, unwilling to tell the doctor the complete truth. "Your words are wise," he said. "Thank you. But this is the path I choose to take."

"So shall it be," Dr. Meren replied simply. Suddenly, her eyes turned to the door. "You may come in," she said, though Torik knew she was no longer addressing him.

The door slid open, and quickly Torik lowered his eyes. Just his luck. Of all the individuals to walk through that door, it was her.

"Meren," he heard her say. "I was hoping we could speak in private." Torik felt his body temperature rise.

"I can step out if you like, Executor."

"No," Ariadis said. "Some other time, perhaps."

Before the doors could close behind her, Torik willed himself to look up. "Good night, Executor," he blurted out. The doors shut, but not before he saw Ariadis look over her shoulder.

After a few moments, Dr. Meren echoed Torik's thoughts by saying, "What luck. After I told you about her father, too."

"What did the executor come for?"

"Ah, Torik," Dr. Meren reprimanded gently. "Patient confidentiality. Just like the templars of old, this doctor has her own codes of honor that she must adhere to."

"Yes, of course," Torik replied. He went over to the bed and pulled himself onto it from the chair. "I think I am ready for this day to end."

"Rest well," Dr. Meren said. "I shall dim the lights for you."

The room darkened, though the monitor of Dr. Meren's terminal still offered meek illumination. Lying back, Torik stared up at the ceiling and waited for sleep to overtake him. Today had been mentally taxing, and he dreaded what tomorrow would unleash. His thoughts returned to the outburst he had made to Ariadis. Torik squeezed his eyes shut. Curse him. What a foolish thing to say.

Marcus blinked. He wasn't sure if he'd heard things correctly, but didn't want to ask the client to repeat himself. According to Jamie, that was a big no-no during negotiations. "That's close to zerg space," he said pointedly in case Robert didn't know.

The extremely rotund man sitting on the other side of the desk delicately puffed his cigar before responding. Marcus watched the ashy end glow orange. "I'm aware," Robert replied, smoke pushed from his lips as he spoke. "But they've been rather docile lately. Haven't heard any reports of a zerg attack in nearly a decade, except for that one last year. But those people were idiots, and you two aren't like that. Just keep your distance, don't destroy anything of theirs, and you'll be golden."

"We can meet the contracted amount without having to go to Sh'lera," Marcus said. "I just think it's too risky."

"It's the closest deposit, and I'm not willing to pay extra for minerals from anywhere else."

"It won't be by much," Jamie said. "Five percent mark-up, tops."

"Absolutely not. Listen, guys," Robert said, leaning onto the desk towards the two men. "I'm already on one hell of a tight budget, and if I drive production costs up any more, I'll be in hot water."

"Come on, Rob. How about—."

"Jamie. Marcus. I've got other contractors on hold that would be willing to fly to Sh'lera in a heartbeat. The only reason I'm asking for your names on this document is because I know you've got a little girl to look after, Jamie." Robert paused to puff on the cigar again, and then tapped the crumbling ash into a nearby tray. "Sh'lera won't give you any trouble if you keep to yourself. Grab those minerals and go. The zerg won't pay you any mind."

Marcus and Jamie gave each other knowing looks. The contract was signed. Sh'lera it was, then. They left the office with polite farewells and saved the grumbling until they were safely in the privacy of the Caravan.

"Says he's trying to help Becca but won't hesitate to risk her dad's skin," Jamie grumbled as he fired up the Caravan's engines.

"Did he say that?" Marcus sneered as he shrugged off his vest and threw it over the back of his chair. "Must've missed it. I couldn't pay much attention while getting smacked by the planets orbiting him."

"Cheap shot, Marc," Jamie chuckled. "We're being assholes. Work is work, man. Let's just hurry up and put this behind us."

"Seriously, though. Are we actually heading towards zerg space?"

"With the time frame Rob's given us, I don't think we're going to get those minerals anywhere else," Jamie replied. "Besides, we'll eat up what little profits we're getting in fuel if we do."

"Fantastic," Marcus groaned. "I wonder if our defenses can stand up to even a mild zerg attack."

"The Caravan is small and quick. I think evasion would be our best bet if worse comes to worst."

"Can it outrun a mutalisk swarm?" Marcus challenged.

Jamie hesitated. "Well… let's hope we don't have to find out."

"Buckle up, kids. We're going to Sh'lera."

Travel to their destination, without warp, would take only a few hours at most. Sh'lera was a hunk of rock that was too pitiful to be formally classified as a planet. It was part of a very small system that consisted of one other uninhabitable planet. And as if being near zerg space wasn't dangerous enough, the center of the planet was occupied by a bloated red giant on the last leg of its celestial life. Marcus and Jamie weren't too keen on being nearby when it finally collapsed into a radioactive nebula.

As the silence in the cockpit drifted on, Marcus found himself thinking about Torik. It had been a week since he'd dropped the legless protoss back off on his home world. How was he doing? Perhaps a trip to Aiur was underway, and Marcus was willing to withstand Jamie's bellyaching for the visit. That is, he thought dryly, if they weren't devoured by the zerg first.

"System's up ahead," Jamie said. "We'll be there in maybe… thirty minutes? Did you check everything in the mining bay?"

"Did that before we left," Marcus answered, staring absently out the windshield. "Jay, you ever seen zerg before?"

"Aside from the stuffed ones in the museum? No."

"Same. Man, we are so out of touch with the universe. We really should live a little."

"Are you saying that we need to get up close and personal with the zerg? That's how most people stop living a little."

"Nah, man, that's not it. It's just that—." Marcus sat up. "You know, I thought starting up this mining gig was going to let us see it all. And don't get me wrong, we've had some pretty crazy runs. But for some reason, it just doesn't feel like it's enough."

"Marc," Jamie said as the Caravan gently veered. "Sometimes 'not enough' is enough. We've got a ship and work. And people waiting for us at home when the day's over."

"People waiting for you," Marcus snapped, feeling an old wound reopening. Jamie realized his mistake and stayed quiet. Heaving a sigh, Marcus looked out the windshield again. "Never mind. You're right. Let's get this done and go ho—." He leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Sh'lera's surface. "Wait, Jay… you see that?"