Jamie looked just as it disappeared. It was like one of those dumb tropes that filmmakers loved to use, and it made Marcus want to punch the dashboard in frustration. It had been right there!

"See what? The sad little hunk of rock that's carrying our next paycheck?"

"God damn it, you're not going to believe me when I say it," Marcus growled. "But there was a ship down there!"

Jamie paused, and afforded Sh'lera another look. "Ship?"

"Yeah, it was right there." Marcus pointed through the windshield. "Right next to that pair of craters."

"What the hell kind of ship would be on Sh'lera? It's private property."

"You think that's going to stop anyone who really wants to be down there?"

"Well, where did your ship go then? I don't see anything down there now, and we would've noticed something taking off."

Marcus stared at the rock beneath them. He was absolutely certain of what he'd seen. It was kind of hard to miss an entire ship on that tiny body. "Don't know," he mumbled. "Listen, all I'm saying is that we ought to be careful down there."

"Whoa, Marc, you're starting to sound like me and that's scary."

Marcus was on high alert the entire time they were on Sh'lera. The Caravan hovered over the mineral fields and went to work extracting the blue crystals. Nothing unusual happened, and that's what made it unbearable. Both men were antsy. Their eyes darted from the window to the mineral counter on the dashboard, watching its number change like a stopwatch. Tapping the gun in his holster, Marcus recalled the look of the ship. He'd only seen it from a distance, but he'd noticed something very strange from the looks of it and he couldn't put a finger on why that was.

That is, until they lifted away from Sh'lera with their minerals. Marcus heard Jamie exhale a loud sigh a relief and immediately sat up. "Fuck!"

The residual anxiety made Jamie actually jump. "What?" he demanded.

Marcus turned to his partner. "That ship," he said, his mind whirling from the outrageous realization he had come to. "Jay, I think that was a protoss ship."

Construction of the prosthetic legs took several days. Torik had to undergo several scans in the meantime. But other than that, he had little else to do. Since his first day on Aiur, the Daelaam had not spoken to him—either it had lost interest or forgotten. Torik didn't fault it. There was an entire race to run, and it could not afford to focus too much attention on one crippled pariah. Besides, Torik wasn't looking to fall under the praetor's condescending gaze again.

Between working with Karax on the prosthetics and seeing to her other duties, Dr. Meren hardly had the time to offer Torik company. Instead, Torik spent much of his time exploring the Citadel. He had gotten used to the looks.

At the center of the grand city was a plaza. A large fountain stood in the wide space—a circular pool with five jets spaced evenly within it. The jets threw up tall spires of water and, within the middle, stood the colossal statues of three figures. Every member of the firstborn knew of these three individuals, and Torik was no exception.

The deformed protoss looked up at the immortal faces of Adun, Tassadar, and Zeratul. Torik thought the dark templar's place here seemed strange, given his people's controversial opinion of him. No doubt the hierarch had ignored the animosity and insisted that the late templar be included in this tribute to heroes. Given all that Zeratul had done in his last years, Torik was in line with Artanis's views.

The three statues had their heads raised, their unbroken gazes pointed towards the horizon. The gemstones in their eyes glimmered in the warm sun, giving them an essence of life.

Looking up from within their shadows, Torik couldn't help but wonder what these paragons would've thought of him. The pessimist inside him moped that they would have been ashamed to have one such as he amongst their people. They had done great deeds during their lives—exemplars of what all protoss should strive to be. That is, save for one that was too skinny and handicapped to even cross the street on his own.

Bah! Torik shook his head in disgust. Enough with this self-pity. It helped no one—least of all him. Torik wondered if Dr. Meren needed him for another scan. Then again, she would have transmitted a message to his chair if she did.

Torik backed away from the fountain and turned himself around. Someone was standing a short distance away, watching him. Torik nearly jumped out of his chair when he saw her. "M-Matriarch!" he stammered, feeling his hearts hammering against his ribcage.

"Forgive me, Torik. I did not mean to startle you," Vorazun replied. Her green eyes looked conflicted as she studied him carefully. "But… I feel as though I have seen you before."

Torik blinked. "And I you, Matriarch."

"Is that so?" Vorazun kept her gaze steady as she asked, "Torik, when you were before the Daelaam, did you speak the complete truth?"

His hearts, having just started to recover, quickened again. He had not lied, but the accusation made him nervous all the same. "I did."

"Artanis trusts you," Vorazun said. "And so far, you have not given me any reason not to. I just cannot understand how you came to be."

Torik's eyes drifted past the matriarch. They settled on the distant horizon. "Perhaps the answers lie not here, not in Dr. Meren's labs. They are somewhere in the stars… in the Lontimar system," he realized softly.

"Torik," Vorazun spoke up, cutting through his thoughts. "I speak from experience—sometimes it is better not to dwell on the past. Now is your time to bring forth a new life."

He was reminded of his desire. Torik gave a courteous nod. "Thank you, Matriarch."

"Good day to you, Torik."

As soon as he was alone again, he looked back to the statues. Silently, he implored the honored dead for what to do. There was no response.

The day had finally come. Torik was nervous. Understandably so, Dr. Meren thought. Trepidation was a common response to the breaching of a new frontier. But she and Karax had worked tirelessly for this, and she couldn't help but feel a little excited.

The legs had been designed to attach to Torik's appendages both physically and psionically. Dr. Meren had Torik practice psionic attachment beforehand and took readings of the extent of his power. His psionic capabilities were below average, but acceptable.

In addition, the prosthetics had mechanical clamps and stretched and tightened as naturally as muscle fiber. It was an ingenious design, and Dr. Meren had expected nothing less from Karax.

The attachment procedure took place in a bay within the phase-smith facility, though Dr. Meren had gotten her equipment hauled in just in case. She wanted to monitor Torik's psionic readings throughout the process.

Artanis had requested to witness the procedure. Normally, Dr. Meren did not want an audience, but she couldn't deny the hierarch. Torik was brought into the bay, and when he saw the prosthetics he paused in wonder. Dr. Meren was reminded of why she did what she did. "Remember, Torik," she told him as she walked him to his designated spot in the bay. "We must go about this slowly. One step at a time—quite literally. Your body will need time to learn how to walk."

"Of course, Doctor."

"And then we shall see about turning you into a templar," she added lightheartedly. She took a step back. Torik glanced at her. "I'm right here," she reminded him.

The prosthetics drifted up from the ground, lifted by a magnetic suspension. They tilted until their ends were pointed towards Torik's shortened legs. The mechanical clamps widened like petals on a flower. When they met flesh, they draped gently over Torik's skin. Dr. Meren saw them already responding fluidly to the tensing of the muscle underneath them. Torik closed his eyes. "Have you established the psionic bond?" Dr. Meren asked.

"Yes."

Dr. Meren pulled the data from the terminal into a smaller screen in front of her. Indeed, the psionic readings were showing Torik's usual levels. She looked back at Karax and nodded. "The attachment is complete."

"Well done, Karax," Artanis praised.

The phase-smith looked pleased. "Thank you, Hierarch."

Dr. Meren looked back at Torik. He had reopened his eyes, but did not move. "Torik?" Dr. Meren ventured. "The prosthetics are fully attached. How are you feeling?"

"Strange," Torik admitted.

"Strange how? Talk to me."

"I have legs," Torik said, sounding dazed. "I have feet. I-I thought I wouldn't recognize this sensation… Doctor." His head turned towards her. "How was it that you felt when you finally stepped back onto Aiur? Were… certain things dredged up when you once again touched its soil and felt its warm breeze?"

This wasn't at all the reaction Dr. Meren had expected. "Torik?"

Suddenly, Torik's head jerked. He looked, startled, into empty air. "Did you hear that?" Dr. Meren glanced up. She hadn't heard anything. This was all beginning to worry her. She looked over her shoulder, and then back at Torik. "Perhaps it is better if we postpone this procedure—," she began.

"No," came the forceful response, so uncharacteristic of the protoss it came from. It was as though something foreign had taken over him. Then, as soon as it had come, it was gone. "Forgive me, Doctor," Torik suddenly said, the gentleness returning to his voice. "I… I simply have been overwhelmed. Please, help me stand."

"Of course," Dr. Meren replied. "Do let me know if you experience any discomfort." She held out a hand, and Torik took it. In his nervousness, he held on with a crushing grip. Dr. Meren tightened her arm as she pulled him up. She saw him rise from the transport chair—from the seat he had, until now, been confined in. She pulled him up.

Torik was standing.

Dr. Meren felt as though her hearts could have burst with joy. "Torik!" she exclaimed happily. "Look at you!"

He turned to look at her, and Dr. Meren felt her delight disappear in an instant. The one who looked at her now was not Torik. There was someone else in those eyes.

Dr. Meren didn't know what happened in the next heartbeat. Something hit her—like a punch to her entire body. Her feet were no longer on the ground and she felt the sickening feeling of free fall. Except she wasn't falling—rather, she had been thrown. Her body flew across the bay and slammed into the wall. She hit the ground, struggling to collect her thoughts through the pain.

"Meren!" She felt herself being lifted and propped against someone. She looked up through squinted eyes at Karax.

"What—?"

A machine nearby suddenly shattered in an explosion of sparks and metal. Karax flinched and stooped over to shield the doctor. Reaching out, Dr. Meren squeezed his arm. She became aware that the entire bay was shuddering.

"Artanis!" The roar was petrifying. As Karax straightened up, Dr. Meren looked past him. Torik had turned to face the hierarch, his hands clenched and shoulders bared back. To Dr. Meren's horror, she saw that Artanis had one of his psi-blades unsheathed.

"Hierarch, no!"

"Stand down!" Artanis boomed.

Undeterred, Torik took a step towards him. "I remember you." The voice was his, though it was filled wit an unfamiliar rage. "I have not forgotten what you—." Suddenly, he doubled over and grabbed his head with a shout. He stumbled and buckled down onto his knees. "Stop!" Torik cried. "Get them off! Get them off!"

In a flash, Artanis appeared next to him. Dr. Meren felt dread clutch her chest when she saw him swing his arm. But Artanis had sheathed his psi-blade, and only the gauntlet made contact with Torik's head. Under the hierarch's blow, Torik collapsed onto the ground. The bay stilled.

Deaf to his protests, Dr. Meren pushed away from Karax. Quickly, she scrambled up onto her feet. She ignored the aches that clawed at her body and hurried over to Torik. "You need not have done that!" she argued as she crouched by the unconscious protoss.

Artanis didn't answer her. He turned back to the phase-smith. "Karax," the hierarch addressed. "Is everything under control?"

"I… I do not know, Hierarch," Karax replied, sounding flustered. "It was as though he—."

"That is enough, Phase-smith Karax. Save speculation for until we have evidence," Artanis interrupted sternly. He looked down at Dr. Meren. "Doctor, lock him in stasis."

Shocked, Dr. Meren looked up. "Hierarch!"

"You saw what he did," Artanis said. "I am not certain if he aimed to hurt you or did so by accident, but he must be contained until we know. After he is secured, I want you to learn of what transpired." The hierarch looked visibly shaken up. Dr. Meren lowered her eyes back to Torik.

"As you wish, Hierarch."

Next to her, a destroyed machine buzzed. It leaked sparks as though bleeding.

This had something to do with the Khala. But there was too much uncertainty within Artanis, so he called upon a trusted friend. Even though she, like all of them, had long since broken away from the Khala, she had spent a substantial amount of her life mastering it. There was no one better to consult about this.

She was already there in the small council room. If Rohana were to be declared one thing, it would be punctual.

The door slid open and two individuals entered. Artanis liked this council room—it was small enough to provide a cozy meeting space. The hierarch favored close, personal conversations over sitting at the heads of large chambers, but the latter was necessary of one in his position.

Karax followed behind him, and the door shut as soon as they stepped through. Rohana rose to her feet at the sight of them. The constant wave of psionic pulses emitting from her body wafted the streams of gold cloth over her shoulders. Artanis gestured to her to sit back down. She did, and the two men joined her at the round table.

"Hierarch," she greeted. "What is it that you have called me for?"

"Earlier today, I bore witness to something very… unsettling," Artanis replied slowly He carefully measured his thoughts. "Tell me, Rohana, does the Khala still exist?"

"Khala?" Rohana echoed. After a pause to deliberate, she replied, "No, I do not believe it does. When you had the last of the Khalai sever their cords, the Khala was lost. With no mind left to uphold it, it dissipated into nothingness. Once gone, it cannot be retrieved—not without great effort." Rohana delicately touched her two hands together. "I thought you preferred that there not be a Khala, Hierarch. What have you witnessed that makes you ask this?"

"I… I believe—or I thought I saw evidence that the Khala still remains. But as my closest advisor, I trust in your words."

"What was this evidence?"

Artanis looked to Karax. The phase-smith met his eyes with worry. He had seen it too. "Someone being channeled," Artanis answered.

"Channeled through the Khala?" Suddenly, Rohana's blue eyes widened. "Amon?"

"No," the hierarch dispelled quickly. "Not him. Amon is no more."

"Then who?"

"I am not sure," Artanis said. "What transpired is still a mystery. I have Dr. Meren looking into Torik's condition." He looked back at the phase-smith. "How is she, Karax?"

"She is fine," Karax answered, and Artanis could hear relief in his voice. "No damage aside from a mighty bruise."

"That is comforting to hear," the hierarch said. "Inside the bay, you were my second set of eyes. I may have interpreted the phenomenon incorrectly. What did you see?"

"I too believe that the Khala no longer remains," Karax replied. "But you are right—the one who lashed out at Meren was not Torik." The phase-smith paused, and then continued, "My thoughts return to the moment before Torik stood. To what he said to Meren."

Artanis remembered as well. "Is it possible… do you mean to say that—?" The door to the room opened, and the links in Artanis's mind were broken. He looked over. A templar stood in the doorway.

"Forgive my interruption, Hierarch, but an urgent message has arrived for you."

Artanis blinked wearily. Since becoming hierarch to a rebirthed Aiur, every other message he had been receiving came in classified as 'urgent.' He had long since grown skeptical. "What is it?"

"It comes from the Tal'darim highlord."

"Alarak?" Rohana said incredulously.

That did in fact make it quite urgent. Alarak had made it quite clear that he wanted nothing to do with the Daelaam and Aiur. Any degree of closeness stole from his power, and Alarak was unwilling to forfeit even the smallest margin.

This was a message that sprung from nowhere, and Artanis was worried. He excused himself from the council room. Within his personal study, Artanis retrieved the message. A very brief line of words appeared on the projection before him.

Tell your thieving matriarch that I would like a word. Alarak rarely contacted him, but when he did his messages were frustratingly short. It was as though the highlord couldn't be bothered to put in the effort to articulate himself a bit more.

After reading the message, Artanis called Vorazun to the Hall. He didn't like bothering her at this hour, but this was a matter that could not wait. When the matriarch arrived, Artanis showed her the message.

Vorazun's emerald eyes narrowed. "Curious," she remarked in a thin voice, "that Alarak, highlord of the Tal'darim, should call me a thief."

"Do you know of what he refers to?"

"I have not the slightest clue," Vorazun admitted. She sighed heavily. "Must we contact him, Hierarch? He is unbearable to listen to."

"This sounds as though it has the potential to sprout conflict," Artanis said. "Our society is young—it is still in the stages of reconstruction. I cannot afford tension with the Tal'darim right now. We must hear him out."

"Very well," Vorazun replied exasperatingly.

Direct contact with the highlord was impossible—not without going through several layers of his subordinates first. But Artanis found that with a stony glare and a forceful introduction, he was able to procure himself a shortcut. One did not keep the hierarch of the Daelaam waiting, though Alarak would've found no problem in doing that had he not been expecting Artanis's call.

Vorazun had chosen to stay off to the side of the transmission field, wanting only to appear when necessary. Artanis watched as Alarak's pale face appeared on the other end of the transmission.

"Artanis, it has been too long," Alarak said with a cruel imitation of camaraderie. It sounded more like a jeer. "Your eyes look more sunken than last I recall. Has rebuilding your precious Aiur been that much an effort?"

"Leave the jests to younglings, Alarak," Artanis replied sharply. "You know why I have called."

"Of course, old friend," Alarak said. "But given who I speak to now, it is clear you did not thoroughly read my message. How poor, especially since I graciously chose to expand my word count this time."

"Matriarch Vorazun is here with me now," Artanis said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vorazun uncross her arms. Though she remained silent, he could practically hear her groan. She stepped over to Artanis's side. Unwilling to let Alarak get the first word in, she quickly said, "I do not enjoy having libel thrown at me, Alarak. Explain the meaning behind your accusation."

Alarak regarded her icily for a second. Then an image appeared in his place. It seemed to be the still of a recording. It was the inside of a nexus. "This was taken from a monitor drone within one of my colonies on Xil." The recording was played. The drone drifted lazily through the corridors of the nexus. Up ahead, there was a brilliant flash of light from around the corner. Artanis recognized the light to be psi-blades colliding. The drone quickened and flew around the corner. It found Tal'darim lying dead.

There was movement—translucent swirls shifting through the air. Smoke. It suddenly whirled, as if pulled, into one spot. A woman appeared from within the spiraling tendrils. Her viridescent eyes fell on the drone. The air glowed green from her psi-blade, and that was the last of the recording.

Artanis looked to Vorazun. The matriarch's gaze was still fixated on the screen. There was no doubt about it. From the way she was dressed, to the way she had channeled the powers of the Void—the woman who had attacked the Tal'darim nexus had been of the Nerazim tribe.

Alarak returned to the transmission, and he had a look of haughty displeasure. "No one was found alive, and the ones responsible pillaged that colony to its bare bones. My people were there simply to settle, and I am not pleased by this act of cowardice. Now it is your turn to explain yourself, Matriarch."

Vorazun's brow furrowed in genuine perplexity. "I did not recognize her."

"That tells me nothing. Do you think that absolves you of anything? Try again."

"Highlord," Vorazun said firmly. "What has happened to your colony is unfortunate, but I did not authorize any of my people to go to Xil. Whoever has done this is a criminal to all of us."

"Is that so?" Alarak tested. "I would demand proof, but I know there is no merit in asking for that which does not exist. Your excuse stands for now, but I have this matter under heavy investigation. Should I find any indication that you are indeed responsible…" Alarak's eyes narrowed into fiery slits, and he leaned forward. "Then I would be very careful if I were you."

"Your words are noted."

"Good day, Matriarch. Hierarch." The highlord's tone had become eerily friendly. The transmission ended abruptly.

As soon as Alarak was gone, Vorazun let out a drawn-out groan. She reached up and pressed her temple. Artanis was aware of the matriarch's propensity for headaches, and nothing triggered them better than the Tal'darim highlord. Artanis himself found it impossible to communicate with Alarak for any length of time without feeling at least one negative emotion.

"Is Dr. Meren busy?" Vorazun grumbled.

"She is."

"I see. I feel I need to lie down. No more disturbances within the next hour please, Hierarch." Artanis watched Vorazun hurry out of his study. He sympathized with her exhaustion, but there was no time for him to rest.

Logic would have told him that what he was experiencing now was impossible, but there was seldom logic in dreams. Torik stood before it, gazing at it with a strange fondness. Outside, the sandstorm raged. The desert planet's arid air grated at his skin, but it mattered little.

Torik didn't know where he was, or what the thing in front of him was. All he knew was that it brought about within him a deep satisfaction. Let the storm outside rage. Let it disguise this location. Torik looked up and saw the word engraved in its surface: Inht.

When he awoke, he was no longer on a desert planet. He remembered that he was on Aiur. And upon seeing the container that held him, Torik realized that he was imprisoned. His body touched nothing. The stasis pod kept him helplessly suspended in the air.

Horrific memories returned to him—the events that took place at the phase-smith facility. Torik knew what he had done, though not why he had done them. Someone alerted Dr. Meren that he was awake, and she appeared. Seeing her sent a wave of guilt crashing over him. He found himself unable to meet her eyes. Torik looked down and saw that the prosthetics had been removed.

"They are gone," he noted.

"Yes," Dr. Meren replied. "You shouted for them to be detached." She moved closer to the containment. "What happened, Torik? Even now, I struggle to understand."

"As do I, Doctor. Forgive me for what I have done."

"I do not want an apology, Torik. I want answers."

Quickly, Torik searched his mind. "I… I felt pain. Unbearable pain." There was no Khala to let Dr. Meren know that he was lying.

"Pain?" Dr. Meren deliberated. "And it was this pain that caused you to act in the way you did?"

"I did not know what was happening to me."

"I see I will need to speak to Karax," Dr. Meren said, "and figure out the source of this pain." She stepped up to the pod and placed a hand onto it. The containment field glowed underneath her hand. "This was the order of the hierarch," she told him. "But I promise you, I will have you out of stasis as soon as I can." She took her hand away and turned.

"I cannot stay on Aiur," Torik suddenly said. Dr. Meren looked back.

"Why not?"

"I am unable to stand. I will never be a templar." Torik looked up to the ceiling. He knew the stars were behind them. "Until I learn who I am, I will never be at peace with myself. My identity is not here—it is out there. Besides…" Torik motioned a hand towards the stasis pod. "Hierarch Artanis no longer trusts me, it seems. I am sure he will not object to me staying away from his people."

"Artanis does not see you that way," Dr. Meren contended. "This is merely a precaution. The hierarch wants to see you rejoin your kind as much as I do. You are one of the firstborn, Torik. Do not forget that."

"Thank you, Doctor," Torik replied sadly. "But this is the path I choose to take."