The idea had occurred to him before. The Wall might be forbidden to him, but it was never guarded. Certainly not at night, when all the scholars slept. He'd planned it all out: how he would stay awake at night, and see just what the Wall of Knowledge held, what secrets it kept to itself and the select few deemed worthy of plumbing that information. But something had always held him back. Respect for tradition, perhaps. Or a desire to eventually prove himself trustworthy.

Or perhaps simply fear.

It was at that moment, even as the song of the crystals faded and the night sky went utterly black, and the Keepers of Wisdom turned to their beds for deep, refreshing rest, that the fear abruptly vanished. No more waiting. No more hesitating. He had been here forty years. Would he wait forty more, too afraid to take the opportunity that was right in front of him?

No.

Quickly the youth buried his thoughts. It was unlikely anyone would read them; most of the time, itwas only surface thoughts that were heard, unless one was engrossed in a private conversation. And now everyone's attention was focused on sleep. He pretended tiredness as he accompanied his fellow alysaar back to their sleeping quarters. Beds consisted of blankets placed on the stone floor. There was not much luxury here; the scholars lived a simple, focused life. Tonight, with his new resolve burning in the back of his brain, the youth saw it all with new eyes. The alysaar were custodians of the most significant knowledge the dark templar possessed. And yet they were content to simply drowse on the floor, feed from the twilight skies, and transfer knowledge from one crystal to another rather than actually learn it.

What glories were locked up inside those glittering crystals? What information, insights, wonders, power? What means to help the dark templar protect themselves from and even surpass the protoss who had banished them? He was so agitated he could barely lie still long enough to feign sleep while waiting for the others to drift off to slumber. After a time, he gently touched their minds with his own, and when he was certain they were all deep in their dreams, the youth rose. His feet barely whispering over the cool stone floor, he quietly made his way to the Wall of Knowledge.

He gazed at it raptly, hungrily. Where to begin? So much wisdom here...how could one choose just one crystal? The task was both daunting and yet inspiring. He settled his mind, extended a hand that trembled only slightly, and let his fingers close at random upon a crystal.

And gazing down at the glittering shard cupped in his palm, the youth had his first fluttering, glimmering glimpse of true power.

Rosemary Dahl's head whipped up at Zamara's voice speaking in her brain. She didn't think she'd ever get truly comfortable with such a method of communication, but after the last several minutes, when she and the protoss inside Jake's mind had worked together to repair the damaged warp gate, she was getting used to it. She fired one last time at the zerg, swarming far too close for comfort, even though their target was elsewhere, and let her gaze linger for just a second on the glowing darkness that was lumbering toward them.

They'd come here because of Zamara, the.. .spirit, Rosemary guessed was the best word, of a dead protoss preserver who housed every memory every protoss had ever had. And among those memories was something so important that Zamara had been determined to find a way to continue on after death—to share those memories with one Jacob Jefferson Ramsey, archaeologist, who was now possibly going to die because of those memories. Zamara had brought them here to locate a fragment of an extremely pure and powerful crystal, thinking to save Jake's life with it.

All well and good, but they hadn't counted on a lot of things. They hadn't counted on finding two separate and determined protoss factions practically at war with one another. They hadn't counted on Valerian Mengsk, son of Emperor Arcturus Mengsk and Rosemary's employer-turned-hunter, tracking them here. They hadn't counted on confronting Rosemary's former lover Ethan Stewart, seemingly raised from the dead and horrifically modified by someone he referred to as the "queen," leading a pack of zerg. And for sure they hadn't counted on discovering that one of the protoss factions—the Forged—was being controlled by a monstrosity called a dark archon.

An entity comprised of seven of the deadliest assassins in the history of the dark templar, his name was Ulrezaj. Dark archons were an abomination to the Aiur protoss, and Rosemary had her own deeply personal grudge against the thing out there. The misguided followers of the monstrous being had dredgedup the very worst parts of her, the parts she had thought she'd shed long ago. They had captured her and smeared some kind of drug they called "Sundrop" on her skin, and she'd toppled immediately back into the dark pit of addiction. Her eyes narrowed even now as she recalled what the drug had done to her.

She tore her mind from the memory and focused on the pleasant image in front of her. Attacked on three sides, he was stumbling now, the oh-so-mighty Ulrezaj, and her heart leaped to see it. More than anything she could recall wanting—well, wanting with a clear head at any rate—she wanted to see Ulrezaj die, fall beneath the chittering living carpet of zerg, the powerful onslaught of Valerian Mengsk's Dominion vessels, and the stubborn attack of what few protoss remained on Aiur.

I sympathize with your desire, but the gate will soon close.

Gotcha, Zamara.

Rosemary whirled and headed for the gate at top speed. Right before she plunged into its swirling, misty center, she called over her shoulder, "Jake, come on!"

Beside her ran the last few protoss to escape Aiur. Those who stayed behind would die. She knew it, and they knew it, and they were content with their choice. As for the gate, Rosemary wasn't sure what to expect. The ground seemed solid beneath her running feet the entire way, but darkness descended almost instantly. Rosemary clutched her rifle and slowed, unsure if she was through yet or not. The consistency of the earth seemed to change, become less firm, more like sand than hard-packed earth. It was still dark, but there was some source of light, dispersed and faint, like starlight. She could just start to make out the shapes of the protoss around her and—

HALT!

The order that slammed into her brain was so intense that Rosemary gasped and stumbled, falling into one of the protoss who had also come to a stop beside her. He caught her quickly and steadied her.

Information flooded her brain, a cacophony of mental shouting and explanations, and she bit back a gasp of pain. The protoss next to her squeezed her arm reassuringly. Good God, was this how it was all the time? Until this moment Rosemary hadn't fully appreciated how much Zamara had shielded her—

"—from Aiur. There is one other who is still coming—"

—images of battle, of death, of Ulrezaj, of dead protoss lying in the chambers beneath the protoss homeland—

"—zerg and a dark archon—"

"—Sundrop, a despicable drug—"

"Zerg?"

Rosemary winced at the horror emanating from the protoss who surrounded the little band of refugees; she knew now that they were surrounded here, wherever "here" on Shakuras was.

"What were you thinking? Zerg? You'll lead them here! Redirect, redirect and then shut it down!"

Rosemary shoved her way through the press of protoss surrounding her; they were too tall and she couldn't see these new protoss who were—

Clarity struck her like an armored fist as she suddenly made sense of the jumble of words and images with which her poor human, non-psionic brain was being bombarded. They were going to close the gate.