Susan Ivanova looked down at the mass of bodies that decorated the pass leading to the temple of G’Kar, where perhaps its sovereign prince lived, and perhaps he didn’t.

The Shadows had come to Narn.

Lyta Alexander was trying to sleep, but her dreams were disturbed. That in itself was not a rarity. There were very few people on Proxima 3 who did not suffer nightmares about the fate of Earth. Lyta had thought she was over them, but they returned with disturbing irregularity. But these dreams were different. They were not about the fall of Earth, and they had been happening every night since she had first scanned Satai Delenn.

I will not allow harm to come to my little ones, the voice had said. She didn’t know who it was, or what was happening, but that voice kept resounding over and over in her mind.

’I will not allow harm to come to my little ones.’ But there was harm coming to her. Harm, and terror, and despair.

And pain.

There was a woman in front of her. Lyta recognised her vaguely as Lieutenant Ivanova. They had met occasionally during the time Ivanova had been stationed with General Franklin. Lyta had always tried to stay away from her, however. There was something in Ivanova’s bearing, something in her eyes, thoughts that needed no scan to detect.

Lieutenant Ivanova hated her, hated her with a passion and a fury that were almost tangible. Lyta had been puzzled, but had chosen to ignore it. Rational thoughts and reasons had ended with Earth. The human race was a very irrational species now.

Lyta was seeing Ivanova again in her dreams, but this time it was different. The hatred was there as well, but this time there was something else – a mocking, sure certainty. Ivanova was shimmering into a black silhouette. There was a crackling noise, and Lyta turned. There was a flash of motion and a stab of agony.

She screamed and woke up, her body slick with sweat. She was panting harshly, drawing in great gasps of air, almost too terrified to breathe. What was that thing?

And then some vague hint of rationality returned. Those were Satai Delenn’s memories – they had to be. She had heard that Ivanova had been involved in Satai Delenn’s capture. But what was that thing with her? Lyta had heard rumours about new allies of the Resistance Government. Were their new allies those… things?

She swallowed harshly. She was not alone in her room. “Lights,” she whispered, too quietly for the computer to detect. “Lights,” she repeated more loudly. The room was bathed in light.

And before her was a Vorlon.

She had never seen a Vorlon before the memory in Satai Delenn’s mind, but she knew what it was. The Vorlon before her was huge, clad in a dark green-and-brown encounter suit. Its head moved slowly. It was studying her.

“Who are you?” she asked hesitantly.

Who are you? it said in response.

“What do you want?” she breathed.

Its eye blazed with light. Never ask that question! A searing pain tore into her skull and she screamed, clutching her head and falling to the floor.

“What do you want with me?” she repeated. “What… do…?”

To watch, and to observe.

“I don’t understand. Why me?”

Your thoughts are the song. Your questions are the music.

“I still don’t understand.”

No.

“Will I ever understand?”

Perhaps. If you can find the meaning.

“What meaning?” Silence. “Why have you chosen me?”

Your heart contains the symphony. Your spirit contains the destiny. The avalanche is beginning. The darkness is coming. You must be the light.

“I… don’t…” Lyta screamed again, her head thrown back. By the time the Security officials arrived, drawn by the sound of her screams, she was unconscious on the floor.

G’Kar had been many things in his life. Slave, resistance fighter, hero, war leader, general, tactician, exile, preacher, prophet. Of all the things he was going to become, he had never planned on making corpse one of them.

Not that he had any say in the matter, of course, but fortunately others did.

Sheridan was pacing up and down, trying to work off the anger and depression he always felt after a fight. He was only really alive in combat. Afterwards he realised this, and hated himself for it. He couldn’t do anything about it of course, but he saw the sick joke, and hated the joke for existing and himself for knowing it was there.

“Is it customary for your people to walk like that?” said a rough voice. He ignored Neroon. The alternative would have to be a fight which would end – Sheridan was a realist after all – with him being seriously beaten.

Neroon was sitting quietly on a rock, leaning on his elongated fighting pike. He had been slightly wounded in the battle against the… thing which had attacked G’Kar. He paid his wounds no attention however. Typical Minbari. Always so bloody arrogant.

“Did you know I killed over fifty thousand of your people during the war?” Neroon said in what Sheridan supposed to be a conversational tone. “I was at the battle you call the Line. I led a part of it there. I was attached to the personal staff of Shai Alyt Branmer, greatest of our generals.”

“Well, by my reckoning,” Sheridan said, “I must have killed a similar number of your people. How many would have been on the Black Star? And then there were those ships over Mars… oh yes, two members of your Grey Council, don’t forget them.”

“I take no pride in my actions, Captain. No pride at all.”

“Well, I do. Because any victory, no matter how small, at least gave my people some hope. I hear there was partying in the streets when I destroyed the Black Star. Why? All I did was lure your flagship into a trap. Nothing flashy, nothing special. But it proved we could win. It gave my people hope, and for that I’m damn proud.”

“I see. You realise of course that there is no hope for your people. When our fleets descend upon your new home – and believe me, they will – then you will be slaughtered, down to the last man, woman and child.”

“And I suppose you’ll be there. Right at the forefront of everything, just like last time.”

“No, actually, I will not. I will take no pleasure in it, and no pride, for the destruction of your people will mean that we have lost. The death of your people will mean that we have been damned. We will be a dead people as well, we will just take longer to die.”

“Yeah well. I wouldn’t count us out just yet. We aren’t entirely alone, you know.”

“The Narns? What good would they be? No, Captain, we are all alone, always. All alone in the night.”

“Whatever. Shouldn’t you be looking after G’Kar or something?”

“Ta’Lon is doing that.”

“If he is, he’s got a bloody funny way of doing it. I saw him limping off in that direction.”

“For the moment, G’Kar is alive. Whether he dies sometime today is at the bidding of other powers than mine.”

Sheridan looked at Neroon closely. Then he gave a soft chuckle and resumed his pacing. “You find something funny?” the Minbari remarked.

“You. What the hell is a Minbari warrior doing out in a Narn wilderness surrounded by Narns? If you were as important as you say, you could be leading your armies by now. Hell, you could even be on the Grey Council.”

“Perhaps. There would certainly be a place for me if Sinoval ever rises to the position he desires. And certainly, were I still on Minbar, I might even be Entil’zha by now. Branmer had named me his heir, after all.”

“So, then? Why are you here?”

“Why are you here?”

“Well, if you remember, you, Ta’Lon, and that lying bitch Na’Toth beat the living daylights out of me and dragged me all the way up here. Or did you think I was here for my health?”