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Alarak pressed the card against the panel next to the door, wishing he could pull his new robes more tightly around himself. It was cold here, colder than even Aiur’s winters; frost glittered against the pathway below his feet, creeping up the walls beside him.
The door shifted open, and he stepped inside, finding no relief in the large, open hallway.
Like all Templar structures, this one was covered with windows on every available surface; for once he was grateful for that, stepping into the patch of weak sun that spilled in and warming up at least a little from the amplified rays.
To his left there was a living room. Seats, a low table, and a communication panel, as well as a wall lined with bookshelves greeted him. As with his old room, he would have to push the seats away from the table so he could kneel.
On his right there was a flight of stairs that he wasted no time in climbing, greeted by two doors on his left and right.
The bedrooms, likely.
He opened the left door.
This room had a desk underneath the window, and a bookshelf against the opposite wall, with a bed just next to it. It reminded him of his old room on Aiur, but he knew he would have no need for the bookshelf. Perhaps Ri’kara may sleep here if she decides to…
‘If’ chafed against his hearts like sandpaper, and for what seemed like the hundredth time, he felt his eyes begin to well up with tears. This seemingly bottomless well of hopelessness had opened up in his chest after that meeting with her, and he didn’t know if it was his new cords or something else, but now he felt it keenly. Every passing thought of his former companion was the widening of a wound, slowly splitting him in two.
He rolled his eyes and scowled, blinking what he could away and turning his attention instead to the other room.
The bed here had been built into the wall, its overhead canopy forming a frame for the rounded window that it was pressed up against. Here, while sleeping, he could face the door and turn to check the window if necessary. Other than that, there was a small closet, and a desk with a mirror above it. Not much, but fine for him.
He placed the small bag he had on the desk and tried not to look at himself in the reflection, taking the few garments he had to place them in the closet.
Neither of the bedrooms seemed to have a washroom attached. Alarak frowned, then remembered the door at the foot of the stairs; the one place he had not explored.
Taking the bag with him, he emerged from his room and made his way down.
This door opened out into what looked like a training room. The matting on the floor was the same, at least, though near the door where there should have been a weapon rack, there were instead pigeon holes that were filled with cushions.
Alarak frowned.
I suppose I will ask my… mentor later.
That word chafed almost as badly as the other had, though in a different way. They could dress it up as they wished, but it was just another word for a master, someone that would no doubt have him tending to their every whim. He would have rather died if this was his reward.
At the very least, that well was filled with something other than despair at the thought. He let himself wallow in that anger as he made his way over to what looked to be the last door in the house.
Here was where the washroom was. The bath was set into the floor, making it much easier for him to get in and out without his prosthetic on, towels, a sink…
For a moment, he remembered Ri’kara again, remembered the sight of her dragging the chair in his room into the washroom so she could reach the sink and the cabinet above it. Had she not had a stool fitted in her own quarters? Something to think about if…
“If. Never when, always if.” He pressed two fingers to his temple and growled, wishing he had his other hand so he could better attempt to rub away the headache that had begun to linger there; he would need his Terrazine dose soon.
He filled the medicine cabinet with ointment, a suture kit or two, and the disinfectant bottle. On the rack beside him, he placed his soap and the cream he used for his cords. At the bottom of the bag, the measured doses glowed softly from their glass vials.
In the living room, he filled one of the few drawers with them and reached for another to fill with the incense he had also brought with him. Hopefully in a few years that would be all he needed.
Now settled, he did an extra sweep of the house, checking for possible entryways, making sure he locked the door, muttering with irritation when he found that one of the large training room’s windows was, in fact, another door and locking that too.
“Ridiculous.” He scowled. “It’s as if they had never heard of an intruder.”
Another sweep, another pace back and forth through the halls, another check of the locks. The larger space and the windows inviting a passerby to stare in set him on edge. He could be watched from anywhere. At least in his old quarters, he could have shut the curtains over the panes.
A panel sat next to the communication screen that he hadn’t initially paid attention to. Her ran his claws along the edge of it, reading each button and letting his shoulders sag.
“Of course…” He pressed one, and the sound of shutters slowly dimming the light through the windows shuddered across the house. Thankfully, he could still see outside; it put him a little more at ease that nobody could see in.
Finally, he knelt in front of the screen, connecting to the executor as he had been instructed.
It took a few moments, but her angular face and sharp, amber eyes filled the display, and she tilted her head.
“Settled have you?”
He kept his voice subdued, quiet. “Yes.”
“Good. Do we know if your friend will be joining you?”
“No. I am sure the Hierarch will inform you if she decides to.” His chest felt tight, though he kept his face neutral. Always if, never when.
“In the event that she does not, then I will have you transferred to a smaller dwelling.”
“Of course.”
Her face seemed to soften just slightly. Was it sympathy? He didn’t know; he had no way of knowing how much Artanis had told her. She may just have seen him as Arkhia; a crippled Aiur Tal’darim with some administrative knowledge. She may see him as Alarak; a disgraced former Highlord with nothing to show for his escape.
A coward.
“Other than that, Arkhia, I expect you at the research centre tomorrow morning. Follow the signs, I am sure you will find your way.”
“Am I to meet my… mentor?”
“Yes. He will teach you your duties. If you have any questions, you should ask him.”
Alarak bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement.
She nodded in turn, seemingly satisfied with the conversation, though being ordered around like this was making his skin crawl with that same anger he had tried to wallow in earlier.
“Oh, and his name is Alba. You will see the front desk when you enter the building; ask for him there.”
He nodded, though he had to resist the urge to turn off the panel first, waiting for it to go dark again. Another irritation was that he didn’t have the authority to end those types of conversations whenever he liked anymore.
With a sigh, he sat back, looking out at the slowly melting blanket of frost and frowning. It was barely even the middle of the day.
“Tomorrow… What am I supposed to entertain myself with today?”
A pang of longing stabbed into his abdomen, too strong to properly push down. Usually, Ri’kara would have had something to talk about, somewhere to pull him, something to do. Artanis often made time for their spars, passing the time of slower days, or the days when Ri’kara was unavailable… Even on Slayn Arun would sit and fill the silence with a game or two in the early hours while the others were sleeping.
He hadn’t planned for this, hadn’t planned for how much he would… miss those he was leaving behind. Even the routine that he had grown so weary of was suddenly longed for. Not much thought had been given to those consequences until just then, the solitude of the house suddenly seeming to mock him.
Letting out an irritated growl, he stood, pulling himself to the washroom to at least warm himself with a bath.
That night, Alarak stared up at the muted gold of the ceiling and listened. The house, shifting and settling in the dark, conjured up the sound of soft footsteps and the opening of doors no matter how much he told himself he was being ridiculous. He kept his knife clutched in his hand where it rested against his abdomen, ready for a would-be intruder, ready for one of Var’gash’s bloodhunters to suddenly appear and creep in through any one of the windows and doors.
Thoughts began to creep in with his anxieties as his eyes burned a hole into the metal above. His argument with Ri’kara playing again and again in his mind, how angry she had looked, the tears in her eyes. As much as Artanis had offered the platitude that this could still be a new life, being left to sit with guilt that would have been alien to him only a century or so ago was worse than the death sentence he had partially hoped would be carried out on him.
“It must be these nerve cord imitations.” He sighed, turning towards the closed door and staring at that instead, trying to ignore the itching sensation that began to crawl down his missing arm and into the palm of his non-existent hand.
It wasn’t until the sky had begun to lighten that his eyes drooped closed and he found sleep.
His mentor looked young, spritely, dressed in a similar combination of a skin-tight robe and a loose one with a belt over it, though his was a soft collection of oranges paired with the usual cream and gold. He smiled up at him with bright cyan eyes and bowed politely.
“Arkhia, was it? I am Alba.”
Alarak remembered to do the same, swallowing his pride and dipping lower than he had.
“A pleasure."
Again, he smiled. "I will show you around the archives first.”
Alba gestured to a large, rounded door, held open by the amount of other Protoss passing back and forth through it. Even from the front desk, Alarak could see the huge bookshelves that stretched far up and out of sight.
“Has Executor Odesys talked to you about your duties here?”
“She seems to have handed that responsibility to you.”
“Ah. Alright.” He clasped both hands together. “You will mainly be dealing with our smiths at the forge; it is paramount that we fulfil requests in a timely manner and take down accident reports. It does require a fair amount of writing.” Pausing as he passed over the threshold, he made a face. “If we still had the Khala, we would not need all of this, but…”
The former Highlord knew better than to show his disdain; part of him sympathised, staring up at the floor to ceiling shelves packed with a mixture of crystal and scroll. Everything was labelled, but finding anything in this mess would take a lifetime.
Something still must have managed to show in his expression, because Alba immediately waved his hands in front of himself. “I will not be throwing you in immediately; you will get a little training on how to sort your reports for storage. I do not suppose Tal’darim had anything like this.”
“Not on Slayn. On Aiur it became a necessary part of dealing with Templar. I do not much care for it.”
At that, his mentor laughed a little. “You will have to get used to it here. There are plenty of archive navigation points dotted around, and we use probes to fetch anything that is needed.” He gestured to one of the pedestals carved out of the end of the closest shelves and walked over to it. “You use the keycard to access them.”
“Why have a useless key when we can interface with them?”
“There are Terrans here. We found it more inclusive to utilise their methods, at least for some things.”
“Hmph. Mingling? I thought that was only on Aiur.”
He shot him a chastising look. “We have plants that may be used to cure some of their diseases. It made sense that we take them in and share ideas. I do not care for that whole ‘Terrans are inferior’ way of thinking. There is much to learn from a species that survives anywhere you put them.”
Yes, much to learn from a species that cannot resist killing each other constantly. Alarak kept that to himself, continuing to follow the Khalai along the large walkways.
As they travelled, he noticed he was getting a few odd looks. Curious, fearful; he had only ever got this type of attention when he had his full armour on. He frowned.
“You would have thought they had never seen a Tal’darim before.”
“Ah.” Alba glanced at him. “Most have not. We had only been set up here maybe a few planetary years before the End War began. We had defensive systems that all but cut us off from the outside… If it weren’t for the Nerazim stationed here, we may have been lost to Amon.”
“I thought Aiur were a homeland to you all; have none of you made the journey?”
“Some have, but there is always something to be done here. We…” He hesitated. “We have heard the stories; there are some of us who came after the dust had settled and spoke of your people.”
“Nothing good, I suspect.”
“No. But clearly there has been a change, or you would not be here.”
Alarak was silent for a moment; he would have to choose his words carefully.
“After the war, a former Highlord granted us the gift of joining the Templar should we so choose. The Tal’darim of Aiur wished to integrate; they were sick of the slaughter.”
Alba seemed fascinated, staring up at him again as though hanging off every word.
“’They’? Did you not go with them?”
“Not at first. I was content where I was; I had secured a high rank and intended to stay there. Apparently the universe had other plans.”
It felt strange, talking about himself as two separate pieces. Then again, he supposed that’s what they were now; he had left Highlord Alarak behind.
“That same Highlord later joined the Daelaam. Myself and an Aiur Tal’darim worked together on reform. It is different now.”
“And… What happened to them both? Why are you here if you had such an important role? Surely you would want to stay.”
Again, he paused, rolling possible answers over in his mind. He found himself thinking of Ri’kara, of how quickly she was able to make up these small white lies. His chest squeezed. How would she answer such a question…?
“That Highlord is dead, replaced by another. It is the way of things.” That part was, at least, true. He shrugged. “I did not feel that I was needed anymore after that.”
“I am… sorry.” His cyan eyes saddened, sliding off to the side. “And the Tal’darim you worked with?”
Alarak’s chest tightened again at the thought of her; he tried to keep his tone neutral. “She felt the same as I about it. She may join me here; she may decide to take a different path.”
“I see.” He looked thoughtful for a moment and then smiled. “I am sure it will be nice to have a friend here if she decides to join you. Would she be a judicator?”
Inwardly, he winced, realising he would have to pretend that talking about her didn’t hurt for a while longer. “No. A phase-smith.”
“You have phase-smiths?” His mentor tilted his head. “Fascinating. I was told you stole your vessels and weapons.”
“Yes; they were forced underground in large factories. Their rebellion after the war is in part why reform began. We did steal our resources at first, though that lessened once I joined the Chain. Production demand was enough by then that the smiths had to begin building more of our army from what they had reverse engineered and tested.”
Alba stopped at the other entrance, looking a little embarrassed. “I am sorry. I should have been teaching you how to navigate this place, and instead I bombarded you with questions.”
Alarak rolled his eyes a little, waving his only hand dismissively. “Do not apologise. I cannot blame one who does not know anything about the topic for being curious.”
It would have irritated him once upon a time, but the curiosity of his two closest companions had inoculated him. Thankfully.
At the very least he was not left to his own devices that day, or the next, or in the next few weeks. His mentor gave him task after task to complete with so many moving parts and irritating hoops to jump through that he often arrived back at that lonely house too exhausted to even think about what he had missed.
It was still there in the back of his mind, however, still there as he watched the weather begin to warm and wondered idly if he had truly been left here.
It would be a fitting punishment.
Frowning in deep concentration, he fixed the belt around his waist and adjusted his robes again, getting ready to step out into the pleasantly warm spring day.
His communicator began to chirrup with an incoming request.
“Ugh. He had better not be rescheduling after I have struggled through dressing.” Alarak rolled his eyes, kneeling in front of it and stopping cold.
Orange. Not blue. Someone was trying to contact him from off world.
His hearts slammed into a sudden, painful sprint. It was either someone finally uncovering his secret, or maybe, just maybe…
He answered, and Artanis’ face appeared, a soft, relieved smile across it. It had been so long since he had seen him that for a moment his whole body ached with that longing again.
“Ah, good. I was worried that I had mistimed it.”
The former Highlord kept his face neutral. “You almost had. I was about to leave.”
“It is late here, so I will keep this brief; I know that you would prefer I kept up with my sleep.”
“Of course. What is it?”
Artanis hesitated a little. Dread began to crawl up his spine and scrape at his ribcage, his nervous system preparing for the words he feared most—
“Ri’kara will be arriving on Chione soon. I believe it will be within the week.”
An odd mix of relief and guilt and excitement bloomed in his abdomen.
“Oh?”
“Yes. She told me her decision just now. I will contact the executor in advance and have someone meet her at port—”
“I will meet her.”
The Templar hesitated again, eyes suddenly cautious. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
His shoulders sagged a little. “No… But I need to.”
“… I’ll tell her to meet you there.”
“Write a note. Please. I want her to know that I look forward to meeting her.”
“I don’t think she is ready for that.”
Of course. He was being too impulsive, too rash. The thought of finally being able to see her, the thought of finally having her here to fill the house with something other than his own nagging guilt was something he was so desperate for that…
“You are right. I apologise; I need to consider her emotions.” He sighed. “How has she been?”
“She has been… Cold. I know that she resents me for my hand in it. I can’t imagine how she is going to act around you. She thinks she is ready to at least try and see how you get along, but I would not keep any hopes up at this stage.”
Alarak nodded. “I should expect as much. I will wait outside the port by the signage.”
“I will write it as a note for her. You will be told when she is arriving.”
“Thank you.”
The screen powered down before he could try and draw him into more conversation. Again he was stabbed with that longing ache. How he wished it could have gone differently.
Still, he had something to hold onto now. There was a chance. It was slim, but there was a chance that maybe, finally, he could atone for what he had done.
Carefully, he pulled himself to his feet. He thought, suddenly, about the sink in the bathroom, and the high bookshelves in the one empty bedroom.
“I suppose I will have to have the house prepared.”