The smell of ash, soot, dirt and smoke wafted through his nostrils and permeated his senses like a sweet intimate memory. His fingers twitched as it lay resting upon the marble railing, as if waiting to respond from old familiar habits. He longed for the warm amber glow of flames - watching them engulfing everything in its path. Such a powerful image of a time long lost.

His body almost began to ache as he watched the tall tower in anticipation. Soon he would hear the surprise and shock of his loyal 'subjects'. Once again he would hear with subliminal ecstasy, the writhing screams of those lost to his power.

'Sir we encountered a problem,' a tiny mental voice echoed in Khivar's head.

'What is it?'

His plan would not be stopped. It would be completed. There was no one to stop him.

'Lingering Loyalists have infiltrated the tower!'

'What?!?'

He felt the internal shudder of the mental recipient. He had ignored the spoil of confusion that filled his mind earlier while he admired the looming tower. Nothing had led him to suspect any foul play, as his officers had informed him of the capture of both Commander Rath and Queen Ava.

'But they have been captured.'

'How much damage was done?'

His mind raced as he imagined the havoc that could have been wreaked upon his little pet project. He glanced down at his subjects who were waiting mindlessly, as if some 'surprise party' was about to erupt. Nothing would arise, if those little imps had touched his sweet 'Pilan'.

Heads would roll.

'It seems as if everything has remained intact, your Highness.'

'Is this your little puny observation, or is there someone remotely intelligent enough to actually confirm it!' he seethed.

'Architect Durin here,' another voice awakened. 'And nothing seems to be altered.'

'You'd better pray to whatever you find holy that it is.'

Larek folded the hood of his robe back, to reveal his pallid face. Nicholas had long taken for granted the powers he had upon his people. His ability to insinuate his voice into the minds of unwilling victims. It brought him great pleasure to bring pleasure and pain to those who were helpless to do nothing.

"You look worried, my friend," Nicholas chuckled, as he strode through the dark cavernous control room. "Do I unnerve you?"

"Not as much as you'd like to think my friend."

"I should have known you would be a party to the treason of the soon-to-be official ruler of our kingdom."

Larek could not help but chuckle at the elongated title.

"I wouldn't laugh, if I were you," Nicholas growled. "That is my king."

"If you were so confident of this so-called 'coronation', then why are you flying across the land just to cut off a stray group of rebels?" he challenged, narrowing his eyes on the puffed up ant. "If this was fated, nothing would stop this 'coronation' of yours."

Nicholas hated the disdain in the old soul. He had put up with his haughtiness at the planetary councils at the behest of Khivar, who had not yet gained enough momentum and strength for their strike against Antar and soon the rest of the corner of their galaxy. For if everything went as planned, there would be no resistence from Ai, Ithmar, and the rest of the planets.

"Of course you believe in fate, Prophecy, if you will," Larek slowly surmised. "Or you would not be here."

"I am here to see that the last of the riffraff is under full submission to their King," Nicholas declared angrily. "And not by some ill-fated prophecy told by some old long-winded Kedran, who dreamed of retribution."

"Oh, but are you not here in fear," he put his finger to his lips, "oh, I mean, in search of any signs of the Royal ones?"

"We took care of them on Earth," Nicholas growled hastily, yet glanced over his shoulder, as if uncertainty had crept into the back of his mind. "They are no threat to the throne."

"Yet, I could swear, I laid eyes on two of them just minutes ago." The corners of his lips curled slightly at the stricken expression on Nicholas' face. "However, this also could be a ploy. Another distraction for you to worry about."

Nicholas had had enough. No more head games with the old Ithmarian counsellor. He would kill him and leave nothing in his wake. Where this grand scenic territory was, he would leave nothing but brimstone and ashes.

Larek could read the slight flicker in the little nuisance's face. He had been pushed far enough. And before he knew it, sharp loud red blasts flew past his head. The right-hand of Khivar wasted no time.

Yet it was his time to surprise the Iturian soldier. For Ithmarians gravity was slightly denser than Antar and he could be fleet of foot if he cared to be. It was his only advantage.

With swift feet and a careful eye, he managed to dodge Nicholas' attempts to behead him. He watched as the soldier grew more and more frustrated. Larek knew if he could keep this up and tire the man, there was a possibility of overpowering him and knocking him out.

"Stand still, damn it!" Nicholas cast a wide range on his energy blasts now, weakening its effects, yet allowing him a higher probability of stunning the irritating Ithmarian into unconsciousness.

"You underestimated me, Nicholas." Larek himself was growing tired, dodging and hiding from Nicholas's unleashed fury. "What would your High Commander think of you now?" he said tauntingly. "I am sure he would be disappointed in you."

He counted on Nicholas' fury to send him into a blind rage, as he had always had a weakness at the thought of Khivar's lowering opinion of him, causing him to make his mistake. All he needed was one opening. Larek felt under his robe for the thin, flat metallic disc, tucked within the folds. Pushing on a narrow switch, the disc parted in the middle, with only a bright pale yellow stream of electric current running between them.

If he could just sneak up behind him...

"Sir," Barak called, as he entered the room guardedly. "I've secured all of the prisoners."

"Not now," Nicholas barked, as he scanned the quiet room, for a glimpse of his garbed enemy. "We have company."

And just for a split second, Larek saw his opportunity, as Nicholas glanced over his shoulder to acknowledge his protege. Without hesitation, he quickened his feet and adeptly placed the pale line over his head, pulling it taut. Larek could smell the burning of flesh under his nose. It made his stomach turn.

"No!" Barak yelled, pulling out his plascer. "Let him go."

"Do you know what you are saying?" Larek cried, loosening his grip slightly, as the stench drove him to turn away. "He is your enemy. He would sooner let you die, before sacrificing his life for yours."

He did not understand. Had he misunderstood what Fadilia and General Steren had spoken about? Had they been wrong about this insider that had been feeding them information all of these years? Barak should have been joyous to see the day Nicholas paid for his crimes.

This cannot happen. Barak heard the alarming voice in his head once more. He did not understand it. Every night he had prayed to the Unseen that Nicholas would fall into some unfortunate accident that would end his people's suffering at his hand. But now there was this familiar voice in his head compelling him to rescue his sworn enemy. His own voice.

"I cannot let you do this."

Larek backed away, with Nicholas a captive audience. He felt the small frame weaken and stumble, and again the smell of seared flesh. He had fallen unconscious from the current of his weapon - a talar.

"Give him to me," Barak coaxed. "We still have need of him."

Larek flicked his thumb over the release and the electric current withdrew and the two piece weapon was now one again. He saw Barak move forward at this seeming sign of submission, but Larek backed away again, tightening his grip on Nicholas, his arm around his throat. "I thought I could trust you Barak, but you seem to have lost your way."

"I have not."

"By your words and actions, it would seem so."

"All I have done and sacrificed has been for my people," Barak cried, shaking his head. Images of pained and tortured faces flashed through his mind. "I could never be so cruel."

"Yet for salvation's sake, you've managed to torture innocent people."

"How do I answer that?" Barak spat angrily. "When I am commanded to pledge myself to a man I loathe, and serve him wholly?"

"It can turn a man's soul," Larek said softly.

"Then you have to trust me."

"Trust me, then."

"I cannot."

"And why is this? Why are you pleading for a life of a sworn enemy?"

"It is not I, who pleads for his life."

"Then who?" Larek studied the tortured expression upon Barak's face. It seemed sincere. The pain inflicted upon his people, relived as he, Larek, spoke of them. "Who is it that asks on your behalf for Nicholas' life?" he said solemnly. "Tell me and I will relinquish my hold upon him."

"I cannot." Barak shook his head as he felt helpless to convince the good counsellor that his intentions were good. He was not trying to trick him. "I do not know who it is that asks for his life to be spared," he blurted out, as if that would be the last confession he ever uttered. "I just 'know' that he must live. He must live for now."

Larek wished he could believe him. The man who stood in front of him had given up his childhood and life in service to his people, and now stood seemingly on the brink of madness. It seemed 'they' had taken too much. "I am truly sorry..." He could not bring himself to look at the boy one last time before preparing to end Nicholas' life.

"Not as sorry as you are," Nicholas choked out. Rising back into consciousness, he managed to hear the pathetic apology of the Ithmarian counsellor, and took him by surprise. Catching him off guard, Nicholas had managed to free himself of the death grip and drop to the ground. "Kill him."

Without thought, Barak followed Nicholas' command and raised his plascer and shot. He watched through stifled tears as the vivid blue robes fluttered to the ground as Larek felt the full force of his weapon.

Nicholas raised his hand to the ragged edges of his once smooth neck, where the Ithmarian had burned him. An inch more and he would have been dead. He rose to his feet, helped by Barak, and turned to look upon his fallen enemy. His wretched blue face was hidden among the tangle of fabric. "And as you see, the legacy of Khivar survives," he growled, spitting where Larek lay. "Because the Prophecy ends tonight." Raising his foot, he kicked the body once, just for good measure, before turning to Barak. "We must warn the King."

"Why?" Barak glanced furtively at Larek's motionless body. "His words are meaningless."

"Because I know this man, and when he spoke about seeing the Royal ones, he was speaking about the other two."

"What?"

"They have returned. Zan and Vilandra have returned to Antar."

"The king?" Salar scoffed. "How naive do you think we are?"

"It is true," Fadilia whispered faintly. "He is the Chosen."

"Mother." Max pushed the armed soldiers aside and knelt beside Fadilia. "Are you all right?" he asked quite concerned. "Where are you hurt?"

"I am fine," Fadilia coughed. Suddenly her brow furrowed and she lifted her head. "But Vil...Isabel? Where is she?" Her voice raised in alarm.

As Fadilia gave confirmation of Max and Isabel's identities, the wary soldiers glanced at each other in shock. Quickly Hushai lifted the unconscious princess from the ship and to her mother's side.

Fadilia rested on her side and caressed the stray locks from her daughter's face. She felt her pulse and nodded. "She is fine. She is just knocked out."

"Your Highness," Lt. Salar mumbled, his head hung low. "Forgive my impudence."

Max turned and faced the humiliated officer and glanced to see the watching eyes of his suboridnates upon him. "Don't worry about it," he dismissed quickly. "There is no time for this."

Salar looked up in bewilderment and awe. He lips broke out into a wide smile. "Thank you, your Highness."

"Take me to your commander. There is much to do."

"Your Highness?"

"Everything must be ready when I tear down the kingdom of death and destruction Khivar has built."

"Tess!" Michael breathed, as he saw her petite frame struggle against the two armed guards dragging her into the throne room.

"Michael!" Tess had woken up to the sounds of guards talking over her. She managed to take out a couple of them before they managed to wrestle her down and put on shackles that dampened her powers. "What happened to you?" she cried. "Why are you here? What happened to Yasu and the others?"

"Well, you know I just thought I would just chill here in the throne room," he deadpanned.

"This isn't funny, Michael."

"Does it look like I'm laughing?"

Michael had been separated from General Steren and the rest of the army. In fact he had no idea where they were being held, or whether they were still alive at all.

"Well then, what are we going to do?" Tess scanned the familiar vaulted room and estimated the number of guards at thirty. "We can't just sit here and do nothing," she hissed. "The eclipse is almost over and we're out of time!"

"Don't you think I know that?" Michael prayed that his men had managed to find another way out of the castle and send word to mount another attack on the castle before it was too late.

"And here is the rest of your little surprise party!" General Garrick sneered, shoving three young soldiers into the throne room. "I found these little pretties playing up in our tower."

Michael gritted his teeth, setting his jaw, in an attempt to hide his anger and disappointment at his men. Now their hands were tied, literally, as well as metaphorically. The men outside of the castle would take too long to muster an attack. And observing Khivar's grand gestures, as he stood out upon the balcony, Michael knew that whatever he was planning on doing was about to happen. Now.

"Damn it," he said under his breath.

Tess felt the growing lump in her throat. This was not good. This was as far from good as possible. She closed her eyes and silently screamed her frustration and anger at her own failure.

She had been the people's hope. Everything had been done to ensure another chance at freedom. And now she had botched it.

"Your Highness, Commander," Yasu whispered, without taking his eyes off the guards. "Be ready."

Michael's head perked up at Yasu's cryptic warning.

"I am unsure of what disaster is about to befall us, but it will not be what Khivar expects."

"What are you talking about," he asked, leaning forward slightly. The guards seemed enthralled by Khivar's 'gift' to his subjects, that they did not bother with the inane conversations of their captives. "What did you do?" "I do not know what I exactly did, but the calibrations set for his 'Project Pilan' have been altered."

"Is that a good thing?" Tess frowned. "How can we know that it just won't take us all out?"

"We do not."

"Oh great!" Siothrun groaned. "And why did I listen to you?"

"Because your puny brain had no thoughts of its own, perhaps?" Yasu bit back.

"Stop it." Michael had no time to silence petulant squabbles. A plan had to be formulated, if opportunity arose to free themselves. "We need to focus," he growled. "We need to be prepared for the worst."

"And what is that?" Siothrun asked irritably.

"That whatever Yasu did to Project Pilan won't kill us all."

"Right." Siothrun clamped his lips together.

Tess glanced up towards the grey parapit, which Khivar was drawing attention to. "Zander," she whispered. Turning to Yasu and the other two soldiers, she looked at them with apprehension. "Did you see my son?"

"Your Highness?" Essmond said, confused.

"Did you see my son in the midst of that doomsday contraption!" Her voice was strangled, causing the guards to glance her way. Forcing herself to remain calm, she smiled grimly at them, hoping they would not draw near so she could no longer question the young officers.

They seemed to ignore her outburst.

"Don't think about that right now, Tess," Michael said darkly. "We cannot focus on that."

"What do you mean?" she whispered. "If he is in that room, when whatever happens to that Project Pilan, he is as good as dead."

Michael could feel the urgency of a mother's concern, but it could not be his. The fulfilment of Khivar's plans was the main danger; and at this point, there was no one to stop the madman or his path of destruction. Glancing around, he searched for any means of diversion, distraction, or escape. If he could just gain Khivar's attention.

And it seemed his prayers were about to be answered.

"Well well," Khivar greeted with a clap of his hands, "I see I have been ignoring my guests."

"What have you done to my son!" Tess struggled to keep her emotions in check. She did not want him to see the anger and despair. She did not want to give him the satisfaction.

"Ava, my darling! I did not expect to see you again." Khivar clucked his tongue. He leaned down and tipped her chin with his index finger, so she met his gaze. "I am quite ecstatic at the change of mind," he smiled maliciously. "I know your son has been anxious to see you again."

Gritting her teeth, it took every ounce of strength within her not to lunge at the man.

"And Commander Rath," he moved on to his other honored guest, "how delightful to see you again!"

Michael could not stifle the look of surprise.

"Did you not believe I would know you on sight?" The corners of Khivar's lips curled slightly. "A secret between the two of us," he whispered. "I cheated. General Garrick informed me of who you are. Sorry."

He sighed. "I do have to say you have aged well. Or should I say, re-aged?"

"Too bad I can't say the same thing about you," Michael spat.

"You know," Khivar knelt before Michael's bound form, "I expected more from you. To be honest, I thought there would be much more drama and struggle. I overestimated you it seems. Such a shame. Since I looked forward to a decent battle."

"You will not win," Yasu declared defiantly. "The Prophecy will be fulfilled."

Tess turned to the young officer, with whom she had felt somewhat of a connection to. His face was stern and unyielding. It was as if he truly believed his words.

As sudden and unexpected his declaration of confidence was, more unexpected was the revival of her spirit. She could not despair.

"What is this?" Khivar exclaimed with delight. "Your protege, Rath? Are you picking from the rabble now?"

"A better man than any of your mindless drones." Michael muttered."

"And loyal and defiant to the end," he smirked. "Even to men you barely know? I should have guessed. That was always a weakness of yours."

"And what do you know of loyalty? You'd betray your own flesh for the crown," Tess accused. "Even after two decades you have not learned how to rule."

"Like how your former husband ruled?" Khivar asked curiously. He turned to face Ava. "By the way, where is your beloved King?"

"You are the refuse of this earth and it will give me nothing but utter delight to see you fall!" Tess spat.

"Now, since that is not going to happen," he explained slowly; condescension motivated his every word and action. "I am, however, gracious enough to grant you and your humble servants front seats to the spectacle. I am sure your subjects would appreciate the appearance, though I am sure many will not recognize you in your hybrid forms. Another shame."

Michael hated this. Every word uttered from his mouth burned like acid. Khivar spoke the truth. He was bound and tied, unable to do anything to free his people. Only a miracle would release them from this foul position.

As the guards roughly pulled them to their feet, pushing them toward the balcony, Tess jockeyed for a position near Michael. "We can't let him win, Michael."

"I don't know what we're going to do, Tess," he whispered. "Because in the position we're in, there doesn't seem to be a way out, does there?"

The cool air hit her face, taking her breath away. But it wasn't the cold that caused her to gasp and almost fall to her knees.

Michael leaned in, trying to prop up Tess' quivering body, as his bound hands slipped under hers. He followed her wide-eyed, terrified gaze up towards the now blazing tower. It was as if Khivar had harnessed the power of a thousand stars and put it on display.

But it was not the stark power she trembled at. At the heart of the all-consuming light, Michael saw it. He saw the tiny speck within the center of the ball of energy.

He saw Zander.

Is it over yet?

'Not yet, my son.'

But it hurts and I am tired. So tired.

'You will rest soon. But you still have work to do before you are called home.'

"Sir, you must inform his Highness," Barak urged. "Before it is too late."

"No, we will arrive in minutes." Nicholas flipped the ignition switch. "It is too much of a risk transmitting such information," he protested. "It could be intercepted."

"By whom?" Barak licked his lips, trying to figure out a way to convince him to alert central command before they left Mt. Freiweils. "The Loyalists must know by now?" he rambled. "And it would only serve to impose a greater risk for their army, if we are prepared for any unexpected attacks."

Nicholas furrowed his brow. The idea seemed impulsive and rash. If he calculated correctly, they would arrive in more than enough time to divert any attacks by the Loyalist army - Zan or no Zan. But if he was wrong...

"Sir?"

"Fine. Transmit intel to Eshtari, but make it brief," he said hastily.

"Good, sir." Barak nodded once. He turned and sat down at the communications console. Out of the corner of his eye he made sure Nicholas' eye was turned before letting out a soft sigh of relief. "Transmitting," he said quickly.

"Sir, we interrupted a transmission from Nicholas' carrier."

Captain Nuha spun around and grabbed the earpiece from the communicae officer. "When was this?" he asked cautiously, as the message was played for him. "What is their E.T.A?"

"They just left the Base and will arrive back at Eshtari within minutes."

"What are your orders?" Lt. Chuara, Nuha's trusted friend, asked.

Captain Nuha's mind raced as this was most likely their last chance to fell their 'king'. "Do we know this is reliable?" he asked tersely. "How do we know this is no trap? They would not be so careless to send a communicae that could be so easily intercepted."

"According to our arial readings, the transit number of the carrier quoted has been sighted heading towards Eshtari," Private Aleti stated. "And we have no time to spare."

"So again, I am asking you, Nuha, what are your orders?"

"Muster as many soldiers as you can," a unfamiliar voice commanded. "And they will be lead by Captain Nuha towards the main gate."

Spinning around, Nuha instinctively grabbed his plascer and pointed it at the stranger and his contingent, who lurked beneath the shadows. "Who are you?" he exclaimed warily. He glared at his officers. "Why was he allowed safe passage to our tents?"

"Zan, son of Alaric, heir to the throne of Antar," Max spoke softly, but with authority. "But you will refer to me as Max. And I am going to lead you and your army into the heart of Eshtari."