Tess and Michael rose up onto their knees, sliding behind the mass of crumpled bodies composed of Yasu, Siothrun, and Esmond. Khivar was slightly distracted by the growing intensity and brightness of the royal crown, allowing Andaria to slip behind her daughter and Rath. She had to be quick about it.

It was chance, and what one could almost call a miracle that she knelt before her daughter on the eve of the Day of Light. She had been near death.

Andaria, had herself, felt herself slipping away under the torturous machinations of Khivar's architects. And it was only in dying, she knew, could she rise again.

Unorthodox methods, which were hardly known by ordinary Antarians, had been her saving grace. Only months prior to Tess' arrival to Antar, had she stumbled across several texts and journals written during the dawn of Cian's reign accounting the techniques and methods of 'living death'. Many had failed, dying instantaneously; however, there were noted success cases. It was in this self-imposed death that Andaria had indeed survived 'true death'. Slipping into an comatose state mimicking death, her body had been allowed time to heal - to be restored.

It had been a moment of grace. And it had transformed Andaria.

"Quickly," she whispered into her daughter's ear. "Follow me."

"Zander." It was all Tess could say.

Andaria paused, her eyes meeting the tormented gaze of her daughter's blue eyes, and she understood her pain and fear; and her mother's protective instincts to save her child. 'I know,' she mouthed to her daughter, who nodded. She rose slowly, with Tess in front of her, trying determinedly to shield her from Khivar's sight, with her eyes focused upon the tower - where her grandson lay.

Suddenly she realized Tess had stopped; her gaze was upon Michael's still kneeling figure. He seemed unmoved. The expression on his face spoke volumes. Andaria knew that he would stay and keep Khivar at bay, and his men as well, if they were ever to recover from whatever he had planned for them.

"No," she heard Tess whisper. "Come with us."

Michael shook his head silently, his jaw set with stubbornness.

Andaria tugged at Tess' sleeve. 'We must leave now.'

The sky suddenly roared, crackling with energy, which seemed to surge forth and split the blinding light with long stretching bolts of crimson, reaching out and almost enveloping the tall, gangly figure, whose shadow loomed before them. His cry, as the power that surged forth, was amplified by the stunning sight, though no one could guess whether it was from agony or ecstasy; and he was consumed. Whatever abberantly puerile plot he had hatched, this was now the crux of it.

And along with it she saw her opportunity. Khivar's guards were rising from unconsciousness - however slow that was - and there was no more time to lose. Andaria grabbed Tess' hand and ran - toward the tower, toward her grandchild, toward the only hope they had to stop whatever madness that was about to devour the whole of Antar.

There had to be a way to stop Khivar. She could not lose her children again. She would rather die a thousand deaths.

Michael hoped the power would fry the bastard, as he watched fascinated by the pyrotechnics display. He wanted to satiate his personal desire to wipe that smug look off his face, but if the latter occurred he believed he could live with it. As he stood witness to workings of Project Pilan, something that had become the 'unknown factor', and in his mind had, grown into mythical proportions, he knew this was not about building on the fear of the unknown - Pilan wielded a power far more extreme than he or anyone could have imagined. His gaze drifted over to Yasu, who was as ill-affected by Pilan as the rest of the Antarians. He never felt a stronger connection to the Kedran than when he spoke so confidently about Khivar's demise. A fool's hope.

"And I guess I am," he muttered to himself, as he rose from his place upon the marble balcony. For he was not about to give up without a fight. And there was always hope, wasn't there? His eyes narrowed onto Khivar. "It's not going to end the same damn way. No way in hell."

Isabel and Fadilia had slipped among the throng of soldiers, preparing for battle. Capt. Nuha already had been on the move. Isabel had watched the young men and women fall into line, their age no older than herself, with solemn expressions upon their face. She had known they had been trying to hide the fear, the heart-pounding adrenaline that had begun to build within their system had been all that had given them the courage to stand; their faces had shown their inexperience, but intermingled had been a fierceness and determination she recognized. It triggered something inside.

"Look how strong our army appears?" a young girl's voice exclaimed.

"They are, at that, aren't they my child?"

"Do you think Father would allow me to join?"

"Vilandra," said Fadilia somberly, " there are other important matters that you must attend to."

"The boys get all the fun," she pouted. "I would be a great soldier! Just like Radim!"

"Do you not want a family of your own?"

"Why do you say that?" Vilandra frowned, her smooth forehead creased. "Radim is married and has a baby! He is a great soldier and a good daddy."

"Yes, but he is always so sad when he leaves them."

"Why?" There was little understanding in her voice. "He comes back with big and exciting stories about his adventures."

"He is happy when he returns," Fadilia nodded. "But the sadness is in anticipation for the day he may not return."

"Of course he will return....Always. He is Radim!"

"Oh, my Vilandra," she laughed, yet there was sadness in her voice. "You are not old enough to understand just yet. And be glad of that. Our people - army - fight for us and we will always honor them for that difficult task."

"But it's their duty to protect us - the Royal family."

"They serve and protect us, as we serve and protect them."

They had been prepared to leave; she and Fadilia were on their own path when it happened. Outside the looming plasma field where light and energy crackled in the air, a wave had swept over them all when the force field dropped. She had tried to divert the unknown energy source, but there had been too many, and she had only managed to lessen the blow. It had been instinct - surrounding her mother and herself in a makeshift force field. Even so, the anatomy of the power or energy, while reacting as any force would strike, also seemed to have a porous quality that allowed it to seep through her protective shield. She had never seen such a thing; and it frightened her.

Now all that remained was Fadilia and herself.

"Have you been hurt?" Her mother stood before her, pale and ashen. It seemed as if whatever power Khivar had unleashed upon her people, her mother had also been affected. Isabel could only assume that the only reason the elder Kedran remained was the protection she had tried to provide. It had lessened the effect.

"I'm fine," she breathed, glancing up at the city before her. "I just wasn't expecting that."

"Yes," Fadilia nodded gravely. "Khivar has just proved how even more dangerous he is now. His life is full of masks and mirages, so we are teetering, not quite on solid ground. He will have more unexpected surprises up his sleeves. We can be sure of this."

The memory of Khivar's appearance on Earth flashed before her. He had almost convinced her that she was his - history would repeat itself. She was and always would be a betrayer. It was that defining moment where Isabel knew that her life was her own. When she made that choice to be a different woman - not the liar her predecessor was - Isabel found the strength to stand. Jesse, Max, and Micheal's love and confidence had kept her from making the same mistake. "But we have one thing on our side," Isabel said, straightening up to her full height, her gaze focused upon the tower from which the menace lived. "He doesn't know me - any of us anymore."

"How is that child?"

"He hasn't seen what we can do," said Isabel with a quiet confidence. "In fact, I don't think we, ourselves, have seen all that we can do."

'You must wake.'

The child's voice echoed in his head. Barak groaned.

'I kept it from you, so you must wake.'

Slowly awakening, Barak heard a soft dying roar beckon him from his sleep. His head was pounding and his body ached. Suddenly he remembered what had transpired before everything had fallen black. Forcing his eyes open, pain shot through the sensitive orbs to the back of his head, as one stabbing a long pointed needle through his iris - his gut instinct telling him to shut them again. He let out an agonizing scream until the pain had subsided; and resting there a moment, sitting sprawled on the floor, Barak tried to breathe deeply and wrap his mind around what exactly was and did happen.

Suddenly he heard rustling to the left of him, and then - a groan. "Nicholas?"

Another incoherent groan.

Barak pressed his hands against his eyes, slowly opening them into the semi-darkness and acclimating them to the light of the dimly lit ship. The pain did not return and he recognized his familiar surroundings, though a little bit tossed and worse for wear. He stood up slowly, not sure what the mysterious light waves had done to his system, making certain he could walk, before heading over towards Nicholas, who was already standing and checking out the controls of the ship. "How are the ship's functions? Did we crash?" he asked bluntly, wondering how far from the city they were.

"We're docked within the palatial hangar." said the short Antarian, distracted with the ships gauges and instruments.

"But how?" Barak thought for sure they were going to die, after falling into unconsciousness. "Who flew the ship?" he asked in disbelief. They had been headed towards disaster during his last frame of reference.

"Me," Nicholas said matter-of-factly. "We're both alive because of me."

He thought Nicholas had passed out as he had; in fact, he had been sure of it. "I thought you were rendered unconscious as well?" he said curiously.

"Before I fell into oblivion, as they say," Nicholas smirked. "I had the frame of mind to plot our course and shift into autopilot. Brilliant, if I do say so myself."

"Which you are," dryly replied Barak.

Nicholas sniffed at the off-handed remark, and rolling his shoulders back, he marched over to the craft's entrance. "Are you coming, or are you going to stand there and make snide remarks?" he said irritably. "Which, you are very lucky that I am in a good mood, or you would be put in the dungeon for the insubordination."

"My apologies, Sir." Barak stiffened, knowing that he had become too loose in his manner when dealing with Nicholas. "It will not happen again," he said with feigned respect.

"Good." Nicholas nodded, satisfied. "Let us return to Khivar and see what the festivities hold for our soon-to-be newly crowned King. We must warn him of the remaining Two that have returned as well, though I do not see what they could possibly do to halt what we have just witnessed."

Barak nodded, silently following Nicholas as they exited the ship. He knew that what he had witnessed was just the tip of the galaxial berg; according to Nicholas and the underground murmurings of the soldiers and assistant architects, the power to be yielded by Project Pilan was enough to render the whole galaxy under Khivar's firm grasp. It sent a chill up his spine.

What have I contributed to? He grit his teeth at the memory of the sight of Larek sprawled upon the grounds of Mount Freiweils. It had been one of the most horrid things he had done to one who was not a stranger. Larek had been well known to his people (friend of the King); as well, he had several encounters with him when the Counselor had visited Eshtari to deal with Khivar first hand. It had been evident to all that Larek was trying to mediate the peace, but after Khivar's apparent growing madness, he knew the Counselor's opinion had changed, as he stopped gracing Eshtari with his 'friendly' presence.

There must be something....

So what now? Max never dreamt he would be in this situation; sitting on a spaceship, steering it himself, headlong into a bright light that could ultimately bring him closer to death. "I'm insane," he said to himself. "I've finally gone over the bend."

Yet the driving force inside of him knew it was right. This was something that needed to be done. And he was the only one who could accomplish it.

He gritted his teeth as the ship began to shake, turbulence from flying into the light that filled the night sky. There was only one thing on his mind - his son. Zander. He had never physically met his son. It had been something of a technicality though, because in that one moment, when Tess was cramping, he had connected with the being that had begun to form within her womb. His child had reached out to him. He had met his son.

And now he was calling out to him, as a child calls out to his father. Fear seeped into his body as his child pulled him into that make-believe world. There was nothing to hold onto. His child had nothing to hold onto. The boy that was clinging to life by a shoestring was fighting because he knew that his father was coming. His father was coming to save them all.

You made a promise. And you have to fulfill it. His eyes fell upon the breaking light; a small object dispersing the blinding rays with its' own radiance. "W-what...?" He had no clue what he was flying into to begin with, and now he had this object that was literally levitating in the sky to contend with.

What was it?

'The time is now.' The internal voice arose once again.

How convenient.

As he flew in closer, he felt himself drawn to the object. It was small, the thing wasn't blinding as the power source from the tower; but still, there was just something about it.

'It is yours.'

Mine?

'Take what I have given you. It is time to make your return home complete.'

Comprehension dawned upon him as he drew nearer to the object. The sleek, elegant artistry of the object with its' golden arches was familiar in its' majesty. As it ascended into the sky, Max watched it abruptly stop in front of him. A crown of gold, encrusted with gems. The most skilled artisans had been commissioned to produce the work of art. It had been said that Cian, himself, had appeared to place the crown upon Alaric's head. Besides the Seal, its possession had been the lasting symbol of Antar's reigning king.

It was only now that Max realized how close he had come to the palace, as he peered below to see Khivar staring up expectantly at the crown. He knew that the vile devil expected to wrest this power from his grasp - simply, and without a fight. How wrong you are.

He glanced down once more, knowing that it was a matter of time before Khivar spotted the ship. There was little time to dawdle. Maneuvering the ship ninety degrees, he positioned the ship's side latch parallel to the floating crown. As he opened the latch, Max felt the rush and pull of cold wind as the cabin decompressed, as he braced himself against the side of the ship. He felt himself bathed in the intensity of the energy source that surrounded him. Shielding his eyes from the light, Max raised his arm above his eyes, his gaze focused intently upon the crown that was only a few inches away from him.

It crackled with a luminescent energy. An array of colors danced across the ship and filled the bright horizon as the light from the tower flickered within the heart of the exquisitely tinted minerals. Before him hovered something so superb, so resplendent; the moon, the stars, and the sun almost palored in its presence.

He stood entranced by it. Here he was, about to reach out and touch the thing that symbolized the whole meaning of his existence. The crown belonging to his father and his father's father. It was his birthright. The throne was his for the taking. It was as if the crown hovered there as a timely offering. "And I accept," he whispered to the now silent voice. "I am here to stay."

The corridors seemed long and the stairs too many as she closed the distance between Zander and herself. Her body was begging her to stop; there was so much pain and weariness that had fallen upon her, a mixture of the ongoing battle and the mysterious powers Khivar had called upon. But she could not. With set jaw and fierce determination, Tess vowed to herself that she would rescue her son from what terror had beset her son.

God, or whatever you call yourself, if you're up there, don't take him from me.

The seemingly slain bodies scattered across the floor set an eerie atmosphere as she pressed forward towards her son's prison. Their pale faces lifeless.

"Be careful," Andaria warned. "They are not dead and we do not know how long Project Pilan's effects will wear on them."

"I know!" Tess said knowingly, when suddenly she felt a hand wrap around her ankle. She screamed, glancing behind her, Tess saw dark pools of ebony leering up at her.

"Khivar will reign," he growled, coughing and spitting up blood. "We will not allow your kind to hinder his plans."

Tess stopped, turning around, she faced her attacker. "Don't you know that nothing will stop me?" she said, kneeling before him, her voice suddenly turning dark and raspy. "And those who try, will die." With that, she closed her eyes and slipped into the weak Iturian's mind. Quickly and adeptly, Tess located nerve center of his mind and gently wrapped her hands around the intangible, yet very real stem of his puny mind, and squeezed.

The howl was what brought Tess out of her trance. She stood upright, looming over the convulsing alien being in front of her. Part of her thought there would be a sense of remorse, an inkling of grief that she had caused this man pain; but instead, she turned around and continued on.

No time for remorse. It is kill or be killed.

And that would not happen to her son.

"Check upon the progress of Project Pilan and its' subject," Nicholas ordered, as they strode down the main corridor that led to the throne room. "And I will inform Khivar of our possible setbacks."

"Sir," Barak hesitated. He knew that if he did not do something to Nicholas, it would mean another lost opportunity. His hands rested behind his back, itching to take the plascer at his side and shoot the monstrosity that stood before him. It took everything in him to remain calm and stoic. Give nothing away - General Steren had given him those parting words of advice.

"Is there something wrong, Commander?" Nicholas eyed him critically. There had been something off about Barak since their arrival at Mount Freiweils. His gut instinct warned him in the beginning that it would be folly to believe a Kedran would betray his race so easily without a second thought; but over the months and missions, Barak had proved himself faithful to the 'nth' degree. And that is what is wrong with this picture.

'Barak, no.' The tall Kedran stopped in his tracks, halting the rambling of words that were about to tumble out of his mouth. It was the child. 'Come, quickly.'

"What is it, Commander?" Nicholas said impatiently. If there was hesitation or even doubt in those silver eyes of his...

"Nothing, Sir." Barak stood at attention. "Please commend His Highness for the victory which we are about to enjoy," he barked as any good soldier would.

"Fine," Nicholas replied with narrowed eyes, "Report back the condition of the subject." He knew there would be little use for the officer soon enough. Just need to keep him occupied.

"Yes, Sir." Barak hated that one more opportunity seemed to slip by him. It was like someone would not allow him the satisfaction.

But he was grateful for the opportunity to check on the child. Zander. He had been away from him for only days, and he felt like years. Part of him had taken on the responsibility of guardian over the child when Ava had handed Zander over to him. From a far off window he could see the glow of white light filter into the hallways. Barak had done as much as he could, monitoring the situation, his vitals, trying to keep an ear to the ground about any plans and possible life-threatening situations the child was in. It hadn't been enough though.

'Hurry.' The voice was soft, barely above a whisper, and weak.

"I'm coming," he said with set jaw. The soft rhythmic thud of his stride quickening as his gaze turned from the light that was waning in the distance.

The process was ending. He felt and saw Pilan cycling down from its machinations. Khivar raised his hands, willing the crown into his hands. His subjects would be awakening soon, those who were able to survive 'the change'. It was timely.

They will see their king crowned with glory and honor - as it should have been decades ago.

As the blinding light receded, Khivar was overwhelmed with a nauseous feeling. His gaze was drawn up to the sky, where the darkness of the night seemed almost alive, devouring everything in its' path. Everything except the crown, which remained; but not as it should have.

"My Liege," Nicholas exclaimed delightfully. "We have returned and secured the Loyalist's base..."

"You have failed me," Khivar growled, his gaze remaining on the crown.

Nicholas froze at the entrance of the balcony. It felt as if his windpipes were in a vacuum and there was no breath left within their constricted walls. "S-sir," he gasped, his hands clinging to his neck.

"Fool!" Khivar screamed into the darkness. "Nothing will stop me!"

Nicholas followed his Master's gaze up into the night sky. The yellow gleam of the coronation crown shimmered in the heavens in all of its' glory...in the hands of their enemy. He gasped weakly, "Zan."

Nicholas' words had been muffled. He couldn't quite make out what exactly had Khivar and Nicholas flustered. It suited him just fine because they also had not seen him. They had been too occupied with their plans - with the king's crown that hung in the sky.

As swiftly and deftly as possible, Michael focused all of his powers into one pinpoint - Khivar. If he could take out the mastermind behind this whole unthinkable disaster of death, torture and bodies, he was certain that the affects of Project Pilan would not matter. Raising his hands, which were trembling with carefully restrained energy, Michael took one last deep breath before unleashing the red hot furies pulsing underneath his skin. "KHI-VAR!" he bellowed as the energy left him. Its vibrations filled the air around him and his ears were overwhelmed by the loud thrumming caused by the power surge.

Over top of the blueish-yellow waves flowing from his hands, Michael watched as Khivar's attention turned away from the skies in time to meet his attacker, a sparkling red glint flashed in his eye, in time to divert his attentions from Nicholas to Michael. The force of the blast seemed to stun him, as within nano-seconds Khivar had raised a defense shield against his attack. The Iturian shuddered slightly, before straightening to his full stature, his defensive stance enforced by the marble railing behind him, as his left foot rested against one of the firm thick columns. "You could not just accept your fate?" he hissed, pressing his shaking arms forward, pushing back Michael's steady attack. "This planet was all I asked for. You could have lived your pathetic, puny little lives on that planet you called a home."

"And I believe a single word of your mouth, why?" Michael shouted over top of the continuous thrum. "Because you're so trustworthy." His words oozed sarcasm, as he glanced down at the pile of unconscious bodies lying at his feet.

"You have lost sight of the point, Rath," Khivar smirked, his words spoken with a slight purr. "Or is it Michael now? This has nothing to do with your people and how many had to pay the sacrifice for my ascension."

"Oh, no?"

"No. It is about winning."

"You have no sense of right and wrong," he spat. "No humanity in you. You don't even understand this concept."

"Your alien philosophies are amusing to me," Khivar chuckled, as he began to slowly move forward. "I must admit I am quite puzzled at the sudden change of heart. Or should I say, the appearance of one? The Rath I knew would have done anything to win. It was about the battle for supremacy. Yes the scenery has changed a little, but the bottom-line remains the same - whoever wins, rules."

He remembered being focused as Commander of the royal army, but to describe himself in league with Khivar's insanity and power-hungry motives? Never.

"It is quite a shame that you have softened over the newly bred years of your life. It would help you in this complex decision before you," Khivar said slyly. The expression on his face was one of a cat having ate the bird. "I believe it would have been a simple decision for your previous version of yourself."

"What choice?" Michael pushed hard, willing whatever powers he had been bestowed, at Khivar, hoping against all hopes it might end this war.

"You maybe hard to read," Nicholas spoke up, assisting his leader. "But apparently your better halves did not have the time to mask themselves as you and Ava have."

"What are you talking about?" He narrowed his eyes, keeping the pressure of his powers on Khivar, while briefly glancing behind him at Nicholas, who was inching to his master's side. "There is just me and your insane, freakazoid of a pseudo-king," he spat. "You must be running scared if you're making up stories on the fly."

Khivar threw his head back and laughed. "You really do not know, do you?" he said slightly amused. "Our Vilandra is here. In fact, she and mother-dearest, seem to be trying to attempt a last ditch attempt to free your people."

"By Celestia, do you know how boring that is getting to be?" Nicholas asked drolly, rolling his eyes. "I mean come up with a new reason, a new purpose! This is getting old."

His gaze darted between the two infinitely amazing liars. There was no way Isabel and Max had found their way to Antar. They had turned their backs on Antar - chosen a life with their human counterparts. Though he had resented it, Michael had chosen to respect their decision; and as he and Tess had been drawn further and further into this bloody and torturous war, he had been almost relieved. He could not watch Isabel die at Khivar's hand - not a second time. "You're lying," he breathed maliciously.

"Take a look for yourself." With a jerk of his head, he motioned to the crown in the sky. "The fearless leader is attempting to regain his throne," Khivar said irritably. "But he does not realize it is too late. The power Pilan has given me...well, let's just say it will take more than four imitation Royals, to stop what is coming."

With trepidation, he peered above. The light had faded dramatically, though there was still the bright rays of the suspended crown filling the horizon. He saw nothing. But as he was about to call Nicholas and Khivar out about their obviously pathetic ploy, beneath the golden rays, a slight flicker of shadow caught his eye. It couldn't be true. He focused harder on the ever growing dark shadow, emerging from its' shimmering curtain, and Michael knew - he knew Maxwell had come. Just as the realization dawned upon him, he felt Isabel's presence. She was near. But before Michael could refocus on the danger at hand, Nicholas seized the opportunity to climb into his mind.

It wasn't as it had been before. His vision clouded, but he was not knocked unconscious. However, before Nicholas and Khivar could double team him, there was a sudden rumbling in the sky and a bright flash of light, followed by complete and utter darkness.

There was sudden confusion, and he could hear the frustration in both their voices, as they stumbled around trying to figure out what had happened. But Michael knew; Max had taken hold of the crown and the beginning of the end was near. Maxwell had finally taken responsibility of the task appointed him: to ensure the safety of the people of Antar.

Unexpectedly a pale, crimson ball of energy hovered in the middle of the palace balcony, Khivar's face contorted into something he would have seen most likely in a horror movie. His eyes had become more menacing, as they were dilated to a full ebony black, with the rich red hue flickering in those large round orbs, as if truly buried deep inside of them. "Enough!"

Michael watched as Khivar turned away from him and focused his attention upon the dark, empty abyss above them. Not even a star dared to show its' face. Max had managed to black out the skies.

He made a move towards Khivar - not one to waste an opportunity - but Nicholas stepped forward, cutting him off from the psychotic leader. "I am sorry to say, you'll be indisposed at the moment," his voice dripped with sugary sweetness. "That is, until I kill you."

"Whatever you want to believe," Michael snorted, rolling his shoulders back and loosening his tensed muscles. "Short stuff." He knew he would never have full access to Khivar unless he got rid of the pipsqueak standing in front of him.

Besides, it was time for a rematch.

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