"They will respond," Raynor's voice was low, but resolute. "Zeratul wouldn't give me an invalid contact protocol. And besides," he paused, "Artanis owes me one."
He was referring to that shared campaign on Char. Though the target back then had been the Queen of Blades, the young Templar—who should now hold the mantle of Hierarch—had faced the abyss alongside him.
Protoss society prized honor and oaths; such bonds forged in the fires of war sometimes carried more weight than any formal diplomatic phrasing.
As Tychus prepared to speak again, the sensor console chimed abruptly: "Encrypted transmission stream received! Matching protocol—
It's Zeratul's code! Decrypting now!"
Everyone on the bridge perked up. Matt quickly routed the communication to the main channel.
A holographic projection materialized above the console. Rather than Zeratul's battle-worn cloak, it revealed a taller Protoss clad in ornate golden armor, crowned with the diadem of a Hierarch.
His eyes radiated a steady blue brilliance, his expression grave and youthful, yet already bearing the unique weight of leadership.
"Jim Raynor," the Protoss spoke, his voice modulated into human speech by a translator, carrying a low resonance of familiarity. "I am Artanis. When your identification code arrived, I was somewhat surprised.
"Since our parting on Char, our respective paths seem to have veered toward much heavier directions."
His tone carried a degree of recognition as an old comrade-in-arms that official diplomacy lacked.
Raynor drew a deep breath and stepped forward: "Artanis, congratulations on stepping up as Hierarch. I've come now because of a charge left by Zeratul. He gave me something, and instructed me to bring it to the Protoss when the time came—when the shadows no longer lurked, but began to writhe. I believe that time has arrived."
"Zeratul..." Artanis repeated the name, his blue eyes registering a complex emotion—the profound understanding and weight granted to a prophet walking a solitary road. "He chose exile, shouldering the scars of the past, but it never severed his ties to the fate of our people. You say he left a 'charge'?"
"Yes, an artifact and a final warning." Raynor pulled the soft green-glowing Ion Crystal from his tunic. "He said the truth lies within it.
"And the other news I bring is that while the Queen of Blades is no more, the woman regarded as the 'key'—Sarah Kerrigan—has now fallen into the hands of a control far more unfathomable."
Artanis watched him intently. A brief silence hung in the air—a measure of balanced judgment, anchored in the trust forged through their past campaigns.
"Your ship will be guided to a docking platform, Raynor. Bring the crystal. In the brief window before the Golden Armada makes its final preparations for Aiur, we can speak. But time is indeed short."
"I understand," Raynor nodded, gripping the crystal tightly. "I only ask that you see with your own eyes what Zeratul witnessed."
Three hours later, the Hyperion glided under the guidance of a Protoss escort vessel, docking gently at a magnificent orbital platform.
The structure was crafted entirely of golden and dark Protoss materials, radiating a soft internal luminescence. Its elegant architecture felt less like something manufactured and more like a naturally grown crystalline formation.
Raynor brought only Matt and Tychus along—the former serving as his second-in-command, the latter as protection.
As they stepped onto the platform, a squad of Templar clad in energy armor and wielding psionic blade-gauntlets awaited them.
At their head was a High Templar who offered Raynor a brief nod, offering no words before gesturing for them to follow.
Threading through long, crystalline corridors, they finally reached a domed hall.
Suspended at the center of the hall was a massive holographic star map detailing tactical deployments across Aiur and its neighboring systems.
Artanis stood before the map, flanked by several other Protoss. Raynor recognized one as Vorazun, Matriarch of the Dark Templars, whose skin bore a distinctive blue-violet hue while her eyes glowed with an eerie green light; the other was High Templar Selendis, who had taken part in operations on Char.
"Commander Raynor," Artanis turned around. "You stated you brought Zeratul's warning. Present it now."
Raynor wasted no time on pleasantries. He stepped forward and placed the Ion Crystal onto a dedicated crystal-reading pedestal at the center of the hall.
Protoss technology automatically recognized the crystal's format and initialized the playback sequence.
Green light poured from the crystal, expanding into a holographic projection across the hall.
The vision began.
Zeratul appeared more weather-beaten within the projection than in Raynor's memory.
He stood atop a burning ruin, backed by shattered Protoss architecture, with unrecognizable dark shapes wheeling across the sky above.
Around him stood a small band of Protoss warriors—combining High Templars and Dark Templars standing back-to-back, forming a final defensive perimeter.
"We stand here!" the projected Zeratul raised his psionic blades high, his voice raspy yet surging with power, "upon the final paces of ground against the Voice in the Darkness! Do not yield hope! Every breath, every swing, buys time for the future!"
The imagery shifted. Several warp-lane beams flared to life as reinforcements arrived from various Protoss contingents.
Raynor recognized several faces—an elderly Executor leading a formation of Immortals into the battle line; a squad of Dark Templar assassins emerging from the shadows, their blades cutting down bizarre foes; even a pair of Protoss Corsairs sweeping low from the sky to drop disruption matrices.
"Hold the line!" Zeratul rallied every warrior, his eyes burning with undying fire, "Our allies are coming! Every reinforcement is a spark of hope!"
Yet what unfolded next plunged every watching Protoss—including Artanis—into dead silence.
Shadows consumed the light.
Enemies devoid of discernible physical forms surged forward like a tide, cutting down the Protoss warriors one by one.
The glow of psionic blades winked out in the darkness; armor was torn apart, crystals shattered.
The projected Zeratul continued fighting fiercely, but he stood completely alone.
Ultimately, an invisible strike pierced straight through his chest.
Zeratul dropped to his knees, his psionic blades fading away.
In his dying moments, he looked up, his eyes empty of fear, filled instead with an endless, crushing regret.
"We... were too late..." His voice whispered through the projection like a dying breath, "If we had united sooner... if the Protoss had not hesitated... the darkness could have been stayed... Now... everything is..."
The projection cut off abruptly.
The light of the Ion Crystal faded away, leaving the hall plunged in deep silence, broken only by the faint, rhythmic hum of the holographic star map.