Deep Space Tremors

Augustus felt that Zeratul had grown older since their last meeting. His ridged skin was wrinkled like crumpled paper, and his silk robes bore countless marks of hardship, scarred all over by fire and acid.

Every time Augustus saw Zeratul, the old Nerazim was travel-worn and exhausted, never once dressed in splendor.

"Augustus, my eternal friend and brother. May Adun watch over you."

The projected hologram outlined Zeratul's veiled face before Augustus. His eyes still burned like fire, shining brighter than green stars.

Several Ihan-rii warriors stood proudly behind Zeratul. They wore blue-black armor forged from semi-organic, shape-shifting meteorite, held spears made from sharpened void crystals, and wore dark-blue cloaks bearing Xel'Naga symbols that snapped in the crackling green lightning.

An elder of the Ihan-rii Council, dressed in magnificent blue robes and a tall banded helm, watched Augustus beyond the screen with cautious scrutiny. He wore an enormous, intricately woven cloak. Though it looked heavier than Augustus's own cloak of countless gold threads, it floated lightly in the air. Either its material was extraordinarily light, or some mysterious psionic force was holding it aloft.

This Ihan-rii elder was taller than most Protoss Augustus had met. His gray skin was smooth and moist, while the contours of his face—from jawline to brow—were angular, straight, and cold, like a honed blade. His entire face resembled a stone statue carved with axes and chisels. From that alone, one could tell this branch of the Protoss was not to be trifled with.

But setting aside those differences, they were still Protoss. The Ihan-rii Protoss were no less noble and courageous than any of their kin; presumably, their arrogance and stubbornness were no less so either.

"May Adun watch over you, Zeratul." Augustus greeted him as he would an old friend.

The Ihan-rii fleet had