Sinoval had a headache. He couldn't explain it and he certainly didn't like it, but he knew somehow that something was wrong, and his headache was a symptom of that.

He had not been feeling well since Kozorr had returned. Truthfully, he had not been well since Kozorr had 'died'. Kats had hardly spoken to him in all that time. She had been working herself almost to exhaustion, her guilt driving her to the abyss, and perhaps beyond.

And now Kozorr had returned from the dead, with a story of capture and escape. It was not implausible. Sonovar had not been the type to take risks with his prisoners before, but then he had never been the type to attack his own people before either.

Kozorr had been the first to swear fealty to Sinoval, the first to accept his rule and the changes that would come with it.

So why did Sinoval feel so strongly that something was wrong?

He had left his own quarters on Cathedral; dark, gloomy, majestic surroundings that they were, and was momentarily surprised by just how much he had got used to them. When had Cathedral started to become home? None of his people could stomach being on the place longer than absolutely necessary, but he had adapted to it easily.

He had wandered through corridors and rooms abstractly for some time, until he found himself at the pinnacle, the control centre of the ship. As he climbed up the many steps to the summit, he noticed his headache getting worse. By the time he reached the top and looked out at the vast spread of space below and above and all around him, his skull felt as though it was about to crack open.

"What is happening?" he asked slowly, knowing there was no one around to answer.

"A terrible thing," came a reply. He turned to see the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus take the final step to the pinnacle. The summit of the tower seemed to widen with the arrival of the newcomer. Before it had been large enough only for Sinoval, but it could now fit both of them comfortably. Sinoval had a feeling it could accommodate an army if it had to.

"The Well of Souls has been violated," the Primarch said.

"What is this…. Well of Souls?"

"The source of Cathedral's power, the source of our power, and our purpose. We have guarded it since time immemorial."

"You seem very…. calm, if someone has infiltrated it."

"I am. The Well will not permit itself to be damaged in any way. But I am still Primarch, and the Well is a part of me, just as I am a part of it. And you are also a part of it."

"Me?"

"All who dwell in Cathedral belong to the Well."

"So what's happening to it? Someone has…. tried to damage the Well of Souls. Who would do…. oh, Valen, no."

"It is of no account. The Well will deal with the intruder in its own fashion. You will merely feel a little ill until it is done. Some have tried to harm the Well before, and none has succeeded."

"You don't understand. How do I get to the Well? Where is it?"

"At the heart of Cathedral. To a large extent Cathedral was built around it."

"I must get there. Now!" He made for the steps, but the Primarch placed a hand on his shoulder.

"There is an easier way." He pointed to the depths of space all around them. "Jump from the pinnacle. Wish yourself there…. and you will be. The pinnacle is…. everywhere, after all. And everything."

"I…. jump?"

The Primarch nodded.

Sinoval drew Stormbringer, his dark blade, and rushed forward, throwing himself into space. Darkness swallowed him, and he was lost from view.

There was no victory procession as the Babylon and the few surviving Drazi and Brakiri ships returned to Kazomi 7. There was no parade through the streets, no crowds waving banners and singing praises.

There was just the solemn acceptance that a war was under way, a terrible war that would have awful consequences for all of them. The Alliance had been born from the horrors of war, and more than any other power in the galaxy, it did not want to have to relive them.

The wounded were taken to hospital, the dead to the morgues. Delenn went to see her beloved, and Lyta Alexander…. she went to rest alone in her quarters. As soon as she arrived there however, she discovered she was not alone.

You were not permitted to go, shouted the Vorlon's voice in her mind. Ulkesh moved slowly into view.

"I had to," Lyta whispered. "They're my friends, and they asked for my help. I had to help them."

<You will obey us in all things.>

She turned on the Vorlon, her eyes flashing angrily. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked. "There was…. a moment in the battle when the…. the Shadow ship…. tried to talk to me. There's someone alive in there, in all of them! A human!"

<It was not for you to know.>

"Then you did know! Why didn't you tell me?"

<You will obey us in all things. You will know that which we permit you to know. You will not defy us. You may rest now.>

"I'm not your property, or your servant!"

Ulkesh's eye stalk flared angrily. She was thrown backwards, her body striking the wall hard. <You are both.>

Then he left.

Warleader G'Sten of the triumphant Narn Regime and Lord-General Marrago of the glorious Centauri Republic had known of each other for many years. They had only met in person twice; once where G'Sten had been cornered at the battle of Dros, and again when Marrago had been captured when the base in Quadrant 37 had been retaken.

Each of them had closely followed the career and fortunes of the other however, taking a great interest in where his rival was, what he was doing, how he was progressing. This was true even in the years of peacetime.

There was a sort of mutual respect between the two soldiers and leaders of soldiers, a respect that neither held for the majority of those commanding them. Sometimes, your closest companion can be your worst enemy.

As the jump points filled the skies above Centauri Prime and the Narn fleets came into view, each of them was aware that this would be the final time they would meet in battle. G'Sten aboard his Pride of the Kha'Ri, Marrago on the Valerius. Each of them looked up and smiled once, in memories of old battles fought and won and lost.

G'Sten gave the order, and the Narn fleet moved forward. Marrago sat back, sure that his defences would hold.

All around them space shimmered and twisted, and the mind of every being on every ship was filled with screams.

The Shadows had arrived.

Delenn sat alone by the shrine, looking up at it and sighing softly. Her wish, her one wish now, was that John could have seen it built and completed. He would have appreciated it.

He never would, now.

Immediately after her return from the battle — the victory, she had to keep reminding herself — she had gone to see him. She had taken the familiar walk down the hospital corridors, past all the turnings and doors she had seen countless times on this journey in the past few months.

This time was different. John's bed had been empty. All the machines had been switched off. The chair where she had slept so often had been removed.

Her heart pounding, she had run in search of a doctor, of anyone she could find. She received the answers from the physician who had been treating John all along.

"I'm sorry, Delenn," the doctor had said. "We'd been monitoring his condition closely, but his heart suddenly failed. It had nothing to do with the infection…. We think it might be a hereditary blood-related condition exacerbated by the recent…. trauma. We managed to re-start his heart, but he slipped into a coma. We had to move him into quarantine, and he's now on full life support. I'm sorry, Delenn…. but he's not going to wake up."