"There…. there must be hope," she had protested.

"We can pray for a miracle…. but short of that…. nothing. I'm so sorry."

Delenn had gone to see him anyway, against the doctor's advice. It hurt so much to look at him from behind layers and layers of glass and plastics, look at him lying still, his body kept alive only by machines, his soul trapped forever in an unmoving prison of flesh and bone.

His soul…. She thought of Sinoval and his Soul Hunters. Sinoval had told her of how the Soul Hunters had saved him from death at the Battle of the Line. Perhaps…. No. She shook her head. Better that John's soul should go on, to be reborn again, and live again, and love again. Better that than to be trapped forever.

She was suddenly aware of a shadow cast over her, and over the forecourt of the monument. She looked up, and heard the sound of music in her mind. The Vorlon was there, Ambassador Ulkesh Naranek. This was the first time she had seen him since his arrival. He had refused all invitations to attend the Council meetings.

She did not know why — nor why he was here, by the shrine he seemed to abhor.

<He is dying.>

Not a question. A simple statement. Ulkesh knew that.

"Yes," she whispered. "He has been dying for months."

<We can save him.>

"What?" She leapt to her feet. "You can help him?"

<Yes. We can cure wounds to body and spirit. He will walk again. He will move again. He will be purged of his infection. He will live again.>

"Oh, Valen," she breathed. "Then do it, please! Heal him!"

<There is a price.>

She gasped, and staggered back. "What price?" she breathed.

<You. Leave here. Leave this place. Do not return. Go.>

"What?" She could not believe it. How could…? "Why? I have always followed you. I was Dukhat's heir. I let one of you share my soul. I…. Why? Why must I go?"

<There will be no answers. You must leave this place and go to the Darkness at the edge of the galaxy.>

That she understood, and a cold darkness washed over her. She straightened. "You want me to go to Z'ha'dum?"

<Yes.>

"Why? What must I do there?"

<Die.>

They were light and beauty, and majestic power personified. She knew that she should fall to her knees and give thanks for their very presence. These beings had been worshipped by races such as hers almost since the beginning of their recorded histories.

She hated them now, hated them with a passion she had never been able to muster for any other living thing. Not even when she had made her fateful, terrible mistake to order the beginning of the war with Earth, had Satai Delenn felt such sheer loathing for any being.

And yet she stood there, still and unmoving, watching as their light filled her world, and as their power healed the broken body of the man she loved.

A single tear ran down her cheek, but she gave no voice to her pain. She had accepted this choice. They had presented her with the options, and she had accepted the offer they had made.

Her life, for his.

She cast her mind back many years, back to when she had still been Satai, had still been Minbari. It had been in the Hall of the Grey Council, when there had still been a Grey Council. Sinoval had been there, when he had still been a warrior and a leader, not a dictator who bargained with aliens.

They had been discussing the status of the new Rangers. It had been shortly after Branmer's death and Neroon's disappearance. Delenn, Rathenn and Hedronn had been arguing for caution, only to be butted aside by Sinoval's arrogant and all-powerful confidence. He had said something that had always stuck with her, and she had mentally sworn to prove his statement wrong.

She had failed.

He had been right.

"This is a time for warriors, not healers."

This time did need warriors. The healers would come later, but what was there to heal with everyone dead? You could not bring peace to an enemy concerned only with your destruction. She had once believed it might be possible, but not now. And it might never be again.

John was a warrior. Even Sinoval had acknowledged as much, in his own way. Delenn would never be a warrior. She could fight when she had to, but her heart was never in it. The terrible mistake she had once made always haunted her whenever she was at war.

John was a warrior, and she was not. At this time, in this place, a warrior was needed. There would be other healers after the war, but warriors were needed to end it.

She hoped he would understand. She would leave a message, try to explain what she felt, why this had been necessary. She had composed the message in her mind, remembering all the things she could never say to him.

She had no idea how long she had been standing there. She had preparations to make, things to do…. for the future. But she could not tear herself away from this place. She had to watch, had to be sure.

Finally there was a movement beside her, and he was there, light and power and beauty and malice and conviction all in one form. She understood now why Sinoval hated the Vorlons so, why he would risk everything to destroy them. At this moment, she felt the same.

<It is done.>

"He is…." She swallowed. "He is healed?"

<Yes.>

"Of the virus?"

<Yes.>

"Of his injuries?"

<Yes.>

"Of his pain?"

<Yes.>

"One night. You promised us that much, remember? We will have one night together."

<Yes. We promised.>

"Good." She breathed out, harshly. "Is he…? Will he need time to recover?"

<He is well.>

She turned away from the being she hated more than anything else in the universe, and walked through the door to the chamber where she had last seen John. He had been trapped by wires and tubes and glass, a prisoner in his own body. She did not want to continue, afraid of what she would see now. What if the Vorlon had lied? What if they hadn't been able to cure him? What if…?

There he was. He was…. Oh, blessed Valen. He was standing.

She ran forward and he saw her there, his face breaking into a wide smile. "Delenn!" he cried. He stepped forward and spread out his arms to welcome her. He could move. He could touch her, feel her warmth and her tears and her love.

She held herself against him tightly, crying with joy and sorrow and terror.

He said her name over and over again. She said nothing. There was nothing she could say.

Narn and Centauri. For so long these two races had been linked by bloodshed and hatred and war. A cycle of vengeance that would never end. The Narns sought preservation and freedom for their race and their world. The Centauri wished a return to greater glories and higher victories.

The karmic wheel had spun around and around these two races many times before, and now it looked as if the war would finally be over, and one side would achieve total victory.

The Narns had taken many of the Centauri colonies, including their biggest supply worlds. The Centauri Royal Court had been torn by in-fighting, by civil war, by an insane group of fanatics and by chaos spread with the best of intentions. A desperate Centauri fleet had been assembled to try to hold off the Narns.

Each side was confident of victory, but the price in blood and lives would be high.

The Narn fleet bore down on the Centauri homeworld.

And then a third side intervened. Space shimmered, and they were there, ancient vessels built for the dissemination of chaos. They screamed as they came into sight, and without the slightest hesitation they made for the Narn fleet.