Shurpuff says: And another one.

You shift in your sleep. You dream of Koprulu.

KOPKOPKOPKOP

You stand once more before his pod.

Out of the thousands entombed here, you feel this is the most significant.

Out of all the names they carved, his continues to be sung-as battle cry, as greeting, as farewell.

Adun, the pod says in the Protoss script. You do not know why anyone would have dared.

But here it is, its power unmistakable, its potential great.

He shall be the First.

You push yourself into the pod, melding yourself with the body sealed therein.

The process is quick, painless.

A thousand streams of information open in your mind. It seems to be an eternity later; you have become this Adun.

For now, you test the constraints of your binding. The Conclave have sealed your bodies well. It shall need a great endeavor to break free.

But you are nothing if not resourceful. You shall be free.

KOPKOPKOPKOP

The Ghost seems to mirror the sealed Protoss. It struggles to be free from the chrysalis, sending out great psionic waves which you hasten to smother.

The last thing you need is interference from other curious parties.

Your Creation is ready to be born. Her body remodeled, her will subservient, she will be your Face, your Blade, your Shield.

After pulsing like a fat, desperate heart, the chrysalis finally breaks from within. Your Child is born.

Its form is reminiscent of a Terran adjutant, though scaly and sleeker. Fleshy appendages connect its main body to the Hatchery. Reptilian eyes peer at the world around it, enchanted by the new sensations.

Its psionic powers rage, as of any newborn. The former Ghost is scared, lashing out everything around it, anything it can touch. She is strong-you have made her strong.

Slowly, you contain her power. She pauses, surprised by your touch. A moment later, she pushes back tentatively, as if testing you.

"Do not be afraid", you tell it, speaking directly to its mind. "Shush, young one."

"Who-you-", it haltingly responds.

"I am No One. Remember that, child." You impress the concept into her mind. She was born from nothing, spawned by no one. She is herself.

"I-" she struggles against your conditioning. "I understand. I-I am-"

"You are Zenobia," you tell her, the name coming to you without much thought. "You were once a Terran, a Ghost of some minor power serving the Confederacy.

"You stumbled upon Tellern to serve your former masters, and there found an ancient power. Now you are changed-you are Zenobia.

"Now you are your own Master, Zenobia. Your shall use your power to mold this place: Koprulu, to your own ideal.

"You do this in my Name, though you shall never remember it."

Then, as she listens in a hypnotized daze, you tell her all you intend, all that is needed of her. With Zenobia here, you are free to distance yourself further from the material realm. You shall be like a god guiding her, though she will never be aware of it. She is the membrane insulating you from being discovered by any who would thwart your ambitions.

You tell her your plans for the coming months. You have given her a fraction of power to control the Swarm. She shall wage a campaign across the stars, never knowing she dances to your tune.

After you are done, you release her from your enthralling presence. She recoils visibly from the sudden strain of having the entire Swarm take up its presence in her mind.

You track her thoughts. They are jumbled at first, confused. Then confidence stirs them into something resembling a clockwork's innards. Pieces fall into place. She knows herself. She knows what to do.

Without further thought, she turns to your Swarm, and begins to Plot.

You watch over her for a few more days, to be cautious. She is never idle. She tests thousands of mutations and evolutions in the Chambers, sets the structures to research the data you'd left in the primary cluster. She attends to the evolution of the swarmlings, carefully weeding out generation after generation of the creatures to arrive at just the right composition of creature.

She reinforces the underground defenses, sending pressure-resistant drones to scout out the furthest depths of Tellern. They have even reached the "far side" of the planet, which is replete with resources the Swarm can use. Hundreds of nydus worms then begin to siphon the acidic seas to be processed by new reservoir structures in the clutch, which are to be used for any number of functions.

All this time, you have also not been idle. The vague plans in your mind have achieved some concreteness. You erect structures on the surface intended for Terran habitation. You have several of the underground reservoirs independently churn a nutrient-rich soup that Terrans can consume safely. This foresight, of course, is shared by Zenobia. The Atlanta's scanners are set to ping the system periodically, suggesting you expect something to be arriving quite soon.

It is on the third week since her birth that this foresight pays off. A distress signal comes from the far side of the system. The Atlanta picks up, and it is Zenobia who makes contact.

A single ship, its warp capabilities disabled. It has limped from the nearest system after avoiding a catastrophic failure in its core, and has thus drifted at middling speeds for what seemed to be months.

You sense the minds trapped inside the ship. A myriad emotions-and yet there is a common undercurrent that intrigues you. You know, from common Terran protocol, that any single ship that is not a capital ship is to be always escorted, no matter if it is a merchant freighter, or a colony transport. Even the decaying Confederacy keeps a close watch on intra-system travel, if not to protect but also monitor its citizens for possible insurgency.

Even pirates and gangs hunt in packs. The Koprulu sector is a dangerous place for any lone ship.

So this single transport is suspicious. Would it have been left to you, you would have dragged that ship to the ground and sicced your swarmlings on it. Now, you watch-for this is a good test for Zenobia. How shall she deal with this situation?

Your dream ends.