Before long, Dorn stood like a mountain before the observation window, his heavy custom-forged armor outlined in stark silhouette by the starlight.
From beneath his helmet, his eyes reflected the glow of the distant fleet—like two eternal flames, never to be extinguished.
Behind him, the bridge bustled with orderly activity. Imperial Fists in light power armor operated their consoles with speed and precision.
Tactical officers gathered around the central holotable, fingers sweeping across projected defense arrays. The comms array continuously received encrypted messages from various star sectors, streams of blue data flowing across the metallic deck.
Various sounds wove together—
The hum of servo systems, the static crackle of holodisplays, and the clipped, efficient reports of officers—all forming the daily battle-hymn of the Imperial Fists.
In the reflection on the observation glass, Aoe Losrian could be seen approaching the central command console. Her silver-white armor shimmered like moonlight with each step.
She reached out and touched the control panel, and a complex starmap unfolded in mid-air, marking the incoming refugee fleets headed toward Mar Sara.
"The third wave of Protoss refugees will arrive in seven hours," her voice carried across the bridge. "Included are three High Templar and their escort fleets. Executor Corus'Tar of Khales has confirmed they are bringing a complete archive library."
Dorn gave a slight nod, the servos in his armor resonating with a low hum.
He turned toward the main console, his massive gauntlet hovering above the tactical holomap. "Alert the orbital defense arrays to Level Two readiness. Any unidentified vessels are to undergo full scans outside the perimeter."
His voice rang like steel forged in the furnace, commanding and absolute. "We offer sanctuary—but never complacency."
Outside the bridge, another batch of Protoss ships emerged from FTL, their golden hulls gleaming beneath the star's light, like a flock of metallic titans returning to the safety of the Imperium's open wings.
Imperial Calendar 0050, November 7th — Mar Sara Surface, New City, Starport District
Morning light pierced the thin atmosphere, casting elongated shadows across the metal deck of the starport.
Over a dozen Protoss transport ships were docked in the landing zones, their elegant, streamlined hulls dimming as their engines cooled, the ancient runes on their flanks slowly fading.
At the bottom of each boarding ramp stood fully armed inspection teams—
Elven mages clad in silver-white battle-robes, black-robed Imperial Jedi, and Imperial Fists equipped with the latest scanning equipment.
"Seventh landing sequence confirmed." The starport's control tower broadcast echoed through the morning mist. "All personnel remain on alert."
Aoe Losrian had already left Dorn's side and now stood atop the central observation platform. In the dawn, she resembled a drawn silver blade, the runes on her Elven armor pulsing faintly with her breath, resonating subtly with the psionic matrix beneath her feet.
Via encrypted comms, she remained in constant contact with the Emperor-class battleship in orbit.
"Surface scanners show negative results," she said into the communicator, her voice like crystal chimes. "But I recommend extending the monitoring cycle."
Aboard the battleship, Dorn stood at the central holotable, analyzing the real-time feeds from the surface of Mar Sara. Every data stream decomposed into tactical info on the internal display of his helmet.
"Extend to thirty-six hours," Dorn's metallic voice echoed through the link. "All unverified Protoss are to remain within the quarantine zone."
Meanwhile, crowds had gathered outside the starport's outer security perimeter.
Refugees from various worlds jostled to the front. Among them, a one-armed veteran suddenly spat toward the quarantine zone.
"Freaks without mouths!" he roared, swinging his mutilated limb in the air. "They killed my brother at the satellite station—just because it might've been infested!"
Clone troopers, clad in trench coat-style armor and tasked with order maintenance, immediately stepped in. They used no violence—just formed a wall with their bodies.
But this restraint only ignited more fury. Shouts and curses rose in waves.
Farther back, the Sangheili from Universe 08 (Halo) observed from a safe distance.
Their pale gray skin shimmered with vitality under the sun. As they conversed, their split mandibles moved with calm precision.
"Look at the neural cord structures on those guys."
A Sangheili officer on leave spoke in a gravelly accent. "Don't they look like the vine-tendrils under Fertile Star?"
His adjutant shook his head. "Not really. And those glowing crystals… I've never seen anything like them in any archive."
Inside the perimeter, inspection had reached a critical stage.
An elderly Protoss stood at the center of the psionic scan matrix. His neural cords suddenly displayed an unusual interference pattern under the scanning beams.
The Elven mage overseeing the procedure frowned and immediately shifted her staff to combat mode.
"Chaos echo detected," her voice broadcast across the starport. "Initiating deep-scan protocol."
Twelve orb-shaped emitters ascended, forming a geometric barrier around the Executor.
Imperial Fists swiftly adjusted formations, the sound of bolters chambering echoing like a hive of bees. Aoe leapt from the platform, her silver boots making no sound upon impact.
"Do not panic," she said, raising a glowing silver hand. "This is only a precaution."
On the bridge, Dorn monitored multiple feeds simultaneously. His HUD displayed constant updates from Elven mages' psionic readings, Jedi Force-sensing data, and scans from Imperial tech teams.
"Transfer the anomalous Protoss to quarantine sector B7," he ordered, pulling up the starport's architectural layout. "Initiate Tier Four biohazard protocol."
Underground machinery groaned to life. Concealed turrets rose from beneath the deck.
Simultaneously, the quarantine walls began emitting a faint blue energy barrier, completely isolating the Protoss refugees from the outside.
"Civilian unrest index rising," an intelligence officer reported from the bridge. "Violent behavior detected in the northwest quadrant."
Dorn turned to another feed.
There, a group of workers in uniform were confronting clone troopers. Their angry shouting even pierced the audio filters of the surveillance equipment.
Clearly, these residents were highly displeased with the arrival of the Protoss.
With no time to reform social policy or soothe the crowd, Dorn issued the immediate directive:
"Deploy Arbiter drone swarms. Use non-lethal suppression protocols."
At once, black drones launched from concealed hatches across New City. The formation looked like a flock of migrating birds.
As they swept over the crowds, they released calming agents that shimmered in the sunlight. The riot quickly faded. One by one, civilians collapsed where they stood.
Medical personnel, escorted by trauma teams, moved in to transport the civilians to secure recovery zones.
Elsewhere in the starport, the inspections continued.
Aoe personally oversaw the deep-scan of the anomalous Protoss.
Elven mages formed a complex formation around him. Their psionic energy coiled like silver threads around the old Protoss.
"Confirmed false positive," the chief mage finally declared. "Anomalous readings came from residual energy on his armor. Recommend immediate purification procedures."
Aoe nodded. "Inform the Primarch the alert in that sector is lifted. Maintain standard monitoring."
In low orbit, Dorn swiftly received her update.
He traced a finger across the holoscreen, reviewing data from the next wave of incoming Protoss vessels. Another display showed the rapid expansion of Sector 7 in New City—massive housing modules tailored for Protoss, neatly arranged like a honeycomb.
"Approved Protoss civilians are to proceed with standard settlement protocol," Dorn ordered. "Psionic sampling every three days, without exception."
As the sun rose higher, the starport's metal deck began to reflect a blinding glare.
A new day had begun—and Mar Sara's trials were far from over.
Imperial Calendar 0050, November 11th — Mar Sara Surface, New City, Sector 7
At dawn, beneath a pale-blue sky, the buildings of Sector 7 emerged through the morning mist.
These dwellings were designed specifically for the Protoss, built in hexagonal hive clusters. Their outer walls were coated in temperature-sensitive crystalline plating, now glistening like dew.
Each unit had slender towers on top resembling neural cords reaching skyward—connecting constantly with the pure psionic network enveloping all of Mar Sara.
Protoss refugees who had completed registration were already settling in.
Their silent forms moved through corridors, the Khaydarin crystals at the tips of their neural cords swaying gently with each step, leaving fleeting blue trails in the air.
Elder Executors gathered in the central resonance plaza, meditating with eyes closed to form a complex psionic web. They were clearly attuning to the unique frequency beneath the Emperor's protection.
"Psionic resonance index has reached 92%," an Elven monitor in a white robe quietly reported. Her datapad projected fluctuating waveforms. "That's seventeen hours ahead of the expected adaptation period."
Aoe Losrian stood atop the monitoring tower, her silver-white armor blending with the morning light.
She lightly touched the hovering control panel, pulling up a 3D map of Sector 7.
Thousands of blue dots represented settled Protoss. Their interconnected psionic network now harmonized perfectly with the Emperor's sanctuary field.
Her gaze shifted to the edge of the district—to the quarantine zone.
A translucent energy wall stood there, drawing a clear line between Protoss and humans—specifically, the human community from Universe 18 (StarCraft).
On the other side, a few human children on tiptoe peered curiously through the barrier, eyes following the occasional passing Protoss figure.
This separation had been a reluctant necessity after the earlier unrest.
Memories flashed through Aoe's mind like a holorecord—
Protesters waving electronic banners reading "Blood for Blood", the roar of fury nearly shattering commercial windows, a disabled veteran in a hoverchair raising a charred family photo with his cybernetic arm…
"Milady?"
A soft voice from an Elven attendant snapped Aoe from her thoughts.
Outside the window, a squad of Imperial Fists patrolled the quarantine wall, their yellow Titan power armor resembling mobile fortresses in the morning light.
The sergeant at the front suddenly stopped, his helm turning toward a corner—where two human boys were trying to pry a hole into the energy wall using crude tools.
Rather than scold them, the sergeant used a gentle tone to coax them away.
Aoe could only shake her head helplessly.
Meanwhile, aboard the Emperor-class battleship in low orbit, Dorn reviewed the final version of the reparation plans.
The holoprojector before him displayed an expanding residential zone in the city's northeast—Dawnlight Community.
It would house human residents who had suffered from Protoss-related incidents. The apartments, built in a classical style, came with panoramic balconies and independent eco-gardens—a stark contrast to the geometric elegance of Sector 7.
"Increase compensation by 30%," Dorn instructed his adjutant while highlighting a figure. "Especially for those with physical injuries. Equip them with the latest neural prosthetics."
"Understood, Father."
Suddenly, a red alert flared across Dorn's screen.
The display showed a group of Protoss artisans constructing a prism-like structure on the west end of Sector 7. The architectural schematics clearly bore the hallmarks of Khales High Templar design.
"Unregistered construction detected in Zone B7," the intelligent AI reported. "Preliminary scan identifies a psionic amplifier."
Dorn enlarged the image and saw the prisms etched with a modified Imperial Aquila—beautifully merged with Protoss runes.
Clearly, this was an attempt to blend Imperial and Protoss traditions.
"Authorize construction to proceed," Dorn ordered after a brief pause. "But assign four Jedi to monitor the site at all times."
"Affirmative, Lord Primarch."
The AI immediately relayed the command to Jedi stationed on Mar Sara.
New City, Sector 7 — The work of the Protoss artisans neared completion.
Twelve crystalline spires, each thirty meters tall, stood in a perfect circle in the newly built plaza.
As the midday sun passed through them, intricate dragon patterns formed from light emerged on the ground—their wings resembling the neural cords unique to the Protoss.
"We call it the Resonance Sanctuary," said a Protoss architect in halting Mandarin, explaining to the supervising Jedi. "Here, the souls of all intelligent species… can find a common frequency."
Hearing this, one of the Jedi closed his eyes to sense it—and indeed, the spires vibrated in a unique pattern.
The Emperor's sanctuary field, after being modulated through this architecture, now carried a refined wave with the distinct purity of Protoss psionics. The harmony was so complete that the very air around the plaza shimmered in a soft golden-blue glow.
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