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Nuhurus and Veloris	By : Yeliah Category: +S through Z > Starcraft Views: 2676 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own StarCraft or the Protoss, Nerazim or Khalai. Sadface. I do however, own the characters involved in the story. I am not making any money off this story, either. It is made entirely for nonprofit entertainment purposes.

Chapter List
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((Forgot to mention people, this happens about five hundred years after the Zerg were driven off. Protoss and Terrans live together in relative harmony, yadda yadda, doesn't matter. But that's why.))

Father? Z'lirra stepped through the doorway of her parents' home, feet rasping softly on the stone floor. It was warm from the sun, and she paused for a moment to relish the heat against her soles.

A faint rustling sound came from the resting quarters and after a moment her father emerged. He had been in the process of undressing, it seemed, and only bits and pieces of his armor remained on his body. His ghostly, blank white helm dangled from one hand. Seeing this, Z'lirra couldn't help but smile. A member of the Boros clan and a warrior by nature, he couldn't go long without his thick armor—no matter how much his mate tried to keep him in civilian outfits.

Which meant she was not home at the moment. Good.

Z'lirra, a pleasant surprise, he chuckled, setting the mask aside and stepping towards her. She moved to intercept, and he suddenly had a young female clinging quietly to the remnants of his chest armor. What is this?

Nothing, she whispered, leaning her face against his chest and wishing he didn't have that armor left.

Her father paused before taking her by the shoulders and moving her away from him. Startled and confused, she peered up at his face.

No fear, he informed her, then deftly removed the dark piece of metal fastened to him. Putting it casually aside, he beckoned for her, and she collapsed again gratefully to his now-unshod chest, closing her eyes peacefully as his scent wafted against her.

What is this, now? He murmured again to her, folding his arms protectively over her. She felt as if she were a youngling again, safe in her parent's arms.

I... I simply... wanted to talk to you. I didn't know who else to speak to about this.

He frowned slightly. Z'lirra had lagged behind getting over the events that had happened four years ago. They had left lasting scars on her psyche, even to this day. He didn't need to probe her thoughts to see them for himself. She had always been very individualistic, very much like himself at her age even though she was quiet and reserved like a good Khalai. Her brother Zyram, though he was much more outgoing person and expressed himself physically instead of mentally unlike Khalai, was firmly situated in the Khala.

Then speak, daughter. Z'lirra's father stepped back and entreated her to release her hold so they could walk to a bench facing the window. Sitting, he took her hand and guided her down next to him.

She found she couldn't meet his gaze. I have been... thinking. About my life choices. What I wish to be.

Her father put a gentle finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. You no longer wish to be a pilot?

No! I mean, yes, I do. I love flying. That is... no different. She squirmed a bit, and concerned he released her, putting his hand instead on her shoulder. He would wait for her to gather enough courage to put forth the idea that he could sense bubbling in her head.

Z'lirra shuffled a little closer to him, twisting her fingers together. They remained in silence for a few minutes. He was patient and would not read her mind unless she asked him to, which was one of the things she loved about him.

She shared this, slowly, with her father, and he tilted his head, arching a brow at her. He had never met a Khalai who would say such a thing.

That... that is why. No, it is not the reason, but... I-I want to talk about the Khala. What makes me Khalai.

He blinked. Why a Khalai would want to speak to a Nerazim about the Khala, he did not know, but she obviously wanted to. Most would tell her to speak to her mother, or another Khalai—but that was not his way. If she felt she needed to talk to him about it, then she needed to talk to him about it.

I don't want to be one anymore, she said softly.

Silence. Z'lirra cast a nervous glance up at her father's rugged face. His expression was carefully neutral and, as always, his mind was shut tight.

How long have you decided this? He asked finally, searching her features with sharp, analytical eyes. She quickly ducked her head, or tried to; he firmly grasped her chin again and directed her gaze up to his own.

Ever... since... what happened. Four years ago. Well— she corrected herself. I came to the decision slowly, so a little less than four years. I felt... I felt...

Her father studied her face as she struggled to explain what had gone through her mind. Quietly, he held up a hand, palm facing his daughter, and to his surprise she hesitated noticeably before slowly reaching up her own hand, meeting his palm with her own.

She had felt helpless. She had had no combat experience. All she could do, all that she had to do, was to wait for her friends in the ship. Z'lirra loved flying, but that was all she was able to do while her friends fought enemies in the other vessel. No one was there to protect her if a Templar decided to make their way onto her ship and kill her.

I can train you in the ways of martial arts, he told her softly. I can train you so you are not so helpless... and you are capable of doing things your friends are not. You can pilot a ship. If the battle took place between ships, they would be in the same predicament. They would be able to do nothing.

Z'lirra sent a soft mental affirmation, and, sensing that there was more, he fell silent and allowed her to continue.

The whispers of the Khala got in the way, sometimes. When Z'lirra was in the midst of flying, something that took intense concentration, the murmurs in the back of her mind distracted her from doing her duty. Most Khalai would integrate themselves into it, allowing the flow of knowledge to aid their motions.

For her it was a distraction.

There were many other reasons. Many, many other small grounds of reality that wound their way into a much larger explanation as to why she was asking this of him.

Z'lirra simply did not want the Khala anymore.

You understand what you are asking of me, he said gently. You understand what you are asking of yourself.

Y-Yes. I know.

You will no longer be able to connect naturally to the Khala.

I know.

He withdrew, releasing her hand. She let it fall to her lap. Why are you asking me this? She wanted to know. I would think... you would want me to do this.

Her father's face was blank for a moment, then his eyes softened. I do. I do very much.

Then why—

I did not want to color your decision. I wanted to make sure you made that choice without my input. A clawed finger, capable of rending flesh but always so, so gentle, traced her cheekbone. But I am... very happy that you want this, Z'lirra.

Truly?

He laughed and leaned down to touch his forehead to hers. Her eyes narrowed happily. I must admit, the thought of a fellow Boros in the family makes me quite ecstatic.

Does that mean I get the armor that goes with it? She asked cheekily. He pushed against her forehead, nearly knocking her off the bench, and she giggled for what seemed like the first time in years.

The next thought that entered her mind quickly sobered her up. What of... Mother? She asked, nervous. Will she hate me?

He chuckled, sending a mild negative. What would it say about her that she could become my kash'lor and hate a daughter who would choose to follow his footsteps? No, Z'lirra. Your mother loves you too much. He tilted his head at her, studying her face again. Though I cannot lie. She will be extremely upset. She might even be bitter about the decision. Z'lirra flinched. She will blame me for putting such ideas in your head—

But you did no such thing!

How do you know, Z'lirra? Do you think that another young Khalai would have made the same decisions you have, if they did not have a Dark Templar parent?

That made her pause. Would they have? Or was that... That seems more genetic than anything else, she argued. In which, you cannot help what I have chosen unless you had a hand in my developing genetics.

Such a thing could be heavily debated. It is probably a little bit of both—however, it is unlikely your mother will see it that way. Perhaps Zyram will.

Ugh, yes. She would have to deal with her twin's shock and hurt, too.

In any case, she will not hate you.

Oh. She sighed quietly. Do we... have to tell her?

Her father hesitated. No, not unless you wish it. However, she would feel betrayed if we did not. It is entirely your choice.

All right. I will... think about that. She looked up at him, then leaned against him again. He lowered his head and gently brushed his cheek with hers. Thank you, Father.

You are welcome. I love you.
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Nuhurus and Veloris