It was nighttime where the Protoss base lay on Zolott, the manufactured planet. Lying on an anti-gravity bed, the air his mattress, Dyluck Thanatos Yoshi von Kippo put his hands behind his back, and stared at the relief on the ceiling. It was another battle scene, Markior as the Executor, against Zerg forces. Mutalisks and Guardians screamed overhead as a fleet of Scouts were shooting them down; a group of Dragoons had surrounded an Ultralisk; Zealots and Templar were slaying Hydralisks and Zerglings.
I wonder how Todd is doing? Lich thought about his Hydralisk guard-creature at his house on Yamauchi.
He sighed. Tob was now on his way to Ulrezaj's Lair to retrieve Dragon for the Dark Archon's clutches. Something was being restored to him at least, with hope.
He had his Pokémon at rest in the balls around his waist - his PLT hung around his neck for any words that they would speak. Flexing his hand, he could tap into the great power that lay inside him, granted by the Spirit of Mana itself - all eight Elementals at his request.
However, one vital thing was missing, that which was a part of him, and he a part of it. He hooked his middle finger through the loop on his belt at his right and strained the leather as he pulled it away from him.
Havering had the Cyan Arc, the legendary weapon that had passed through many hands in many worlds, its more notable ones that of Popoie, the Sprite of the trio fighting in the Fortress Resurrection, the Child Link as he searches across Hyrule for the legendary stones, before he left it in the Spirit Temple, and himself, realising the tremendous power the artifact held.
You want it back, I can sense it, the resident Spirit of Mana echoed through his mind.
"Of course I do," Lich spoke to the air, "I'm its guardian."
Your will is strong. Do not believe it is impossible, for I have sensed a way of viability.
He opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it.
Your powers lie along the Right Path, dealing with the power of the Elementals, with the forces of nature bending to your call. You are strong in this area. Yet the Left Path is bare, the Path of the mind and the psyche, but there is another here you compliment.
"Markior?"
Yes. His journey along the Left Path has been large, as yours along the Right has been. It would be a wise choice if the two of you were to become one single force.
"You don't mean to merge into one body, do you?"
Don't be alarmed, for that will not happen. Wherever the Xel'naga goes, you should follow, and wherever you go, he should follow. Together, the two of you are tremendously powerful. Go, tell my words to him.

Lich entered the control room to find Markior at his desk, back turned to him, looking out the window onto the base. Words in the Xel'Naga tongue were being uttered. Was he praying?
He walked quietly up to him out of reverrence, then looked over his shoulder and became surprised.
The shield around his shoulder was emitting a picture of two beings, looking vaguely like Protoss, yet…different.
"I know you're there," Markior said, still focussed on the image.
The beings' eyes flashed, and Lich felt as if his very existence was being pryed into.
"They recognise you as my friend. Lich, these are Gezriach and Dimitrioch, my parents."
Lich took a step back. Markior's parents?!
"I was create in the core of the planet Jupiter, thanks to them," he said, reading his thoughts.
Lich's mouth was agape. "But…but…weren't they…?"
"Yes. We communicate across the barrier of the Nexus - that is, what you would call Heaven."
Don't be alarmed, a feminine voice resounded through his brain.
You understand me? Lich thought.
The being on the left's eyes flashed, revealing herself as Dimitrioch.
"You have something to tell me, Lich?" Markior asked, his milky eyes showing interest. Lich fathomed that one of the Xel'Naga had told their son, then nodded.
"Yeah. Now, you're probably going to consider me crackpot insane by what I tell you."
"We all contain some element of insanity, something that defies normal, socially acceptable behaviour," the God of the Mind said. "Go ahead."
"You remember that fight we had against the Ultralisks?"
A nod was his reply.
"Well, that barrier of earth and rock I made was not a spell of mine that I learned. And the burning torches? Same.
"Why? Because I've been taken over by a spiritual and thaumaturgical parasite. It's the Spirit of Mana itself."
Markior's mouth opened and shut before he whispered, "I knew I sensed something different about you. Now I know what it is."
"Mana Spirit speaks to me, and it has recommended that we act together to get the Cyan Arc back. I am now a champion of the Right Path, and as you are a champion of the Left, we have counters to our weaknesses in each other."
"A recommendation? Is that all?" Markior laughed. "Of course it's recommended! Who wouldn't want to get their hyper-speed, gold-and-silver coloured, Mana-powered boomerang back? But from the hands of a time-bending, power-hungry demon? Yes, of course it's recommended. But must it be done?"
Son, it is vital that you retrieve it, for it has passed through Xel'Naga hands.
Markior looked at the image of his father with surprise.
"Xel'Naga have…used the Cyan Arc?"
He turned to Lich, whose eyes were closed. He was remembering the images it had shown him when he found it, and as Gezriach spoke, some of those images finally had meaning.
The Xol'arago, or as your friend calls it, the Cyan Arc, was created by a Xel'Naga weapon smith, Tarabach. His desire was to create a weapon that would bring great power to the bearer, namely him. After he had forged it, he displayed its power, and there were those who wanted it greatly for their own gain. So, when he was cornered in battle, he opened a warp to a location unknown, except to him, threw it in and sealed it. He was killed three seconds later.
"So…do you want it…back?" Lich asked hesitantly.
No, Gezriach replied. It has found you as its rightful owner. Besides, there are no Xel'Naga left, save Markior. So, it is upon you both to get it back: one to retrieve a stolen item, the other to honour his race.
The two Xel'Naga faded away as the shoulder shield stopped projecting. Lich looked at Markior, who was still faced straight ahead, his eyes closed in thought. He did not open them as he said firmly, "Let's do it."

* * *

Beneath the town of Lich's birth, a projected image also faded away.
"That is how things are," the helmeted Havering instructed his pupil. "Prophecy has stated your part in these events, and now is the time for you to fulfill it. You are to stop him from getting the Cyan Arc - kill, restrain, disable, I don't care."
He lifted his brandy sifter to his lips and raised it. Looking through the glass, he could see his pupil's big, wide eyes look up at him with expectation and admiration. It had been all to easy to win him to his side, his remorse and anger were what dragged him in. Dark Lich, the evil undead sorceror of Fa'Diel, locked away since the Resurrection, had been freed by the Time Bender, and had given the pupil many things, including the small castle they were now in.
"Will Dark help me?" he asked.
"On occasion," Havering answered dismissively. "I have not seen him as of late, but he will be doing my work. Enough talk. Go."
He opened a portal, and the pupil entered wordless.
I hope he doesn't suffer from Heratu's, Havering thought.

* * *

Lich and Markior were outside the base, growing trees in the matter of seconds to hide the base - Markior using his powers of creation, and Lich calling on the powers of Dryad, the Elemental of Life. A fully grown forest was being established - save the telltale lichen, no-one could tell that a desert had been there moments before.
"There's only a small part left," Markior said. "I should be able to handle it by myself. You head back to the base. If anything happens, you know what to do."
Lich nodded and started making his way back, weaving between the seemingly ancient trees, until he got to an inverted conical pine, a Pandora Coniferus, the trees of his youth. He sat down beneath it and looked up through the branches, seeing the twenty-fold divided sun appearing and disappearing in quick succession as a light breeze rustled its leaves. He leaned back, concentrated a moment, and his potosa appeared in his hands. A smile spread across his face, knowing that some element of home comfort was with him. He raised the mouthpiece towards him, his eyes closed, thinking of playing Where the Wind Ends, one of the songs from his childhood. He breathed in, and just as he was about to play the first note…
A stick broke nearby. This was not in the branches above him - he knew by the crunch in it that there was someone walking through the forest.
"Who's there?!" He asked, leaping up, returning his potosa to his Mana Storage.
His reply was a fireball headed straight for him. Realising at the last moment, he dodged, the pine exploding into thousands of charred splinters.
Quickly, he sensed the presence on the Mana Field, running away from him.
"Show yourself, you coward! True fighters fight when they see each other!"
He started to run after it, desperate to catch a glimpse of his attacker. He ducked under a bough, jumped over a log, and got his foot caught under a twisted root. He fell on his face, the root jabbing his shins. He growled, heaved himself up, and continued the chase, trying to ignore his sore shins.
The trees had certainly changed their appearance here - he was finally in the old forest. The trees definitely looked old, for they were. The boughs were covered in lichen, and old man's beard floated in the breeze beneath them. He had regained his position now, and was even closer to his prey than before, so close he could hear its breathing.
There was a rest in the rhythm of the chased's footsteps, obviously as he jumped off a fallen tree nearby. Finding it, he stepped onto it and jumped off.
As he landed, his feet were swept from beneath him, and he shot up into the air with a yell, thanks to the triggered net he was now in. Sleep powder sprayed all over him - powdered on the rope to explode in clouds as he was caught. He started losing consciousness, and the last thing he saw was a shadowy figure in the near distance.
The shadow of a Yoshi.